A/N: This started out as fluff and then it stopped being fluff and I'm horrible. And in the next chapter it's just going to get worse.
Thanks to everyone who reads/reviews/favorites/follows - you're amazing fans.
Enjoy?
All too soon Thanksgiving break was over, and normally Skye would have been extremely disappointed to leave Summer and Little Bear and Wanda and Pietro and their cozy house and everything she loved about being home, but she had something wonderful to look forward to: Jemma had finally planned the date Skye had asked her for in the hospital – a no-voices date. And any excuse to put on slightly dressy clothes and forget about homework (and Grant Ward) was all right with Skye.
A festival? Skye asked as they walked to the bus stop in the snow.
Jemma nodded. High school art party, she signed.
Craft fair, Skye informed her, slowing the signs down so Jemma could learn them.
Craft fair, Jemma repeated.
They reached the bus stop and stood, waiting, along with a few other travelers. Skye caught Jemma looking at her and smiling. Something amusing?
You're pretty was Jemma's response.
Skye looked down at her outfit. It wasn't anything special – burgundy top, black pants, brown jacket, and a hat that Summer had forced upon her as they were getting out at the dorms. The hat was green and hand-knitted and Skye was fairly certain one of Summer's dance students had a grandmother with too much free time. It's just clothes.
I wasn't talking about the clothes, Jemma answered.
You know, you're a lot sassier than most people would expect from looking at you.
Oh really?
Really.
Skye looked up and down the street. She didn't see the bus, so she pulled a pad of sticky notes and a pen from her purse.
What are you doing? Jemma asked.
Telling the bus driver that we need a transfer to route one.
I can do that.
How? Skye asked mischievously. You can't use your voice.
Yeah, but I can use my ears, and then I can show him with my finger that we're transferring to route one.
"Hmm," Skye vocalized, and pretended to be considering something. I think that's cheating.
It's a date!
Well, you're not cheating on me. Just on the principle of the date, Skye replied. She carefully wrote her message on the top sticky note: "Hi! We need two transfers to route one. Thank you!"
Cheerful, Jemma signed sarcastically when Skye held it up for her approval.
You better be nice to me.
Or what?
Or no kisses.
You wouldn't.
Yeah, I wouldn't. Kiss you.
Jemma laughed.
The bus showed up a few minutes later and they clambered aboard, scanning their student bus passes. Skye held her note out to the bus driver. It took him a minute to read it, but then he smiled and punched in the transfer request. Two transfer tickets popped out of the dispenser. Skye took them and gave the driver a thumbs up.
He returned it, still smiling, and they took their seats as the bus pulled away from the curb.
The bus ride to the main terminal took about ten minutes. Skye took most of the time to study the other passengers, mostly Jemma. She wondered how Jemma was dealing with not being able to speak. It was an entirely different world, not having anyone around you who spoke your language. It was the reason Skye was so grateful for Mr. Coulson (Phil, she reminded herself) and for Professor May (Melinda – gee, that one was still weird), and for everyone who had brushed up on their sign in order to become her friend. It was lonely being alone, which was the most redundantly true statement Skye could come up with.
Jemma tapped her on the shoulder and Skye turned towards her.
I have a surprise for you, Jemma signed.
More surprising than a high school craft fair?
Oh, shush.
That's the point of this date. Skye's eyes twinkled merrily.
Fine, then I just won't tell you. Jemma pretended to pout.
Fine. I don't care.
Skye turned to look out the window.
Jemma lasted all of a minute and a half before she tapped Skye on the shoulder. You're impossible.
Impossibly beautiful.
Oh, stop.
Skye grinned. You know you love it.
I love you, and you'd better be grateful.
Or what?
Am I ever going to be able to tell you about the surprise?
Go ahead, Skye signed.
We're having lunch with someone you like very much.
Amy Poehler?
Jemma rolled her eyes. Come on.
Tina Fey?
Jemma shook her head.
The girl who plays Luna Lovegood?
It's Melinda and Maria. Jemma interrupted the torrent of Skye's frantic spelling of celebrity names before the entire conversation went off the tracks.
What? Why?
Are you disappointed?
No, it's just that on normal dates you don't generally eat with your professor and her… her whatever Maria is.
This isn't a normal date.
Point taken.
Also, I had nothing to do with it. She called me the other day and asked if we'd join her and Maria for lunch, and then she said the magic words.
"Please"?
No, "I'll buy."
Have I told you lately that I love you?
The bus transfer at the main terminal went smoothly, and in another ten minutes they were exiting the bus across the street from Laura J. Pope High School. The parking lot was packed.
Apparently craft fairs are a bigger thing than I previously realized, Jemma signed.
Skye nodded at the obviously true statement. Something strange had come over her face.
What?
Skye shook her head. Nothing.
No, tell me.
Skye looked down at her boots.
Jemma gently brought Skye's chin up so her girlfriend could see her hands. Is this related to the way you've started avoiding crowded places?
Skye bit her lip.
It's okay to be afraid, Jemma said.
Skye sighed, her breath white steam in the cold air. I'm not afraid. I'm mad. Mad that this asshole has taken everything I love away from me. I don't want to go anywhere, I don't want to see anyone, I don't want to be in new places or crowded places. I'm always about five minutes away from texting Summer and spending the rest of my life on my couch holding my dog. December first is coming and I wish it would just get here already so I can get over it.
Jemma squeezed her hand. I know, and I hate that he's done this to you. You're so much more than this.
Skye laughed bitterly. You didn't know me before Grant Ward was in my life, Jemma. You have no idea.
I think I do. Jemma reached into her purse and pulled out a manila envelope. Summer gave these to me when we were home for Thanksgiving.
Skye tilted her head, half from curiosity as to the envelope's contents and half from Jemma's use of the sign "home."
I asked her what you were like when you were younger, Jemma went on. And she was more than happy to show me.
She handed the envelope to Skye.
Skye undid the metal clasp at the top and tipped the contents into her hand. It was a small stack of photographs. She flipped through them, overwhelmed by the memories that washed over her.
Baby Skye, freshly home from the hospital, pulling herself up to stand on the side of her crib, head thrown back, laughing.
Toddler Skye on the back porch, pushing a plastic shopping cart with her beloved baby doll in it, signing to the doll with one hand.
Three-year-old Skye sitting in an uncomfortable-looking chair, her eyes bright in what Summer always referred to as her "smart baby look," being fitted with her very first, very tiny, very pink, hearing aids.
Five-year-old Skye at her birthday party, a party hat slightly lopsided on her head.
Ten-year-old Skye wearing a red velvet dress and dancing with an elderly man, her beloved grandfather, Valentine's decorations in the background.
Twelve-year-old Skye at Christmas, sitting with her legs akimbo, feet clad in fuzzy fleece socks, impatiently grinning at the camera.
Fifteen-year-old Skye with Little Bear on one of his first days home, both girl and dog looking as though they'd found their soulmates.
Sixteen-year-old Skye holding hands with Wanda and Pietro at Disney World, smiles on all three faces.
With tears in her eyes Skye looked up at Jemma.
That's the girl I know, Jemma signed simply.
Skye threw her arms around Jemma and for a long series of moments she cried into Jemma's shoulder, Jemma patting her back.
At last Skye leaned back, wiping her eyes.
When I'm with you, she signed hesitantly, I feel like I remember how to be that girl.
Jemma smiled. I know.
Skye slid the photos back into the envelope.
I don't want you to be afraid to tell me things like this, Jemma signed. We're in this together, remember?
I know, Skye replied. It's just… this is new for me. I'm so used to having to take on the world by myself that sometimes I forget there's people on my team now.
She sighed and squared her shoulders and smiled at Jemma. Let's go. I've got twenty dollars in my wallet crying out to be spent on something tacky for Summer for Christmas.
That's the sprit, Jemma signed, and hand-in-hand they walked into the high school in search of crafts.
The craft fair was mostly full of what Skye would describe as "completely normal people" – soccer moms and bored teenagers whose soccer moms had roped them into coming, a few punk/goth/emo kids who looked completely out-of-place in their black-and-chains ensembles next to the crocheted toilet paper roll covers, smartly-dressed middle-aged women, some swishy men, and a smattering of adorable elderly people in holiday sweatshirts.
The crafts were just as varied. A woman who reminded Skye of Professor Trelawney from the Harry Potter movies was selling goat milk soaps (they all smelled delicious). A man in suspenders and a baseball cap was running a roasted nut stand (they smelled delicious and, as Jemma reported, tasted that way too). A pair of men, obviously identical twins, wearing identical business suits were near the back of the gym, juggling. It puzzled Skye as to what they were doing at a craft fair, but it made more sense when one of them handed her a business card, advertising "Bob and Rob's Circus School: Your skills can be identical to ours!"
Skye saw stained glass nightlights, jewelry, fudge, and a hundred different things made out of plastic canvas. There were Christmas ornaments, bejeweled menorahs, holiday hair accessories, and one booth that seemed to be selling nothing but doll clothes.
She found Jemma standing a few feet away from a booth displaying adorable stuffed animals, a confused look on her face.
What's the issue? Skye signed.
I can't figure out how to tell him I want a monkey, Jemma signed, frustrated. I want to buy it for Fitz.
Skye smiled.
Stop that! You know how to deal with these kinds of things and I don't.
Welcome to my life, Skye signed. She pulled her sticky notes out of her purse and handed them and a pen to Jemma.
Really? Jemma looked frightened.
Skye nodded.
Jemma sighed and wrote a message on the top sticky note. She approached the vendor and handed it to him. He read it, brows furrowed, and then nodded. He held his hand out, the other pointing to the paper and pen. Jemma gave them to him and he wrote something short.
Skye stepped forward to see what he'd written: "What color?"
Jemma smiled and wrote "red" on the bottom of the note.
Satisfied that Jemma could handle the rest of the transaction, Skye drifted away to look at a booth of maple syrup candy. That sounded like the kind of thing Pietro would like, so Skye bought him some, shaped like maple leaves.
The vendor two booths over was selling intricate leather bracelets, and Skye's thoughts immediately went to Wanda, who had always worn the same black-and-silver bracelets since Skye had known her. She carefully picked out two matching bracelets, dark red like Wanda's favorite jacket, with silver medallions decorated with the Tree of Life and surrounded by Celtic knot-work.
She still hadn't found anything for Summer, but was immediately drawn to a booth featuring appliqued sweatshirts. It was a tradition for Skye and Summer to exchange one tacky gift at Christmas, and then pretend they liked it for as long as they could. Wanda and Pietro were completely confused by this tradition, and though the sisters had tried to explain it to them, it turned out it was the kind of thing that was inexplicable.
Poinsettias, bells, angels, snowmen… there were so many choices. All of them were heavily dusted in glitter, sequins, and beads.
Skye was considering one with three happy snowmen standing in a copse of pine trees when a prickly feeling rose up on the back of her neck.
She whirled around, scanning the crowd immediately. Nausea twisted her stomach and she felt hot. There were people everywhere and she couldn't spot Jemma anywhere.
"No!" burst from her mouth before she could stop it.
Skye was dizzy and sick and her entire body felt like it was out of her control. The gym was spinning around her and everything was too bright.
She gripped the inside of her wrist, digging her fingernails into the soft skin there. It was something she found herself doing more and more often as her anxiety levels skyrocketed. The pain gave her something else to focus on.
It didn't work; her knees gave out and she fell to the floor.
She whimpered, bringing her hands up to her head. Her heart was racing and the gym tilted in her vision, going blurry.
"Jemma?" she pleaded.
One of the ladies manning the booth knelt down next to her. Skye couldn't focus on her lips, couldn't understand what she was saying, could only feel the vibrations from her words.
"I'm deaf," she managed to stutter. "I lost Jemma."
The woman looked at her, confused. Skye's panic levels skyrocketed and it got harder to breathe.
"Oh, no," she whimpered, and she grabbed onto the woman's appliqued sweater.
The woman turned and spoke to someone else.
Skye gripped her wrists again, hoping the pain could snap her out of this. Pain and fear and anxiety flooded through her system and she went very limp, the craft fair going very dark around her.
When she opened her eyes Jemma was kneeling next to her, a worried look in her eyes.
Skye? Jemma signed hesitantly. You back with us?
Skye nodded slowly, realizing that Professor May was kneeling beside Jemma, and Maria was standing right behind them. There was a hand on her wrist that belonged to none of those people, and she turned her head to the left and saw a paramedic.
Her heart jumped in her chest and she pulled away from the strange man immediately.
It's okay, Melinda signed. You passed out. He's here to make sure you're okay.
Skye felt like she'd been hit in the head with a baseball bat. No. Hospital, she signed jerkily.
We'll see, Melinda replied.
Skye started shaking again and she reached out for Jemma. It caused her sleeves to ride up, and Jemma looked at her in horror.
Did you do that? Jemma signed furiously.
Skye looked down at her arms. At some point during the panic attack she had clawed her arms to shreds, leaving long, deep, bloody scratches on both limbs. She nodded weakly.
Jemma put a hand to her mouth and slowly stood, backing away.
"What?" Skye moaned desperately. She wanted things to go back to how they were before they'd come into the craft fair.
Jemma turned back to her and knelt down again, wrapping her arms tightly around Skye. She said something, the vibrations tickling against Skye's throat, and Skye flicked her eyes over to Melinda, who signed, I hate that you're scared enough to do things like that to yourself.
Me too, Skye signed helplessly.
Somehow they ended up at Melinda and Maria's house. Skye sat patiently at the kitchen table, her head still throbbing, as Melinda cleaned her wounds and spread antibiotic gel over them and placed gauze squares over them and then wrapped them in clean gauze. Skye couldn't figure out where Jemma had gone.
What do you want to do? Melinda signed when she was finished.
I want to die was the first thing that shot through Skye's mind, but she knew it was wrong.
Her hesitation was definitely not ignored by Melinda. You can tell me anything, Skye.
I want to take a nap, Skye signed.
Melinda sighed. Fine, she signed. You can do that.
Skye popped her hearing aids out and curled up on the bed in the guest room, turning her back to the door, clutching the envelope of photos, hoping that when she woke up she'd be the girl in those photos again.