A/N: Thank you for all of your reviews, favorites, follows, and messages! You guys are amazing. Enjoy!
And shout out to reviewer joshua. perry. 3705, who wished for appearances by some of our other favorite characters. Thumbs up for a great idea!
Jemma had a specific, slow, wonderful morning routine. Her alarm clock went off at 5:45, playing a random song from the iPod hooked into it. Usually it was something upbeat that got her out of bed with a smile on her face. She had always been a morning person, something Fitz had never understood.
"What's to love about the morning?"
"It's a new day, Fitz!" she would explain, that smile ever-present. "New possibilities. New chances. New things to learn and taste and discover and smell and…"
"All right, all right," he would protest, laughing. "I agree about all of that – but why's it got to take place so early?"
Once she was out of bed, she flipped on the electric kettle and prepped one of her mugs with her tea infuser, two spoons of sugar, and a splash of cream from the mini-fridge next to her desk. While the water boiled she dressed and groomed, preferring simple things that could be inconspicuous under a lab coat on the days her lab section met or something with a little more flair for the days she was presenting a report or meeting with an adviser. Hair back in a ponytail or clipped up in barrettes, feet into sensible socks and sensible shoes, and then the electric kettle would be ready.
Usually Jemma had a stockpile of little food items stashed in one of her cabinets, and she'd have a bagel or a scone while she drank her tea and read her email.
The Tuesday after she and Skye had met with Professor May and Mr. Coulson to discuss the Grant Ward situation, Jemma found an email in her box that she hadn't been expecting.
It's from Skye! Her heart leapt and she nearly choked on a mouthful of her tea. Even though it was extremely likely that the email was about something boring like their Jane Austen project, Jemma still felt like she'd won a blue ribbon.
She clicked on it eagerly.
Jemma – I just wanted to thank you for your support yesterday. It means a great deal to me to know that there are people here who care about me and who are willing to support me. Also, I found this image and I thought you'd like it. – Skye
The attached image turned out to be an infographic entitled: "12 Reasons to Learn ASL." Jemma laughed as she read some of the bullet points.
Easily communicate underwater. You can talk while your mouth is full. It's a 3D language, but no 3D glasses are needed. It will never be too loud or too quiet to sign to someone. Speak through a closed window.
It was the last point that made Jemma grin and glow from head to toe: Get to know some wonderful people in the Deaf community (probably the best reason of all).
Jemma printed the list out as she drank the rest of her tea, and after she'd gathered her books for the day, she taped it to the wall next to her desk, right below a picture of her and Fitz at a festival.
As she put on her raincoat and prepared to head out for the day, she looked back at the list and the picture. Her two lives were coming together – the out-loud friendly scientific competition with her best friend, Fitz, and the silent but not boring relationship she was building with Skye.
Sometimes mornings really were beautiful.
Three floors down, Skye had her own morning routine. It consisted of a lot of grumbling and swearing – she was not a morning person – and, for some reason, a lot of watching cooking shows on her TV. She preferred Iron Chef America and The Taste, but on a bad morning she'd watch anything. It was an odd obsession, odder still because Skye had never had any desire to cook or be on a cooking show. She was a picky, complicated eater with strange relationships with food, and yet her morning routine that usually involved two toasted waffles and a cold glass of apple juice was somehow enhanced by frantic contestants battling over Cornish hen or caviar. Plus, sometimes there were accidents with fire or spats between contestants, and a bitty part of Skye loved to watch people having a rougher morning than she was.
Strangely enough, after meeting Jemma and spending time with her, Skye still enjoyed watching the cooking shows, but she was caught up in another pursuit – learning everything she could about England. Like every other kid in America, she knew the basics – its location, its style of government, and what its flag looked like – but was clueless as to everything else.
So far she'd spent several hours down a rabbit hole of British bloggers and British photographers, getting a taste for the basics: double-decker buses, Buckingham Palace, the Tube, driving on the left-hand side, red phone boxes, and pub culture. She'd seen the London Eye and the picturesque countryside, museums and castles and thatched-roof cottages, all without leaving her dorm room. She'd taken a quick break from worrying about Grant Ward and took the bus to a local international market where she tried various crisps and biscuits (even the slang made her giddy).
And though the compulsion to cook usually didn't hit until around midnight, when she watched Gordon Ramsay threaten some poor schmuck with a spatula, Skye could fairly taste those British snacks, and she knew, in her heart, that she definitely wanted to cook Jemma a British dinner. It was too bad her dorm room had only a toaster.
Maybe at Christmas, she thought, and her fingers tingled with excitement. It had been a long time since she'd looked forward to the holidays, a long time since she'd wanted to create something special for someone other than her sister. And it had been a long time since she'd felt a friendship could last.
Skye hit "print" and waited for her favorite shots of England to spill from her printer while she watched Nigella Lawson try a cranberry-infused scallop with paprika-dusted whipped potato. As the famous British cook gave her honest opinion, Skye taped the pictures to her mirror, next to a picture of her and Summer and another picture of their dog.
It's weird how worlds come together. Skye had certainly never had any intention of meeting, let alone becoming friends with, anyone from England.
Smiling, she pulled on her boots and jacket, watched as another contestant was eliminated from the competition, flicked the TV off, and headed out into the rain.
"Jemma, you're quieter than usual."
Jemma looked up. She had barely made it into lab on time, thanks to a late bus, and though class had gone on without her, she was staring at one page of her lab notes without really seeing any of the equations. "Sorry," she said, apologizing to one of her lab mates.
She shared her lab station with three other students, and while they worked well together, they didn't see each other out of lab sessions or the occasional study group. Jemma liked them, as much as she could.
"You look like you've got something on your mind, girl." The speaker was Antoine Triplett, a tall and well-built man with close-cropped hair and an interestingly maintained beard. From the first day of class, he'd told his lab partners to call him "Trip," an easy-going nickname that matched his personality. "And from that look I'd say it's not these combustion reactions."
Jemma had to smile. She liked Trip. It was hard not to. "A friend of mine is… having some issues."
Trip set down his lab book. "Anything I can help with? I'm a pretty helpful guy."
"Me too," Lance Hunter spoke up. Like Jemma, he was a Brit; unlike Jemma, he spoke like an extra from My Fair Lady.
"You're not helpful." The fourth member of the lab group strode up to the table, carrying their labeled test tubes and beakers. Bobbi Morse was absolutely stunning, and Jemma was surprised that she ever deigned to speak to the rest of them. And it was completely beyond her how someone so gorgeous would fall for Hunter, of all people, but the two had been dating off-and-on for three years. "You like seeing people squirm."
"Yeah, well, who doesn't?" Hunter demanded. "Aren't we all in this boring as shit lab so that someday they'll let us operate on something bigger?"
"You're not," Bobbi pointed out. "You're here because you failed this section last term."
Hunter shot her a look that suggested Bobbi should take a bath in a lake of fire.
"I'm here because it's a requirement," Trip offered. "And the only time I like to see people squirm is when I watch white people try to dance."
Jemma had to laugh at that. "My friend's being stalked by this guy in one of her classes," she told Trip. "Her adviser and her interpreter are trying to figure out a schedule so that one of us is always with her, just in case. This guy got pretty aggressive."
"That's terrible," Bobbi said. "Has she called the on-campus sexual assault hotline?"
Jemma shook her head. "He hasn't been sexual. Just intimidating. And she's deaf, so…"
"Deaf, huh?" Trip scratched his chin. "I learned sign language when I was in high school."
"You did?"
"Don't sound so surprised," Trip said, grinning. "Yeah. I worked in a restaurant owned by a deaf family. The majority of their staff was deaf, too, so I kinda had to pick it up or be left out."
"That's amazing," Jemma said. "I'm learning as fast as I can, but it's… there's a lot to know."
"I pick up a few shifts every time I go home for a break," Trip said. "So I'm pretty freshly fluent."
"I sign, too," Bobbi offered.
"Really?" Hunter rolled his eyes. "Of course you do. You know everything."
Bobbi punched him in the shoulder. "Not everything. Just… more than you."
"When did you learn to sign?" Jemma asked.
"When I was at community college," Bobbi replied. "I took classes there for two years when I was living at home. My dad had had a stroke and I was needed to help take care of him when he came home from rehab. They had a language requirement, and since I hadn't taken a language in high school, I picked ASL. It was great."
"I don't go in for all that bollocks," Hunter muttered, and he went over to the test tubes, checking their contents.
"Hey," Trip said, "I just had a thought. You said that your friend needs someone to be around… to protect her from this guy, right?"
Jemma nodded.
"Well, I volunteer to help out," Trip said. "And I bet Bobbi would too."
"Sure," Bobbi said.
"It'd be easy for us – we both sign, we can cover hours when her adviser or interpreter aren't on campus, and I don't mean to brag, but I take Zumba classes and I've only passed out twice since August," Trip went on.
"I take the same Zumba class," Bobbi said. "And I've never passed out."
She high-fived Trip.
"That'd be… that'd be amazing," Jemma said. "Why would you volunteer, though? You don't even know Skye."
"Yeah, but we know you," Trip said.
"And we've all had rough times," Bobbi added. "It'd be a privilege to help out."
Jemma could feel tears forming. "Oh, you guys. That's… that's just brilliant."
"Yeah, but not me," Hunter drawled from the test tube rack.
"No one expects you to do anything," Bobbi snapped. "And they're usually right."
Jemma burst out laughing. Hunter went bright red.
"Maybe her adviser should talk to his adviser," Trip suggested. "You know, just in case things escalate."
"They did," Jemma said. "He was unresponsive."
"Who was it?"
"Uh, Professor Garrett," Jemma answered.
Bobbi and Trip exchanged glances.
"What?"
"He's the worst," Bobbi said. "An all-around American asshole."
"Now I want to help out even more," Trip said. "Garrett used to be my adviser. Then I found out that he wrote a really negative letter of reference for me, so I didn't get an internship I needed. And then I found out that he'd written a glowing letter for another student. A white student, who was less qualified and whose major had nothing to do with the program. And of course that kid got in."
"That shouldn't be fair," Jemma said.
"If her stalker's one of Garrett's pets, we're not going to have any luck playing fair," Trip said.
Jemma wasn't completely sure what he meant, but the professor entered the lab and she had to turn her attention back to the experiments at hand.
My friends… want… help you, Jemma signed. She knew it was sloppy, but she was pleased that she'd strung together an entire sentence.
Skye raised her eyebrows. Why?
For that Jemma hadn't prepared an answer. They sign, was the best she could come up with.
You're cute, Skye signed.
They were sitting on Skye's bed, having spent a productive hour or so working on their Jane Austen project. Progress was slow, thanks to the communication barrier, but they'd worked out a system of handwritten or typed notes, fingerspelling, and Jemma's limited signing. Skye was looking tired, and Jemma thought news of two new protectors might cheer her up.
You need help, Jemma replied.
Skye nodded.
They help… please?
Fine, Skye signed. She glanced at her watch.
You have… date? Jemma asked, a teasing smile on her lips.
Skye nodded, and Jemma thought her heart would break. She forced herself to watch Skye's hands.
With a cooking show, Skye signed.
Wait. TV?
Skye nodded again, and Jemma felt her body relax.
You want to watch with me? Skye asked.
Jemma had never much gotten the point of cooking shows, but she was desperate to remain in Skye's room, desperate to keep moving her hands meaningfully. She nodded. Fine.
Skye's eyes lit up and she bounced across the room, turning on the TV before returning to the bed next to Jemma.
I don't… watch… TV, Jemma signed as soon as Skye was looking at her. This show… name?
T-h-e T-a-s-t-e, Skye spelled, and then she looked away, her focus given completely to the TV.
Jemma tried to keep up with the variety of famous chefs and not-famous contestants, but after a while she found herself just watching Skye. She loved the other girl's bright, intelligent eyes and her quick-moving hands, and the way her smile caused Jemma's heart to nearly stop.
Skye kept her attention on the show, blocking out everything else, which was why it wasn't so surprising that she didn't realize Jemma had fallen asleep on her bed. During a commercial break, Skye happened to look over and saw Jemma curled up, clutching one of her Jane Austen books, looking absolutely peaceful.
Skye smiled and pulled up one of her blankets, arranging it over her friend. She leaned in carefully, brushed a kiss to Jemma's cheek, and then slipped off the bed to sit on her desk chair, turning her attention back to the gauntlet of gourmets on the screen.
As she watched a young contestant whisk some wine into his reduction sauce, Skye pondered her feelings. She'd never had anyone come to her dorm room, never had anyone study with her or work on a project. She'd definitely never had anyone learn ASL for her. And she'd very definitely never had anyone fall asleep on her bed.
Sometimes change is good, mind-Coulson signed to her, and Skye had to smile.
No. Sometimes change is beautiful.