Chapter Text
Bruce doesn't talk much, but from what Jemma gathers, he's not too keen on divulging his reason for being here, and she's not going to push the issue. He does, however, have a passion for physics that excites the part of Jemma's brain that's constantly in a state of Science! and they chat happily through breakfast, relieving the nerves that she had regarding the food, which turned out to be oatmeal. She could deal with oatmeal. As soon as they've finished he mentions having his therapy session in ten minutes, and with a sigh of disappointment, she nods.
"Yes, of course. I would hate to keep you." She can't keep the pout from her lips, though.
"Jemma..." He pauses, as though he's thoroughly double checking whatever he's about to say is socially acceptable (She's noticed he does that a lot,) before finishing with, "We could always talk again. It was a welcome reprieve to be able to talk shop with someone, it's been a long time." He says the words with hesitance, as though he's waiting for her to blow him off, but she nods eagerly.
"Yes, It has been rather nice, hasn't it?" She beams at him, and his returning smile is wry and earnest. He looks like he's about to say something, but then just gives her a nod, and turns away. She smiles at her empty bowl, and then realizes rather abruptly that this place is starting to feel more like home than home does, and it's only been four days. Hell, if she keeps going like this she'll probably cry when her mother shows up to take her home. She almost feels like maybe, she could just not recover, and then her mother would never come, but that feels too much like taking advantage of Coulson.
She's standing up, bowl still warm in her hand - She's kind of awed by how distracting Bruce had been, she'd just been taking tiny bites between sentences and still, she'd finished the whole bloody thing in just under an hour - when her foot gets caught on the chair leg and she falls hard, the only thing she sees before everything goes dark being the bowl smashing and Maria Hill jumping out of her seat.
...
She dreams of bones and dim eyes and even in her dreams she wonders what she's doing, where she's going, how she's getting there. She doesn't understand herself anymore, can't control herself, everything is hard and exhausting and she'd much rather just sleep for hours and hours, only waking to look in the mirror and admire her handiwork. But the world doesn't work that way and she's stuck in this rut of living and eating and dealing with it, only she's not. That's why she's here, because she's not dealing with it. Not really.
When she comes to, Skye's perched on the chair at her bedside like some kind of monkey, feet on the seat and hands gripping her knees, looking dishevelled as ever. Jemma had a hunch that she wasn't really sick, and that was proven by the healthy glow of her skin and the way she seemed too alert for someone who was ill. Her hair's a mess, strands having fallen from her loose bun framing her face, eyes wide and full of concern, and she's holding Jemma's book. Well, Trip's book, technically. Jemma is about to tell her off for pretending to be unwell when she remembers what happened, and that's also when Skye's eyes meet hers and the other girl jerks straight.
"Jemma, hey, how do you feel? Does your nose hurt? It looks pretty bad." Skye winces, and then seems to realize how quickly she's spoken because Jemma just blinks owlishly at her and then says,
"Sorry?" Skye bites her lip, and then pulls out a hand mirror from who knows where, passing it to Jemma sympathetically. Her nose is dark blue and inflamed, but if it had bled, there was no sign of it now. The air is suddenly heavy and she takes a shaky breath, and then nods. It wasn't like she'd been all that attractive to begin with, in her opinion, but this really was the icing on the metaphorical cake.
"Right. Okay." She murmurs to herself, "I look awful." A voice in her head whispers, But hey, when don't you? and she quickly smothers it, buries it in the back of her head because she doesn't know if she wants to listen to it anymore, thinks maybe it isn't helping her after all.
"No, It's really not that bad, It's fine. In a week it'll be gone." Skye attempts, and then a cheesy smile spreads across her lips, "Besides, you've still got that hot librarian thing going for you."
Jemma chokes on a laugh that sounds on the verge of hysterics, and she grabs her pillow and tosses it at Skye, hoping the other girl doesn't see the blush spreading across her normally pale skin. She feels hot and cold at the same time and is torn between pulling her blanket over her head to hide or kicking it off, before she just settles with neither, and hesitantly meets Skye's eyes. "That was very...inappropriate." She says finally, though she can't find it in herself to sound truly admonishing, and Skye seems to notice that rather than what she's actually saying, and just winks.
"You liked it." She teases, and before she can get even redder in the face, somebody knocks. Skye, for some reason, jerks ramrod straight and looks a little nervous if anything. "Come in."
Coulson strides in and props himself down on the edge of Jemma's bed, giving her one of his strangely knowing smiles, and says, "How are you feeling? that was quite the fall you took."
Jemma doesn't even realise that he's staring at her wrists, doesn't even realise that her fingers have curled around one wrist, reassuring, It's alright, because you're still thin. She didn't even hear the voice this time. So she simply responds, "I'm well. Apart from looking disfigured."
Skye scoffs at that, and protests, "You look fine, Jemma."
She's about to respond when she feels gentle but calloused fingers tugging her hand from her wrist, and Coulson holds on for a second longer, maintaining eye contact, despite the confusion and anxiety clearly shining in her eyes. "It's alright. You're okay."
You're okay. She doesn't know why these two words, these two, in-descriptive, could-mean-anything words, calm her down. Maybe it's just because he noticed, maybe it's because for some silly reason, she thinks he might even care. She just manages to nod, and a hesitant smile appears on her face.
"Thank you, sir." She murmurs, and his hand moves to rest on her knee for a moment, before he gives her a gentle squeeze and stands, straightening his suit.
"Alright, I've got a session. I'll see you two later on." He pauses in the doorway, and then glances back, "I've asked Victoria to bring your lunch in. Let me know if she causes any problems."
Skye's eyebrows are raised and she's staring at the doorway in incredulity, and it piques Jemma's curiosity. "What? What's wrong?"
"Victoria Hand is a bitch. Like, possibly the biggest bitch you've ever met." Skye frowns, "Why would Coulson ask her to help you?"
She can't be that bad. No, Jemma's met some truly awful people- Her uncle, John, for one- and some of the boys in her neighbourhood who used to call Fitz 'gayboy' and 'faggot' and then beat him up. That was before Trip though, nobody seemed game enough to try anything on him. She was relieved, for that, because she was quite a nosy friend, naturally, and Fitz was the closest thing she had to family, so she may have read his diary. May have cried a bit, too. She'd noticed he was depressed and she was only checking that he wasn't doing anything stupid, she couldn't bear the thought of living without him. It turned out that he was excellent at coping, unlike her. It got to her sometimes, how he had it worse than her and yet she was the one locked up in a clinic. It didn't make sense, his risk factor was so much higher than hers. Her analytic mind couldn't understand it.
"I'm sure she's not that bad," She says finally, and gives a pathetic attempt at a shrug. "It really doesn't matter so long as she brings the food," Poison, her mind corrects, and she swallows the lump in her throat because she should have expected this. She should have known it wouldn't be smooth sailing, despite how easy the last few days had been.
"I guess," Skye grumbles, and then starts fiddling with her phone. "Did you wanna call your friend?" she offers, and Jemma suddenly realizes why Skye's looking at her like that, because her eyes are glassy with unshed tears and she looks a proper wreck.
"Oh, yes. Please." Skye hands over the phone, gives her this kicked puppy look, like maybe she wished she could do something, but didn't know what to do. It was a sweet look. Cute.
"I have a thing. That'll take me fifteen minutes. Yeah." Skye says, trying to lighten the mood again with a gentle elbow in Jemma's side, so she fakes a smile and nods and when Skye leaves she lets out a breath and dials her best friend's number.
"Tha' you, Jemma?" His voice is thick and she wonders for a second if she's interuppted something, because that's definitely Trip's voice in the background.
"Yes, it's me." She says anyway, because she needs to. Her lips burn to say more but she pauses, to gage his reaction.
"You soun' upset. Wha's wrong?" She bites her lip, trying to figure out how to put her feelings into words, before she just says,
"I don't know what's wrong with me, Leo." And there's a pause on the other end, and then a scuffle, and then Fitz's whispers,
"You wan' me t' put you on speaker, or just you an' me?" She ponders it for a moment, before deciding that while she adores Trip, and he adores her, she'd feel much to overwhelmed by speaking to them both. It doesn't matter though, as soon as she hangs up Fitz will fill Trip in. He always does.
"You and I," She answers, matching his volume.
"'M goin' out for a sec, babe." He says to Trip, and she hears a call of, 'Tell Jemma to stay strong, that girl's got a lot of strength left.' and then she hears a door open and shut and assumes that Fitz has retreated to his bedroom. "So, wha' happened, 'cause I know somethin' must've."
"I hurt myself," She mumbles, "My face looks terrible, Fitz. And I keep having these thoughts, and they won't go away, I think I'm losing my mind," She knows how pathetic she sounds, but there's an exhale on the other side that sounds a bit shaky, too.
"You can' listen to them. Those thoughts...they ain' righ', Jem." He stresses, "Christ, I wish this wasn' happenin' to you." His voice wobbles and she's pretty sure he just sat down.
"I know. I'm sorry."
"Don' apologize," He sighs, "It's no' your fault. Your bloody mum, I wan' to choke that woman."
She can't hold the giggle that escapes her lips at the thought of sweet, gentle Fitz trying to hurt someone. No, she can't picture it.
"I wish I wasn't stuck in here," She says instead, "I miss you. It's strange not being around you all the time. Skye's lovely, though..." She trails off, and Leo latches onto it, just as she knew he would.
"Oh, you've been spendin' a lot of time with her, then?"
...
Victoria hand is an exhibitionist if ever Jemma met one. She practically slams the door open and swoops in, holding a tray and looking thoroughly unimpressed. She's got red streaks in her hair and thick red lipstick, and she reminds Jemma of the girls who sat alone in the courtyard at her school, all with a different hair colour and bright lipstick, as well as a boyfriend to show for it. She didn't like them very much, so she doesn't think she'll like Victoria very much.
"If anyone should be bringing anyone food around here, it should be you to me." She snaps, even as she's handing the tray over. Jemma blinks but Skye just lifts a shoulder as if to say, 'I told you so'.
"Uh...Thank you, I suppose?" Jemma's nose scrunches and a shot of pain flickers through her, but she ignores it in favor of looking beyond befuddled.
"You owe me one." She says, and then leans against the bedframe. "What's your deal anyway?"
"Sorry, my 'deal'?" She frowns, and Skye chuckles behind her.
"She means your disorder, dork." Skye teases.
Jemma's noticed that Skye likes to gesture to make a point. It's kind of adorable, but in this case, when Skye's outstretched hand falls flat, it lands just centimetres from Jemma's back, and Skye's eyes are seemingly glued to the distance between them, before she hesitantly reaches out again and rests her hand against the closest part of Jemma. She guesses it's meant to be comforting, but it feels like the place where Skye's fingertips touch her spine is on fire. It's pleasant but not at the same time.
She likes it but she doesn't, at the same time.
She's not sure what to make of that.
"Oh." She only barely gets her lips to form the word, and then she blushes a little at Victoria's intense, judgemental gaze. She's excrutiatingly calculating.
"'Oh', what?" Victoria scowls, "I haven't got all day."
"I have an eating disorder," She frowns, and it looks like she's definitely bored Victoria with that one because she nods, slowly, and then leaves the room, calling behind her,
"I'll be cashing in that favour sometime soon. Don't forget."
Skye's hand hasn't left her back and she has the strongest urge to lean back into it, to feel more of Skye pressed against her, but that would be wildly innapropriate, and she's got to draw the line somewhere. She can flirt, but nothing can come of it, not really. Especially considering they were both self destructive and rooming together. It wasn't a good idea.
...
She's lying awake, staring at the ceiling and feeling unsettlingly full, when Skye rolls over on her own bed and switches the lamp on.
"What are you thinking about?" She asks smoothly, hair loose and wild and Jemma has to fight the need to reach out and touch it, untangle it with her fingers and tie it back. She wonders what it would be like to brush Skye's hair, it's so long and soft and she's noticed it smells like pineapple. Exotic. It suits her. It's also intoxicating and the more Jemma eats, the more her emotions return and it feels like too much to even like Skye as a friend, let alone more than that.
She hadn't been thinking much other than the ending of Moby Dick wasn't as satisfying as she hoped it would be and why on earth did she have a talent for picking books that upset her. She doesn't really think that's conversation material though, so instead she mumbles, "I feel heavy." It's true, though. She feels too heavy, like the Whale at the end of Ahab's harpoon, pulling him down. She doesn't think that's the message she's supposed to derive from the book. Not in the least.
"You don't look heavy." Skye muses, "You look like a little tiny small thing." She even uses her hands to show how small she apparently is. She giggles.
"No, I don't."
"You do. I had a dream that you floated away and I couldn't pull you back down the other night," Skye says nonchalantly, but Jemma gets the feeling that there's a lot more meaning in her words than what she's getting at face value.
"That sounds sad." She pouts, and Skye scoots closer to the edge of her bed, closer to Jemma's, and holds her hand out.
"Yeah, so you know, we better hold hands so you don't float away when I go to sleep."
She has a strong feeling that Skye's flirting with her. An even stronger feeling that she likes it. She scoots to the edge of her own bed, her fingers meet Skye's, and she closes her eyes.
"I hope I don't drag you down, though."
"You won't."
The lamp is switched off, and neither of them feel the need to say anything for a while, until Jemma can hear the sound of Skye's oddly cute snoring, and she falls asleep too, seconds later.