A/N: Okay, so, apparently I got so into this that I wrote you 5000+ words and now my hands are unhappy with me and I'm exhausted. What can I say? I had so much to tell you!

Coming up in future chapters: Skye and Jemma take a road trip, Melinda gets bad news, Ward meets Cal and Jiaying, Hunter considers a serious move, Andrew does something unexpected, and Whitehall and Garrett have a face-to-face. Also: Winter holidays of multiple denominations! And danger! And Nick Fury in an ugly sweater(?)!

Next to be updated: either "Unplugged" or "unspeakable"

Thank you to everyone who reads/reviews/follows/favorites. I adore all of your support and I love getting notifications. Sometimes they're the brightest things in my life. I promise I am trying to catch up on comments and messages, so if I haven't gotten back to you, I will soon.

Enjoy!

"Phil, have you heard from Melinda?" Andrew asked as he entered the twins' house.

Phil took Andrew's coat and hung it in an already-crowded closet. "No," he said.

"Any idea where she might have gone?"

"None."

Andrew shook his head. "She's not answering her phone. And I bet Maria hasn't heard from her either."

"Maria has not," Maria said, striding towards the two men, holding a steaming mug out to Andrew. "But Maria has brought you some hot chocolate."

"Thank you," Andrew said. He took a sip and nodded appreciatively. "All right, so, who wants to give me the rundown on what's happening?"

"Summer and Pietro will talk to you about Wanda," Phil said. "Right now we're bunkered down here, trying to figure out what the best approach is to handle Ward and the man he's now working with – Daniel Whitehall."

"I know that name," Andrew said. "He's a doctor. A well-respected one."

"Not so respected anymore," Maria said. "He got our favorite asshole out of jail and is now presumably using him to kill kittens and kick nuns."

"Graphic, but probably close to the truth."

"We're also here to celebrate the holidays," Phil went on. "Jemma's friend Fitz came home from France yesterday, and he is up at Skye's house with Skye and Pietro and the dog."

Andrew nodded, taking another sip of hot chocolate.

"Summer's in the kitchen waiting for you," Maria said. "She'll give you a brief rundown on Wanda."

"We're going to help Natasha and Clint with some research," Phil added. "If you need support, let us know."

Andrew made his way into the kitchen. Summer was taking a baking sheet of cookies from the oven. "Hello, Dr. Garner," she greeted him. "It's nice to finally meet you in person."

"Thank you for having me," Andrew said. "This is a wonderful home."

"Well, I appreciate the compliment, but it's not mine," Summer said. "It's the twins', and they're very proud of it. I'm sure they'd like to hear what you think of it."

She slid the cookies onto a cooling rack and slipped her oven mitts off. "I know Skye asked you to come here to talk to Wanda."

"Yes. She was very casual about it."

"She loves Wanda. We all do, but Skye was there to witness Wanda's latest episode and I think it scared her."

"Episode," Andrew repeated. "What do you mean by that?"

Summer gave him a small smile as she poured herself a glass of water. "Let's start at the beginning, Dr. Garner."

"Sounds good. Please, call me Andrew."

"Andrew, then." Summer led him over to the breakfast nook and they sat, companionably, at the table. "Wanda and Pietro were born in Russia – technically it was still the Soviet Union then. Their family lived in a small, highly-contested republic that went under almost as soon as it was emancipated. When the twins were five years old, their apartment building was bombed. Their parents got out nearly immediately; the twins were trapped on the fourth floor for two days by a shell that didn't detonate. Pietro says it was the scariest two days of his life, not only because there was a bomb mere feet from his face, one that never went off, thank God, but also because he realizes it was the first time Wanda started to slip.

"They were separated from their parents after a government roundup of potential suspects for a local crime spree. Pietro remembers seeing his father bludgeoned by a soldier. He said his father went to the ground and was unconscious, and that he and Wanda both were there to experience it. The twins were evacuated to an orphanage in the Ukraine by some well-meaning international rescue group, and they stayed there until they were eight.

"At age eight a minister and his wife adopted the twins out of the orphanage and brought them to America. Pietro's memories of this time are pretty fuzzy, but he knows that during their time at the orphanage Wanda was constantly in motion. He would pin her to the ground to force her to eat, otherwise she would just pace for hours. It was as though she couldn't stop. Sometimes we see that now, but it's not a full-time perseveration.

"They were able to take a few possessions with them to the orphanage, and one of the things Wanda managed to take with her was a doll, a doll she absolutely adored. The minister told her it was wrong to have false idols, and he made her burn the doll shortly after they came to America."

"Oh," Andrew said. That hit him like a punch in the sternum.

Summer nodded. "Pietro says it was really when Wanda started to slip again."

She looked out the window for a moment, then took a deep breath and began to speak again. "When the twins were fourteen years old, Wanda was… she was sick, for lack of a better word. Wanda never got over the loss of her doll, and she would take things from around the minister's house and fashion them into dolls. Very creative things, Pietro tells me. Apparently the minister finally got fed up with this, and he beat her. Pietro tried to stop him, but he wasn't able to protect Wanda, which still hurts him today.

"Wanda had a psychotic break almost immediately after that. She stopped communicating on a meaningful level with anyone in the real world. She wouldn't eat. Pietro spoon-fed her. She didn't recognize anyone around her. She begged for Pietro to 'take care of the bomb' and to 'make it stop.' The only other things she said were directed to people only she could see."

Summer squeezed her eyes shut and lowered her head. "God, the things these two have been through. And it just gets worse."

Andrew leaned forward and took her hand. "I think you're very brave for telling me all these things. It's obvious that you care for Pietro and Wanda very much. I can only imagine how difficult it was for them to trust you, and what a momentous victory that they were able to, that they live here in this warm and inviting home and have these purposeful lives."

Summer nodded and wiped tears from her eyes. "Right after Wanda's psychotic break, their adopted brother, the biological son of the minister and his wife, he… he… God."

Andrew tightened his grip on her hand. "He took advantage of her."

"No," Summer said. "That's far too casual and kind for what happened. He told her she was the devil, he raped her, and then he told Pietro, to his face, that he would get away with it, because Wanda was crazy."

Andrew was shocked into silence.

"Three days after that, Wanda attempted suicide. She almost succeeded." Summer's voice was choked and she gripped Andrew's hand firmly. "The minister disrupted their adoption, which put them into the foster care system. Well, it put Pietro into the foster care system. Wanda was admitted to a pediatric mental health ward, and she stayed there for nearly a year."

"It's not an unusual length of time following such an attempt."

"It nearly killed her again, to be away from Pietro. Pietro tried to be there as much as he could, but they were both in over their heads. They had a very kind case worker who was involved with decision-making and tried to do her best for them, but they were a difficult case. There were two of them, for one, and they refused to be separated. Their grasp on English was only partially solidified and they preferred to speak Russian with each other. On top of that, there were all of Wanda's issues. She was heavily medicated to the point of sedation because the personnel there thought she was dangerous. Finally Pietro realized what was happening and went to their case worker. Together they went through Wanda's medical records, and the case worker found someone who translated parts of them into Russian so Pietro could understand it all.

"He fought for Wanda, fought for her to get on medication that would help her but still allow her to be the sister he knew was still in there. And it worked. After eleven months she was released to the foster home where Pietro stayed. Thank God it was a very stable, loving home, and they were able to stay there until they were eighteen."

Summer swallowed and reached for her water. She took a long drink. "One of my students' parents is a case manager for the state, and she handles hard-to-place adoptions. She was talking to me about the twins, nothing specific or overly-revealing, just that they were being failed by the system and they needed somewhere to go. Something in me resonated with that story, and I requested their file. Almost immediately afterwards I talked to Skye about it and she was completely onboard. We started the process to adopt them a month after that, and shortly after the twins' eighteenth birthday, they came to us.

"I'd like to say things were better right away, but that's not true. They were both so angry and jaded. They'd been abandoned by nearly everyone in their lives. All they had was each other. Pietro was the strong one for so long that he'd forgotten to take care of himself. Wanda's identity was 'the sick one' and she was desperate not to be that, so she often ignored signals that something was wrong. They were messes, but they were our messes.

"Eventually things straightened out. They both have jobs. They have this house. Pietro helped to build it. They are adored by everyone who knows them. I am so proud of what they've overcome to get here." Summer gave Andrew a watery smile.

"Does Wanda have a formal diagnosis?" Andrew asked.

Summer nodded. "Schizophrenia, but I don't know if that's right. She gets so anxious about going to the doctor that we basically sedate her for the car ride there. She's afraid they'll take her away from Pietro. So she hasn't been formally assessed in about five years and I'm not sure if anything's changed."

"Now, you mentioned an episode. What's that like?"

"It's dissociation, pure and simple," Summer answered. "She starts hallucinating and finds the world absolutely incomprehensible. It can last minutes or hours or days. There's no pattern, no timeline. She gets violent."

"To others?"

"Mostly to herself."

"With implements?"

"If she can find any," Summer said. "If she gets desperate, she'll bite herself or claw at her skin, hit herself in the head, or bash her body into things."

"Does she tell you why she does this?"

"She says it makes the voices stop."

"Has she ever attempted suicide again?"

"No," Summer replied softly. "She'll scream at Pietro to let her die when she's in the middle of dissociating, but that's about the extent."

Andrew nodded. "Okay. This is a lot of good information you've given me. Anything else I should know about?"

"The twins have a few phrases they use that might come up in conversation. Wanda calls Pietro 'very best brother' and he calls her 'very best sister.' Wanda refers to self-injury as 'outside hurt.'" Summer took another sip of water. "Wanda wears bracelets that cover her wrists and she doesn't take them off very often, and she never takes them off in front of someone she doesn't trust with her life."

"Noted. Would it be all right if I spoke with her now?"

"Of course. She's out in her workshop."

Summer led Andrew through the house and down a short ramp to a closed door. "Um, one more thing."

"Anything."

"She's brilliant. Builds things from schematics she draws up, does complex math in her head – she's a wonder. I know people don't always see it, because of her broken English and the way she's slow to speak, but that's a medication-related issue. She knows English, Russian, and ASL, but she doesn't sign often."

"Because her hands shake?"

Summer looked surprised. "How did you know that?"

"I've known a lot of schizophrenics," Andrew said. "Sometimes the medications cause tremors."

"Yes. Yes, it is her shaking hands. And she also had one hand crushed shortly after they were evacuated to the Ukraine, and it never healed properly, so she doesn't sign as fast as she'd like. Skye's adapted – she can lip read, and Wanda can understand sign."

"I'm looking forward to meeting her."

Summer knocked on the workshop door. "Wanda? Andrew's here to talk to you."

"Do not need for to talk," an accented voice replied. "Am working."

"Could you talk while you work?" Summer suggested.

"No. Am working. Very busy. Maybe tell him for to go away, come back never."

Summer smiled. "She's sassy," she whispered.

Andrew nodded, then raised his voice to speak to the door. "I'd like to hear about your work. Summer's told me a lot of things, but she's said nothing about your work."

"Is boring. Nothing for to tell."

"Wanda, at least open the door and stop being rude," Summer said.

Silence from the other side of the door. Then footsteps approached, hesitantly, and the door swung open.

Andrew took in the young woman standing there. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but after hearing about Wanda's life, she certainly wasn't it. Her long dark hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, and she was dressed casually in jeans and a red shirt. He noted the bracelets at her wrists and the spark in her eyes. She looked… normal. And moreover, strong. And fully connected.

"I am working," she repeated. "I do not want to talk for feelings."

"We don't have to talk about feelings," Andrew said. "I have a lot of other interests."

That brought a smile to Wanda's lips. "I am to think doctors like you think only of feelings. You say 'how does that make you feel?' as though I am to know."

"Not true," Andrew protested, mock-offended. "I love film noir, line dancing, and calligraphy."

Wanda tilted her head. "You are not to like any of these. Perhaps one."

"If you're so smart, you tell me which one."

She studied him for a few beats, and Andrew felt utterly exposed as her green-eyed gaze traveled over him, as though she knew things he didn't about himself. "You are to like film noir. Line dancing you mock as it requires the cowboy boots and the cowboy hat. And calligraphy is your… mother does?"

"Jesus," Andrew said. "Forget whatever you're doing now – you should go on the road as a mind-reader."

Wanda shrugged modestly.

"I am into film noir," Andrew said, "and I'm not a fan of country-Western dancing or apparel. And it's not my mother who does calligraphy, it's my aunt, but I'm willing to give you that one."

"Hmm," Wanda said, and tapped her lips with her right hand. Andrew could plainly see it was deformed, curved and twisted, but it didn't seem to faze her any. "You may come in."

"Thank you," Andrew said, genuinely grateful.

"But not for to discuss the feelings. You may hold tools."

Summer laughed. "I'll leave you to it, Andrew. Let me know if either of you would like cookies."

She headed back to the kitchen, and Wanda stuck out her hand. "I cannot say it is pleasure you are here, Dr. Andrew Garner, but it has been interesting for to meet you. I am Wanda Maximoff."

"It's lovely to meet you, Wanda Maximoff," Andrew replied, shaking her hand. "And since we're not going to talk about feelings, I can just be Andrew."

"You can be Andrew Tool-Holder," Wanda said. "Come in, come in. Much work to do before the Christmas."

Andrew followed her down into the workshop, shaking his head. She'd be a tough one to crack, but he had a feeling it would be completely worth the effort.

For the first time in her life, Skye was almost disappointed that she was deaf, because she was positive that the accents flying around her kitchen at the moment were simply amazing. Pietro was waving his hands and barking something at Fitz while he held up a measuring cup and a whisk, and Fitz, who was wearing an honest-to-God chef's hat, kept shaking his head and pointing to the bag of flour.

She texted as much to Jemma. Your not-boyfriend and my brother seem to be fighting over the names of simple items.

What? That can't be true. Take a video and send it to me.

Skye shrugged and held up the phone, taking a two-minute video of the argument. Both guys seemed to have forgotten she was actually in the room, so they didn't notice. She sent the video off to Jemma and returned to watching Pietro wave the whisk and Fitz instead point to the flour bag.

Oh my God, Jemma's next text read. They're not fighting over the names of simple items.

Enlighten me, then.

Fitz is trying to tell Pietro that French women are like flour, but he's not fully explaining his reasoning on that one, so I think the argument's been going on for a bit. And Pietro keeps trying to insert the phrase "whisk 'em up" but it just sounds extremely vulgar.

Skye burst out laughing, and both guys turned to look at her. She waved her hand in their direction and gestured to her phone. Okay. That's way better than whatever I was thinking. Now I need to go separate them and get back to work.

Are you going to tell me what you're up to?

Nope. Not yet. But it is the season for miracles, Ms. Simmons.

You're just lucky you're cute.

It hasn't failed me yet, Skye replied.

You know I'm going to kiss it out of you later.

A promise I expect you to keep.

Skye stuck her phone in her pocket and hopped up from her chair. She approached Pietro and started signing. Hey, whiskers. I need you to find out what the menu's going to be, and ask Fitz what he needs to prepare the entire meal.

Pietro nodded and spoke to Fitz.

Fitz took a notebook from the counter next to him and flipped it open, handing it to Skye.

She looked down at it. Fitz had impossibly precise handwriting, and he'd laid out the meal in painstaking details.

Appetizer: shrimp cocktail, served with sparkling beverages and crackers. Salad course: spinach, mixed greens, dried cherries, walnuts; light vinaigrette dressing. Main course: roasted herb potatoes, baked chicken with cream sauce, green beans, rolls; served with white wine. Desserts: pumpkin pie, Dundee cake, fruit platter. Aperitif: coffee, tea, Christmas crackers.

Skye looked up at Fitz, and began signing, trusting that Pietro would interpret. This seems like a lot of work and a lot of expensive ingredients. You know there's like fifteen people who will be here for this.

Fitz shook his head, smiling at her. He raised his hands and signed, This. Eat. You, Jemma. Special.

Skye's heart melted. "Ohhh," she breathed aloud, and threw her arms around Fitz.

He awkwardly patted her back and waited for her to release him. Special. Eat. Christmas. Beautiful.

His signs were awkward and jerky, but he'd put effort into it and Skye loved that above all else.

She smiled at him. "Sign for 'dinner,'" she vocalized, and showed him. Dinner.

Dinner, he repeated.

Skye gave him a thumbs-up. So we need to go shopping for this magical meal.

Fitz nodded as Pietro interpreted. Before he could say anything, Pietro turned back to Skye. Let me and Fitz go.

What? Why?

Why not? Pietro shrugged. I have a car, he knows what we need, it'll be perfect.

Skye studied him. You just want some bro time, don't you?

I live with my sister, I have two other sisters, and you tend to bring home more female friends than male. Mostly it's just me and Little Bear in the men's room.

We don't have a men's room, Skye pointed out.

You're ruining it.

Skye smiled. Fine. Nothing too wild, though, okay? I don't need Jemma's best friend in jail before the holidays. Tends to ruin things like kisses under the mistletoe.

For you or for me?

Skye barked out a laugh.

Pietro grinned.

Melinda turned her attention to the apartment while Raina locked the door and moved into the kitchen. It was a small space, decorated in rich colors – burgundy, chocolate, bronze. Heavy curtains covered the windows, rendering the living room near-dark despite the fact it was the middle of the day. A small lamp burned on a round end table next to an armchair; judging from the books and papers surrounding the chair, it was where Raina spent most of her time. Melinda saw no evidence of a television or a computer. She took a seat on the small loveseat and waited.

Raina came back from the kitchen carrying a tray laden with a plate of dense cookies and two cups of some exotic-colored juice. She set the tray a bit awkwardly on an overstuffed ottoman between them, and sat in her chair. "You are here to tell me about the third."

"I'm here to find out what's going on. Before anyone else gets hurt."

Raina laughed, a bitter chuckle. "It's too late for that, Professor."

Melinda forced herself not to stare at Raina's scarred face.

"Not just me," Raina said, obviously picking up on the subtext. "Katia's dead and I'm sure there's more going on with the third than you've let on."

"She's deaf," Melinda said.

"Of course she is."

"She's not like Katia."

"No one's like Katia."

"No one's like you, either."

A ghost of a smile appeared on Raina's lips. She leaned forward and took one of the cups of juice, drinking contemplatively before speaking again. "On that, Professor, I agree."

"You said 'they' came after you. Who are 'they'?"

Raina took some papers from her end table and passed them to Melinda. "I finally tracked down the major players in this operation. The man who blew the lid on the whole thing – Henry Garrett – is in prison. His brother, John Garrett, works at Barnham College…"

"I know him," Melinda said.

"I'm not surprised."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Did you really think karma wasn't going to put all the major players back on the chessboard at some point or another?"

Melinda shook her head. "We did the right thing. We rescued the three of you, we made sure Cal and Jiaying were out of the picture, we shut the lab down."

"Sure, your article did those things," Raina agreed, though her tone was sarcastic and hard. "It shut the lab down, but obviously you didn't remove all of the people who worked for Whitehall, or even Whitehall himself, from the equation, because he was still able to send his goons after me to ruin my face. You rescued the three of us. Katia's dead, the third is living with a time bomb of a secret in her body, and I'm going to live forever with the remembrance of the power those men still have over us. And Cal and Jiaying? They might be out of your picture, but they're still out there, they're still together, and they're still looking for the third."

"She has a name."

"And I don't need to know it," Raina said fiercely. "Why are you here?"

Melinda was feeling more and more desperate by the minute. "I don't… I don't know."

"You might have moved on," Raina said, "quit your job at the newspaper and gone into teaching, but you're still a journalist at heart. There's still a story you want told here. But what is it, Professor?"

"I need answers."

Raina's laugh was even bitterer, harsh and cold. "Get in line."

"This can't be true," Ward said to Whitehall, staring at the copied newspaper articles spread on the table before them.

"Why? Because you never considered it as a possibility?"

"Because… Garrett would have mentioned something like this. He did research into all of the people who were responsible for his brother going to jail, and this never showed up."

"There are two things wrong with your presumption," Whitehall said. "First, that Garrett was a good enough snoop to get all of the information. And second, that it's possible for someone to have a past."

Ward looked up at the older man. "Everyone has a past."

"On that, Mr. Ward, we agree." Whitehall adjusted his glasses. "Now, I need you to take care of the journalist. Get to her any way you can – through the people she cares about most. I don't care how you choose to handle the situation. Let my staff know if they can procure any items for you."

Ward nodded mutely, still looking down at the articles.

"Anonymous Tip Leads to Raid of Lab."

"Raided Lab a Front for Biomedical Research."

"Sickening Human Experimentation: Who will pay for this?"

"Garrett, Others named as Defendants in Lab Raid Case."

They had the same byline, a simple tag that floored Ward every time he saw it.

By Melinda May, Senior Reporter, Local News Bureau.

"You and me are going to take a walk," Phil said to Little Bear.

The dog looked up at him eagerly, wagging his tail.

"Well, we're going to do something else, too," Phil said. "But I don't want to give away the secret."

Little Bear yipped.

Phil sighed. "Fine," he said, mock-irritated. He bent down and ruffled the dog's fur, then spoke in a whisper. "We're going to sneak around back and throw snowballs at Bobbi and Hunter. They're on the back porch arguing. Or making out. With them, it could be either. So they definitely deserve some snowballs."

Little Bear licked Phil on the cheek.

"Glad to know you're onboard."

Andrew and Wanda spent a silent two hours in the workshop together, Wanda pointing to things she needed and Andrew fetching them dutifully, before Wanda spoke.

"I do not like the part of me that causes me to hurt others."

It was simple and at the same time expressed so much sadness and absolute hopelessness. Andrew shifted on his feet. "Who do you think you've hurt?"

"Everyone." She pointed to a soldering iron and he handed it to her.

"I don't think they'd agree with you on that."

Wanda braced the soldering iron with her hand and began working on a circuit board in front of her. "Is true."

When she'd finished Andrew spoke again. "Can you give me any examples?"

"I am burden." Wanda looked down critically at the circuit board and apparently approved; she picked up a piece of sandpaper and carefully filed down an edge.

"I don't think that's true."

"Truth is truth."

"From what I have observed, you are the furthest thing from a burden. You create these beautiful things for people who are often overlooked by our society. You care deeply for your siblings. You've done a great job with the house – it's lovely. And from what I can see, you don't take a lot of shit from people."

Wanda smiled, her attention still focused on the circuit board. "This is true."

"That doesn't make you a burden. That makes you cherished, and productive, and introspective, and strong."

"When I go… away, some of the time I come back to Pietro holding me. Tight. Against him, arms and legs pinned. He says soft things, he says very best sister, do not hurt, and he waits until I am me." Something in Wanda's expression suggested there was more to that, but she shook her head and went quiet.

"Why does that scare you?"

"Does not scare."

"What about that worries you?"

"Shouldn't have to do so."

"Do you do things for him?"

Wanda nodded.

"So you do things for him, and he does things for you. He keeps you safe, makes sure you're okay. And you do things for him. Maybe different things, things you might not see as equal in status, but I bet they're just as important to Pietro."

"We are the adults. We are not supposed to… I am not supposed to fall apart."

"All people fall apart, Wanda."

"Not like me."

"No, I'd wager they all fall apart differently."

She turned to him. "What are you trying for to prove?"

"That what you do is completely normal."

Wanda furrowed her brow and took angry steps towards him. "Is not normal!" she half-screeched. "Is dangerous! Is wrong!"

"That's not true," Andrew said, forcing himself not to back away from her. "Everyone is unique, and…"

"Is bullshit," she spat at him. "I want for to be healthy and whole and not… and not…"

She sucked in a quavering breath and he saw tears in her eyes. "And not… this."

Before he fully understood what was happening, she had her arms up in front of her, disengaging the buckles on her bracelets.

They fell to the floor and she stood before him, shaking with rage, tears streaming down her face as she showed him her wrists.

Andrew took in the thick white scars, stunned at her actions. Wanda had just done something he'd been told she would never do.

She trusts me, he realized.

"Am broken," Wanda sobbed to him.

"No," Andrew said gently, and he took her wrists in his hands, carefully running his thumbs over the raised scars. "No. You are a fighter. And there's a difference."

"Jemma," Skye murmured into her girlfriend's ear. "Wake up."

She didn't hear if Jemma gave a reply, but the faint vibrations under her palm, resting just over Jemma's heart, suggested there was one. But Jemma didn't roll over.

Skye smiled and shook Jemma. It had been a long day of learning cooking and baking tips from Fitz, playing card games and board games, running errands, working on Christmas shopping, and, for some reason, rescuing Phil and Little Bear from an enraged Bobbi and Hunter. Now it was dark outside and the Christmas lights in her room were glowing with the perfect golden light.

Jemma opened her eyes and blinked up at her. She shifted to free up her hands. You finally get done with your secret mission?

Everyone has secrets at Christmas, Skye replied. She snuggled down next to Jemma. Little Bear hopped up and flopped down between them.

Jemma's face went serious. Promise me we'll never have any secrets from each other.

I'm not telling you what I got you for Christmas.

No, not like that. Like Melinda and Maria.

Skye let that sink in. No, she signed. We'll never have anything like that.

Good. Jemma yawned.

We're different. I can't fully articulate how or why, but we're different. We're special. We're… Skye didn't have a good way to finish that, so she shrugged.

You're mine and I'm yours. Easy as that, Jemma answered.

Glad to know I'm dating such a brain who solves her own existential crises in a snap.

Everyone can do something.