"Who wouldn't be angry you ate all of my cereal and faked your death for three years!" Skimmons"

(here is some background info: basically normal verse, except shield is basically just a superhero organization, hydra is supervillain hq, skye's a superhero called quake, and jemma is the scientist she fell in love with; they're gross, it's great, i might write more for this)

disclaimed

the one where skye's a "dead" superhero

...

"Jesus christ!" Skye ducks the throw pillow. And the mug, shattering on the wall behind her. "This wasn't really the homecoming I was expecting."

"What the hell were you expecting?" Jemma yells, looking around for something else to hurl, hands shaking. "A parade? A cake? A goddamn surprise party?" She throws a magazine next, her aim curving to the far left, but Skye ducks just the same.

"I thought you'd be happy to see me?" Skye moves to stand behind the kitchen island, full intents to use it as a shield if it was so needed. "But you just seem really angry, so maybe I should go—?"

"Who wouldn't be angry?" Jemma stalks towards her, balling her hands into fists. "You ate all of my cereal," she starts to cry. "And faked your death for three years!"

And she's sobbing now, and Skye feels like actual shit. Everything she thought was a good decision three years ago, when Hydra made a direct threat against Jemma and everything felt like it was falling apart, the world coming down around her—now it all seems like the biggest mistake she could have ever made.

Time to abandon the island shield, she thinks. "Oh, god, Jem," Skye breathes, coming round to Jemma carefully, slowly. "I thought I—I was just trying to keep you safe."

"Why?" Jemma backs away, crossing her arms over her chest, defensive. Skye's heart twists. "You made it very clear you didn't care about me before you—you—." Her words get swallowed by a sob, her shoulders shaking, but when Skye tries to hold her, she flinches away.

Pulling back, Skye tries to explain. "When-back then, when we were getting closer—I don't know how, but Hydra found out. I was too big of a threat to them, so they started, uh—they followed you and starting sending me surveillance pictures." She pauses, looking down at her feet. This sounds so weak, especially when Jemma's sobbing, red faced, looking small and tired.

"You faked your death because of some photos?" she hisses, and her anger is terrifying, scarier than anything that Skye's faced in the last few years, living underground, alone. "You didn't think that I could have handled myself? Skye, I had to find your body. I had to bury you."

Well that's definitely not something that's haunted Skye every single night since she left. Not at all. "I didn't want to find out the hard way that you couldn't handle it yourself," she offers, drawing in on herself. "And it wasn't just the photos—I started receiving threats towards you. Video transmissions and letters and I couldn't—god, Jemma, I couldn't handle it if they'd—if you'd—." She chokes off, dropping her eyes to the floor. Everything she's saying sounds stupid, childish. She was facing unsubstantiated threats towards someone she wasn't even actually dating and to fix it, she faked her death.

Smart.

Skye's managing to keep a lid on her emotions right now, managing not to take over Jemma's moment, but it's getting harder by the second, especially when she looks up to find Jemma looking at her, eyes impossibly, infinitely soft, tender.

"You absolute idiot," she whispers, crossing the space between them quickly. She kisses Skye hard, bruising-three years of grief and anger and love pouring out, and Skye's hands find purchase on her hips, pulling her closer. "You," Jemma murmurs, punctuating her words with a kiss, "ridiculous," kiss, "sweet," kiss, "absolute," kiss, "idiot," kiss. When she pulls back, Jemma cradles Skye's face in her hands, leaning up to pepper her face with kisses.

"I take it I'm forgiven?" Skye grins, leaning into Jemma with a little sigh.

Jemma rolls her eyes. Smiles blindingly bright. "Not at all. I have three years of kisses saved up for you, though, so I'm sure we can work something out."

/

There were like three things that Leo Fitz could have definitely expected when walking into his best friend's apartment unannounced (crying!Jemma, drunk!Jemma, workaholic!Jemma), and about three other scenarios that he wouldn't have been surprised by—but, uh—

Jemma backed up against the kitchen counter, half dressed, and giggling, being felt up by Skye-who was definitely supposed to be dead?

Fitz drops the take out bags and claps a hand over his eyes. "I—ah—," he stammers, backing away. He bumps into the coat rack-trips, stumbles and readjusts his path until he feels the door handle behind him. "I didn't see anything," he squeaks out, fumbling the door open. "Glad to see you're alive, Skye."

If they say anything in response, he doesn't hear it, already running towards the elevator and trying to figure out the realistic logistics to a thorough brain bleaching.