A/N: I'm so sorry it's taken me this long to get another chapter of something up. NaNoWriMo generally saps all of inspiration, then the holidays poke up, and I'm always overtired from work (and underpaid, but that's neither here nor there). And I'm sorry this isn't the correct one in the update order, but I've been feeling more and more like writing this, so of course I was going to give in. I hope to be back up and running with all of the things shortly, including some new things.
In this chapter: a bit of plot, some fluff, a good deal of angst, the introduction of a secret. Trigger warning for self-injury.
Not in this chapter: The majority of characters being happy for too long, an explanation for the secret.
In the next chapter: Melinda learns something terrible, Ward meets Cal and Jiaying, Fitz and Pietro being bros, Jemma ponders Christmas presents.
I wrote this chapter while listening to "Chains" by Nick Jonas on repeat. Give it a listen while you read for the full experience.
Thanks to everyone who reads/reviews/follows/favorites/sends messages. You are amazing and so patient with me. Thanks for enjoying what I write and for letting me know.
Enjoy!
Andrew stood at the door of the workshop looking in at Wanda. She was propped up on her elbows on the workbench, a pencil in one hand, scribbling on a tablet in front of her. He could hear her murmuring under her breath, and at one point her head came up briefly and she drew a figure in the air.
"Who are you?" Andrew heard from behind him.
He turned, seeing a lean young man with white-blond hair standing in the hallway. "Um, I'm…"
"And for why are you watching my sister?"
"You must be Pietro," Andrew said.
"I know who I am," Pietro answered, frowning at him. "This is not why I ask."
"My name is Andrew."
"And for why do you stare?"
"I spoke with Wanda yesterday. I was reviewing our conversation before I went in there to talk to her again."
Pietro frowned at him. He carried a tray laden with a plate of toast, a large glass of milk, a steaming mug of something, and a handful of pills. "She… she is to talk to you?"
"She said a few things," Andrew replied.
Pietro bit his lip. "She tell you… she tell you things? About…?"
He shifted the tray in his grasp and touched his head.
Andrew nodded.
"She is sick?"
"No," Andrew said. "She has a mental illness. It's not well-controlled. I'd like to learn more about her, about her condition, and then we can figure out how to treat it."
"She takes the pills."
"She hasn't been evaluated in quite some time. These things change over time. There's no road map. As circumstances change, the brain changes. She might not need some of these medications, or she might need different ones. It's going to be a process."
"No. Do not change," Pietro said. "She is… she is fragile. Do not make her more sick."
"That's also an option," Andrew said. "But it needs to be her choice, Pietro."
"She does not know what she wants."
"She wants to be healthy."
"She does not know what this is."
"She wants to find out."
"Actually, what she really wants is for to eat her breakfast," Wanda interrupted. She took the tray from Pietro's hands. "And for men to stop having the argument in the doorway. Arguments are for not in the workshop."
She rolled her eyes at Pietro. [You are a pain the ass.]
[You are stubborn like a mule.]
[You have no idea what I want.]
[I know you don't know what you want.]
[I don't want you gossiping about me in a corridor.]
[It's not a corridor! It's a… breezeway.]
Wanda rolled her eyes again. Then her expression became tentative, slightly afraid. [Pietro… what if he wants to put me in the hospital?]
Pietro froze. [Do we have to talk about this now?]
It was the wrong thing to say. Wanda's eyes filled with tears and the tray in her hands began to shake. "Pietro," she gasped.
He reached forward and took the tray from her. Gently he brushed past her and put it down on the workbench. [We don't have to talk about this now. Eat your breakfast.]
[You think I'm crazy!]
Andrew watched as the conversation continued. He couldn't understand a word of Russian, but he saw how quickly Wanda's expression changed. "Don't upset her," he said to Pietro.
Pietro scoffed. "I am not upsetting her."
"She looks upset."
Wanda looked far beyond upset; her breathing rapid, hands clenched, a panicked look in her eyes. [You think I'm crazy!] she barked at Andrew. [Lock me up like I'm crazy! Again! You should have let me -]
"Nyet," Pietro replied. "He should not have let you do anything. You are here. You make the choices. We talk them through. I do not think you are crazy."
He turned to Andrew. "If she is upset, doctor, this is your doing."
[Pietro! Why?] Wanda sobbed at him. She grabbed his shirt. "Please don't make me go away."
"No one will take you anywhere, mladshaya sestra."
"Please," she whimpered.
"Shh, very best sister," Pietro said, and he wrapped his arms around her.
"I am not crazy," Wanda whispered. "Rock, Pietro."
Dutifully Pietro began rocking them back and forth, back and forth. Wanda closed her eyes.
"I don't think you're crazy," Andrew said carefully.
"Then why do you care for what is in her head?" Pietro asked.
"It's who I am," Andrew said.
"Pietro." Wanda's hands clenched into his shirt.
"No, Wanda," he said firmly. "No outside hurt."
She dug her nails into her palms.
"Tell me what are you thinking of before I am to come in here," Pietro said.
"Christmas present for Skye's Jemma."
"Tell me more."
"Trying to think of the water. How should the water work," Wanda went on, suddenly exhausted. "Can't get the tubing numbers right for the pump."
"And you are doing the numbers?"
"Still cannot make it work." She forced herself to take a deep breath. [I don't want him here anymore.]
[He doesn't have to stay.]
[This is our house. He wants to know what's happening in my head. How can he… how can he be a person and a doctor?]
Pietro nodded. He knew what Wanda meant. It was difficult for her to talk to a doctor in the first place, but one who stayed in their home and who, aside from his attempts at treating Wanda, was more like a friend than a doctor, was even more overwhelming. [Eat your breakfast and take your meds, and you can go back to bed for a while.]
[I'm not tired.]
[Liar.]
[I am very tired.]
[I know.]
"I am scared," she whispered.
[Of what, little bird?]
[That you will not love me anymore.]
Pietro stopped rocking them and carefully removed his arms from his sister. He brought her chin up so she was looking him in the eye. [I will always love you,] he said fiercely. [Always. There is nothing you can do, ever, to make me change my mind on that.]
[I am bad. I am sick. I am useless.]
[And I am sloppy, and forgetful, and never punctual. So we are a pair, hmm?]
Her eyes filled with tears. [They will take me away from you.]
[There is nowhere they could ever take you that I wouldn't follow.]
"Someday," Wanda breathed. "Pietro?"
"Hmm?"
"Head," she managed to get out. She took a few steps away from him, wobbling, and then turned back, a confused look on her face. "Why… why…?"
"What, mladshaya sestra?"
Wanda put her hands to her head. "It is so loud."
"Pietro," Andrew said quietly. "Does she need…?"
Pietro waved one hand in the doctor's direction. "I am to handle this."
"Too loud," Wanda muttered, and she pushed at her temples. "Hurts."
She took another step towards Pietro and then her eyes rolled up in her head and she collapsed to the floor.
Where are we going? Skye signed to Jemma.
You'll see.
I think a better question is, how did you manage to wrangle Wanda's truck for the day?
It was very difficult. I went to Pietro and I said, I need a car. Can I borrow Wanda's?
Skye rolled her eyes.
They both seem so preoccupied.
Wanda's anxious because Andrew's there, and Pietro's irritated because Andrew's there, and also he's probably a bit nervous for Wanda, because she doesn't do well with psychiatrists. Or really anyone trying to talk to her about her brain.
Some things are private.
So where are we going? Skye asked, and she grinned at Jemma.
It's a surprise.
You are no fun at all.
No more signing. I'm driving.
Yeah, about that. How do you have a US driver's license when you're from England?
Spent enough time in the US to get good at it, Jemma replied. After all, I am a genius.
So you say. But you're dating me, so… Skye laughed.
She stared out the window at the snowy landscape around them and felt her eyes growing heavy. She hadn't been able to figure out what was so special about Raina Rose. She hadn't figured out where Professor May had gone after the disastrous encounter in the tunnels under the university. The only thing she'd accomplished was a paper cut, and irritation. It seemed to be another dead end, and they were no closer to finding something to incriminate Grant Ward than they had been before her seemingly useless research.
Eventually her head rested against the window and she drifted off to sleep.
Wanda's eyes fluttered open and she blinked up at Pietro; she was cradled in his arms. Her entire body hurt and there was a roar in her head that wasn't quite the overload of voices she was used to. Panic tensed her muscles and she felt her teeth start chattering against her will.
[Very best sister. Can you hear me?]
"Da," she whispered. Fear clenched itself around her spine. [Pietro, make it go away.]
His voice was soft. [Make what go away?]
[Make it go away!] she sobbed.
[Tell me what it is and I will do my best.]
[The bomb! Take care of the bomb!]
"Oh, mladshaya sestra," Pietro murmured. He stroked her hair. "Bomb has been gone for many years."
[I am cold. I am so cold. Take care of the bomb!]
"Shh," Pietro whispered, and he rocked her back and forth as though she was an infant.
The roar in Wanda's head threatened to split itself into voices and she tried to get her hands up to her head. [This is wrong. This is all wrong.]
She wrenched her head to one side, her teeth still chattering, and saw her X-Acto knife on the floor mere inches away. She must have dropped it when she fell.
Wanda gathered one last burst of energy and pushed away from Pietro. Her freezing fingers curled around the knife and she relished the feeling of its cold metal handle against her palm.
[Wanda, no!] Pietro yelled.
Wanda gripped the knife as the voices sprang to life.
Pietro, in Russian: You are a burden. You are worthless. I should leave you. I don't need you.
The minister, her adopted father: You are a heathen. The devil's own child. Evil is curled in your veins.
Her adopted brother, Chad, the one who'd raped her and left her a shell driven by rage: No one is going to believe you. You're a fucking crazy retard.
And the chorus of little voices that spoke to her in Russian and in English, the ones she called "the small speakers" in her head: Do it. Do it. Purge us from you. We'll come back. Little red lines. Watch yourself spring up from the well inside. Do it. Do it. We know you want to. What's another scar on your shell of a body? Do it. Do it. DO IT.
Wanda gasped, her head flooded, her body no longer her own. Dimly she heard Pietro screaming for help, but her attention was solely on the smooth, sharp blade in front of her. She raised it to the light and it gleamed.
DO IT.
And so she did.
Jemma looked over at Skye as she drove. Their destination wasn't too much further, just an hour or so past the university, but Skye had remained solidly asleep since they'd passed the bizarre tourist attraction of Silver Dollar Station, a faux-Wild West town with a rather large statue of Paul Bunyan standing guard over its curved wooden gates. Jemma could see the tension in Skye's forehead even as her girlfriend slept, and it worried her. Sometimes Skye seemed like she was carrying too much weight, and Jemma knew from experience that the weight of the world never stopped pressing down; it only crushed.
She didn't want Skye to be crushed. Would do anything to avoid it. But there were some things Jemma suspected she could do nothing about. She would never fully understand what it was like to live in a world where her main method of conversation wasn't the primary language. Would never understand how it felt to be cut off from everyone else around her, save a select few. Would never understand Skye's definite need to prove she was worthy to the hearing world. Would never carry the strain of a severely mentally ill sister, or feel the panic of exposing an entire family to the bizarre attentions of a demented stalker. And minus a few recent events, Jemma suspected she would never completely lose herself to anxiety.
In their time together Skye faced things Jemma never even considered. And for the most part, Skye handled them with remarkable grace and ease.
But the weight of the world didn't let up. And Jemma wondered if Skye was cracking.
When the truck was safely parked in the lot at the Miller Family Orchard's Winter Wonderland, Jemma hesitated a bit before waking Skye. Skye's face was more relaxed, and her soft, even breathing told Jemma she was truly asleep.
Eventually Jemma raised one hand and began stroking Skye's hair, the way she did when Skye fell asleep in her bed. "Skye," she murmured. "Wake up."
Skye pushed her hand away and muttered something. One of her hands came up lazily and she signed, Go away.
Jemma grabbed Skye's hand and spelled into it. We're here.
Sleeping, came the response.
Trust me, you're going to like this.
At that Skye opened her eyes and brought both hands up to sign properly. If this is another science lecture I swear I'm…
Her mouth dropped open as she took in the sights before her. The family-run orchard also included a cider mill and a large country market that sold baked goods and other local products; in the fall they ran a haunted barn and gave hayrides. Now the red buildings were decorated to look like gingerbread houses. Santa's sleigh was parked outside the country market, and next to it was a steam engine decked out in fancy Christmas finery. A man dressed as Santa – although, if Jemma was being romantic, it was Santa, okay? – stood next to his sleigh, and a few feet beyond that, in the doorway of a small outbuilding draped lavishly in lights and oversized sweets of all kind, stood Mrs. Claus, a beatific smile on her face and a plate of cookies in her outstretched hands.
And there's a tour of lights, Jemma signed. And there's something else you're really going to like about this place.
Skye watched as a small girl in a bright pink coat bolted across the parking lot towards Santa, leaving her parents walking hurriedly to catch up. The girl skidded to a stop in front of Santa, her cheeks pink with excitement. Skye was expecting a stream of requests to flow from the girl's mouth, but the child raised her hands and began signing to the jolly man in the red suit.
And then, because this truly was a magic wonderland, Santa raised his own hands and replied.
What is this place? Skye asked Jemma, stunned.
The people who run the orchard are deaf – a deaf family. Some members of the family are hearing, but most are deaf.
How did you find this?
Jemma shrugged modestly. I do my research.
This is amazing, Skye signed, and she felt tears rush to her eyes.
Jemma slid her hand into Skye's and simply waited. Skye's shoulders shook with sobs and Jemma squeezed her hand.
I'm so sorry, Skye signed, her sobs turning into hiccups.
You have nothing to apologize for.
It's just… everything has been so hard. All of this stuff with Grant Ward, and finding out I'm not who I thought I was, and having to leave the university like that, so suddenly, and Wanda, and… Skye's hiccups morphed back into sobs.
Jemma wrapped her arms around Skye and rocked her back and forth.
Sometimes I feel like I'm not good enough for anyone, Skye signed, bringing her hands up in the small space between her body and Jemma's. Everywhere you take me I crumble into tears.
Jemma put a stop to that immediately. No. Everywhere we go together it's in my world, on my terms. It's not your fault that my world is strange and loud and full of things you can't understand. So today I thought we'd spend some time in your world, where it's quiet.
Skye smiled, and Jemma thought the world had never been more beautiful.
I like that, Skye signed, and she shrugged her hands into her gloves. Take a walk with me, beautiful lady, in the snow and the sparkle.
And what will you ask Santa for? Jemma asked as they prepared to get out of the truck.
Why do I have to ask for anything? My greatest gifts are already here.
It was cheesy, but Skye saw how her simple statements changed the worry in Jemma's eyes, and nothing she could buy in any store could replace the way Jemma looked at her.
[Little dove, put the knife down.] A soft female voice broke through the noise in Wanda's head.
[Mama?] Wanda asked. [Mama?]
[No, little dove, it's Natasha. Can you put the knife down?]
Wanda snapped back into her head, more or less, and she found herself standing in the middle of her workshop – her workshop – gripping the X-Acto knife in her hands. Her fingers were sticky and her arms were red. Natasha stood before her, a careful and calm expression on the redhead's face.
Wanda raised her head, feeling the room spin. Throbbing pain pulsed through her and her knees went gooey. She was suddenly clammy and nauseous.
The knife clattered to the floor.
Wanda choked and retched, and before she could say anything, Natasha grabbed a trash can from the corner of the workshop and held it in front of her. Wanda vomited, acid burning her throat.
The pain felt good, and that realization caused her to vomit again.
[Little dove, I think you might pass out, and I want to hold onto you so you don't hurt yourself anymore,] Natasha said gently. [But I don't want to scare you. Is it all right to touch you?]
Rage burned under Wanda's skin, flooded through her veins, and all she could hear were her little small voices: Worthless. Worthless garbage. No one wants to touch you. They want to lock you away. Even your own brother –
"Pietro." Wanda cut them off, black spots dancing at the edges of her vision. "Pietro, where is, please?"
Natasha hesitated, but only for a split second. [He was upset, little dove. He is not angry with you, he is angry at the situation, but that might have caused him to seem angry at you.]
"Wants for me to die," Wanda choked out. She gripped the trash can's rim. The room around her was going hazy and gray.
[No, never, little dove,] Natasha said firmly. [He wants you to live.]
Wanda swayed. [You can,] she managed to say.
She couldn't force the rest of her sentence from her numb lips, but she knew Natasha understood – the redhead moved swiftly towards her, wrapping her arms around Wanda and lowering her to the floor.
"So sorry," Wanda babbled. "So sorry."
[You have nothing to be sorry for, little dove.]
Wanda closed her eyes and went limp, realizing somewhere in the back of her mind that the voices had stopped. "Khorosho."
Skye took Jemma's hand as they wandered through the country market. It smelled amazing. Pies, cookies, bread, and cakes of all kinds were stacked on wooden shelves next to jams, jellies, honey, homemade candy, and dried fruit. An entire section was devoted to handmade crafts, including dolls, doilies, candles, and stained glass artwork. Another shelving unit held bags of apples and nearby a large refrigerator kept jugs of cider chilled. The far end of the market contained nothing but holiday crafts – wreaths, centerpieces, and fir swags, ornaments, figurines, potholders, poinsettias, needlepoint – and everything needed to wrap those presents and adorn them with tags and ribbons. The market was warm and smelled delicious – a combination of sugar, cinnamon, chocolate, and the tang of apples.
Everywhere Skye looked people were conversing in sign language, and it made her heart sing. Two small boys bantered with their mother about candy as they waited in line to pay for their goods. An elderly man and his wife stood at the bakery counter, having a discussion with the clerk on which pie would be best to take to a neighborhood party they were attending. In the bakery a group of workers laughed uproariously as one of them told a story about her grandmother and a duck.
This place is amazing, Skye signed to Jemma.
Come on, Jemma said, tugging her towards the back entrance of the market. The tour of lights awaits.
They headed out the back entrance into a forest of tall fir trees and stately pines, growing over the road like a green roof. Snow was falling lightly; the light around them was soft.
She took Jemma's hand again as they walked through the woods. Displays of varying sizes, all crafted out of Christmas lights, were set up along the path. Elves cavorted around stacks of presents. Santa's sleigh and the reindeer stood, awaiting their tasks. There were stars and castles and candles, Christmas trees and candy canes and angels, and at the end of the loop, with the market in sight, there were some recognizable characters – Olaf from "Frozen," Mickey and Minnie Mouse, Kermit the Frog and Miss Piggy, Thomas the Tank Engine – and then a gorgeous archway curling overhead, dripping lights like it was melting sun-drops and crystal.
Kiss me, Skye signed impulsively. Under the archway.
Jemma raised her eyebrows. That doesn't seem too romantic comedy for you?
Oh, it's way too romantic comedy, Skye agreed. But sometimes a romantic comedy is exactly what I want.
Jemma grinned. She wrapped her arms around Skye. Her breath was warm on Skye's cheeks and her eyes glittered with the lights and the aura of the afternoon.
Signing was out of the option once Skye raised her arms and squeezed Jemma close to her. Instead she spoke, hoping her voice wasn't too bizarre or shattering in the gentle, soft forest. "I love you."
Jemma's lips moved. "I love you too."
Skye smiled. In her pocket, her phone vibrated. She chose to ignore it. "Kiss," she said to Jemma.
"Kiss," Jemma agreed, and there, under the archway of glowing lights, snow falling on their heads like fairy dust, they kissed, lips warm and something like a surge of electricity flowing between them.
Skye loved it. It was as though she had been drowning and Jemma was breathing air into her lungs, keeping her alive. It was a feeling she'd never known before, and… and she loved it. There was simply no other way to express it. She was love from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, a golden whirl of sparks and joy.
Then her phone vibrated again and Skye pulled away from Jemma, a smile already crossing her face as she dug for her phone. You did tell them where we were going, didn't we?
Jemma nodded.
Probably just checking that we're not out in the woods making out. Too late, Skye signed, rolling her eyes.
She looked down at the screen and froze, all of that love and warmth draining out of her.
Her face went white and Jemma grabbed her by the elbow. What? she signed, getting her hands in Skye's face.
Mutely, shaking, Skye held out her phone.
Jemma took it from her, since Skye's hands were shaking too badly for her to read the screen, and her heart dropped into her stomach. It was a text message from Pietro.
Wanda is at Riley Memorial Hospital. Come now. She is asking for you.
Wanda rolled her head towards Natasha and tried to reach up to the redheaded woman, but her hands were tied to the bed with soft restraints. They still felt like handcuffs, like being tied up and forgotten about in the minister's hall closet, and they were binding and panic-inducing. All Wanda wanted was to be touched, to be reassured that she wasn't going to be locked up. [Tell them. Tell them,] she pleaded with Natasha.
Natasha stroked her hair. [Tell them what, little dove?]
[I'm not crazy.]
[They know.]
[And Skye. Tell Skye.]
[I will.]
[Please. No. I need to see her. I need to talk to her. Skye, please, Skye.]
[She's coming.]
But she's not coming, one of the little voices in Wanda's head chirped incessantly.
She screamed and threw herself away from the bed, trying to get up. "Pietro," she sobbed.
"I am here, very best sister," Pietro murmured. "Please. Please do not fight."
"I do not wish to be here," Wanda whimpered. "I wish to go home."
Pietro wrapped his arms around her and began rocking her back and forth, humming a Russian lullaby under his breath. Wanda tried to get her hands up again, her skin buzzing with the need to harm it.
You tried and you weren't good enough, the voice whispered. You're too stupid to even do that right.
Natasha saw Wanda's eyes go distant and she urgently shook the girl's shoulder. [Stay with me, little dove.]
Andrew approached, holding Wanda's file.
"You!" Pietro snapped, jerking up from his spot at the bedside. "You are the one who is to do this!"
Going to kill each other, the voice whispered to Wanda. You'd like that, wouldn't you? You like death and destruction, don't you? Want to see them rip each other to pieces.
"No," Wanda breathed. "No, don't want."
We could make them.
"I didn't do anything," Andrew protested. "I'm just trying to help!"
"She was fine before you get here!" Pietro spat. "Now she is…"
He threw up his hands; Wanda knew English had failed him. [Tied up like a dog!] he continued in Russian. [In fear for her life! Surrounded by strangers looking at her like she's a circus freak!]
He could press the doctor's throat, stop his life, no more talking, one particularly insistent voice suggested.
"NO!" Wanda screamed. She tried to bring her knees up, tried to bring her head down, tried to smash herself somewhere in between. "NO!"
A flood of red appeared on the oh-so-white bandages around her arms and the sight of it made her woozy. "Make it to stop," Wanda pleaded to Natasha. "Make it to stop."
Natasha bit her lip. "We're trying."
Pain streaked up her arm and the bandages were soaked with more red. Wanda's stomach turned and she forced her eyes back to Pietro. "Skye, very best brother. Where is?"
"She's coming," Pietro said, his eyes still on Andrew. "Get out."
Andrew looked up. "I don't think that's…"
"You have heard me," Pietro said firmly. "You are to do nothing but confuse her, make her worse. She is not for to talk to anymore. Go."
Andrew tried to speak once more.
Natasha put a stop to it. "They don't want you here," she said.
Andrew flicked his gaze to her. Seeing he was beat, he closed the file. "If you need anything…"
"We will not," Pietro said.
"… I'll be in the hallway."
[I'm so sorry,] Wanda breathed to Pietro.
"Do not be sorry," Pietro said gently.
"Is all my fault," Wanda sobbed. "Is all my fault."
"No," Pietro told her, and he gripped her hand, winding his fingers around the bedrail so even her limited range of hand motion would be able to hold onto him.
"Sleep now," Wanda said. Her head felt heavy. "Please Skye to be here."
"I will tell her."
Her eyes slid closed and Pietro looked over at Natasha.
"I think the pain medication kicked in," Natasha said carefully. "She'll probably be out for a while, if you want to get some rest."
She could tell he was running off adrenaline and shock; he seemed so jittery that she wasn't sure how he was managing to stay in the chair.
"Okay. Okay. All right."
Somehow he managed to awkwardly position himself next to the bed and prop his head up on the bedrail. In mere seconds his eyes closed and he seemed to be asleep, his fingers still tightly entwined in Wanda's.
Natasha found him a pillow and covered him with a worn but soft blanket. Then she went to stand in the hallway to wait for Skye and Jemma. She had no idea what Wanda was so desperate to tell Skye, but she knew one thing – it seemed to be the only thing Wanda would focus on, the only thing requiring her to stay alive.
And Natasha knew from experience that things like that were never good.
Translation:
Khorosho - "good" (phonetic Russian)