A/N: I love this story. Can I say that? Is that okay to say?

And I love that you all love it too. Thanks so much to everyone who reads/reviews/favorites/follows/etc. You make my day.

Some wonderful fluff in this chapter, because in the next chapter I'm pretty sure I have to do a complete 180 and hurt everyone. Including my readers. It's not personal, I swear.

Also, I'm on tumblr and I have no idea how to do that, but if you'd like to hang out and tumbl with me, I'm memorysdaughter. Hope to see you there!

Enjoy!

"You were what?" Hunter's voice rose dramatically, pinching off into a very feminine falsetto at the end.

"We were engaged." Bobbi sighed.

"You were?" Natasha sounded nearly as hysterical as Hunter.

Clint looked at Bobbi. "We didn't think it was a big deal."

"You were with… parka guy?" Hunter demanded. "Or should I just call him fruit basket?"

"I like Fruit Basket," Jemma murmured to him.

"Fine," Hunter said. "Me too."

He turned back to Bobbi. "And what does Fruit Basket have that I don't?"

"His name is Clint," Bobbi said, giving Hunter a look that suggested he was crazy, "and it was a long time ago."

"It was three years ago," Clint said.

"Three years?" Hunter and Natasha yelped together.

Mr. Coulson had forgotten completely about interpreting the conversation, his mouth wide open as he watched the sparring match.

Skye leaned in, letting the dog lick Mr. Coulson's ear. "Wittle bear says, sign or die."

Her interpreter jerked upright. "Good God!"

Skye laughed and the dog grinned at Mr. Coulson.

"Honestly, you're such a child," Summer muttered, and she stomped on the floor.

Skye's head jerked up and Clint turned towards her.

"You were engaged to a deaf guy?" Hunter demanded of Bobbi.

"Hearing impaired," Clint and Bobbi said at the same time.

Hunter threw up his hands.

"Are you really that insecure that you can't believe I had other relationships before…" Bobbi cut herself off. "Never mind. I know you are."

Melinda had thankfully taken up the interpreting, and Skye grinned as she slid onto Jemma's lap. Little Bear happy nuzzled up against Skye's neck.

"I had other relationships before," Hunter said. "None of them involved an engagement."

Bobbi rolled her eyes. "It wasn't ever going to happen."

"It wasn't?" Clint asked.

"Not now, Fruit Basket!" Hunter hollered.

"We got engaged after my dad had his stroke. You know Papa Morse…"

"I don't, actually – he's dead," Hunter interrupted.

"He wanted me to be married, and at the time Clint and I had been going out for about a year, so we… we got engaged. It made him happy. It was never going to actually happen."

Clint looked horrified. "I thought it would!"

"You faked an engagement?" Natasha demanded.

"To make a dying man happy!" Bobbi waved her hands.

Hunter looked from Bobbi to Clint to Natasha. "So what you're saying is… you lied to your father and to Fruit Basket?"

Bobbi groaned.

"Is that what happened?" Natasha asked.

"I guess, technically, yes," Bobbi sighed.

"Huh," Hunter said. He looked over at Clint, standing forlornly in his parka next to the gigantic fruit basket. "Hey, Fruit Basket, you wanna go drink on the porch?"

"Yes," Clint said. "I would like that."

Hunter got up, grabbing the bottle of wine from the middle of the table, and strode towards the door, yanking his coat from the coat hooks.

"Lance, do you want to talk about this?" Bobbi asked.

"No," Hunter answered. "Fruit Basket and I are going to have a drink."

Clint gave Natasha a helpless look before following Hunter out the door.

In the silence that followed, everyone still around the table sent furious looks at each other, trying to figure out who would speak first.

As it turned out, no one spoke – everyone collapsed into laughter.

Come on. I want you to see my room, Skye signed to Jemma.

Can we sleep there?

Slow down, missy, Skye signed mischievously.

Jemma went bright red. Sorry. I meant that I'm very tired and the dance studio is fine but the floor is very hard and everyone snores.

"Uh-huh," Skye said, a sly smile on her face. I'm sure that's what you meant.

She tugged Jemma down the hall and up the stairs, Little Bear following them as though he was just one of the girls.

The world outside was still snowy and magical; Jemma could see it as they passed the windows. Inside it was warm and snug, and the lights spread orangey glows across the walls. Skye led her past two rooms with closed doors, to a closed door at the end of the hall.

I cleaned it up yesterday, she signed. Sort of.

I like you, I'm sure I'll like your room, Jemma replied.

I'm sure your room is perfect and orderly, Skye signed.

Jemma had to think about this. She couldn't really remember the room she'd left behind in England. She knew it had been mostly decorated by her mother, and there were very few hints of her personality in it. Maybe.

Skye smiled and kissed her on the nose.

That was new, Jemma said.

I'm trying new things, Skye replied.

She opened the door and turned on the strands of Christmas lights that decorated parts of her room. They twinkled and glowed like little stars, and Skye loved how they looked. She also loved that they left enough light to sign by.

She sat down on her bed, pulling her legs up as she watched Jemma take in her room.

There wasn't a whole lot to take in – a bed, the squishy armchair in the corner where Skye liked to curl up with a book or her computer, big bookshelf stuffed full of books and knickknacks, a series of framed photos of Little Bear on the wall, and, strangely enough, two dolls, sitting on a little table in the corner next to the closet.

Who are they? Jemma asked.

They were my first friends, Skye answered.

Jemma moved a little closer to the dolls. One was a baby doll, wearing soft pink pajamas as it beamed up at Jemma. The other was a little girl doll in a red-and-white outfit, perfect from her red rain-hat and red raincoat down to her red-and-white-striped tights and tiny red rain boots.

Jemma reached out and touched the little girl doll's hand.

"I'm not a doll!" came a growly voice - Skye's.

Jemma jumped back and Skye giggled.

Jemma whirled around. What's wrong with you?!

I wasn't loved enough as a child, Skye replied.

Is that so? Jemma stuck her tongue out.

She leapt onto the bed, grabbing Skye. Skye let out a strangled laugh-yell as Jemma tickled her mercilessly.

When neither of them could breathe, they lay on their backs, looking up at the stars on the ceiling. Jemma leaned over and took Skye's hand in hers, then began spelling into it.

I liked Thanksgiving today.

"Me too," Skye said.

I like our family.

"I like that you called them ours."

I like Little Bear.

"Wittle Bear? Mumma Jemma likes you…" Skye sing-songed.

The dog, clearly having heard his name, leapt up on the bed and pounced on Skye's stomach.

"Unh!" Skye let out, and jerked upright.

Jemma laughed.

"Wittle bear, no," Skye said, but the fuzzy love muffin jumped up and licked her face.

Eventually they stopped giggling and Skye lay back down on the bed. Little Bear curled up next to her.

"Skye?" Jemma asked.

Skye felt vibrations in her chest and turned towards Jemma. "Hmm?"

You sleepy?

Skye nodded.

Me too.

They lay in silence for a while, the Christmas lights twinkling overhead. At last Jemma sat up and looked over. Skye was peacefully asleep, her breathing slow and even. Little Bear was curled up by her head, and her fingers were gently wound in the dog's fur.

Jemma smiled. She loved all sides of Skye – happy bouncy Skye, contemplative Skye, focused and obsessive Skye, even sad and confused Skye – but there was something special about sleeping Skye. Skye was peaceful and innocent and beautiful, and Jemma knew it was creepy, but she liked watching Skye sleep. She liked sleeping next to Skye. She liked when Skye fell asleep on her bed while they watched a cooking show. She liked all of it.

So she did what she always did when Skye fell asleep – she brushed Skye's hair back from her face, took Skye's right hearing aid out, gently turned Skye's head and took her left hearing aid out, opened both so the batteries were out and the aids wouldn't whistle, and then kissed Skye on the forehead. She put the hearing aids on the table with the dolls, turned the doll in the rain coat to the wall (no sense in taking chances), and unplugged the Christmas lights.

And then Jemma did what she always did after all that – she curled up next to Skye, pulled the covers up over them, linked their fingers together, and listened to Skye's in-and-out ocean breathing until she drifted into sleep.

The group drifted apart, somewhat, mostly to play video games in the living room, leaving Maria, Melinda, Mr. Coulson, and Summer at the table together, lingering over pie and coffee.

"We'll be eating pie until next Thanksgiving," Maria said.

"Not the way I eat," Mr. Coulson said, and he took another bite of pumpkin pie.

Summer laughed. "Me too."

"Are you kidding?" Maria scoffed. "You're a twig!"

"Honey," Melinda said firmly. "She's a ballerina."

Summer smiled.

"You'll have to excuse her," Melinda said. "She doesn't really know how to hold her wine."

"Huh." Maria guffawed.

Melinda tipped Maria's head towards her and kissed it. "You're my bad drunk."

"What about your significant other, Mr. Coulson?" Summer asked as she slivered off another bite of pie.

"Audrey? She's not much of a drinker," Mr. Coulson answered. "Which is surprising, because her parents drink like it's going out of style."

"No, not that," Summer said. "What's she like?"

"A bitch," Maria muttered.

Melinda pinched her.

"She's… reserved," Mr. Coulson said. "And some people can mistake that for bitchiness."

"That was diplomatic," Summer said.

"Well, I know Maria," Mr. Coulson said. "And that's the wine talking."

Melinda laughed.

"Audrey's very passionate about her work," Mr. Coulson went on. "She plays cello in a community orchestra and she gives lessons to children."

"That's wonderful," Summer said. "Children are amazing to work with."

"It seems like you've been very successful," Melinda agreed. "I loved seeing all those photos of your students in their costumes."

Summer smiled. "I think that's what I like about all of you – your passion."

Mr. Coulson licked Cool Whip off his fork. "Passion for pie!"

"You're so devoted to your work," Summer went on. "In ways that go above and beyond."

"Thank you," Melinda said quietly, and she leaned forward and put her hand on Summer's.

"Skye is… she's my entire world," Summer said, feeling oddly choked up. "She almost died when she was a kid, and then everything in our lives sorta fell apart – we lost our parents, and then we lost our grandparents, and then it was just the two of us… until Wanda and Pietro came."

"You've done an amazing job with Skye," Melinda said.

"And with Wanda and Pietro," Mr. Coulson agreed. "They're good kids. All of them."

Summer looked over at Wanda and Pietro, who were on the floor in the living room with Trip, Bobbi, and Natasha, playing Candy Land. "They deserve so much more than I can give them."

"Hmm, I don't know about that," Melinda said. She was gently stroking Maria's hair; Maria had fallen asleep against her shoulder. "When I watch Skye and Jemma, they seem like they don't need anything else. And I don't know Wanda and Pietro very well, but the way they are together makes me think they don't need anything either."

Summer lowered her head, trying very hard not to cry.

For a moment they watched the Candy Land game while Phil ate pie. Then Summer brought her head up. "I have a favor to ask," she said, "even though you've basically given Skye the best possible outcome from what has been a very stressful semester."

"Of course," Mr. Coulson said.

"Oh, no, not you," Summer said. "I'm sorry, but I need a woman's expertise."

Melinda looked over at Phil amusedly.

"Specifically a woman who likes other women…" Summer shook her head. "Never mind. Jemma's mother called her yesterday and was saying some very unkind things about her relationship with Skye, and I don't think Jemma knew how to handle it."

"Oh," Melinda said. "No, I'm sure she didn't."

She shifted her position and Maria muttered something.

"Skye and Jemma don't talk very much about their relationship," Melinda went on. "They talk a lot about each other, but very little about what their relationship is. Maybe it's time they figure that out."

"I just want Jemma to feel as though she's not alone in this," Summer said. "Skye will be fine. She just bebops through life, loves people and her dog, and doesn't need to put a definition to it. But Jemma…"

"She's a scientist," Melinda said, nodding. "I completely understand."

A burst of laughter floated over from the Candy Land game.

"Come on, girl," Trip said, shaking his head.

"Is not my fault!" Wanda protested, tucking her hair behind her ears as she blushed furiously. "Is fault of gum drop sugar man!"

"All the way back to the candy cane bridge!" Natasha crowed. "Nice move!"

The front door opened and Hunter and Clint came in. Hunter's arm was around Clint's shoulders and he was singing: "Ohhh, who lives in a pineapple under the sea?"

"Sponge! Bob! Square! Pants!" Clint replied.

"Hey, hey, drunk parade," Phil said, getting up. "What's going on?"

Hunter furrowed his brow and looked Phil up and down. "Me an' Fruit Basket…"

He hiccupped.

"Me an' Fruit Basket are gonna go build a couch fort!"

"Yeah we are!" Clint said with obvious relish. "Couch fort bros!"

"The spare bedroom's down the hall on the right," Summer said. "You can use that couch for your fort."

"Many thanks, fair wench!" Hunter saluted, and he and Clint headed off down the hall. "Absorbent and yellow and porous is he…"

Their voices trailed off.

"That was nice of you," Phil said to Summer.

"We've been meaning to get that couch replaced for about a year," Summer said. "So if they break it, or throw up on it, it won't break my heart. More pie, Mr. Coulson?"

"I can't say no to pretty girls offering me pie," Phil groaned.

"Don't eat too much," Melinda said, grinning. "You won't fit in the couch fort."

Skye jerked awake from a nightmare about Grant Ward's hands around her throat. "No!"

Next to her, Little Bear stirred and whined at her, nuzzling up against her.

Skye wrapped her arms around the dog and he settled in against her neck. She twined her fingers into his fuzzy fur and he panted against her throat.

Slowly she felt her heart rate slow. Little Bear drowsed against her.

Skye realized Jemma was still in the room with her, sprawled out on the other half of her bed. Jemma was on her back, one hand thrown over her head, the other splayed over her belly, her face peaceful and worriless.

"Jemma," Skye said.

If Jemma said anything, Skye couldn't hear it. She lay back down, pressing her ear against Jemma's chest.

"Jemma," she said again.

This time she heard a responding vibration, like a buzz in her ear.

"Jemma, I'm scared."

The buzz was shorter, higher-pitched.

"'Cept when I'm with you."

Skye closed her eyes, Little Bear snuggled up between her and Jemma, and she fell back asleep feeling the muffled thump-and-hum of Jemma's heart, of the blood flowing through Jemma's veins, an ocean that would carry Grant Ward away, dash him against rocks, and leave him for the sharks.

It was a comforting way to chase the darkness away, but Skye was pretty sure any comfort method that involved Jemma and Little Bear would have sufficed.

And the snow fell outside, little featherweight sparkles drifting down like a big frozen blanket.