A/N: So I'm just blazing ahead with this story... I have the next few chapters planned out but not written. The nice weather makes me so happy and, for some reason, inspired.
In this chapter I make a horrible HYDRA reference - it's cleverly hidden, so see if you can spot it.
Thanks to all my readers and reviewers. Enjoy!
Over the next three days, Skye had three more seizures. The first happened during her programming class, while Trip was with her. Luckily she was seated, and he was right next to her. He caught her and lowered her to the floor, timed the seizure, and waited for her to come around. He didn't say anything out of the ordinary, and he didn't insist that she call anyone, including an ambulance, but Skye could tell that he was worried by the taut line in his forehead.
The second one hit her while she was walking with Bobbi, and Skye first tripped, then hit the ground. It was raining, and that was the first thing Skye knew when she came to. Bobbi was standing over her, as were about four other people, none of whom Skye had ever seen before, and the rain was tapping gently at Skye's face, the way Jemma sometimes did when they watched TV or did homework together.
The world swam around her, and Skye felt woozy and nauseous. She wanted to throw up, to cry, to run away from her fractured body. Her heart rate was through the roof and she wanted Jemma to hold her. But Jemma was at class, and would be until later that night. Skye had to let Bobbi help her up from the ground, and together they hobbled into the library, where Skye sank into a chair while Bobbi put Band-Aids on her scraped knees and elbows.
Despite all that, somehow when she was reunited with Jemma that night, Skye didn't say anything. Didn't mention that she was two for two, didn't mention that she was frightened out of her mind. Seizures were a once-a-year thing at most, kept at bay by the daily anti-epileptics she swallowed each morning. To have four in less than a week was terrifying.
She couldn't find the courage to tell Jemma, just let the other girl wrap her arms around her as they watched some cooking show on TV, hoping against hope that her strange streak of seizures was over.
The next morning, Skye reached for her hearing aids, saw her fingertips miss the dresser top, and then she remembered nothing.
When she came to on the floor of her dorm room, her head ached and her mouth was sour with the taste of vomit. Somehow she'd managed to roll to one side, so her airway was relatively clear, but as she tried to get up, she saw blood on her hands and got immediately dizzy again. Gentle pressure to her face helped to ascertain that the blood had come from her nose and forehead, which she'd apparently whacked on the dresser on the way down.
A slight roll to one side and Skye could almost reach her phone, which had fallen to the floor with her. She let out a moan as she realized it was still out of her reach, and inch by tortured inch she moved across the now-disgusting floor towards it.
What seemed like hours later, she managed to get her hand around the phone and pulled it in close to her body. She had to close her eyes and wait for the room to stop spinning before she could get the energy to type out a desperate text message to Jemma.
Seizure. Fell. Dorm.
It was all she had the strength for, and as she closed her eyes and waited for Jemma to find her, she hoped it would be enough.
Jemma's phone vibrated in her pocket as her lab instructor – Trace – highlighted some of the things he'd be looking for in their lab reports. It was hard to take Trace seriously, because he wore Hawaiian-print shorts, tank tops, and puka shell necklaces in every kind of weather, and because he had frosted blond hair, and because he tended to use the word "dude" in almost every sentence. It was a bit jarring to hear something like "Complete the equations before adding the precipitates, dude."
Bobbi must have had super-human hearing, because she nudged Jemma. "Your phone."
"I know. It's probably my mother," Jemma whispered back.
She waited until Trace turned back to the interactive white board, drawing with a green pen to show them the type of diagram he wanted in the lab report, then slipped the phone out of her pocket.
The text message was just three words, but each one made Jemma want to vomit.
Seizure. Fell. Dorm.
The world got very close and the room got very hot, and Jemma felt her knees give way. Trip was around the side of the table in an instant, and he lowered her onto her lab stool.
"What is it?" he whispered.
"Skye," Jemma breathed, and showed him the text message. "I have to… I have to go."
Trip flicked his gaze up to Bobbi. "It's Skye," he murmured. "Do you think we should call an ambulance?"
"No," Jemma said immediately. "She doesn't want that."
Trace finished the diagram, drew a smiley face with wild hair next to it, and told the class to get to work. As he went back to his desk, Jemma forced herself to take a deep breath. "I'll go," she said. "And if it requires an ambulance, I'll call one."
"Jemma, this is getting serious," Bobbi said. "This is her… what, fourth? People just don't seize like that, out of control, unless something is wrong."
"Go," Trip said. "When you get there, use that rational science brain and assess the situation. Think with your head first, not your heart."
His normally-positive face was serious and grave. "If that assessment suggests that Skye needs to go to the emergency room, give me a call. I'll get my grandmother's car and I can be at Castell Hall in less than five minutes."
Jemma could feel the panic rising in her chest again, and as her numb hands shoved things into her backpack, she thought of Fitz. Fitz would know what to do in this situation; he knew what to do in every situation. He'd be logical. He'd think with his head first.
She mumbled an excuse to Trace, who gave her a laid-back wave and a "Later, dude," and took a final hand-squeeze from Trip before she bolted from the laboratory.
It was a short walk from the labs to Castell Hall, and Jemma ran. She dodged other pedestrians and bicyclists, weaving through crowds of touring students, her breath ragged in her chest. She sprinted through the doors of the dorm and up the stairs to the second floor. She rounded the corner and flew down the hallway, counting doorways faster than her brain could process.
At Skye's door she fumbled in her pocket for the key she'd been given just a week before. They'd swapped their spare keys, with the unspoken understanding that they trusted one another in their private living spaces. It took four tries, but finally Jemma was able to get the key into the lock with her shaking hands, turn it, and force her way into the room.
What she saw made her lightheaded. Skye was sprawled on the floor, blood on her face and hands, next to a puddle of vomit. Her phone was tightly gripped by those awful bloody fingers, and Jemma's heart stopped beating until she could plainly see the rise and fall of Skye's chest.
Jemma tore off her backpack and knelt next to Skye, reaching out and taking the girl's pale wrist in her hand. Carefully she took Skye's pulse, noting that it was slow, but steady.
At her touch Skye opened her eyes, and looked up at Jemma with confusion. You… came, she signed, her free hand moving jerkily.
Of course, Jemma signed. Why wouldn't I?
Brain… fuzzy, Skye got out. Her hand faltered in the air, and she sucked in a croupy breath. J…
Her eyes closed, and Jemma swore. "Skye," she said, somehow her brain forgetting that the girl on the floor was not only deaf but not even wearing hearing aids. "Skye, wake up."
She shook Skye's shoulder, but there was no response.
Later, when she looked back on it, things seemed to go back to their normal tempo, but after Skye went unresponsive, Jemma felt as though time had slowed to a crawl. She remembered dialing 911, remembered spilling out some sort of explanation to the kind woman on the other end of the line, remembered the paramedics coming into the room with their stretcher and equipment. She could plainly see them working on Skye, feeling every thud of her own heartbeat while they suctioned Skye's mouth and tried to get her oxygen saturation back up to normal. She couldn't focus on the ride to the hospital – she was busy dialing Trip, Bobbi, Professor May, and Mr. Coulson, and explaining to the medical personnel that someone would arrive to interpret for Skye. And when they arrived, she called Skye's sister, who said she'd leave for the hospital immediately.
And then Jemma was alone in the emergency room waiting area, holding her backpack and her phone and Skye's phone and Skye's hearing aids and the bottle of anti-seizure meds she'd taken from Skye's dresser. She had never felt so empty or alone, not even when she watched Fitz's plane depart for France.
Fitz.
His eager Scottish face appeared on her phone screen almost immediately. "Jems, what a surprise!"
"Fitz," she managed to get out. "Fitz, it's terrible."
"A terrible surprise? No, Jems, it's wonderful."
And that was when Jemma burst into tears.
Bobbi touched Jemma's shoulder gently. "Can I get you anything?" the blonde asked.
Jemma shook her head.
"Did they let you in to see her yet?"
Jemma shook her head again. "Her sister's in there now," she whispered. "And Professor May. Mr. Coulson had to go home."
Bobbi sat down next to Jemma, and squeezed the Brit's hand. "I know this sounds trite, but things are going to be okay."
"I'm so scared," Jemma whispered.
"I know," Bobbi said.
"Yesterday I thought our biggest threat was Grant Ward, not some sort of monster that lives in Skye's body," Jemma said. "Yesterday I thought my biggest worry was being unable to fully express myself in sign language, and today I'd give anything for that to be the biggest issue in front of me."
Bobbi put her arm around Jemma. "You did everything right, Jemma. You got Skye here so they could help her. That's what we can focus on now."
Jemma leaned into the embrace. "Was… was Trip here?" she asked. She thought she had seen her lab partner, but she couldn't be sure. Everything was a blur.
Bobbi nodded. "And he noticed something interesting. That pill bottle you had?"
"Skye's anti-seizure medication?"
"Yes. He noticed that the description of the pill on the bottle was different from the shape and color of the pill in the bottle. He and Hunter went back to the lab. They're going to test it and find out what it is," Bobbi said.
A lightning bolt of thought struck Jemma. "You don't think… no, that's crazy."
"What?"
"Grant Ward," Jemma said. "He doesn't have any way to switch medications. His major is hydroponics, not pharmaceuticals."
"It was probably just a pharmacy mistake," Bobbi said. "But it could explain the increase in seizures."
"Maybe Garrett's the connection," Jemma went on, barely hearing Bobbi. "He's an advisor, he's got students in all sorts of disciplines. Or even alumni. He's only been the head of the hydroponics faculty for a few years – before that he was teaching something else."
"Jemma," Bobbi said firmly, "until we know for sure, we can't accuse Grant or Garrett of anything."
"That has to be it," Jemma said, looking up at Bobbi, her eyes wild. "He's doing this."
"I agree that Grant Ward is going to get what's coming to him," Bobbi said. "But accusing him of something like this is dangerous – it could even be a crime. Right now we focus on Skye, and we wait for Trip and Hunter to figure out what the pills were. If it turns out to be sabotage – which I highly doubt – then we can go guns blazing after Grant and Garrett."
The knot of rage was back in Jemma's chest, boiling just under her sternum. It didn't matter what Bobbi said. Jemma knew who was going to pay for this.
Skye felt something in her head – a sharp pain. It was accompanied by a beam of light, and she winced, opening her eyes.
A strange man was in front of her, waving a penlight in her face. His mouth was moving as he pulled her eyelids up, and she jerked her head back, away from him.
Her eyes wild, she tried to push away from the man with the light, but her hands were clumsy and there was something choking her. Her hands flew up and she tried to sign, tried to speak.
Professor May moved into her line of sight and signed, Skye, you need to calm down.
Wrong, Skye signed. Wrong. Room.
She didn't know where she was, but she knew it wasn't her dorm room. She knew these feelings weren't right – the pain, the light, the choking.
You have a breathing tube down your throat, May continued. If you pull it out, there could be trauma to your throat. I promise I will explain everything, but you need to relax.
Skye felt the fight sag out of her.
The strange man, who Skye could now see was a doctor, said something, and May translated. You had another seizure in the ambulance. They were worried because your oxygen levels were very low and your heart was beating very slowly. Right now you have an IV in your hand giving you medication, and they're going to keep you on the breathing machine overnight to monitor you.
Skye got one hand up, the one without the IV. Jemma? she fingerspelled.
She's here, May replied. And so is your sister. They had her wait in the hallway while Dr. Connelly finished his examination.
When they let Summer in, that was when Skye started to cry. The breathing machine went crazy and her heart monitor went crazy and all of the medical personnel ordered Skye to calm down, but she couldn't. Things hurt and Skye had never felt so battered.
Summer got up onto the bed next to her immediately and cradled Skye in her arms. The sisters rocked back and forth until Skye's heartbeat slowed to match Summer's, and the nurses stopped glaring at them.
I love you, Skye signed blearily.
I love you too, Summer replied.
Jemma, Skye fingerspelled again.
I talked to her. She's here. They want you to sleep now, okay? When you wake up…
The rest of Summer's sentence was never translated into hand movements. It was as though the mere suggestion of sleep had flooded Skye's veins with the idea, and her eyes drooped closed.
Jemma, she managed to spell for the last time as the world dropped away from her.