A/N: As always, I'm so grateful for all the reviews and favorites on this story. You are an amazing group of readers!
In this we find out more about the Maximoff twins, and someone surprising makes a surprise appearance at the end of the chapter. Enjoy!
The snow was falling a little heavier as Jemma and Skye headed away from the house. Little Bear was in a backpack-esque device on Skye's back, the dog's curly head bobbing around, trying to see everything.
Snowflakes in Skye's hair and eyelashes glinted like tiny diamonds in the late afternoon light, and Jemma laughed as she grabbed Skye's hands and twirled the two of them around on the path.
Skye giggled and the dog barked, giving Jemma one of his doggy smiles.
Turn around and look, Skye signed once they'd stopped spinning.
Obediently Jemma turned, looking back towards the house. The home Summer and Skye shared was nestled cozily into a copse of pine trees, all looking like some sort of delicious confection now that they were dusted with snow. In the middle of the forest was the little house, lights glowing from the windows. Jemma couldn't see it from the path, but she knew the long driveway leading up from the road was tucked behind the house. The whole area was surrounded by tall pines, more of them branching off from the thicket and making a delicious-smelling canopy overhead.
It's beautiful, she signed.
That's the right answer, Skye informed her with a sly smile. You can stay.
They continued down the path, footsteps crunching in the snow.
Tell me more about the twins, Jemma requested.
Skye swung the backpack to her front and scooped the dog out. "Wuv wittle bear," she informed him, and snuggled him up against her. The dog licked her face happily, and then she put him back into the backpack. They're interesting, she signed at last.
A lot of people are interesting, Jemma replied.
Yeah, not like them, Skye signed. Summer and I have been on our own for years – not our whole lives, though. They've been on their own much longer. Since they were five, six maybe.
Where are their parents?
Skye shrugged. Somewhere in the collapse of the Soviet Union. They lived in one of those republics that went under almost as soon as it was liberated, and their parents were lost in that time period. Pietro thinks his mother's still alive, but in a forced labor camp or something. Wanda knows their parents are both gone.
How did they end up here?
A preacher and his wife "rescued" them from an orphanage in the Ukraine, Skye answered, giving heavy sarcastic weight to her sign of "rescued." From the ages of eight to fourteen, they lived with those people. It wasn't the best situation.
The dog barked and Jemma nuzzled his fuzzy head. And then what?
Then Wanda got sick, and the preacher's wife realized she wasn't going to get any better. That whole "love your neighbor" thing went right out the window. So the preacher and his wife put them into the system, and they were there until they were eighteen. After that… Skye's signing trailed off. After that someone adopted them out of the system.
I thought you could only stay in the system until your eighteenth birthday, Jemma interjected.
That's true, Skye agreed. But they were willing to wait, because the system was in process of finding them someone.
She gave Jemma a smile.
Well, who was it? Jemma asked. This is like a TV movie. I have to know what happened!
Skye laughed. Fine, fine, she signed, and went on. Summer adopted them.
What?!
I know it sounds unbelievable, Skye signed. But Summer's always been good at taking care of people, and at that time she was twenty-five and had a stable income and enough room in the house to take them in.
So she was twenty-five, you were fifteen, and they were eighteen? Jemma let snowflakes fall onto her tongue. It was easier do to that when her mouth wasn't moving, just her hands.
Skye nodded.
And that wasn't weird?
Skye shook her head. Summer told them she didn't want to be their mother or their parent. She felt bad that their lives had been so up and down, that they'd never really had a permanent place or a home to call their own. She knew she couldn't ever replace their parents and she didn't want to try.
The path dipped down and Jemma could hear running water coming closer.
Summer helped them build the house out here. Pietro's always been good with his hands, with building stuff, so Summer got in touch with some of her dance kids' parents and they all pitched in.
Are they your siblings? Jemma asked.
Skye bit her lip as she thought about this. Yes, she said after a bit. They're my best friends and my siblings, but I don't know that we've ever used the term "siblings." Sometimes it feels like the four of us are the only ones in the world, especially when we're out here.
The path bottomed out and Jemma saw a swift-moving creek flowing under a gently-curved wooden bridge. "It's beautiful," she said aloud, and the dog barked in Skye's backpack.
This whole place is, Skye agreed, having read Jemma's lips.
Now I'm even more excited to meet these two, Jemma signed. They somehow adjusted to a new country, a new language, and then being tossed around like a hot potato – and then they were somehow able to find a permanent place to stay and people to stay there with.
It wasn't always easy, Skye signed as they crossed the bridge. At first they couldn't figure out why we wanted them, why we were willing to put our lives on the line for them. And I couldn't blame them. Everything they'd ever had was taken away from them. So Summer told me that we had to make sure that our attitude towards them had to be one of permanence. We had to tell them they were here for good.
Jemma gave Skye a small smile. And did they figure that out?
Skye nodded. In her pocket she felt her phone start vibrating against her hip, and she pulled it out, seeing a text message from Summer.
There's a man standing down by the mailboxes.
Skye showed the phone to Jemma, and both girls slowed in the middle of the path.
Jemma almost immediately felt sick. A quick look at Skye's face showed that her girlfriend felt the same way.
Who is it? Skye typed, her fingers shaking.
I don't know. He's been watching the house since you guys left.
"Tell her to call the police," Jemma blurted out.
Skye looked worried. Jemma says you should call the cops.
I don't know what they can do,came Summer's response. He's not doing anything – just standing there. And the road is technically public property.
Skye looked uncertain. What do you want us to do?
Stay with the twins, Summer's reply read. I'll let you know when it's safe to come back.
Skye's knuckles on the phone case went white. I don't want you to do that.
We don't have a lot of options.
We could come back.
The response was almost immediate: NO.
She's right, Jemma signed. We're safer together out here.
I know, but… Skye's fingers trailed off in midair. She didn't want to admit that she was terrified for her sister.
I'll either text you or call the twins in a half hour, the next text read.
Skye couldn't really argue with any of that. Fine.
As soon as Summer's text messages stopped coming, Skye turned to Jemma. We have to do something.
We are doing something, Jemma answered.
Something more.
Jemma gave Skye a serious look. The dog bobbing over Skye's shoulder was a strange but comforting counterpoint to the girl's pinched and nervous face. What do you have in mind?
Hold my phone.
Within five minutes Skye had Mr. Coulson up on the phone screen. Jemma held the device steady so student and interpreter could sign.
I need you to figure out if Grant Ward is still on campus, Skye informed her interpreter.
Mr. Coulson's face furrowed. Why?
There's a man watching my house.
Get out of there!
We are out of there, Skye replied. We're on our way to the twins' house. But Summer's still there and I need to do something.
Mr. Coulson hesitated. There is one thing I could do, he signed after a pause. I could call in a favor.
Anything. Please.
I have an… acquaintance who could be at your home in twenty minutes. He's sort of a professional when it comes to surveillance, Mr. Coulson signed. And he's also a professional in what happens when you catch someone while doing that surveillance.
Is he in the Mafia?
No.
Skye looked over at Jemma, who had been listening to Mr. Coulson's side of the conversation (since he spoke while signing) and watching Skye's.
Mr. Coulson's voice rang out from the phone. "Thoughts, Jemma?"
"We need to do something," Jemma agreed, her voice sounding wobbly in the cold air.
"Okay," Mr. Coulson said. "I'll let him know."
Jemma turned the phone and they both watched Mr. Coulson sign. I can get up there tomorrow, he told them.
No, that's okay, Skye signed. You probably have plans.
We do, but they're the kind of plans that can come on the road, Mr. Coulson replied. Just tell your sister to have some extra plates, and we'll bring some pie.
Skye smiled.
And Skye?
"Hmmm?" Skye answered vocally.
That is the most adorable dog I've ever seen.
The smile on Skye's face grew. Damn right it is.
After informing Summer of Mr. Coulson's plan, the girls continued down the path towards a small house settled in a clearing between the pine trees. Like the home Skye and Summer shared, the dwelling before them was snug and cozy, warm light from its windows bathing the snow in a golden glow. In the spot where Summer's dance studio was located, a similar building resembling a small pole barn had been tacked onto the rear of the house.
Wait, one more thing, Jemma signed as they approached.
"Hmm?"
You said Wanda was sick, when they were still living with the preacher's family.
Skye nodded.
Did she get better?
It's more complicated than that, Skye said. She was…
She hesitated, and then signed something long and complicated that Jemma couldn't understand.
Brain… what? Jemma asked, hanging onto the bits of the phrase she'd understood.
Skye bit her lip and tried again. She was… hearing talking.
In her head?
Skye nodded. And one of the preacher's sons told her it was the devil, because she was bad. And then he…
That was followed by another series of signs. Skye stopped in midair and shook her hands as though trying to clear the words from them. He sex-fight, she signed at last, having no other way to describe the act that would tell Jemma what she meant. He hurt Wanda. Nobody believed her except for Pietro, and so she thought she was crazy. She tried to kill herself.
Jemma gasped. I'm so sorry. Where is that horrible boy now?
Skye shrugged. He's probably out on a golf course somewhere. There were no witnesses and it was his word against Wanda's, and they had concrete evidence from doctors that she was crazy. She couldn't press charges against him. It was like it had never happened, except to her and Pietro.
She squeezed Jemma's hand. It's one reason I love them so much. Everything they face, they do together, with usually no resources and no one behind them – but they do it because they love each other. It doesn't matter who's with them or who's not, they're going to get things done. They're amazing people.
A friendly yell from further below startled Jemma. She had just gotten used to the silence of the forest path, having almost forgotten Mr. Coulson's voice from his FaceTime call earlier. As though agreeing with her, Little Bear began barking.
Before Jemma could get used to the friendly voice calling to them, a young man with tousled blond hair sprinted up the path towards them. He moved like a gazelle, somehow his movements unhampered by the snow and the incline of the hill. He was waving his arms, a gigantic smile on his face. As he grew closer Jemma could hear that his happy yelps were actually just one word – "Preevyet! Preevyet!"
The young man swooped Skye up into his arms and twirled her around. In the backpack, Little Bear wriggled and barked; Skye squealed with delight and giggled madly. "Put me down!" she ordered, though it was difficult to make out the words through her laughter.
At last the boy returned both girl and dog to the ground, and squeezed Skye tightly in a hug. "It's good to see you," he said, his voice just a touch too loud, as he signed. His signs were big and sloppy, but as Jemma had learned, everyone signed differently. Regional "accents" and the signer's personality often showed up, much as they did in spoken conversation.
This is Jemma, Skye signed. Jemma, this is Pietro.
"Preevyet," the blond said with a grin, and he stuck out his hand for Jemma to shake. "That's 'hello' in Russian. And I am Pietro."
"Do you speak Russian?" Jemma asked, still a little in awe of his quick movements and bouncy personality.
"For most of my life, yes. Drove our foster parents… uhh… the crazy. Now it is just me and my sister, and we speak Russian at home most of time."
Pietro scooped Little Bear out of Skye's backpack. "And where have you been, mishka?"
Little Bear gave Pietro a doggy grin and licked the boy's face.
We came to borrow a Bundt pan, Skye informed him as they started walking towards the house. Summer wants to make coffee cake for tomorrow morning.
"As long as she makes cake she can borrow anything in house," Pietro informed the girls, signing as he spoke. "Come on, come on."
He led them through the falling snow and into the front hall of the little house. It was warm and smelled like apples and spices. Everything was organized and tidy; there was no clutter and each item seemed to have a specific place. Even the decorations on the walls were carefully placed and well-chosen for each area.
Pietro moved ahead of them, yelling something in Russian, obviously trying to inform his sister of their guests. Jemma turned to Skye, signing about her thoughts on the house.
They've never really had a place that was just theirs, Skye agreed, putting Little Bear on the floor. This to them represents freedom and safety, and they go to a great deal of trouble to make sure it's exactly what they want. Also, Pietro loves to move furniture, so they do that too.
I saw cars in the driveway. Do they work? Sorry, that sounded rude. Jemma flushed.
Skye grinned and kissed Jemma on the cheek. It wasn't that rude. You don't know them very well yet, that's all. Yes, they both work. Pietro teaches gym at the high school and he coaches the track team. Wanda is an artist and her studio's out back.
What kind of art?
It's difficult to explain, Skye signed. She builds…
Pietro burst back into the hallway. "Come, come, do not stand there!" he exhorted them. "She is working but she would like to see you both!"
You can just see for yourself, Skye signed as Pietro bopped out of the hall again.
Is he always this excited?
Always, Skye confirmed.
They followed the grinning blond boy through the living room and kitchen – again, both spotless and smelling like some sort of heavenly apple orchard – and then down a short ramp that led into the pole barn structure Jemma had seen from the outside.
Pietro waved his arms. "Mladshaya sestra!" he called. "Visitors!"
For a long few minutes Jemma couldn't quite understand what she was looking at. The workshop was clean and smelled like fresh-cut wood, and it was liberally lined with filing cabinets and tool boxes and all manner of shelves, each carefully labeled. A long workbench in the middle of the room was filled with what looked like a sculpture of some sort – a tall clear plastic tube filled with water and surrounded by rope lights, twinkling and glowing and glittering.
On the far side of the glowy tube was a dark-haired young woman in a black T-shirt and jeans. Her hands were outstretched towards the tube as though she was trying to convince it to do something through the power of only her fingertips. As Jemma got closer, though, she could see a series of circuit boards laid out on the table, and she realized the girl's fingertips were actually holding a board in one hand while the other operated a soldering gun.
The circuit board still smoking somewhat, the girl looked up at Pietro's entrance. "I told you, am busy!" she growled at him. "And you are seven minutes older, not…"
Her eyes caught sight of Skye and Little Bear, and she dropped the circuit board with a clatter and bolted over to them. In another minute Skye was swept up into a hug while Little Bear barked happily at their feet.
Hi, hi! the girl signed frantically. "Hi, solnishka!"
"Hi," Skye replied, laughing too hard to sign.
"And this must be Jemma!" The dark-haired girl stuck her hand out. "I am Wanda."
"Hello," Jemma said, and they shook hands.
"We call once a week and all I hear from Skye is 'beautiful girl,' 'funny girl,' 'wonderful girl,'" Wanda said. "No one else talks! Not even Pietro."
"And I talk all of time," Pietro agreed.
"Pleased to meet you," Jemma said, smiling. "Your work is… it's beautiful."
Wanda looked over her shoulder at the workbench behind her. "Oh? Is not finished yet."
"Still, it's lovely," Jemma said. "Is it for an exhibition?"
"You mean museum? No."
It's for something even better, Skye signed, having followed most of their conversation. Wanda makes equipment for special facilities. They're called "sensory rooms" and mostly they're used with kids with disabilities. Lights, fiber optics, mirrors, things that spin or make music – they all help kids calm down and stimulate their senses in non-threatening ways. She should show you pictures of her installations. They're wonderful.
"I will show pictures," Wanda agreed as Skye finished. "First must finish soldering. Then pictures and cocoa."
She looked over her shoulder at her brother, who was innocently reaching for something on the workbench. "Pietro! Cocoa!" she barked.
The young man shot into action, zipping out of the workshop and back into the house. Skye turned to Jemma, her hands raised as though she was about to say something, but they were interrupted again by the sound of a vibrating phone.
It's Summer, Skye informed Jemma.
I spoke with Mr. Coulson. One of his former colleagues is some sort of detective, and he's here running surveillance on the guy in the road. He asked me not to call the police until he was finished with his investigation. He seems very nice and Mr. Coulson vouched for him repeatedly. Stay with the twins for a while and I'll let you know when things have been dealt with.
Okay, Skye responded. Are you safe?
I am now, was Summer's answer. This friend of Mr. Coulson's is gigantic and obviously uses that to his advantage, although he's just a teddy bear once you get to know him.
Let us know if you need anything, Skye typed.
Don't forget the Bundt pan.
Twenty minutes later, the four were snug on the sofa with large mugs of coffee and a variety of lumpy cookies (that despite their appearance tasted amazing). Little Bear was in heaven, going back and forth between people who adored him and kept slipping him food.
Skye leaned her head onto Jemma's shoulder contentedly as they watched the twins argue in English and Russian. Just like perfect, she signed slowly and drowsily, a smile on her face.
Just like perfect, Jemma agreed.
Grant Ward lowered his binoculars. He couldn't figure out how, but at some point in the afternoon Skye and that infuriating British do-gooder had gotten out of the house, throwing his plans all in the shitter. It was impossible to tell where they'd gone, since the house was so carefully inserted into a copse of woods that they might have merely vanished into thin air; he'd never know.
He refrained from swearing. Garrett didn't like a young man who cursed, and though Grant slipped up every now and then, he was really trying to get better at it. He wanted Garrett to consider him trustworthy, and a great way to earn Garrett's trust was to follow Garrett's rules.
He raised the binoculars again. Now there was no movement from inside the house. Some lights were on, and based on the pattern of steam rising from the external vents, someone was doing a load of laundry, but he couldn't see anyone.
Grant was so focused on the house and its lack of occupants that he didn't hear the footsteps until they were directly behind him. Then it was too late, for he was hearing the voice that accompanied those footsteps.
"Mr. Grant Ward? We've got some things to discuss."
Grant turned and saw a tall, broad-shouldered man dressed completely in black standing behind him. The older man had the bearing of someone who'd seen it all, done it all, and remained unimpressed by it all, though that might have just been the patch over his left eye.
"Um, I'm not…" Grant found himself stuttering in the brisk November air. "I'm from the… meter company…?"
"Sure you are, son," the man replied. "And I represent the Lollipop Guild."
Without another word he leaned forward and took the binoculars from Grant's shaking hands. "Only two reasons a guy like you needs binoculars out here, and you don't seem much like the type for bird-watching. So why don't you come with me and we'll talk all about your increasingly shady motives."
Grant couldn't speak, couldn't move.
"Cat got your tongue?" his visitor inquired.
"Who… who are you?" Grant managed to get out.
The one-eyed man grinned. "Nicholas J. Fury, Private Eye."
Translations (phonetical Russian)
preevyet - hello
mishka - little bear
mladshaya sestra - little sister
solnishka - little sun (Wanda's nickname for Skye)