A/N: Thanks for all the favorites and follows! I hope this chapter is what you're hoping for, and I look forward to reading your suggestions for future chapters.
The two songs Jemma listens to are from one of my favorite singers, British folk singer Kate Rusby. She's got a lovely voice and she's definitely worth a listen.
Enjoy!
Skye took the back stairs up to the fourth floor, walking as slowly as she possibly could. She knew she was doing the right thing, returning the book to Jemma Simmons, but she hated talking. Hated the way her voice sounded. Hated the way people stared at her when she used it, more so than when they saw her signing with Mr. Coulson or anyone else. Signing was an intimate relationship, a duality that Skye had gotten used to. Speaking was always to her disadvantage.
With every step she took, she practiced making the right mouth shapes for the few sentences she'd chosen. My name is Skye. I took your book. It was an accident. I'm sorry.
The shorter, the better. The quicker she got away from Jemma Simmons and back into the silence and safety of her room, the better.
Skye opened the door to the fourth floor. A group of girls, all arms and legs and brightly-colored too-short clothes, shoved past her. She spent several long seconds watching their mouths, flapping silently, realizing too late that their hateful eyes were what should have gotten her attention first.
And then they were gone, and Skye was in front of 428. Her heart was pounding and she was sweating, partially from the long, slow climb up the stairs and partially from her extreme desire to avoid speaking, especially speaking to Jemma Simmons.
I really need to get a hobby.
She raised one hand and formed it into a fist, then stopped.
You are one of the sharpest students I've seen come through here, she recalled Mr. Coulson signing to her shortly after her arrival at Barnham. Might have something to do with your upbringing.
She hadn't known what to think about that.
I mean, you didn't go to a school for the deaf, he'd gone on. You had to fight for everything, being mainstreamed. You're a fighter, Skye. You fight for what matters.
And this book mattered to Jemma Simmons.
She knocked.
Jemma lay on her back on her fuzzy blue rug, knowing she should do homework. But the rain outside was so lovely and wonderful, especially when combined with the melodic strains of Jemma's favorite British singer, Kate Rusby. She knew that she was listening to more "music from home," as Fitz would put it, with her best friend gone, but she couldn't help it. Those folk songs reminded her of when they were together. When she knew who she was.
I saw the man in the moon / Fie, man, fie! / I saw the man in the moon / Who's the fool now? / I saw the man in the moon / Shining up St. Peter's shoe / Thou has well drunken, man / Who's the fool now?
There were plenty of drunk girls on the fourth floor of Castell Hall, much as Jemma supposed there were drunk girls in every hall at Barnham. Her tiny single room was at the end of a hallway, but it was surrounded by enough sorority sisters and weekend partiers that she frequently smelled booze or heard loud, vicious arguments. She was just glad the alcohol-related incidents were confined to verbal fights – she wasn't ready yet for anyone to go out a window or start a fist-fight or a fire.
One of the girls down the hall had even gotten teary all over Jemma one weekend. "You're so smart to have a boy as your best friend! Girls are so vicious and catty and boy are just nice. Nice for talking, nice for kissing…"
Jemma had shuddered, only slightly repulsed by the idea of kissing Fitz. Or any boy.
The track changed.
If I take off my silken gowns / then turn your back on me / for it's not fitting / that such a cruel world / a naked woman should see.
Jemma rolled over and hurriedly hit "skip" on the open iTunes window. Fitz had always mocked her for loving "The Outlandish Knight."
"It's such a fairy story," he'd said. "Such romantic girly nonsense."
"I like fairy stories" was her constant refrain. "And I am a girl!"
In the sudden silence between songs, Jemma heard something – something like a hesitant knock at her door.
She quickly closed her computer and got to her feet, crossing the small room in her stocking feet. She stood on her tiptoes to peer out through the door's peephole, but all she could see was a dark head of hair, as though the person in front of her door had their head bowed.
Jemma unlocked the door and the person looked up and Jemma's heart nearly stopped in her chest. It was the deaf girl from her Jane Austen seminar.
Skye caught the door opening in her peripheral vision and she jerked her head up, away from the toes of her boots, and looked the mousy Jemma Simmons in the eyes.
She figured she had about six seconds before the girl before her started to speak, which would cause Skye to lose control of the interaction completely, something she could not allow to happen.
"My name is Skye," she said quickly, hating the way her voice made her mouth vibrate. "I took your book."
She thrust the copy of Pride and Prejudice towards Jemma Simmons.
"It was an accident," she continued. "I'm sorry."
If she had expected Jemma Simmons to be grateful, or thank her for returning the book, she was wrong. The girl stood there with her mouth open, as though Skye had struck her. She didn't even reach for the book.
Shit. She didn't understand me.
Then it was as though Jemma had been struck by a small electrical charge, because her eyes went wide, she held up one finger, and whirled away from Skye, hurtling back into her room, obviously searching for something.
Skye stood in the doorway, the Jane Austen book still in her hand. It took only a few seconds for Jemma to locate her tablet and carry it back to the doorway, her fingers moving like lightning over the touch screen. She held it up for Skye to see.
Hi Skye. My name's Jemma, but I can see you already know that, she'd typed.
Something like relief flooded through Skye's veins. Hesitantly she reached for the tablet. Jemma surrendered it without reluctance.
You could understand me? Skye typed.
Jemma nodded and smiled. The smile lit up her entire face and she looked kinder, softer somehow.
Skye could only think that Jemma Simmons wasn't nearly as mousy as she'd remembered.
Jemma's heart started to beat again as she deciphered the deaf girl's words in her head. Her classmate spoke slowly, her voice clogged and somewhat slurred, but it was clear she placed special emphasis on each word. After her first statement Jemma nearly stopped listening. This mystery girl with the purple hearing aids and the awesome black boots had a name. Skye.
Then she heard something about a book and realized that made complete sense. The deaf girl hadn't shown up in response to Jemma's cluttered thoughts about her – she'd shown up to do something very kind.
Jemma beckoned Skye into her room. The other girl looked a bit unsure, but she cautiously took a few steps onto Jemma's fuzzy rug. Jemma took the book from her hand, pointed to the cover, and smiled again, then gave Skye a thumbs-up. She set the book on her desk and grabbed her backpack from the corner. Opening it up, she discovered a crinkled, much-used copy of Pride and Prejudice under her notebook. She removed it and held it up for Skye to see.
Skye nodded, gratefully retrieving the paperback from Jemma's outstretched hands.
Jemma took the opportunity to type out another message. Thank you for returning it. I would have been frantic if I'd discovered it gone.
She held the tablet out towards Skye, who took it from her. I could tell it was important, Skye typed. Glad you weren't worried about it.
My friend Fitz bought it for me, Jemma typed. It reminds me of home.
Skye looked down at the message, trying to understand Jemma's meaning. She felt her hands rise up without her consent, signing What? before she could stop them.
Quickly, her hands shaking, she reached out for the tablet, typing, Sorry. What did you mean by that? About home?
I think sign language is beautiful was Jemma's answer, which Skye wasn't expecting. They locked eyes for a few seconds, then Jemma smiled and started typing again. Jane Austen's a British author, I'm from England… Fitz bought it for me when he was visiting me there.
Skye took the tablet and typed out a new message for Jemma: Here's the sign for "England."
She waited for Jemma to read the message and look up, then, heart pounding, brought her hands in towards her stomach, putting her right hand atop her left hand, palms facing down, moving them just slightly as though she was holding the top of an old-fashioned walking cane. "England," Skye said aloud, knowing she was probably butchering the word.
To her relief, Jemma didn't stare or look at her like she was crazy. Instead, the petite girl brought her own hands in, copying Skye's movements perfectly. "England," she said, and Skye wondered how the word sounded in a British accent as she watched the other girl's lips move.
Skye just repeated the sign again, and for a few minutes the girls stood a few feet apart, signing "England" as though they were participating in some sort of nationalist contest. Then Jemma picked up the tablet and typed, I like that. Maybe you could teach me some more sign language some time.
Skye froze. Her heart started to pound in her chest again and the room spun a bit. "Have to go, bye," she managed to blurt out, hating the way her voice felt, and she bolted from the room, her battered copy of Pride and Prejudice clutched in her hand.
Jemma couldn't decide how she felt as she watched Skye panic, then escape from her sight. Part of her was saddened that it seemed to be so difficult for the other girl to communicate, to interact with others without an interpreter. Part of her felt embarrassed – she spoke three or four languages, why hadn't she ever thought about learning sign language? It was a perfectly acceptable language! And still another part of her was blushing furiously, thinking She came here! She came here!
"Typical Jemma," she could hear Fitz saying. "You don't know anything about her besides she's beautiful and deaf."
All the more reason to study, she informed her mental Fitz. To learn to speak her language. So next time she won't be so embarrassed.
So next time, maybe she'll stay a little longer.
Skye fled down the stairs, ran down the hallway, unlocked her room, and hurried inside. She locked the door behind her, kicked off her boots, and though it was only five o'clock, she got into bed, pulling her blanket over her head.
There in the silence and darkness, she could feel her heart slowing. Away from prying eyes and beautiful hearing girls with beautiful eyes –
Where did that come from? she demanded of herself.
She didn't give her brain time to come up with an answer. She rolled over, grabbing her ratty stuffed elephant, and stuck her head under the pillow. It was one of her preferred methods for memorizing information – to read until she couldn't stand the material any longer, then sink down into the sensory deprivation of her bedcovers and remember as much as she could.
But instead of chemistry facts or math equations, all Skye could think about was Jemma Simmons, and her smile, and how proud Jemma had looked when signing "England."
Told you, her mind-Coulson signed to her.
Skye closed her eyes, letting her heartbeat slow even further. It's done. It's done. You never have to talk to her again.
But somehow she knew her first interaction with Jemma Simmons would definitely not be her last.
It surprised her that she didn't hate that thought.