"Could you do "we were both due to fly home for spring break, but our flight got cancelled due to a freak storm, and now we're roommates at the hotel the airport is putting us up at until this thing clears up" au with Skimmons. Please?"
disclaimed
...
the one where they're trapped in an airport hotel
Skye's on the verge of tears and it's only mostly for dramatic effect.
"What do you mean 'the flight is cancelled'?" Is she shrieking? She might be shrieking. "It can't be cancelled."
"I'm so sorry, miss," the counter lady offers her a sympathetic smile. "There's a snowstorm blowing in and conditions are dangerous for flight. But the airport's putting you all up in the hotel on the premises—free meals and everything."
Okay. Be cool, Skye.
She's trying, really, she is, it's just that she just really wants to see her parents, but, oh, right, HER PARENTS ARE ON THE OPPOSITE SIDE OF THE COUNTRY. Okay. She's cool. She's fine.
She's crying. Shit.
"Oh, honey!" the counter lady cries, reaching under her desk and retrieving a Kleenex box, shoving it at Skye in what is probably kind manner, but all Skye feels is sad and on the verge of throwing a legitimate temper tantrum. "It'll just be a few days. Here's all the information you'll need—they're meeting at Gate 6." She hands Skye a packet of papers, obviously trying her polite hardest to get Skye away from the counter, so she takes the hint and shuffles off to the side, trying to pull herself together.
Okay. First things first—she manages to stop crying long enough to dial her mom. And then promptly starts sobbing again when her mom answers. "Honey—," her mom exclaims. "Skye, are you okay? What's wrong?"
"My flight is cancelled," she manages to sniffle out, wiping at her cheeks roughly in a sad attempt to maintain her cool girl aesthetic. "I'm stuck in New York because of some freak blizzard."
Her mom sighs. "Okay. It's not the worst thing in the world." Skye can hear her dad in the background, asking where she is. "I'd much rather you grounded than flying through a storm."
"I just want to sleep in my own bed," Skye whines, looking around. Gate 6 is directly in front of her. Cool.
Her mom laughs. "Your bed will still be here in a few days. Do you need to get a hotel? I can transfer money into your account—."
"Uh—," Skye sniffles again, swiping at her nose. "The airport's putting us up, but I don't know how long this is going to last."
"Okay, sweetheart," her mom murmurs. "Call when you're settled."
Skye runs a hand through her hair roughly, working around the lump in her throat. "I will," she promises, finally. It's been a long few months. She kind of just wants her mommy.
When she hangs up the phone, a crowd has started to gather by Gate 6, and so Skye hikes her bag up higher on her shoulder and drags her suitcase behind on as she tries to not actually stomp over. Some airport official drones on about how sorry they are. A cute girl across the way looks tired, clapping a hand over her mouth as she yawns. Skye kind of focuses on the promise of free food. Whatever gets you through the day, right?
/
"Room four twelve," the airport man says, handing Skye a packet. "You'll have a roommate. There's food tickets in there as well. Next!" She takes that as her cue to move the fuck on.
The cute, tired girl from the gate is waiting for the elevator as well, yawning intermittently. She offers Skye a sleepy smile when she approaches, and Skye asks hopefully, "Four twelve?"
Cute Girl nods, raises her own key packet. Awesome. She doesn't seem all that murderous, so Skye might actually make it home at the end of this. "Spring break?" the girl asks, and yeah, that's an English accent. Wow.
"Yeah," Skye nods. "I'm Skye."
The elevator comes then, doors sliding open. "I'm Jemma," the girl introduces as they shuffle on. "My break just ended."
Skye nods again. They let the conversation die, walking to their room in silence. Skye gets the door, if only because Jemma honestly looks dead on her feet. "Well, roomie," she says, looking around the small room. "What side of the room do you want?" She's answered by a groan. When she looks over, Jemma's face down on the bed nearest the door.
"This is good," she says, muffled by the pillows. "This is so good. Possibly the best."
"You should probably sleep."
All Skye hears is a soft snore.
Cute, goddammit.
/
Some time later, Skye's chilling on her bed in sweats, watching cartoons with the volume low. Jemma stirs, rolls onto her side to face Skye. "I must seem ridiculous," she mumbles, rubbing at her eyes. "Passed out as soon as I spotted a horizontal surface."
"S'fine," Skye shrugs. "You avoided witnessing my ugly crying face when I called my parents."
Jemma makes a sympathetic noise. "Do they live very far away?"
"LA."
"Oh, that's awful," Jemma murmurs, face twisting. "What university do you attend?"
"NYU. You?"
Jemma props herself up on her elbows and runs a hand through her tangled hair. Skye tries not to stare too much. Just a little. "Don't think I'm weird," Jemma starts. Skye leans forward. That's always a fun start to a sentence. "I teach at Penn."
"Oh my god," Skye breathes. "How old are you?"
Jemma grimaces. "Twenty two."
Holy shit.
"Okay, Professor Roomie," Skye covers her surprise. "How about we get some dinner. I'll buy." She raises her food vouchers. Does she sound smooth? She wasn't aware that professors were A Thing for her, but maybe it was just Jemma?
Jemma grins, nods. Obviously Skye seems sort of smooth. Smooth enough to not sound creepy or freaked out or like the hormonal teenager she definitely is at heart.
/
So—apparently the hotel's restaurant closes at ten. And it's currently 11:03pm.
Skye and Jemma stand shoulder to shoulder as they stare at the glaringly obvious closed sign.
"I think I saw a room service menu in the room," Skye whispers, as if letting her in on some top secret information.
"Do you think they'll accept the vouchers?" Jemma whispers back. The lobby is empty—the moment seems somber. Probably the lack of food.
Skye thinks for a moment. "Well," she says finally. "If they don't, I'm constantly on the edge of a breakdown, so…"
Jemma smirks, nudges Skye's arm with her elbow. "Keep that in your back pocket."
/
"Oh, god," Jemma breathes. "I'm breaking American laws."
Skye laughs into her champagne. "I think it's fine. I'm not a cop, I promise."
Jemma eyes her warily, breaking out into a grin. God, okay. She's literally so pretty. Just so fucking pretty. Skye might be a little tipsy. But that's cool, because it's two am and Jemma's tipsy too, which Skye knows because at one point Jemma bounced up and tried to join Skye on her bed, only to stumble and have to grab for the nightstand between their beds, laughing the entire time.
This is the best sleepover Skye's ever had with a near stranger. Possibly the best sleepover she's ever had, period. Jemma's really funny and sweet and impossibly, ridiculously smart and Skye doesn't think she's ever fallen so hard for someone in her entire life. Miles included.
Gross. Emotions.
Jemma's sprawled at one end of Skye's bed, hair hanging off the edge, and Skye bounces over, flopping next to her. "This is fun," she says suddenly.
"Very," Jemma agrees. "I never got to do this sort of stuff as a kid."
Skye gasps. "What?" She places a hand to her heart. Dramatic enough? "You never got drunk on mediocre booze in a hotel at an airport before?"
"Oh shut up," Jemma makes a face, smacking Skye lightly on the hip. "I was the weird genius girl. My only friend was the weird genius boy. I didn't have a lot of these sort of sleepovers."
"Well," Skye rolls onto her stomach, tilting her head to look at Jemma. "If it makes you feel any better, neither did I."
She doesn't elaborate. Jemma doesn't ask her too. Skye thinks she's a little in love.
/
When Skye wakes, there's an arm thrown over her waist and a leg slipped between hers. For a moment, she thinks she's in her dorm, and is about to yell at Darcy to just buy a pillow to cuddle because this is ridiculous, but then she glances over her shoulder and yeah, no, not Darcy.
Jemma stirs briefly, scrunching her nose when Skye shifts.
Holy shit.
Holy shit.
Okay. Be cool. Be the cool girl you were born to be. Skye turns back and squints at the empty bottle of champagne. Fuck mediocre booze. But also don't, because Jemma is a comforting weight, her warm breath fanning over Skye's neck in an easy, rhythmic cycle.
But Skye kind of needs to know if they slept together and if that's going to make the next few days weird.
"Uh—," Skye tries to wake Jemma gently, playing with her fingers. "Jemma?"
The other woman stirs, mumbles something under her breath, sleepy still.
"Jemma," Skye repeats. She glances over her shoulder again and repeats again. "Jem."
Jemma's eyes slide open, hazy and unfocused at first. When they clear, there's panic there. "Oh lord," she breathes, staring at Skye. She rolls away quickly, putting distance between the two, and Skye uses her new found freedom to figure out if she's still wearing underwear.
She is, by the way.
"Did we—?" Jemma gestures between them, eyes wide.
"I don't think so," Skye breathes. "But I think we made out a bit?"
Jemma nods. "I remember that."
This is the weirdest conversation ever. Skye shakes her head. They didn't drink enough to induce a major hangover, she thinks, which is good because Jemma's somehow cute in the morning and Skye doesn't really want to be puking in front of her.
"Was the—are you—?" Jemma's eyebrows are nearly at her hairline, her concern obvious in her face.
"I mean—," Skye stammers. "I liked it."
"Oh, thank god," Jemma huffs. "I did too."
Literally the weirdest.
But, honestly, like—Skye's pretty sure that they've already passed through the regular 'getting to know you' phase that most relationships endure, like—neither of them have pants on. Jemma's shirt is unbuttoned, and Skye's shirt is on the chair in the corner. They're cool. It's cool.
"Uh—." Skye bites her lip. Jemma visibly gulps. Nice. "I mean—I was probably going to ask for you number before I got on my plane."
Jemma nods. "We just sped up the time table a bit."
Yeah. Maybe a lot of bit. Whatever. Jemma's sweet, nice. They've got about three days to figure this out. Skye grins at her. "Breakfast?"
/
It's late, nearly midnight, and Skye and Jemma are still in their wedding dresses. They'd gone to the airport right after the wedding—spent most of the flight thanking people for their congratulations and giggling into kisses, fingers twined between them.
Now, they stumble into the hotel, dragging their luggage behind them. "Oh, jesus," Skye breathes, stumbling to a halt beside her wife. "This place has literally not changed."
"I kind of like it," Jemma hums, slipping her arm around Skye's waist, tucking herself closer. "Nostalgia, you know."
"You're such a sap."
"A sap that you married."
Skye grins at that. They're married. They're married.
"The restaurant's not going to be open," she says quietly, walking in time with Jemma to the front desk.
Jemma glances at her from out of the corner of her eye, lips quirking up. "Oh," she says, biting her lip. "I'm sure we'll figure something out."