A/N: Thanks to everyone for your reviews and follows and favorites! Very flattering.

In this chapter I introduce Skye's sister, who I imagine as Summer Glau (another Whedon-verse alum). Thus the name.

I hope you'll enjoy this chapter, in which we are introduced to some familiar faces in some not-so-familiar roles.

Wednesday Jemma stood outside the classroom, bouncing on the balls of her feet. The last time she had been so nervous, she was about to present one of her graduate-level theses to her advisor at Oxford. This time she was practically bursting with excitement.

She checked her watch. There were still two minutes before class would start. Normally Jemma hated being even on-time – she preferred to be early. But today she was waiting for something special.

At last Skye came walking up the hallway, her hands flying as she signed with her interpreter. Jemma took a quick breath, squared her shoulders, and approached them.

Hi! she signed to both Skye and the interpreter.

Skye finished whatever she was signing and gave her full attention to Jemma. Hi, she replied in the same way.

Jemma thought she might explode. Nice… to see you… today… Skye, she signed, and she felt like she'd just run a marathon. "And you too," she said to the interpreter. "I don't know your name."

"I'm Mr. Coulson," the interpreter said. "But you can call me Phil."

A shy smile appeared on Skye's face, and she signed something rapidly to the interpreter. He laughed, then nodded, and said, "You're a quick study."

"Oh, yes, sir," Jemma said. "I mean, I finished my first degree at Oxford when I was sixteen and…"

She cut herself off, blushing madly. Then she turned again to Skye, her hands still shaking a little, and signed, Would you… like to sit… next to me… today?

The shy smile grew into a grin, and Skye brought her hands up. Yes. I would like to.

"Did you get that?" Mr. Coulson asked.

Jemma nodded, and then hurriedly signed, Yes.

And Skye smiled again, and Jemma found herself wishing she knew more sign language, just so she could see that smile more often.

The professor encouraged discussion about Pride and Prejudice for the majority of the class, and then announced the upcoming midterm project. It wasn't a surprise; it had been on the syllabus since the beginning of the term, but Jemma had forgotten that it was a cooperative project – the students would be working in pairs. She'd blocked that out of her mind because, at the time, she hadn't known a single soul in the class and couldn't think of anyone she'd want to work with.

But now, as the professor finished her remarks about the requirements for the project and asked them, once they'd found partners, to come up and write their names down, Jemma flipped to a fresh page in her notebook and scribbled, Do you want to work with me?, then passed the book to Skye.

Skye took a moment to read the message. She looked up at Jemma and nodded.

Jemma retrieved the notebook and wrote, I'll go put our names on the list.

Thank you, Skye signed.

When Jemma returned Skye was signing with Mr. Coulson. The interpreter looked mildly concerned and seemed to be repeating a series of three or four signs. Skye shook her head and turned her gaze to Jemma.

"Um, I'll email you," Jemma said, watching as Mr. Coulson immediately began moving his hands again. "Um, to talk about the project. And when we can work on it."

"Sounds like a plan," Mr. Coulson replied as Skye signed.

Their classmates streamed out of the room around them, and finally they were the only people in the room. Jemma felt something like mild anxiety thwack into her stomach. She didn't want to leave Skye, but she couldn't quite say why. As she checked her watch, though, she realized she had to. "I have to go," she said. "I'm supposed to meet someone in about ten minutes at Prescott Hall."

Okay, Skye signed.

Jemma gave her a small smile and signed her last practiced sentence: See you later.

Skye waved and she and the interpreter headed out of the classroom.

Jemma found herself grinning like a loony, something in her chest fizzing like champagne and fireworks.

"Typical Jemma," she could hear Fitz saying. But in her head he was smiling, like he was proud of her. Heck, she was proud of her.

And then she realized she was alone in an empty classroom, grinning to no one, and late for her meeting.

You need to call your sister, Mr. Coulson signed as he and Skye exited Angell Hall. She might be able to help you.

I told you, it's not a big deal, Skye replied, making her signs brisk and efficient to show him she didn't want to continue talking about this.

Skye, Mr. Coulson signed firmly.

She sighed. Fine. I'll call her tonight. But it's no big deal.

Mr. Coulson looked at his watch. I have to go, he signed. The orchestra's leaving for the theater in a half hour, and I promised Audrey I'd be in my tux by then.

Right, Skye replied, forcing a smile. Audrey's big night. I want to hear all about it tomorrow.

Okay, Mr. Coulson signed. I'll meet you at Walker Hall for Calculus.

They parted ways and Skye managed to walk a hundred feet or so before she had to sit down, lurching awkwardly onto a nearby bench. She leaned forward, putting her head between her knees, clenching her hands into fists as she tried to keep breathing.

At first she thought it had been a misunderstanding. A student in her History class had made a derisive, insulting remark – translated later by Mr. Coulson – and then he'd followed her back to her dorm, attempting to talk to her. She'd watched his lips, watched as he'd said some incredibly horrible things about deaf people and disabled people as a whole. When she'd politely told him to leave, using both Mr. Coulson and her hated voice, he'd grown angry. Since then, he'd followed her around the dorm, accosted her at any time of day, sent her threatening and disgusting emails, and left similar notes under her door. She had no idea what he wanted, other than to scare the shit out of her and insult her, and she frankly didn't want to know. It was first irritating, and now a bit frightening.

But she didn't want to call her sister. That would be like admitting she couldn't handle herself, even though it wasn't true. Summer would understand; she always did. Summer had taken care of Skye for as long as Skye could remember, their parents having died when she was very young. Ten years older, Summer had always exuded confidence and purpose – spending as much time with Skye as she could when they were living with their grandparents, and then taking over wholly after their grandparents had passed away. Summer was Skye's legal guardian and she was Skye's best friend. And she would understand about this guy – this Grant Ward – who wouldn't leave Skye alone.

Her breathing finally returned to normal, Skye took her phone from her pocket. She couldn't count how many acquaintances and virtual strangers had commented on how odd it was for a deaf person to have a phone. "What do you need it for?" was their fervent question, assuming that someone who didn't talk and couldn't hear wouldn't make phone calls.

But Skye could text message, and she could FaceTime, and she could email, and she could set up relay calls, where she signed to an operator who then relayed the message vocally to whoever she was calling. And it was a lot handier than carrying around a TTY, a clunky teletypewriter, whenever she wanted to get in touch with someone. She still had a TTY, hooked up to the mainline phone in her dorm room, but she liked the portable capability of the iPhone in her pocket much more.

Now she opened a new text message. Need to talk, she typed to Summer. Tonight?

As she sat on the bench, looking up at the red and orange leaves on the trees overhead, she could feel her heart slowing further. Things would be all right. Summer would talk her through a solution to her crazy stalker. Mr. Coulson would meet her for Calculus in the morning and tell her all about Audrey's (sure to be amazing) performance with the orchestra. And she had a new friend – a friend (the thought fairly made her dizzy with something like happiness) – in Jemma Simmons.

Her phone vibrated in her hand.

Sounds good, came Summer's reply. Skype around eight-thirty?

Eight-thirty it is.

Skye clicked her phone off, put it back in her pocket, and stood up. A faint breeze stirred the brightly-colored leaves on the trees and she watched as a few of them drifted into the nearby river.

Things would be okay. She would be okay.

Somehow.

"You're late," a calm, firm voice said as soon as Jemma opened the door to the fifth floor office.

"I know, and I'm so sorry," Jemma said. "I was just…"

"I don't need excuses." The voice belonged to a slim Asian woman with a no-nonsense haircut, wearing a well-tailored blazer and a crisp button-down. "When I say four-fifteen, I mean four-fifteen."

She stood. "Jemma Simmons, I presume."

Jemma stuck out her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Professor May."

The woman shook her hand briskly and sat back down. "If you're late to our first meeting, I'm not sure how seriously I can take your commitment."

"Oh, I'm very serious," Jemma said hastily. "I want… I would like to make this work. Very much."

"Punctuality is very important to me," May said. "As is personal responsibility. If I give you an assignment, I want it completed to the best of your abilities. No slacking off. If this is as important to you as you say it is…"

"It is," Jemma said firmly.

"… then you need to take it seriously. As seriously as any of your other classes, as seriously as any of your homework or projects." May sat back and looked sternly at Jemma. "Can you be counted on to be that committed?"

Jemma nodded.

"Okay," May said. She reached to her left and pulled a thick book from a pile of similar books and papers. "Start with this."

The professor handed the book to Jemma, who looked down at it. "Um, read it…? Or…?"

"For a start," May said. "By Friday."

"Friday?" Jemma was momentarily startled.

"Friday. Is that a problem?"

"No! No, of course not," Jemma said quickly. "Just wanted to make sure I heard you."

"Four-fifteen on Friday," May said.

Jemma nodded, somewhat awkwardly, and stood up. "Um, thank you."

Professor May had turned to her computer, but as Jemma reached the door, she spoke again. "For what it's worth, Miss Simmons, although I don't fully understand all your motives, I think it's very noble, what you're doing."

"Oh. Um. Well, I'm not curing cancer or anything. I just… I just want to be able to talk to this girl," Jemma said.

"And I maintain that's noble," May said. "I look forward to teaching you sign language. It's a beautiful, expressive language, and I think it will be of great interest to you."

Then she turned back to her computer, Jemma apparently forgotten. Jemma stuffed the book – A Beginner's Guide to Deaf Culture and American Sign Language – into her backpack and left.

"It will be of great interest to you," May had said, but she had no idea.

I want to be able to talk to Skye, Jemma reminded herself. I want to have a conversation with her, just the two of us, without an interpreter.

Heat rose in her cheeks and excitement tingled down her spine. I don't know what I'd even say, but… but just being next to her, our hands moving and meaning something…

As she exited the office and headed down the hall, another thought occurred to her. God, I hope she likes me.