A/N: So, in the author's note of the last chapter I promised you:
- Skye talks to someone (while Phil interprets): DONE
- Jemma has a think (and a fight with Fitz): the think is DONE in this chapter, the fight will be next time
- December 1st finally rolls around: next time
There was going to be more to this, but 1) I'm tired and need to go to bed and 2) I love writing Jemma/Wanda conversations and 3) Holy crap, 4000-ish words.
Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who reads/reviews/follows/favorites. Not going to lie, reviews are my favorite, but I'm grateful you're all supporting this story, no matter how you do it.
And I "cheated" and updated this instead of "Burning Up," so that one will definitely be updated NEXT, so you'll just have to hang onto that cliff a little longer.
(I promise I'm nice in real life.)
Enjoy!
"Skye! Skye, stop!"
Melinda realized how futile it was to yell at a deaf girl, especially a deaf girl whose hearing aids had been one of the first things chucked across the room. But she couldn't help it – they were quickly running out of options.
Skye looked up at Melinda, eyes wild, as though begging the professor to save her from the monsters in her head. She was on the floor in the guest bedroom, her arms bleeding from where she'd ripped the bandages off, her breathing ragged and her hands still clawing at those wounded arms. An unholy wail and series of babbled syllables emanated from her mouth, but none of it made sense.
At least she stopped throwing things, Melinda thought.
"Maybe we should call Jemma," Maria said hesitantly.
"She couldn't handle this," Melinda said, speaking loudly to be heard over Skye's panicked babbling. "She shouldn't have to handle this."
"Ear… ear…" Skye gasped out.
Who's here? Phil signed from his place by the door.
"How did you get that?" Maria asked.
"I have many gifts, young padawan," Phil replied. He moved towards Skye and knelt down. Tell me who's here.
She reached up for him, her mouth open and her face oh-so-confused.
"I'm going to call Andrew," Melinda said. "He needs to be here. She needs…"
More help than we can give her was the end to that sentence, but she couldn't figure out how to make it come out of her mouth.
"Go," Maria said, thankfully understanding.
Melinda nodded and headed out of the room.
Phil leaned forward, taking Skye's hands in his. She was shaking and her eyes swam back and forth, but he gripped them firmly.
There was a type of signing used mostly by people with dual sensory impairments, wherein the person receiving the message ("listening") placed their hands around the person signing ("talking") and was able to feel their movements that way, moving in any direction so as to comprehend the signs. It was slower and less convenient for people who were deaf and used to conversing solely in sign, with the person receiving simply viewing their message, but Phil knew Skye was beyond anything like that.
Skye, you are safe.
She began to whip her head back and forth. "No, no, no, no…"
Skye, you are safe.
"No, no, no…"
Skye, you are safe.
That repetition caused her to pause, and the babbling stopped. Her breathing was still wheezy gasps, but she was able to focus on Phil's face for a few brief seconds.
Skye, you are safe.
The phone call to Andrew was mercifully brief, and Melinda found herself sitting in her office, a headache pounding at her temples.
It's okay. It's okay. She's not Katia. She's not Katia. She's Skye. She's a different girl. She has a chance. She has a chance Katia never did.
She didn't hear the door click open and she didn't see Maria until she was pulled out of her seat and wrapped in the other woman's arms.
"She's not giving up," Maria said softly, her words brushing against Melinda's neck. "She's still fighting."
Melinda sobbed into Maria's shoulder. "I want…"
"I know," Maria replied gently. "You want to go down to the think tank, rustle up Natasha and some of the futuristic weapons we all know she's made, and search the entire damn campus until you find Grant Ward."
Melinda nodded.
"We can't do that," Maria said.
"I know."
"We can just stay here, and help as best we can."
"She's… something's wrong with her," Melinda whispered.
"Yes," Maria agreed. "And that something is a person named Grant Ward, who is most likely being controlled by a man named John Garrett. Her anxiety, her panic attacks, the drive to self-harm and what I'm fairly sure is a severe case of post-traumatic stress disorder – they are to blame for all of that. Not you. Not Phil. Not Jemma. Not even Skye. There's nothing wrong with Skye that the destruction of Grant and John won't fix."
There was a scream from the guest bedroom and the sound of breaking glass.
"And so we fight on," Melinda said, grateful that some strength was returning to her voice.
Phil met them in the hallway, reeling backwards with his hand clapped to his forehead. "She's… she's…" he stuttered.
"Are you okay?" Maria asked.
"Glass… vase… very… heavy," Phil answered.
"Sit down," Maria ordered him, shoving him on top of the laundry hamper. "I'll get the first aid kit."
Melinda took a deep breath and pushed the door open all the way. Skye was on the floor in a ball, her hands pressed, oddly enough, over her ears, rocking back and forth. Blood streamed from her hands and Melinda could see shards of glass twinkling in her skin. More glass surrounded her and there was a smear of blood on the carpet.
"Damn it, Skye," Melinda breathed.
She took a few steps back into the hallway. Maria was tending to Phil's bleeding forehead. "What do we do?" she asked, trying to quench the waver in her voice. "She's in the fetal position and she doesn't have hearing aids in, so she can't see us or hear us, and I have a sneaky feeling that if we touch her she's going to hurt us."
"We might be out of options," Maria said, looking up.
"No," Melinda said.
"Honey, I know you love her, but this is clearly beyond our expertise. The hospital might…"
"No," Melinda repeated fiercely. "She stays with us."
Phil looked up at her. "She's not Katia."
"God, will everyone stop saying that? For Christ's sake, I know she's not Katia!"
The doorbell rang.
"Andrew will know what to do," Melinda said, taking a deep breath and hoping against hope that was true.
Jemma found that after twenty minutes of lying in bed, she couldn't fall asleep. She couldn't even turn off her thoughts. She wasn't even drowsy after reciting the periodic table, something that usually worked as well for her as counting sheep worked for non-scientists.
She sighed and reached down for her phone.
"Preevyet?" a voice asked sleepily.
"Oh. Wanda. Did I wake you?"
"Nyet, nyet, is fine. Is…" Wanda's words were cut off by a long yawn. "Sorry. Has been very tiring night pushing snow off workshop roof."
"I mean, I don't have to talk, but…"
"No," Wanda said, her voice getting stronger. "I said is fine. Talk to me, gorgeous girl of Skye's."
The very mention of Skye's name sent a shiver down Jemma's spine and poured nausea into her stomach. "I left," she whispered.
"Sorry?"
"I left her there," Jemma said, her voice wobbling. "I left her with Maria and Melinda. How is she ever going to forgive me?"
"For what do you need the forgiveness?"
It was a simple question and it forced Jemma's racing thoughts to slow. "Because she's hurt and she's hurting and… if I was a good person, a good girlfriend, I would be there to support her."
Wanda made a dismissive noise with her mouth. "Allow me for to ask questions."
"Of course."
"Do you love Skye?"
"Yes," Jemma said without hesitation.
"Do you want for her to be safe?"
"Yes."
"Do you want for all this torment to go away?"
"Of course I do."
"Is it hard for you to see her upset?"
"Of course it is," Jemma blurted, dangerously close to crying. "I want to fix it!"
"And do you accept you cannot?"
Again Jemma was shocked into silence.
"Pietro has same conversation with me when I was in hospital," Wanda said. "Thinks he should have been able for to protect me. Nothing can protect what is in one's mind."
"But she didn't put it there," Jemma protested. "Grant Ward put it there."
"Do you think it was my idea for to hear things?" Wanda asked. "On top of everything else, the wiring in my brain was not good. We are not given choices as to what we're asked to face."
Jemma put her head in her hands.
"But do you know why we are to get through those things? Love," Wanda said.
It was the same thing Maria had told her, and that made Jemma feel only slightly better.
"The same forces of the world who give me faulty wiring are same ones that made sure Pietro stayed with me for all the time. The same forces of the world who put this Grant Ward into Skye's life are same ones that brought her to you."
Tears flooded Jemma's eyes.
"I am going to tell you quote I read in book," Wanda said, "and I want for you to repeat, da?"
"Da," Jemma found herself repeating.
"Everything will be all right in the end, so if it is not all right, it is not the end."
It was so simple that it took Jemma's breath away.
"Repeat," Wanda said.
"Everything will be all right in the end…" Jemma was crying openly now. "So if it is not all right…" – because it definitely was not – "… it is not the end."
"It is not the end," Wanda said firmly. "Eto ne konets."
Jemma wiped her eyes with the collar of her shirt.
"You think that I did not think it was the end when all those things happened at our foster home?" Wanda asked. "Of course I thought it was the end. Tried to make it the end after all it happened. Thought it was the end when they gave us back. Thought no one would want us when we were in system. And we found our mamochka and our Skye and our mishka, and it is still not the end. I know this for I am talking to you now, able to show you we will fight. You will fight."
"I'm tired," Jemma whispered.
"I understand," Wanda said gently. "Even soldiers need for to sleep. So you sleep, and you go back."
"Okay."
"Jemma?"
"Yes?"
Wanda hesitated, and when she spoke her voice was slightly hesitant, her accent slightly thicker. "Pietro and I, we have talked, and we would like you for to know you are to mean very much to us. We care for you very much. It is great honor to have you in family."
The tears started flowing again. "Thank you," Jemma managed to say.
"Eto ne konets," Wanda repeated. "It is not the end."
They said goodbye then, and Jemma curled up on her bed, staring at the wall.
For forty minutes she laid there, thoughts fighting for dominance in her head, unable to surrender to slumber. At last she'd had enough, and she grabbed her pillow, blanket, phone, and her spare key to Skye's room.
Skye's room was dark and it felt far too empty. Jemma locked the door behind her and lay down on Skye's bed, wishing her gorgeous dark-haired girl was with her, wishing they were spelling into each other's hands in the dark. Instead she was alone, surrounded by all of Skye's things and yet, somehow, none of Skye. Tears still in her eyes, Jemma curled up in a ball and pulled Skye's blanket over her. That same smell of Skye – raspberries and something else, something mysterious and worldly and nearly sacred – rose up around her and it was only then, only there, that Jemma allowed herself to fall asleep.
"Thank God," Maria said as Melinda led Andrew down the hallway.
"Hey, cutie," Andrew said to Maria.
"I'm a kept woman," Maria informed him.
"It's the thing I like the best about you. Well, that, and your sassy outfits," Andrew replied. "Hey, Phil."
"Hi, Andrew. Thanks for coming."
"I take it things got a little more serious since we spoke previously," Andrew said. "Judging from the size of the bandage on Phil's head, there was either some physical aggression or Maria was practicing her high kicks again."
"That was… it was one time," Maria protested.
"Melinda briefed me a bit on the phone earlier," Andrew said. "Is there an update since then?"
"She's catatonic, on the floor, in the middle of what now remains of the beautiful Irish crystal vase my mother bought us," Maria said.
"And Maria's not bitter at all," Phil put in.
"Honestly? I'm glad none of us got hurt," Maria said.
"Uh, hello, sitting right here." Phil tried to look offended.
"She means seriously hurt," Melinda said, and gave Phil a stern look. "Although we might be wrong about that. Skye's bleeding from somewhere."
"Okay," Andrew said, and he set his briefcase on one of the hall bookcase's shelves. "What's her medical situation like?"
"Deaf since approximately one year of age, corrected hearing with aids allows her to hear things in the range of 85 decibels and above," Melinda said, shifting into professor mode.
"Which would probably be to our advantage had she not… well…" Maria held her hand out towards Andrew. He looked down and saw what looked like the remains of two purple hearing aids, and winced.
"Seizures as a result of the meningitis that deafened her," Melinda went on. "Generally only one or two a year, but there was an uptick in previous months that landed her in the hospital. Testing showed that she was given the wrong medication and that there was no major change in brain chemistry or function."
"Good," Andrew said. "For both her and me."
He tilted his head. "I assume that's… her."
He was obviously referring to the incoherent babbling and wailing that emanated from the guest room. Melinda nodded. "Every now and then she'll get an actual word out, but sign's her primary method of communication, so for the most part we're in the dark as to what she might be trying to tell us."
"Come on, Melinda," Andrew said, and an easy smile crossed his face, the kind that always made Melinda remember the day they met (an interesting story, but so not the time or place). "Listen."
For a moment it was still and almost peaceful in the hallway as the four adults listened to the whimpers and wails.
"I still don't get it," Phil whispered.
"She's saying, 'I need help,'" Andrew said.
"Really?" Phil looked confused. A quick glance at Maria and Melinda confirmed that he wasn't alone in his confusion.
"She's saying, 'I can't find my way out of the dark,'" Andrew went on. "Lucky for her, that's why I'm here."
"Is it because your teeth glow in the dark?" Maria asked, deadpan.
"Glad to see you haven't changed, Maria," Andrew said, giving her a grin.
"Why would I change?"
"Phil, do you feel up to interpreting for me?" Andrew asked.
Phil nodded. "Of course."
"Then let's see what else we can get Skye to tell us," Andrew said. He hesitated, and for a moment his normally-jocular, smooth side seemed to disappear. "Do you want me to sedate her, if it comes down to that?"
Melinda and Phil had a brief eye conversation. At last Melinda spoke. "She's been fighting for several hours now, and she has injuries I'd like to be able to tend to. My guess is her body's exhausted."
"Okay." Andrew nodded, picked up his briefcase, and followed Phil into the guest room.
Skye felt the touch on her arm and jerked away from it. "No!" she screamed at whoever was in front of her.
She looked up to see it was Phil and a man she'd never seen before, and immediately she wanted to be as far away from them as possible. She shoved herself backward, broken glass shards crunching into her hands, until her back was against the wall.
Phil moved towards her and began signing slowly, carefully. Do you trust me, Skye?
Skye could feel the vibrations in her chest from the whimpering and stuttering syllables she was managing to produce, but they didn't stop her from nodding yes.
Okay, Phil signed. You're safe. Andrew wants to talk to you. I'm going to interpret. For what it's worth, I trust him, and Melinda trusts him.
Skye's shaking hands made it up in front of her and she jerkily signed Who. Is. He?
I'll let him tell you, Phil signed, his heart breaking as he realized Skye seemed to be completely outside her body, unable to see or feel the glass in her palms or the blood running down her arms.
The man sat down in front of Skye, making sure to stay a safe distance away from her. He began to speak, and Phil began to interpret.
Hi, Skye. My name is Andrew.
Andrew had dealt with all sorts of situations before, including a riot in a prison psychiatric facility that had nearly cost him his right foot, but he didn't think he'd ever seen someone so absolutely disconnected as the girl that sat in front of him. Tattered remnants of bandages were visible on her arms, obviously supposed to be covering the long, deep scratches that were now open to the air. She sat amidst an almost perfectly circular wave of broken glass, and Andrew could see shards of the glass embedded in her skin. Her hands and arms were bloody, her clothes were darkened in places with blood, and she had dark circles under her eyes. He wasn't sure how she was still upright, let alone looking at him with distrust.
He almost didn't know where to start. That question was answered for him when Skye's shaky hands came up and she signed something.
"Are you here to take me away?" Phil's voice emanated from over Andrew's shoulder.
"That depends. Do you think you should go somewhere?"
"Where's Jemma?"
"I don't know Jemma. Could you tell me about her?" It was odd for Andrew to experience this conversation – the girl signing before him "spoke" in Phil's voice. Andrew had known Phil for years, had drinks with him several times, played many a game of chess with the man, attended the majority of his concerts with The Blue Books, and heck, really liked the guy, but it wasn't the right voice. The right voice was the one still falling from Skye's mouth in little gaspy chokes, stuttery syllables and confused noises.
"No, no," Skye wailed vocally. Her hands jerked and slashed through the air.
Phil spoke. "Where's Jemma?"
"I assume Jemma is someone important to you," Andrew said. "Does Phil know who she is?"
Skye hiccupped and nodded.
"Is it all right if he tells me who she is?"
Again Skye nodded, twisting her hands together.
Andrew fought back a wince as he heard the glass shards grinding together and turned to Phil.
"Skye's girlfriend," the interpreter filled in.
"And where is she?" Andrew asked.
"She left."
"Permanently?"
"No."
"Does Skye know it's not permanent?"
"In some part of her brain, yes. I don't think she can process it right now, since she hasn't even seemed to process that she's got glass buried in her hands."
"Did something happen?"
"Skye had a panic attack when they were out in the community today and clawed her arms up. It really frightened Jemma, and so the ladies" – here he jerked his thumb at the hallway behind them –"said they would take care of Skye for the evening. Skye and Jemma have been together nearly every minute of every day since they met, minus things like classes. It doesn't surprise me that Jemma needed to step back for a bit."
Andrew nodded, turning back to Skye. "Phil told me about Jemma. She sounds wonderful."
"Luh," Skye said vocally.
"I'm sure you do love her."
Skye's eyes darted away from his face and Phil's hands. Andrew moved slightly closer and Skye jerked back to him, trying to push away, as though she forgot she was against the wall.
"Skye, who is Grant Ward?" Andrew asked.
As though he'd hit her with a bolt of lightning, Skye jerked upward, screaming at him. "No! No!"
Phil moved towards her, signing and speaking. "He isn't here, Skye. He isn't here. He can't hurt you."
"Nah! 'Ow!" Skye protested, and she began clawing at her arms again.
"What'd she say?" Andrew asked.
"She said 'not now,'" Phil replied. "Meaning that she thinks he'll come for her in the future."
It was blunt, but Andrew had to admit that Phil was doing the best job he could, considering he was speaking two different languages and trying to pin Skye's arms against her body so she couldn't hurt herself further.
After a moment Phil was able to wrestle Skye back to the ground, and he turned and called over his shoulder. "Melinda?"
Melinda entered, looking at Phil.
"Since my hands are a little… occupied… could you interpret?"
Melinda nodded.
Andrew exchanged glances with Melinda. She didn't say anything, so he began to speak again. "Skye, I notice that you're very upset. I can see that you're very tired, and you're hurt. I want to give you some medicine so you can go to sleep for a while and so we can take care of your injuries."
"Jemma?" Skye asked. Her words were getting more garbled and slurred, proof positive to Andrew that she was exhausted, physically unable to fight any longer.
"If you allow me to give you some medicine to calm down, I will call Jemma and talk to her." He looked back at Melinda to check and see if that had been the right answer, and he was unsurprised to see a sign he could only assume meant Jemma – a "J" made over the heart.
Skye's eyes drooped closed, and then she jerked back upright. "Jemma," she repeated.
"Medicine first. Then Jemma," Andrew said.
Skye turned her head to look at Phil. "Ord?" she asked him.
He let go of her hands and signed, Not here. Not tonight. You are safe, Skye.
"Ord?" Skye asked Melinda.
Andrew translated in his head: Ward?
"Not in my house. Not ever," Melinda said, signing as she spoke.
Skye slumped back against the wall, and Phil reached out to catch her. She tilted her head towards Andrew and raised her hands, signing slowly.
"Medicine is okay. Tell Jemma I love her. And Melinda and Maria I'm sorry for breaking their vase."
"I'll let Jemma know," Andrew said. "And Skye, I think Melinda and Maria would let you break anything in the house, just so long as you were safe."
Melinda signed it, nodding, tears in her eyes.
I'm okay? Skye signed blearily at Phil. He was standing by the pulled-out sofa bed in the back room of Melinda and Maria's house, a space ordinarily used for Maria's scrapbooking. Since her panic attack had basically destroyed the guest room – something she would definitely feel bad for the next time she could feel anything but exhaustion – she was bunking down amid colored papers and an oddly large amount of ribbon.
You will be, he answered.
Melinda was kneeling beside the bed, pulling bits of glass from Skye's hands and arms. Skye was halfway asleep, but she could still sign with whatever hand Melinda wasn't working with.
I think… she signed, and yawned. I think that if my parents had lived… I would have wanted them to be just like you.
Her eyes closed, and then she looked back up at Phil. I love you.
I love you too, Phil signed carefully. And your parents would be proud of you, Skye.
Maybe, she replied. Seeing that Melinda's focus was still on her other hand, she signed to Phil, Tell Melinda I love her too. I love all of you.
Phil had no idea why, but he found himself moving towards the bed and leaning in to kiss Skye's forehead. When he stood up, the warmth of her forehead fading on his lips, he saw that her eyes had finally closed for good.
She was finally released from the hands of terror and anxiety that had gripped her, and he couldn't figure out why that made him suddenly sad.
Translation:
Eto ne konets: It's not the end (phonetic Russian)