A/N: There was such a positive reaction to this (originally intended to be a one-shot) story that I had to write more. These chapters will be somewhat-connected drabbles that are mostly somewhat related. (Is that confusing enough for you?)

Thanks to everyone who reads/reviews/follows/favorites. You guys make my day!

Enjoy!

"Skye?"

"Hmmm?"

"You've been in the bathroom for an hour and Arthur has been scrabbling against it for about that amount of time. Are you all right?"

"Hrnnn."

"Can I get you anything?"

"Nnnn."

Jemma put her forehead against the bathroom door. She and Skye had taken to spending evenings in Skye's apartment, mostly because, as Skye put it "I have more equipment. I'm less movable." Jemma didn't mind; Skye's apartment was comfortable and organized and it was nice to curl up on Skye's couch and pet Arthur.

"Do I need to call someone?"

"Nnnn."

"Has the vomiting stopped?"

"Nnnn."

On one of their first nights together, over a marathon of some sort of bizarre cooking show where the contestants were handcuffed together while making cupcakes, Skye had told Jemma a great deal about her medical condition. And all of the things that came with it – stomach pain and vomiting being the two most common break-through symptoms.

Jemma had no problem with vomiting. She only disliked it because she knew it meant Skye was in pain. They hadn't been together long, hadn't even made their relationship "official" (whatever the hell that meant), but Jemma's feelings for Skye were deep and true, and she knew Skye felt the same way. And a vomiting session had never gone on for an hour.

"Can I let the dog in there with you?"

Skye vomited again and she whimpered.

"I'm letting Arthur in," Jemma said, and she reached down and patted the dog on the head. "Go help, buddy."

Arthur's feet click-clicked on the floor, and Jemma opened the door and let him through.

The dog was a distraction, though, because as soon as he was in and the door was closed, Jemma went back to the kitchen, where she'd left her phone, and clicked it on, finding a number she'd recently programmed into her speed dial and calling it without any hesitation.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mrs. Coulson. This is Jemma. Skye's… friend?"

"Hello, Jemma. Is something wrong?"

"Skye's… she's…" All of the worry that had built up over the previous hour squeezed Jemma's throat.

"Take a breath," Melinda suggested, her voice steady.

Jemma's throat was still hot, but she sucked in a breath and waited a few seconds until the panic clenched around her heart eased somewhat. "Skye's sick."

"Okay, good first start," Melinda said. She still sounded remarkably calm and Jemma wondered how long it would take before she could remain that calm. "Can you give me some details?"

"She's vomiting," Jemma said. "For about an hour."

"Okay," Melinda said. "Do you know if she took any medication?"

"I don't know." The anxiety clenched around Jemma's heart again. "She's not talking anymore, just sort of making noises."

"Where's Arthur?"

"She didn't want him in there at first, but I just shoved him in there."

"Okay. I'll talk to Phil and get his thoughts on the matter. Will you ask Skye if she took any medication and if so, at what time?"

"Mm-hmm," Jemma managed to get out.

"Thank you. And Jemma?"

"What?"

"You're doing a wonderful job. Sometimes, someone just being there is the best thing," Melinda said. "I'll call you back in a few minutes. Is that okay?"

Jemma nodded, then realized she could see Melinda no more than Melinda could see her. "That sounds fine. Thank you."

She hung up, slipped her phone in her pants pocket, and went back down the short hallway to the bathroom door. She'd spent so much time at Skye's apartment that she usually left her cane by the door – she didn't need it. She knew where everything was, just like her own apartment.

"Skye? I just called your mother," Jemma said.

"Nnnnn." That one came out as more of a moan.

"She wants to know if you took any medication."

"Mmm-hmmm."

"Can I come in?"

There was a moment of hesitation, and then: "Mmm-hmm."

Jemma opened the bathroom door and Arthur moved towards her, whining. "I know, buddy," Jemma said. "We're working on it."

He trotted away from her. Jemma reached out for Skye, touched her shoulder, and knelt down next to her. "Do you need a cold washcloth or something?"

"No," Skye whispered, her voice raspy and low.

"Can I hold your hand?"

Skye didn't respond to that, but after a few seconds Jemma felt Skye's clammy hand slip into hers.

"My mom's… going to come here," Skye rasped.

"Because she cares about you."

"Makes me feel like a child."

"I know you're not a child."

Skye retched and Arthur whined, pushing up against Jemma's hand. "I can't do anything about it, buddy," she whispered.

Jemma's phone rang and she shifted her position on the tile floor so that she could answer it without letting go of Skye's hand. "Hello?"

"Hello, Jemma. It's Phil."

"Hi."

"I talked to Melinda, and I'm going to come down there and check on Skye," Phil said. "I'll be there in about fifteen minutes."

"All right."

"Is she able to talk?"

"Yes, a little," Jemma said. For some reason, just hearing Phil's calm voice made her want to cry. She couldn't articulate why, but he was almost too reassuring. "Would you… would you like to speak with her?"

"If possible."

"Your father wants to talk to you," Jemma said to Skye.

"Fine," the other girl grunted.

Jemma put the phone in Skye's hand and leaned back against the wall. Arthur butted up against her and she stroked his fuzzy head. "We're getting help," she whispered to him.

She closed her eyes; they were burning from a full day of work and the events of the evening. She could hear Skye's half of the conversation and the only thing keeping her from panicking completely was the fact that Skye's voice was strong, if a bit gritty.

"Yes. Through the line. No. No. About forty-five minutes ago. I don't think so. No, I'm not going to do that. You don't have to… Fine. Yes. Yes, she's very good to me. Arthur's good to me too. No, I didn't want him to see that."

Skye sighed. "Okay. See you in a few minutes."

She hung up and handed the phone back to Jemma. "I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"This is gross and embarrassing."

"Well, we already knew our relationship was going to be different than most," Jemma said, shifting her position again. She kept her eyes closed. "So we're not watching some silly TV show. We're still together."

"And I'm…" Skye gulped and retched, took a deep breath, and then vomited. "Ugh. I'm so sorry."

"Sweetheart," Jemma said, and brought up her hand to rub Skye's back. "This is just something that happens to you, and I'm here with you to do whatever I can to help, even if that's sit on this bathroom floor and pet your dog. Or you."

"You're too good for me," Skye said, and Jemma could hear a smile in her voice.

Then she heard Skye shifting, giving a grunt as she rearranged her pumps and tubes. "Maybe sometimes I wish we were a normal couple. Like, we could go out to dinner. And actually eat it. Or go to the movies."

"We can go to the movies," Jemma said with a grin. "I'm blind, not immune to culture."

"Who said I wanted to see good movies?"

"Oh, yes, I forgot. You do like terrible movies."

"So do you!" Skye protested, but Jemma still heard the smile in her voice.

"I do. I guess we're destined for each other."

"Hmm," Skye said, and she leaned her head onto Jemma's shoulder.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Arthur's doggy breathing and the whir of Skye's pumps the only noise in the bathroom.

"I never asked you this before," Skye said, her voice tentative and small, "but how'd you go blind? Is that okay to ask?"

Jemma smiled. "You can ask me anything."

"Oh," Skye said. She made a sort of hiccupping noise and Jemma froze, thinking Skye was about to vomit. Then she realized it had come from the other side – it was Arthur, snuffling and snorting.

"I was born sighted," Jemma said, squeezing Skye's hand. "It didn't last for very long. I had… I have… a genetic disorder called Leber's congenital amaurosis. I had light perception at birth, but I started losing my sight when I was five months old."

Skye pulled away from Jemma and retched. Jemma heard her swallow, but she didn't vomit.

"I don't remember very much of having sight," Jemma went on. "I remember the color red, and my parents' faces."

"Those are good things to remember," Skye said, returning her head to Jemma's shoulder.

"Now things are just fuzzy and gray," Jemma said, "and my eyes are extremely light-sensitive, which is why I wear the tinted glasses."

"I like the glasses," Skye said.

Then she jerked up and vomited. "Oh, God," she mumbled.

Jemma heard the front door open and then Phil's voice: "Hello, ladies."

"We're in here," Jemma called.

Footsteps approached the bathroom, and the voice spoke again, closer this time. "Hi, Jemma. Hi, baby doll."

Skye vomited again, and then managed to rasp, "Don't call me baby doll."

Arthur popped up from his spot beside Jemma and trotted over to Phil.

"Hi, buddy," Phil said. "Skye, I want to give you more Zofran through your line."

"I don't want it," Skye protested weakly. "It makes me feel weird."

"And vomiting doesn't?"

"The vomiting stopped."

"Uh, you are a terrible liar, kiddo," Phil said. "Also, I just watched you vomit."

Jemma pushed herself to her feet. "I can wait in the living room," she said. "It's getting a little crowded in here."

She stepped out of the bathroom and clicked her tongue for Arthur. He toddled after her, and Jemma sat down on the couch, feeling anxious again. It was silly – she knew that Skye was in good hands, Phil would make sure the vomiting stopped and his stubborn daughter took medicine to keep it stopped – but something in Jemma broke every time Skye was in pain. She couldn't fix it. She wouldn't ever be able to fix it.

Arthur hopped up on the couch next to her and pressed against her.

"You're a good dog," Jemma murmured, and patted his head.

After twenty minutes or so, footsteps signaled that someone was exiting the bathroom, and by their tone and the weight behind them, it was Phil.

"Is she okay?" Jemma asked, her voice wobbly.

"She's going to be fine," Phil said. "I carried her on into bed and hooked up some IV fluids and nutrients for her. I had her brush her teeth first, in case you go in there to cuddle."

Of course Jemma was going to go in there and cuddle.

Phil stepped around the side of the couch and lifted Arthur up, taking his place on the couch next to Jemma. He took Jemma's hand. "You are an amazing person in Skye's life. Most people would have run for the hills now."

"I couldn't do that," Jemma whispered.

"You should have seen me the first time I had to take the air out of Skye's belly. I was a wreck. And I know Melinda vomited after doing the first dressing change on Skye's central line." Phil squeezed Jemma's hand. "The point I'm trying to make is – Skye's life has always been very private, and it's mostly been her choice. The fact that she's let you in, let you get this close and comfortable, is a huge step for her. And Melinda and I are grateful. And we know Skye's grateful too."

"I'm grateful for her," Jemma said softly.

"Then you know you're in the right relationship," Phil said. He patted her on the shoulder. "I'm going to let you stay here and be grateful some more, and get home to a woman who will be grateful to hear that her grateful daughter is no longer vomiting, and we'll all be grateful for that."

Jemma smiled. She hadn't known Phil for very long, but she loved his sense of humor and his gentle mannerisms. "Thank you."

"Any time," Phil said. "I enjoy rescuing anyone in distress. It's the superhero complex in me."

"Of all the complexes to have, I think that's one of the best," Jemma said.

"I'll tell Melinda you said that," Phil said. He stood and put the dog back on the couch. "Okay, buddy, I'm going home. Take care of the ladies. We all know you're the boss around here."

"He really is," Jemma said.

Phil let himself out and Jemma locked the door behind him, then headed down the hall to the bedroom. Phil had turned the overhead fan on, and Jemma liked the way the breeze felt on her cheeks. He'd also turned the lights off, and Jemma loved that her eyes relaxed.

Arthur clambered onto the bed. Jemma lay down a bit more gracefully (or so she hoped).

"Hi," she whispered to Skye.

"Hi," Skye replied. She smelled like mint and the candy apple lotion she liked to use.

"Your dad's amazing," Jemma said.

"I know," Skye murmured. She turned towards Jemma and gently stroked Jemma's face. "I'm so sorry about tonight."

"When are you going to stop apologizing?"

"Hmm. When I'm forty," Skye said. "If I don't rupture my stomach and die first."

"Stop that," Jemma said, her voice sharp. "I don't want you to say that."

Skye pulled her hand back from Jemma's face.

Jemma gathered herself. "I'm sorry," she said in a lower tone. "I just… you're far too important to me to even consider something like that. And tonight… because I can't fix it…"

The anxiety grabbed her and pinched in at her ribs.

Skye must have seen something in her face, because she brought her hand up to Jemma's face again. "I'm sorry," she said. "Although I feel like we're saying that a lot tonight."

Jemma smiled as Skye's hand brushed over her cheek.

"This has been going on since I was twelve," Skye went on. "And one of the ways I learned to cope was to joke. Everything seems better if I joke, and I forget that you haven't lived with this as long as I have. I forget that most people freak out when I vomit for an hour."

"Most sane people," Jemma muttered.

Skye moved closer and kissed Jemma's cheek. "I'm getting sleepy," she breathed.

"I'm not surprised. You did an amazing ab workout tonight."

"That's the nicest way anyone's ever phrased it." Skye let out a soft breath.

"Skye?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I sleep here tonight?"

"Mmm-hmm."

Jemma smiled, took off her glasses, and curled into Skye.