A/N: I'm getting a lot of "love" reviews from people - they love the stories I'm writing but they don't love all the feelings I'm forcing upon them.

*shrugs* Sorry...?

(Yeah, right.)

Anyway, this isn't the full chapter you deserve, but I need to go to bed. I don't have to work until 4 pm, so I hope to write some more life-shaking things for you all when I wake up.

Thank you to everyone who reads/reviews/follows/favorites! I love seeing how many people are enjoying the things I'm writing. And as a reminder, I'm doing much better responding to reviews and messages, so if you've got something you want to talk to me about or ask or just want to tell me I'm a horrible-terrible emotion-wrecker (but an awesome writer), I'd love to hear from you!

Disclaimers: There's some more swearing in this chapter than normal, but my life lately has had more swearing in it than normal. Only fair I pass it on to you. Also, I'm not British, so if I used any British slang improperly, please call me out in the comments!

Enjoy!

December 1st

1:30 am.

"I don't know Skye very well, but she's dealing with an extreme amount of stress right now. I asked her if she wanted a sedative to calm her down so that Melinda could deal with her injuries. She said yes. She's sleeping now," Andrew said.

The woman on the other end of the line hesitated. "She hurt herself?"

Andrew felt terrible. It was never easy to talk to patients' families. They always wanted to blame themselves. "Yes," he said.

Skye's sister let out a shaky breath. "Did she…?"

"It was during an anxiety attack," Andrew said. He was never sure if those were the kinds of things people wanted to hear. "It was with her hands. Sometime later she was extremely disoriented and threw a vase at Phil…"

Summer gasped. "No! She wouldn't do that. She loves Mr. Coulson!"

"I don't think she was seeing him," Andrew said gently. "I think she was seeing someone else. Someone who scared her very much. And Phil is just fine. Skye was the one who was hurt more – the glass cut her hands and arms."

There was another pause on the other end of the line, and it was followed by the kind of quick, gaspy breathing that signaled someone was about to cry. "Do I need to come up there?" Summer asked, her voice low.

"I don't think there's anything you could possibly do," Andrew said honestly. "As I said, she's sleeping now, and Melinda dealt with her injuries. Actually, I take that back. There's one thing I needed to ask you."

"What's that?" Summer's voice was wobbly.

"Does Skye have a backup pair of hearing aids?"

3:45 am.

Jemma's phone vibrated against her ear. She yawned and rolled towards the wall.

The phone rang, and she rolled back towards it, sighing. "This better be good," she muttered.

Blinking in the darkness, she held the phone slightly over her head so she wouldn't be blinded by the screen's light. "Hello?"

It was Fitz. "Good morning."

"Why are you calling me this early?" Jemma mumbled.

"We discussed having this conversation last week," Fitz said. "You said I could call you at what would be 9:45 my time. It's now 9:45 my time."

Jemma groaned.

"I'm sorry," Fitz said, a tinge of sarcasm in his words. "Did I interrupt something important?"

"Just the best sleep I've had all month."

"What's wrong, Jemma?"

"What's wrong?" Jemma let out a bark of angry laughter. "Where do you want me to start, Fitz?"

"Why are you mad at me?"

"I'm mad at everyone," Jemma snapped, pushing herself upright on Skye's bed. Her head throbbed as she realized it was true.

"I can hang up," Fitz offered. "Clearly you aren't in the mood to talk."

His sincere words grated against Jemma's spine and she wanted to throw something. Sometimes Fitz was so nice. She used to be that nice.

"Is Skye all right?"

A mad half-laugh half-sob broke free from Jemma's mouth. "Fuck no she's not all right – but you know what, Fitz? I'm sick and tired of everyone asking about Skye. Precious Skye. Wonderful Skye. Fragile Skye. Does anyone else realize that I'm the other half of this? That when she gets to go somewhere else during her panic attacks, I'm the one who has to deal with whatever mess she's left behind?"

"I understand how upsetting those must be."

"Do you?" Red-hot fury was coursing through Jemma's veins. "Nobody understands. They all say they do – they say they understand, but I've never felt so powerless and so sickened in my entire life. Why can't she just get it together? Somehow I've managed to keep my life from becoming a series of piss-poor sob sessions."

"What happened, Jemma?"

"What happened? What happened? What didn't happen?" More bitter, demented laughs left Jemma's mouth. "She panicked. I left."

"You… you left?" Fitz sounded horrified.

"Oh, sod off, you twat," Jemma said, rolling her eyes despite Fitz's inability to see her. "She's with Maria and Melinda, it's not as though I left her in a snowbank."

"She's probably extremely afraid."

"She's always so fucking afraid."

Fitz hesitated. She could hear it.

"Just spit it out," Jemma demanded. "And then leave me in the dark."

Again Fitz hesitated.

"I'm hanging up now," Jemma said. She couldn't keep the anger out of her voice.

"That's fine," Fitz said. He was so fucking calm. It was irritating. It grated against her the same way Skye's terrified babbling did. "I'll talk to you later, when you're not whinging and throwing a wobbly."

"Screw you!"

"I'll talk to you later," Fitz repeated. "And Jemma, no matter who you're angry at right now, whether it's me, or Skye, or yourself, or the Grant Ward guy – I still like you. I still love you. And I know you'll do the right thing in the end."

Jemma shrieked in anger and chucked her phone across the room. There was a clatter, a shatter, and the screen went dark.

She could still hear Fitz's voice in her ears, and she didn't like it at all.

4:03 a.m.

"Pietro, wake up."

"Hmmm?"

"Wake up."

"Did roof fall in?"

"No. Is not roof."

The blond boy yawned and scrubbed at his eyes with his hands. "What is?"

Wanda stood in the doorway, looking impossibly small. "Something is wrong."

Pietro forced himself to take a deep breath. "You can tell me more, maybe?"

Wanda shook her head. Her hands were gripped into tight fists and she rocked back and forth in the doorway.

Pietro sat up. He'd done the research, he'd spent hours of time making notes and cataloguing events, and he understood why Wanda did certain things. She clenched her hands into fists when she wanted to hurt herself, when the voices got too loud in her head. She rocked back and forth when she was anxious – she was trying to settle the waves of anxiety that rippled off her body. Any moment now she would –

He barely had time to react before Wanda moved swiftly across the room and climbed onto the bed with him. He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing tightly. "Is okay," he said, though he still had no idea what was wrong. He just knew that when things like this woke him up in the middle of the night, the next step was to hug his twin as tightly as he could. Something about the weight and pressure calmed Wanda.

"Is Skye," Wanda managed to get out.

Pietro could feel the tension still rippling through her arms, and he redoubled his efforts on the hug.

"Rock," Wanda mumbled, and Pietro began moving his body – their bodies – back and forth, trying to duplicate the effects of Wanda's earlier movements in the doorway.

"What is Skye?" he asked after a moment.

"Skye. And Jemma. Is what's wrong."

"Is this… in your head?" Pietro asked delicately.

Wanda shook her head emphatically. "Is real."

"And the hands?"

"Love is sacred," Wanda said, her voice nearly a whisper. "Should not be struggles. Hurts inside because cannot fix. Move hurt outside, makes sense."

"Mmm," Pietro said into her hair. "I do not allow to happen. No outside hurt."

There were some things about his sister Pietro could not explain, ever. Sometimes she just knew things, things she couldn't or shouldn't know. It wasn't that she was psychic – that was a fairy tale – but she was intuitive.

"Things are to be better," Wanda whimpered. "They are together in long time."

"Shhh," Pietro murmured. "Think of this – they are safe, both. You say they are together in long time, then there is no need to worry. Worry will not fix. Worry will not change."

"Eto ne korets," Wanda said softly, and her breathing slowed. "Pietro?"

"Da?"

"I can stay here?"

"Yes," Pietro answered without hesitation.

"Until the morning," Wanda said. Her voice was getting low and slurry, and Pietro could feel her relaxing further, knowing she was safe.

He carefully laid her on the bed next to him, and she blinked up at him sleepily. "Okay," she mumbled, and she reached up to brush his cheek with her hand. "Very best brother."

"Very best sister," Pietro replied. He was exhausted and pulled the blanket up over his head, intending to go right back to sleep.

Something stopped him. Something he'd seen. Or, more correctly, not seen.

"Wanda?"

"Hmmm?"

"Where are… where are bracelets?"

Wanda opened her eyes and blinked sleepily at him. "Maybe is time for change."

4:25 a.m.

"You know she's sedated, right?"

Melinda looked up at Maria. Her partner stood in the doorway holding two mugs of coffee. "I do," she allowed.

"Okay," Maria said. "Just checking."

She moved into the scrapbooking room and sat down on the arm of the chair Melinda occupied. "Coffee?"

"Yes."

"It's snowing again."

"Is it?"

"Have you been here all night?"

"Of course," Melinda replied. "Where else would I be?"

4:38 a.m.

Skye swam back up to the surface, the world around her blurry, gray, and very silent. "'Ma?" she managed to get out of her sticky, dry mouth. A headache pounded at her temples and for some reason she couldn't get her arms to work. It was going to be a real problem for signing.

The light became a little brighter, hazy, but still manageable. Skye tried to push herself upright, but she found she could only utter that one syllable again: "'Ma?"

Jemma isn't here right now, Melinda signed as she came into Skye's line of sight.

"Uh," Skye said. She was too limp and unhappy and disconnected to come up with anything better. "Ma-ad?"

Use your hands, Melinda suggested.

Hands not work, Skye signed, and then realized what she'd done. Are you mad?

No, sweetheart. I'm not mad.

Tall man boyfriend once upon a time? Skye knew her signing was starting to resemble that of a tired toddler, but she couldn't help it.

No, Melinda signed firmly, a smile on her face. We met in an interesting way, though. I'll tell you about it when you're awake again.

Okay, Skye signed drowsily, and she let the hazy light tug her back down into the dark again.

5:01 a.m.

The door to Skye's dorm room banged open. Jemma jerked out of a sound sleep in time to see a tall man advancing upon her. He was dressed in all black, with some sort of ski mask over his face. He carried something in his hands – it took her exhausted brain a few seconds to realize it was a bag.

"Wake up time, you deaf bitch" was all she heard as the bag slipped over her head.

Something in the bag smelled like confusion and chemicals, and before Jemma succumbed to their alluring mélange, she had time to think of one thing –

He's going to be so mad when he realizes I'm not Skye.

And then another –

Oh, God. Skye.