A/N: So, in the last chapter I promised you Thanksgiving and an appearance from some other MCU friend. Well, sometimes we can't always get what we're promised. This came up to me and slapped me in the face and demanded to be written, so here it is. Thanksgiving and other shenanigans in the next chapter.
Thank you to everyone who reads, reviews, follows, and/or favorites. You guys make my day. Enjoy!
They somehow conned Pietro into giving them a ride back to the house. Jemma was happy about that, as the snow was falling faster and thicker, the flakes fat and wet. Snow was beautiful to watch, but it wasn't fun to slip and slide around, especially on uncertain terrain when one was attempting to sign or juggle a fuzzy dog. And Pietro was more than happy, since he seemed especially proud of his vehicle, a well-maintained red Jeep.
"You may to sit in the front seat," Pietro said grandly as he and Jemma got into the car.
"Oh, thank you," Jemma said.
"Is okay," Pietro said. "I do not let the mishka sit in my front seat."
"He seems a little… enthusiastic," Jemma agreed. "Always smiling."
"In Russia dogs do not smile," Pietro said.
"They don't smile in England either." Jemma looked out through the rapidly-darkening evening. "Um, where is Skye?"
"Talking to Wanda," Pietro answered. He looked over at Jemma. "You do not have to sit with me if you are uncomfortable."
Hurriedly Jemma turned to face him. "Oh, no, I'm not uncomfortable. I'm sorry. It's just… this whole place is new."
"And you like for to be with who is familiar," Pietro said, nodding.
"Yes," Jemma said, relieved that he understood.
"Is same," Pietro said. "Wanda is…"
He flushed, shrugging. "She is my world. We have been together always. Before we were born. Spent every day together, except for…"
Pietro was silent for a minute, and Jemma thought she could hear the snow falling outside. "Except for a time she was in hospital. Was very scary."
Jemma nodded. "Skye was in the hospital too. A different kind, I think, but it was still very frightening."
Pietro gripped the steering wheel. "She was not same when she came out."
"I understand," Jemma said. "For the first time, you were living in the same time but you weren't experiencing the same things in the same way."
"Yes. Yes, just like that. She had gone to places I could not go, seen the things I could not see, could not speak of those things to me. We were strangers in a way."
They were both quiet after that, Jemma looking out at the sky spiraling down flake by flake.
Wanda stomped on the floor and Skye turned around. "Hmm?"
"Mishka," Wanda informed her.
Skye looked around. Little Bear was burrowing his way into one of Wanda's supply boxes. Skye let out a short shriek and dove across the workshop to him. "Wittle bear!" she sang out. "Nuh-nuh-nuh, wittle bear!"
She scooped up the dog and yanked him from the box. Sorry, she signed to Wanda, and then she propped Little Bear upright in her arms, forcing the dog to rub his paw in a circular motion as though he was mimicking the sign.
"I am not mad," Wanda said.
Skye focused on her adopted sister's lips. Wanda could sign, but due to a combination of her medication's side effects and a hand injury that had happened in the Ukraine, her hands shook and her right hand couldn't form many of the shapes necessary to communicate as quickly as she wanted. Instead Wanda and Skye communicated in a cobbled-together way – Wanda spoke, Skye read her lips; if necessary Wanda wrote down her messages and Skye read them. Skye either signed or spoke, since Wanda could understand either of those methods.
I'm sorry, Skye signed. I know your work is important.
"Is fine," Wanda said. Something flitted across her face.
Skye stepped forward. You okay?
Wanda nodded. "I am tired," she said. "Also nightmares."
Bad dreams? Skye signed, making sure she had understood.
Wanda nodded.
It's the anniversary of… Skye trailed off.
Wanda nodded again.
I'm sorry, Skye signed, and she leaned forward and hugged Wanda. Between them, the dog wriggled and yipped.
The hug ended and Skye took a step back, knowing that sometimes Wanda needed more space. Does Pietro know?
"Is not likely to forget," Wanda said.
Have you done any… Skye stopped, unsure of how to finish the sentence. Lamely she indicated Wanda's wrists.
Wanda looked down. She wore thick leather cuff bracelets on both wrists, intricately embroidered with black thread on the black leather, detailed in delicate silver metal. She never took them off in front of anyone who wasn't in her family – meaning that only Skye, Pietro, and Summer had ever seen her wrists. They weren't Wanda's only scars, but they were the only ones she had to hide, as the rest were covered by her clothing.
Skye still had a hard time believing that someone could hurt Wanda so badly that she was driven to take a knife to herself. Even after all of her interactions with Grant Ward, Skye didn't ever want to hurt herself. She only wanted to get rid of Ward's presence in her life.
She wondered if it was how Katia had felt, at the end, unable to reach out and ask for help.
Wanda reached out and gently brought Skye's chin up. "You are looking at the past, solnishka."
I don't want to lose you, Skye signed, her hands shaking.
"You will not lose me," Wanda said firmly. "I am here for to stay."
Me too, Skye signed.
Wanda smiled and kissed Skye on the forehead. "I will see you tomorrow," she said. "For cake and parade and all the pie. Take your beautiful wonderful girl home."
You could come with us, Skye signed.
"What?"
And stay at the house. So no more nightmares.
"You are so kind," Wanda said. "I will talk to Pietro and see. I have much work to do."
You make a lot of people happy.
"So do you. Except for your girl, who is now hearing about Pietro's sport triumphs," Wanda said, and to make sure Skye understood, she signed brother and baseball and stuck out her tongue. "Now, go, go."
Skye laughed.
Back at the house Skye went into the dance studio to get all the news from Summer about the mysterious friend of Mr. Coulson's who had come in to save the day. Jemma and Little Bear sat down on the couch. The dog sat next to Jemma, looking at her as though she was the most interesting person on the planet.
"You're a smart dog," Jemma said. "And such a good dog."
Her phone rang in her cardigan pocket and she fished it out. "Hello?"
"Jemma? Oh, thank goodness! Where have you been?"
It was her mother, sounding suddenly and extremely British. And perhaps slightly drunk.
"Mum? I've been… here."
"I've been calling all afternoon, Jemma, so that can't be true. And where is 'here,' anyway?"
"I'm at Skye's house. You knew this. I told you I would be with Skye for Thanksgiving."
"Not a proper British holiday."
"No, it's not," Jemma said. She was getting confused and nervous. "Mum, is something wrong?"
"Oh, your father," her mother groaned. "He's on a business trip, and I can't stop thinking about that tart from his workplace."
"Mum, there's nothing going on with…" Jemma couldn't remember the name of the woman at her father's office.
"You don't know that!" her mother protested. "You're in America, you're miles away, how've you any idea what goes on here?"
Jemma wasn't sure what her mother wanted. "Mum, I have to go."
"Oh, and that's another thing, Jemma. For years you've studied at one university or another, and it's always been you and that Fitz boy. Now all I hear about is this girl."
"Skye. She has a name," Jemma pointed out.
"I'll tell you what, Jemma, no daughter of mine is going to be a lesbian."
"What?"
"All I hear from you is 'sign language' this and 'girlfriend' that and I'm telling you right now, there's no way you're going to be able to keep up a relationship with this girl…"
"Skye."
"… when you're back at Oxford next year."
"Mum!"
"You're coming home, Jemma. Your father and I don't approve of what you're doing and it's time it stopped."
Jemma felt like she'd been punched in the chest.
"It's disgusting, what you're doing. It's wrong."
Tears flooded Jemma's eyes, adding to the burn in her chest. "Mum, it's not like that."
"Experimentation is fine, but to put yourself in a relationship with a deaf girl? Where's the thought in that, my girl? You want someone normal, someone whole, and…"
A sudden rush of air replaced her mother's voice. Jemma looked up and through the blur of tears she saw Summer, firmly holding her phone. "I'm sorry, Jemma's occupied at the moment," Summer said. "Please don't call back until you're sober."
Summer turned the phone off and handed it back to Jemma, along with a box of Kleenex.
"Skye," Jemma managed to get out.
"Don't worry, she didn't hear any of that," Summer said.
Jemma found that she could laugh through her tears, and she hiccupped.
"Atta girl," Summer said. She sat down next to Jemma. "If you want to talk, I'm here. If you don't want to talk, I'm still here. Because I live here."
Jemma sniffled and wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry."
"No, I'm sorry that you had to listen to that garbage."
"She's not… she's not always like that."
"Some people just don't know how much their words can hurt."
"It's not her words. It's… the feelings behind them. Like she doesn't even want to know me anymore." Jemma was still reeling from the conversation, as though something vital had been ripped away from her and she was bleeding out on the floor.
"Words don't make you who you are," Summer said. "It doesn't matter to me what you call yourself, how you identify yourself. You are Jemma, and you are Skye's. So far, that's all I need to know."
"She sounded like it would be just the worst decision, if I wanted to call myself a lesbian." Jemma put one hand to her forehead.
Summer scooped the dog off the couch and put him in Jemma's lap. "He's like a bad mood magnet," she said. "Just love on him, and everything bad just slips away."
Little Bear looked up expectantly at Jemma. For the first time, he wasn't smiling; he was waiting patiently, waiting to see what she needed.
Jemma found herself wobbling into tears again, and she pulled Little Bear to her, cuddling him almost like a baby, loving his weight and his warmth.
"He's magic," Summer said.
For a few minutes they sat in silence, Summer letting Jemma cry, the snow still falling outside the windows.
Then Summer spoke. "Did you know that Skye's never put a word to it? She's never wanted a label. She'd rather focus on all of the other stuff that comes with loving people."
"It's not the label itself that hurts," Jemma said. "It's… it's that my mother thinks that she can reduce everything I am into a single word, into a single term that defines my existence to her from here on out. One word and she pulls the rug out from under me."
The doorbell rang, and overhead the lights flashed – on-off, on-off. Jemma jerked her head up.
"It's okay," Summer said. "It's how Skye knows someone's at the door."
"It's brilliant," Jemma said, tears drying on her face.
Summer squeezed her hand. "No matter who you are, Jemma Simmons, you're family now. You will always have a place here."
"Thank you," Jemma whispered.
She looked down at Little Bear as Summer got up to get the door. "And thank you, wittle bear," she said. It was strange, but Skye's baby voice made talking to the dog that much sweeter.
Little Bear beamed, and licked her face.
When Summer returned the house was suddenly full of noise and people. Trip spotted Jemma first and scooped her off the couch, hugging her tightly. "Hey, girl," he greeted her.
"Glad to see you all survived the trip," Jemma said once she could breathe. She noticed that Maria and Melinda were wearing matching stocking caps, the sort that couples bought on trips to "vacation destinations," assuming they would lose them or forget about them but which inevitably got brought out when the cold weather hit – fuzzy fleece in red and yellow and green and blue, with tassels and spiky points.
"Sliding 'round like a bloody pinwheel," Hunter muttered from behind Trip. "Like being caught in a carnival ride."
"And that is why we tried to leave you at the rest stop," Bobbi said, smacking him gently on the back of his head.
"She-devil."
"Whiner."
"And on that note…" Melinda stepped forward and handed Summer a pie. "Phil got a little lonely, and apparently in Phil's world, lonely equals pie."
"What a wonderful equation," Summer said. "Um, how many pies are there?"
"Well, I've got one," Maria offered. "And Natasha has one. And Phil's got two more in the van."
"Five pies?" Summer's eyes went wide. "That is a lot of pie."
"We don't have to have anything else for dinner tomorrow," Trip suggested.
"I like your attitude," Summer said. "Come on in, come on in."
The van was unloaded and sandwiches were produced for dinner. After the motley crew enjoyed their meal, Summer and Skye found blankets and sleeping bags and pillows and everyone crowded into the dance studio.
It's like a big sleepover, Skye signed to Jemma.
"Hmm? Yeah, I guess." Jemma's attention was elsewhere, still hearing the voice of her mother on the other end of the phone line.
Hands, Skye ordered, and pointed. Sign, please.
Sorry, Jemma signed.
You okay?
Just… tired.
Okay.
Eventually Jemma found her center and she found her smile and everyone ended up playing Trivial Pursuit in the center of the dance studio.
"Hardly a fair fight," Maria pointed out as Phil attempted to interpret for everyone. "Natasha has eight college degrees."
"Damn, girl," Trip said.
"She also doesn't sleep," Melinda said. "She's not exactly a role model."
"Melinda is just jealous because she can't beat me," Natasha said, laughing. "A college professor taking on the self-proclaimed prankster of the think tank. I might have eight degrees, but shit all I did with them."
She tossed the dice and watched as they tumbled over the board. "Besides, there's some things college can't teach you."
Jemma leaned to one side and squeezed Skye's hand. I'm sorry, she signed, turning her body so they could have what basically amounted to a private conversation.
What? Why?
In as few signs as possible, Jemma described the phone call from her mother. As she signed Skye's mouth fell open, and she froze.
Why would she say something like that? That's completely offensive!
I know, Jemma signed. Not all of it may have been her idea. Liquor is a powerful mistress.
Oh, Jemma, Skye signed, sighing. She scooted closer and threw her arms around Jemma. Nobody's a more powerful mistress than me.
Jemma smiled into Skye's shoulder. This was what home felt like.
When the phone rang near midnight, the group was sprawled into a variety of different positions. Mr. Coulson, Natasha, Trip, Bobbi, and Hunter were playing Cards Against Humanity, and from the yelling that kept occurring, Bobbi was winning. Melinda and Maria were looking at pictures of Summer's dance classes. Summer had gone into the kitchen and returned with snacks, then sat behind Melinda and Maria, offering insights into each photograph.
Skye and Jemma stayed wrapped up in their nest of sleeping bags and blanket, fingers looped together, not saying much. Finally Skye looked over to see that Jemma had fallen into an uneasy sleep.
The deaf girl sat up, seeing the members of her close-knit circle all interacting so splendidly. She loved it.
It was a feeling that quickly dissipated when she saw Summer walking towards her.
What is it? Skye asked, trying to keep fear from rising up her throat.
Summer indicated the cordless phone in her hand. That was Pietro, she signed.
Yeah?
Someone took Wanda.
Well, you're all the sadists who wanted to know what would happen after Grant ran from Fury.
Should have listened to the man, Ward.