A/N: Hi, guys. I don't have a lot of excuses for where I've been. Grief sucks. Insomnia sucks. Anxiety and depression and being the victim of petty asshattery at work sucks. All I want is my gorgeous girl back, and it's not going to happen. I come home and see an empty document in front of me and all I want to do is return to telling you these stories.
So here's my attempt to continue. It's not as long as the last few chapters, but it sets up some important points going forward.
Thank you to everyone who reads/reviews/follows/favorites/messages me. I appreciate all of that. You are amazing.
In the next chapter: Wanda talks to Andrew, Phil and Little Bear have adventures, Ward discovers the identity of the journalist (you'll see), Pietro + Fitz = cooking bros, and Raina has some things to tell Melinda.
Enjoy!
Skye stirred when Jemma's lips brushed her cheek, and she opened her eyes long enough to see Jemma sign Going to pick Fitz up at the airport. Back in about four hours before she slid back into her dreams.
The next time she woke it was to see Pietro grumpily picking up the papers she'd strewn over the living room floor. He signed, Messy messy.
Skye stuck her tongue out at him. Wanda okay?
He nodded and gestured to the other end of the couch. Wanda was curled up, sound asleep, one hand gently against her face, which Skye knew was her favorite way to sleep. She was no longer wearing the protective sleeves, and she looked absolutely peaceful.
Okay, good, Skye signed. Sleeping now.
The third time she blinked back to consciousness Wanda was leaning over her. Skye choked out something that was supposed to sound like "Jesus!" and came out more like "GAH!"
"Awake?" Wanda asked.
Yeah, now, Skye signed, rolling her eyes. Are you okay?
Wanda nodded. "Need help."
Skye pushed herself upright. Help with what? Breakfast?
Wanda shook her head dismissively. "Is noon. No. Help with the Christmas."
Christmas, Skye signed, making sure she'd understood.
Wanda nodded.
Christmas is like two weeks away.
Wanda shook her head. "I need the time."
Noon.
Skye waited until Wanda got it, and was unsurprised when her sister began to tickle her mercilessly.
"'Kay, 'kay!" Skye wheezed when she couldn't take any more.
Wanda released her.
What do you need help with? Skye signed.
"Christmas present."
For who?
Your Jemma, Wanda signed. Skye noticed Wanda's hands shaking a bit more than usual, and she noticed the dark circles, like thumbprints, under Wanda's eyes.
You okay?
"Fine! Fine!" Wanda half-screamed at her.
Skye reached up and pulled Wanda down onto the couch next to her. She wrapped her arms around Wanda. "Shh, shh," Skye said helplessly, waiting until Wanda was looking at her. You took your meds today, right?
Wanda went limp and looked over at Skye. "So tired. I am so tired."
Okay. You want to talk about Jemma's Christmas present. Tell me how I can help you.
"Want to make her a sculpture. With water. And light. Need to know what are her favorite colors and shiny things she might like."
Skye thought about this. Her favorite color is blue. And I think she'd just like the glitter you put in the big water tubes.
"Okay," Wanda said. She still looked serious, though, and Skye wanted to put her arms around Wanda and hug her, despite the fact that she'd need her hands to talk.
Can you look at me? Skye asked, putting her hands directly in Wanda's face.
Wanda turned and nodded.
I know you're sick of everyone asking you how you are, but it's because we love you. I told Summer last night that I've never seen an episode like this, and it's neither bad nor good, it just is. I want you to be safe, and happy. You have to tell us if you're sick.
Wanda tilted her head and then reached for one of Skye's notebooks that was sitting on the coffee table. She wrote for a few minutes, and then passed the notebook to Skye.
Skye took in her sister's twisty, curly writing.
I am tired of being "sick one." I am tired of having monster in my brain. I am burden. It sings in my blood it sings in my head I want it to stop. Cannot outside hurt Pietro says.
Skye put her head up. "No," she said firmly, pointing to the last sentence. "No outside hurt. Ever."
Wanda looked like a slapped child.
Because you are too precious, Skye signed. You are not a burden. You are beautiful, and smart, and an artist. You are adored.
Wanda shook her head.
And I'm going to keep telling you until you believe, Skye went on. Now, find me some breakfast and I'll help you with Jemma's present.
Wanda smiled and gave Skye a smacking kiss on her cheek. "Love you," she said.
Love you too, Skye signed. She was still worried, though, and promised herself she would talk to Pietro the first chance she got.
The driveway of the prestigious private school known as Millington had been recently plowed, and Melinda had no trouble making her way up the long winding drive to the main building. She parked in the visitors' lot and got out; the world around her was absolutely silent. She could almost hear snowflakes whispering down to the ground.
She'd been to Millington before, but it had been years and years ago. It seemed that nothing had changed. At ritzy, well-funded places, nothing did. Melinda was hoping Raina Rose hadn't changed, either.
In the front office, behind a large open window, a woman in a twin set and thin-framed glasses sat behind a desk. Melinda waited for the secretary to notice her.
"Good morning!" the secretary chirped, eventually, looking up at her. "How can I help you?"
"I was hoping to speak to one of your teachers," Melinda said.
"Are you a prospective parent?"
"No. Just a friend."
"Well, any friend of a Millington teacher is a friend of Millington!" the woman said brightly. "Who is it you're looking to speak with?"
"Raina Rose."
The secretary froze, but a split second later she'd recovered. "Oh."
"I understand it's an unusual request," Melinda said.
"Since the accident, Miss Rose hasn't accepted many visitors," the secretary said. "She's only teaching one class this semester."
Melinda had no idea what she was referring to, but it had been at least eight years since she'd seen Raina, and that time she'd seen Raina from afar. She didn't know what "the accident" was, but it didn't matter. She needed to see Raina, needed confirmation that she'd made the right choices. Needed answers to all of the questions bubbling up under her sternum.
"I'll give her a call," the secretary went on. "She's probably in her quarters or the dining hall. If you'd like to have a seat…"
She indicated the bench just outside the office, and her request seemed more like a requirement, so Melinda sat.
The secretary spoke quietly on the phone to someone, nodding as the conversation continued.
Melinda took the opportunity to look around. The hallway was pristine – the floor tiles were black and white hexagons, laid out in perfect synchronicity. Mahogany wood paneling covered the walls to a certain height, and then pure white paint took over from there and up to the arched ceilings. The bench she sat on was made of similarly nice wood, and was very sturdy. Framed pictures on the wall extolled the virtues of Millington's headmasters and headmistresses; others consisted of collages of the first classes of Millington students.
"Ma'am?" The secretary's voice cut through Melinda's thoughts.
Melinda stood and walked back to the counter.
"Miss Rose says she'll see you," the secretary said. "I'll give you directions to her quarters."
A minute or so later, a handwritten map in hand, Melinda proceeded down the pristine hallway and to the staff quarters. Raina Rose lived in the Cherry Tree Suites, a building located slightly behind the main hall. The staff lived at Millington, in separate buildings from the students; they ate with their students, though, and were very involved in their lives. Melinda wondered about Raina's relationships with her students – had she recovered from her traumatic start to life? Was she able to connect with others?
Of course she is, Melinda scolded herself. Katia might not have had many friends at Barnham, but she was beloved by her mother and her extended family. Skye had charmed everyone around her, and formed a bond so deep with Jemma that sometimes they seemed psychically linked.
She crunched through the newly-fallen snow to the Cherry Tree Suites and let herself in. It was very warm inside and the carpet underfoot was plush and clean.
Wealth gets you everything, Melinda thought, and felt extremely guilty. Raina deserved good things in her life; all three of her girls did.
She found apartment B and used the bright brass doorknocker to announce her presence.
She waited a bit longer than she thought she would, but eventually the dark wood door opened a few inches.
"Professor," Raina's low, sultry voice said. Melinda couldn't see her through the small crack in the door, but she recognized the voice and the scent – Raina smelled like incense.
"Good afternoon, Raina," Melinda said. "May I come in?"
The door didn't open further. "Why are you here?"
"I need help."
"The dragon woman asking for my assistance, after everything. How ironic. Let me ask you, Professor, is this about a student? A girl? One of us?"
Melinda waited.
"Of course it is," Raina scoffed. "Who've you killed now?"
"I was not involved in Katia's death."
"You were cleared in Katia's death. There's a difference."
"How do you know so much about Katia, Raina? You weren't there."
"I have my ways," Raina replied. She sounded mystical and irritated at the same time. "Who is it this time, Professor? You've found the third, haven't you?"
"Yes," Melinda said softly. "I found her."
There was a long pause.
"Then you'd better come in," Raina said, and she opened the door further.
Melinda saw her face for the first time and she couldn't hold back a gasp. Raina's face was horribly burned, skin twisting into scars and waves, bringing one lip up in a sneer. She regarded Melinda solemnly, her dark eyes serious. "If you've found the third you need to keep her safe. They came after Katia and they came after me. They'll come after her, too."
With that, she ushered Melinda into her apartment, the professor still shaken by Raina's burned face and Raina's dark prediction.
"Damn it, Phil," Nick Fury said into his phone. "Of course I celebrate Christmas."
"Okay. Well, how about Hanukkah?"
"Hanu-huh?"
"Hanukkah," Phil repeated patiently.
"Is that the one with the candles or the lanterns?"
"What?"
"And what's with the interrogation about my holiday preferences? If I didn't know you better, I'd think you were planning something."
Phil paused.
"Oh, damn it, Phil," Nick said. "I don't want you to plan something."
Again Phil had to hesitate.
"Phil. Tell me straight – did you already plan something?"
"Well, it's not like Audrey would take me to her parents' for the holidays."
"Do you ever think that's because of you?"
"It's because Audrey's parents are rich and stuck-up and I am neither of those things," Phil said. "Also because she didn't marry the asshole who lives across the road and belongs to their yacht club. I don't even have a boat."
"You had a boat," Nick pointed out. "You sold it to me."
"It was a pontoon!"
"Still is."
"Now, will you come to the holiday celebration or not?"
Nick sighed. "If I'm not too busy chasing down your arch-nemesis."
"Oh, yeah, speaking of that…"
"No leads yet, Phil. But I tell you what – putting that asshole Ward away for good would be the best Chrisma-hanu-kwanzaa gift I could give myself."
"I hear you on that."
"Scone, Mr. Ward?"
Ward stared at the man who had rescued him from jail. Daniel Whitehall, he'd said, holding out his hand demurely, shaking Ward's hand through the bars. How'd you like to get out of this dismal dungeon and work for me?
Ward thought Whitehall was kidding. Still thought it was some kind of joke. He wasn't in jail, wasn't being stared at by cops, in fact he was at a long dining table with a bespectacled man in an immaculate suit, being offered international breakfast foods. "Um, no, thank you."
Whitehall continued buttering his own scone. "Please let me know if there's anything you need. My staff will be more than happy to provide it."
"Uh, I was actually hoping you could tell me more. About why you came to get me. Out of jail. And what you want me to do for you," Ward said, feeling like an idiot as he sputtered out the handful of sentences.
Whitehall set his scone on the small plate before him. "Have you ever been an investor, Mr. Ward?"
"Um, in the stock market? No."
"An investor in anything," Whitehall said. "For instance, I was an investor in a medical research firm. We were going to cure cancer. We would have saved countless lives. Unfortunately, our experiments were thwarted when an overly-emotional journalist found out about our research methods and absconded with our results."
He took off his glasses and polished them on his linen napkin. "I'd like you to assist me in recovering those results. My assets are priceless and precious, and I will compensate you accordingly."
Ward froze. He realized that behind the nice suit and the breakfast and everything Whitehall was doing to put up a façade for him, Whitehall was still talking about people. About people.
"And I'd like you to make sure that journalist pays for what she did," Whitehall went on. "She's the reason my colleagues and I were unsuccessful."
He looked over at Ward. "Is that something you believe you could be successful with, Mr. Ward?"
Ward stared at Whitehall, at the man's suit and his scone and his high-ceilinged dining room. He was suddenly reminded of his father, of the man's accusations that he could never be anything, that he could never make anything of himself, that he would always be the "worst Ward." Rage boiled in his chest and he leveled his gaze on Whitehall.
"I'd be honored to seek success in that area, sir," Ward said.
Whitehall smiled. "I'm glad you're willing to comply."
"Fitz!" Jemma squealed as she saw her best friend come down the escalator to baggage claim. She didn't wait for him to put down his travel case – she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him as though the world was ending.
"Jemma," he replied, his voice full of happiness. "Oh, Jemma. I'm home."
Jemma wasn't sure how long they hugged, but it was quite a while. When the baggage carousel turned on and the suitcases began to rotate, Summer stepped forward, putting a careful hand on Jemma's shoulder. "Jemma, let's give your friend an opportunity to get his bags."
"Oh! Oh, sorry," Jemma said, and she pulled back. "Fitz, this is Summer. She's Skye's sister."
"I'm pleased to meet you," Fitz said, his cheeks flushed.
Jemma held Fitz's hand as they left the airport, squeezing it tightly. "I'm so glad you're home."
"You've said that a hundred times at least, Jems," Fitz said.
She squeezed his hand again, though, and then excitedly jerked her hands up. You're going to love –
Then she stopped.
Summer and Fitz stopped, too; Fitz tilted his head and looked at her. "Jems, did you just try to sign to me?"
Jemma went bright red. "Um, yeah. Maybe."
She was waiting for Fitz to castigate her. Instead he merely smiled. "That's adorable."
Jemma loved him even more.
She's slipping, Skye signed to Pietro.
He shook his head. No. I would know.
You're too close to the situation. You can't be objective.
That means…?
It means you love Wanda so much that you're willing to overlook things that might be worrying.
You love her too.
Skye nodded. Of course I do. But I haven't gone through some of the traumatic things you two have together, and I think that allows me to have some emotional distance from things.
Pietro sighed and scrubbed at his face with his hands. Okay, then. She needs…
He waved his hands in the air. I do not know.
She needs someone she can trust. To talk to, Skye signed. A doctor.
No! Pietro signed firmly. She doesn't trust doctors.
She has a doctor now, Skye pointed out.
Yes, but we have to give her so many pills to get her there, Pietro signed. She is practically asleep in the car.
Skye bit her lip. Professor May has a friend. A doctor who talked to me… before.
She indicated the bandages on her arms.
Pietro nodded.
He gave me his cell phone number. I could text him and ask if he'd consult with Wanda.
Pietro still looked unsure.
He's very kind. I don't think I was in the right headspace to hear what he had to say, but I wouldn't mind talking to him again.
You think he might be good for Wanda? Pietro asked hesitantly.
I trust him. Phil trusts him. Maria trusts him. Professor May too. Skye shook her head. All I know is, Wanda deserves better than…
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to remember Wanda's frantic movements, her babbling lips, the plea for "outside hurt."
Pietro leaned towards her and held her. Skye shook her head, hard. I want her to be safe, she signed, her eyes still closed, her hands wobbly.
"I want both of you for to be safe," Pietro murmured, though he knew she couldn't hear him.