A/N: Thanks to everyone who waited so patiently for another chapter for this story. I've got more planned out now, so expect more regular updates. Also, if you've got a way you'd like to see Grant Ward get his comeuppance in the end, please let me know... it'll probably be better than what I've got planned now.
And thank you to everyone who reads, reviews, adds this story to their favorites/story alerts or adds me as an author to their favorites. It means a lot to me. Enjoy!
First they watched Mary Poppins, Skye eagerly leaning forward on her elbows as the characters danced in an imaginary world. During a slow moment she rocked back to look at Jemma and signed, Do they talk like you do?
Jemma nodded. A little different, but yes.
You're my little Mary Poppins, Skye signed triumphantly, and grinned.
After the movie was over, Skye started making bracelets out of small rubber bands and Jemma rolled hunks of Play-Doh between her palms. She was thinking about Skye's reaction to Fitz's invention, and about her reaction to Skye's reaction. At first she'd been horrified – why wouldn't Skye want to make communication between them as easy as possible?
Then she'd remembered a conversation she'd had with Professor May. Jemma had decided to learn sign language, not to force Skye into speaking. That decision had solidified the tone of their relationship. Jemma was the outsider in Skye's world; it was her job to learn the customs and the language, not the other way around. And no matter how brilliant Fitz was, he had never met Skye in person. He'd never seen the sparkle in her eyes when Jemma signed something perfectly, never held her hand during a seizure, never realized that being deaf was intrinsically as much a part of her whole self as Jemma's British accent was of hers.
Skye didn't want the gloves, and Jemma had to respect her decision.
Jemma heard clapping, and she looked up at Skye. What?
Getting your attention, Skye signed sassily. What are you thinking about so hard?
Why would you say hard?
You crushed that Play-Doh.
Jemma looked down to see green clay smeared over both of her palms. She laughed. Thinking about how pretty you are.
Skye stuck her tongue out. Liar.
She held up a blue and green rubber band bracelet, woven in a spiral pattern.
You made that? That looks difficult.
There's an instruction manual, Skye signed, and in case Jemma hadn't understood, she held up the booklet.
Jemma took the bracelet and slipped it over her wrist. Thank you.
She put away the clay and washed her hands, then turned back to Skye. Do you want to go for a walk?
It was nearly midnight, and Jemma had no idea what would be going on in the hospital, but she could use a stretch and for some reason, she was feeling oddly restless.
Okay, Skye agreed. Find my shoes, please.
Jemma rooted around in the corner cupboard and found only a pair of socks with rubber treads on the bottom. Then she remembered the bag of Skye's clothes and hesitated. She didn't necessarily want to reach into the bag with the vomit- and blood-encrusted garments, but she was positive that was where Skye's boots were.
What is it? Skye asked, coming up behind Jemma, putting her hand on the other girl's shoulder.
Mutely Jemma held out the bag.
"Oh," Skye said, and there was a twist of sorrow and disappointment in that one syllable. Sorry, she signed.
Not your fault, Jemma replied.
Skye shrugged. Kinda my fault.
She took the bag from Jemma and took her boots out. She gave one last glance at the clothes inside it, then wrapped them in the plastic bag and chucked it in the trash can. Don't need those, she informed Jemma. Too many bad memories. Wouldn't wear them again anyway.
Skye wiped her boots off with a wet paper towel, put them on, and Jemma tied her tennis shoes a bit tighter. Jemma took her cardigan from her duffel bag and put it on, and then looked at Skye. Your head okay to walk?
Skye reached up and gently touched the gauze wrapped around her head and the trailing braid of wires that stretched down to the monitor attached to her pajama pants. Feels okay. Feels like a fuzzy hat. Do I look like Lady Gaga?
Even Lady Gaga hasn't tried this, Jemma signed.
Skye grinned.
They walked down the corridor slowly, Skye's fingers reaching down to brush Jemma's, sometimes accidentally tracing the rubber band bracelet. At the elevator Jemma pushed the "down" button and they waited, still not signing anything.
Are you hungry? Jemma asked finally. The coffee shop will be closed, but there's some…
She faltered on the words "vending machine," and settled for "food construction."
Skye gave her an impish smile and showed her: Vending machine.
You knew what I meant?
Of course I knew what you meant, Skye replied. I understand you because you keep trying.
The elevator arrived and they rode it down to the first floor. The coffee shop and the gift shop were closed, but the main corridor also included the emergency room entrances, so there were lots of interesting people milling around. Jemma's people-watching interest kicked in, her eyes roaming over the tired, the injured, and the sick.
Skye tapped her on the inside of the wrist. You want to help them, don't you?
It took Jemma by surprise, and she had to think for a minute. I want to help everyone, she signed at last.
Does it ever hurt because you can't?
Again Jemma was surprised, and this time she had to sit down, balancing on the small wall surrounding the fountain in the main corridor. I know I can't help everyone. So I try to start small. I help those around me, and I wait to help everyone else.
Skye smiled and sat down next to her. You have helped everyone. Me, Trip, Bobbi, Mr. Coulson, Professor May, my sister… you're amazing, Jemma.
Jemma shook her head. I'm just me.
And that's all you have to be. Skye squeezed Jemma's hand.
I want to do more. I want to get rid of Grant Ward from your life.
We'll get there, Skye replied. I know we will.
A woman in a muumuu and a teenage boy in a bunny costume walked by, and for a long moment the girls just stared in their wake.
Glad you're not wearing a bunny costume, Skye informed Jemma.
Me too. They're a little scary, Jemma replied.
After about twenty minutes they went back upstairs and broke out some of the snacks from Mr. Coulson's bag – Snapple and pretzels. Skye wanted to play Scrabble and Jemma wanted to play Candy Land, and since the table in the room was too small, they re-located to the empty family lounge, where there was a table big enough to set out the games. Skye set up Scrabble and looked seriously at Jemma, who had a mouthful of pretzels.
What? Jemma asked.
Skye smiled. We'll play Scrabble, but I want you to fingerspell and sign whatever word you put down.
Oh! Impossible! Jemma protested. Some of the words I play in Scrabble I don't even know the sign for, and you won't know the sign for. Impossible words!
Fine, fine, fingerspell them.
O-K, Jemma signed, grinning smugly.
From one until three-thirty they played board games. Jemma won at Scrabble, using all seven of her tiles to spell out adjunct at the very edge of the board. Skye won their round of Candy Land, but only because Jemma kept having to go back – it seemed every time she drew a card, it was telling her to go back a space or seven.
"Auggh!" Jemma said as Skye made it all the way to the Candy Kingdom. I'm done!
Sore loser, Skye signed with a grin.
They went back to Skye's room and watched Singin' in the Rain. Jemma wondered why Mr. Coulson had brought two musical movies for them to watch, and signed as much to Skye.
He's a softy, Skye replied. He wants to keep us innocent and sweet. Also, wouldn't it be weird if he showed up with something like Bloody Death House Four?
Jemma had to agree that it would definitely change her thoughts on Mr. Coulson, and that she was fairly certain there was no movie called Bloody Death House Four.
Fitz would know, she told Skye. He loves horror films.
Skye grinned.
Now what? Jemma asked, her own face breaking into a grin.
Look at you signing "movies," Skye signed. Remember when you used to ask me what my favorite "candle" was?
Never did get an answer to that question, Jemma pointed out.
They did some crafts then, simultaneously watching the Food Network. Jemma colored and used the glitter glue, surprised at how relaxing it was. Skye made herself a bracelet that matched Jemma's, and then about five more, clearly enjoying the little rubber bands.
Around six o'clock Jemma felt herself start to get drowsy. Skye pinched her on the knee several times, whenever she saw Jemma's eyes drooping closed, but finally Jemma had to stand up and splash cold water on her face.
I don't want to say it, but you're a weakling, Skye said. We've still got more than twelve hours to go.
Tiredly Jemma pulled out her phone.
Who are you calling?
Texting, Jemma corrected. And Bobbi and Trip. I know you have to stay up, but honestly I'm so tired things are getting wobbly. Maybe if they stay for a few hours, I can crash. Would that be okay?
Skye nodded.
And also, I'm not a weakling, Jemma went on. You've been asleep for the last two days.
Fine, fine, Skye signed, and she laughed.
That laugh shook away some of Jemma's tiredness, and she texted Bobbi and Trip with a newfound vigor. Bobbi responded nearly immediately, saying that she had to finish her morning run and have a shower, then she could be at the hospital around seven o'clock.
Think you can last one more hour? Bobbi's text read.
Jemma looked over at Skye, who was so focused on an episode of "Iron Chef America" that her mouth was hanging open. For this girl, anything, she replied.
See you at seven.
Together they made it through the episode of "Iron Chef America" – secret ingredient: "CURRY!" – and Jemma managed to stay awake, though it required more cold water to the face and several rounds of jumping jacks that made Skye laugh so hard she nearly fell off the bed.
At exactly seven o'clock, Bobbi knocked on the door and came in, somehow looking radiant despite the early hour.
"How do you do it?" Jemma asked.
"Do what?"
"You look amazing," Jemma said. "You look like you were smacked with the pretty stick."
Bobbi laughed.
"At seven in the morning on a good day, I look like I fell out of a magazine called 'Boring Clothes, Serviceable Shoes.'"
"I'd read that magazine," Bobbi offered.
"Oh, please." Jemma rolled her eyes.
"We can argue about your future magazine appearances later," Bobbi said. "Go ahead and get some sleep. I lined Trip up after me, and he'll be here from noon until four, so feel free to sleep as late as you want."
Jemma wasn't sure how she was going to sleep with all the chaos, all the Iron Chefs and glitter glue and the beeps and blips of Skye's monitoring equipment, but once she made up her little bed on the fold-out couch, she found that she couldn't keep her eyes open long enough to sign "good night" to Skye. She saw Bobbi signing and Skye laughing, and it was the last thing she knew before sleep reached up with its grabby hands and took her down into darkness.