A/N: Thanks to all my readers and reviewers - you are the best! Here's a fluffy little chapter. More soon (and more drama, I promise).
My friends… meet you… coffee store, Jemma signed to Skye. They had just finished their Jane Austen class, and Mr. Coulson was on the phone with someone, walking a few steps behind them. Jemma loved that she didn't always need the interpreter now, loved that she knew enough to communicate with Skye somewhat. It wasn't perfect, and Jemma was sure that to Skye, the conversation was no more high-brow than any three-year-old's. Sometimes Jemma would sign and sign and sign, watching as Skye's face became no less confused, trying desperately to shove her ever-expanding knowledge into every hand movement, and then eventually end up writing down what she wanted to say, tears wicking at her incapability.
Skye never complained, though; Jemma loved her for that. Skye was always patient, always tried to understand, and always hugged Jemma tight no matter the clarity of the Brit's signs.
I don't like coffee, Skye signed.
Jemma shook her head. Me neither. Tea. British.
She checked her watch. I go… study now… with Professor May.
Skye smiled.
You… okay, Jemma signed. Friends… nice.
She adjusted her backpack. You want… dinner… later?
I'll text you, Skye signed. She grinned and leaned in, giving Jemma a hug. Bye.
Bye.
The coffee shop in the student union was bustling when Skye and Mr. Coulson entered. People were waving and finding seats, calling out orders for coffee or studying by the fountain in the corner; what seemed like an entire fraternity was reenacting a football game next to the flavored syrups. Skye was instantly overwhelmed, and she stopped abruptly at the door.
Mr. Coulson stepped in front of Skye. You okay?
People, Skye managed to sign. For some reason her heart had started pounding and she felt dizzy and woozy.
She shoved backwards, out of the coffee shop, leaning over, the cool October air rushing against her scalding face, closing her eyes against the visual noise.
Strong hands grasped hers and led her backwards to a bench. Skye opened her eyes to see an unfamiliar face – much darker and younger than Mr. Coulson's.
Before she had a chance to panic, his hands went up. Hi. You must be Skye. I'm Antoine Triplett, one of Jemma's friends. People call me Trip.
How did you know I'm Skye?
Trip smiled, and Skye found herself charmed by his easy expressions and calm demeanor. Girl in the coffee shop where we're supposed to meet, at the time we're supposed to meet, wearing hearing aids. Figured I'd take my chances.
He gestured to the gorgeous girl standing a few feet away. This is Bobbi, he signed. Her real name is Barbara, but if you call her that she kicks you in the… well, you don't have man parts, so I don't know where she'd kick you.
Having seen the gist of their conversation, Bobbi interjected, I don't kick girls. Girls understand why I don't want to be called Barbara.
She stuck out her hand, and she and Skye shook. As I'm sure Trip has said, I'm Bobbi. It's nice to meet you. Jemma told us that you're being bullied by one of Garrett's cave men. It's our pleasure to help stop that creep in his tracks.
You know Professor Garrett?
Girl, the whole campus knows Garrett, Trip answered.
He's a monster, Bobbi opined. Focused on creating a campus-wide swath of hulking blocks of stone with cotton candy for brains. Perfectly suited for careers in politics.
Bobbi used to date one of them, Trip put in. Now she's shacked up with the chimney sweep guy from Mary Poppins.
Skye looked over at Bobbi. You're dating Dick Van Dyke?
Trip's being silly, Bobbi said. No. My boyfriend happens to be British, and he has a Cockney accent.
Oh, yeah, I forgot that wouldn't mean much to you, Trip said. Sorry.
Skye smiled. She had a feeling she was going to enjoy spending time with Trip and Bobbi.
For the next few minutes they worked out their schedules. Mr. Coulson let them know his availability, and they worked around it; Skye had procured Jemma's schedule before the meeting. At last they had configured the schedules to everyone's satisfaction – and so that aside from a few minutes at the beginning and end of each day, Skye was never alone.
As Trip stowed his planner in his backpack, Skye put one hand out, getting the attention of both students and her interpreter.
Why would you want to do this for me? she asked.
Bobbi looked at Trip. The young man shrugged. Garrett's no friend of mine, he signed. Some of his decisions caused me to lose an internship I needed. And since he used to be my adviser, I got a chance to see him work up close. He screws over people who need his help, and he treats the privileged like they're royalty or something. I don't want any part of his way of thinking or working with others.
Bobbi waited until Trip was done, and then she signed, One of Garrett's prize students sexually assaulted me two years ago, and Garrett refused to believe me. Somehow he made it so the charges were dropped against his student, and even though that "prize" graduated, I want that man wiped off campus.
May was fairly certain that Jemma was staring at her. The young Brit was supposed to be practicing her half of the conversation they were about to work through, but a few seconds ago May had been conscious of her student's eyes, focused on her.
"Is there something I can help you with, Miss Simmons?" May asked without raising her head.
"No."
"If there is, all you need to do is ask," May said.
"Uh, no, it's all right."
For a few more moments they worked in silence. Then May could feel Jemma's eyes studying the top of her head.
The professor looked up. "Jemma, what is it?"
Jemma's hands, which had been attempting to sign "hockey," dropped into her lap. "What's the use?" she grumbled.
May closed the book she'd been paging through, stood up, came around her desk, and took a seat on the corner. "Are you finding this conversation difficult?"
"No," Jemma said. She closed her book and shoved it away from her.
"So this angst is related to…?"
"I'm never going to be good enough for her," Jemma said, and she slumped in her seat. "Why would she ever want to be with me? We don't speak the same language. Everything I say to her makes me sound like a child. And not a particularly bright one, either. I don't know why she hasn't just stopped hanging around me. We can't have a conversation like normal people, we…"
May cut her off. "You're not normal people, Jemma."
The professor stood and sat down closer to her student. "Skye has been deaf the majority of her life. Her two hands are her voice, and somehow she's louder than anyone I've ever heard. And she is smart, funny, complex, and wonderful. You finished several degrees before you even got here – sometimes I think you'd be more comfortable if we were using equations to communicate. And you are gentle, and kind, and thoughtful, and a fighter. You and Skye are together because something in the universe knew that you would work together to communicate. And maybe some things are bigger than communication."
Jemma wouldn't meet her eyes.
"Let me ask you something," May said. "Why are you here?"
Jemma's head jerked up. "I told you, I want to learn to sign."
"Right. I get that part," May said. "But why did you decide to learn sign? Why didn't you get Skye to go to speech therapy? Or to get a cochlear implant? Why did you want to learn her language, instead of the other way around? After all, you've been speaking just as long as she's been signing – it would be fair."
"Well, technically no," Jemma said. "I didn't speak until I was five. My parents thought I was mute. It was actually quite a dust-up – I underwent all these tests and ended up being seen by a famous psychiatrist and…"
"Jemma."
Jemma sighed. "Everything Skye does, she's being forced to do it in the hearing world. She's at a hearing college, everyone in her classes is hearing, every time she has to get a message across, it's to someone hearing who doesn't understand. I wanted her… I wanted her to be comfortable with me. I wanted to go the distance to meet her, instead of her constantly having to meet me."
A slow smile crossed May's face. "That's why you're here. Out of the hundreds of people Skye will see today, you are one of the few willing to go the distance to figure out what's on her mind."
May stood. "All right, now that we've sorted that out – let's work through this conversation. And by the way, the sign for hockey is with the palm up and the index finger… you were signing nude."
Later that night Skye and Jemma were huddled in a pile of blankets on the floor of Skye's room. Skye was watching a cooking show – Jemma had given up all hope of ever figuring out the different between them all – and Jemma was alternately reading through the next signing conversation she would have to show May and playing with bits of Skye's hair.
At last the show went to commercial and Skye turned to Jemma, smiling through the strands of hair Jemma was braiding, and raised her hands. I like your friends.
I like your smile, Jemma replied, letting go of the loose braid.
A whole sentence! Skye beamed. Your lessons with Professor May are really paying off.
Jemma watched and waited until she put together the message. I like Professor May.
Most people don't, Skye said.
Did you like my friends? T-r-i-p and B-o-b-b-i?
Skye nodded. They're going to take good care of me.
Me too, Jemma signed. She pushed her sign language textbook away and looked seriously at Skye.
What? Skye asked, raising her eyebrows.
Cuddle party? Jemma suggested.
Skye nodded, then held up a finger. First…
First what?
First tell me… are you working too much with signing? Skye leaned over and picked up her notebook. She wrote, You don't have to do this just for me.
Jemma waited until Skye was finished writing, then shook her head. After the conversation about hockey (fully clothed, thankfully), Jemma had asked May to show her a response to just this kind of question. I'm doing this for you, but I'm also doing this for me. I like you. I want to spend time with you. I want you to tell me things and I want to understand. It's for me, I promise.
Good, Skye replied, and she snuggled down next to Jemma, happier, calmer, and safer than she had been in a long time.
Jemma kissed the top of Skye's head, and went back to studying "Signs to help in an Emergency" while Skye focused on a Japanese man juggling bourbon bottles.
It wasn't perfect, but it was Jemma's kind of perfect.