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The thick blackout currents are drawn across the windows, effectively blocking out any of the grey, predawn light and for the first time, Jemma Simmons is grateful for their invention. Typically, she resents the currents, despite the fact that she understands their necessity and appreciates their effectiveness. However, the curtains are a small, continual reminder of how she lives now. Not that Jemma is likely to forget anytime soon.
But at the moment, Jemma couldn't be more grateful. The sun is steadily on the rise and within the hour, it'll be shining boldly through the window and getting brighter with every passing second. For the moment, Jemma just wants the darkness.
She's been working for hours, no longer able to determine the exact length of time because everything has just started to bleed together. Her feet are aching and there's a throb of pain in her head and in the base of her spine. All Jemma wants to do is sleep, preferably until the war is over and life can go back to normal.
Not that Jemma really understands the definition of 'normal' anymore.
The war has been going on for years, nearly six to be exact, and in that period of time, Jemma has given up on any ideas of normalcy. She was fifteen when the war first started and she knows that there are plenty of people who've had to give up so much more than she has. Her dreams and aspirations seem to be such a small price to pay.
Right now, all Jemma wants is to sleep for an uninterrupted stretch of time. Catching snatches of sleep in the hospital break room isn't cutting it anymore. The blackout curtains will make that a possibility.
Jemma strips out of her dirty, rumpled uniform and doesn't bother to pick it up off the floor before she falls into bed. She pulls the wool blankets over her shoulders and falls asleep before she can finish tucking herself in.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The streets of London show the signs of six long years at war. By this point, people have given up with their daily clean-up activities and the streets and sidewalks glitter with broken glass and every time Skye takes a step, she kicks up a swirl of dust and crunches on dead leaves. The trees that line that streets have been stripped bare, making it look like the city is trapped in an eternal winter even though the beginning of April should herald the beginning of spring.
Skye stuffs her hands into the pockets of her coat, quickening her pace as she walks down the sidewalk. She's ready to be home but she still has one more stop to make before she can lock herself in her apartment and focus on something other than codes and letters and numbers. Her mind is still swimming with the endless swarm of chatter and clicking keys and jumbled letters and words that wouldn't mean anything to anyone else. Which is pretty much the point of encrypting and code-breaking.
It's a relief when Skye finally reaches the store on the corner of the block which houses her apartment. She can only wonder what the place looked like before the war, before she arrived because all she knows of the store is bare shelves and ration coupons.
Skye pushes her way into the store and isn't surprised to find that it's nearly empty. She knows that most people do their shopping during the morning hours before lunch but she was working, sitting hunched over a machine trying to decipher Nazi transmissions. She hasn't kept normal hours since she arrived in London but she has the feeling that it's the strains of the war, more than the time of day, that keeps people in their homes more often than not.
There's one woman standing by the shelf, looking over the meager scraps of cloth, and another woman already at the counter, looking just as worn out as the man standing behind it.
Skye grabs a loaf of bread and a tiny, pathetic hunk of cheese, slightly embarrassed by the way that her mouth practically starts to water at the sight of the depressing items. It's hard for her to decide if she's more tired or hungry and she has the feeling that her 'lunch' is going to consist of her just ripping off a hunk of bread and taking a bite out of the cheese block before falling facedown onto her couch and sleeping until the middle of the night.
Sadly, this is pretty typical behavior for her.
Unfortunately, it seems like her afternoon of excitement is going to be put on hold because there seems to be an issue with the woman standing in front of her.
"I don't understand." The woman says, her voice tense and British, which Skye feels like it pointless to point out given the fact that she's in London and nearly everyone she overhears carries an accent of some kind. "I have my coupons right here."
To prove her point, the woman shoves the ratty, half-empty book across the counter. The man behind the counter looks at them in passing, not bothering to pick up the book and flip through it. "Your coupon for soap is gone." He tells her, bored.
The woman sighs and Skye can see her head tip forward slightly and her hand come up to press against her forehead. "Perhaps you could just use the one for next time." She mutters.
"I can't do that." The man replies, shaking his head. "Sorry." At least he sounds sincere in his words.
The woman lifts her head again, placing her hands on the edge of the counter. "All I need is soap. I'm a nurse, you see, and my uniform is in desperate need of washing and-"
"Here." Skye interrupts before this scene can continue any longer. And not just because she's desperate to get home to her half-assed sandwich and her lumpy couch. She tears out the required ration coupon and holds it over the girl's shoulder. "Take mine."
Both the woman and the shopkeeper turn in Skye's direction. The woman looks at Skye, uncomprehending. "I'm sorry?"
Skye waggles the coupon at her. "Here. For the soap." She pushes the coupon toward her once more. "You can have mine."
"Oh, I couldn't possibly. I mean I don't-"
Skye steps past her and puts the coupon onto the counter, along with her own items and the appropriate coupons. The man doesn't seem to have a problem with accepting these items and turns away, satisfied with the transaction. Skye picks up her bread and cheese as well as the box of soap flakes and hands them out to the woman still standing dumbly beside her. "Here."
"I don't understand." The woman looks at her skeptically. "Why did you just give up one of your coupons?"
Skye shrugs. "I still have soap back at my apartment. Flat…whatever." Another shrug. "Really, it's not a big deal."
Honestly, she's too tired to really do much thinking about her good deed for the day. There's really no way that she can explain her actions, especially not to this woman staring at her expectantly. The thoughts going through her mind had been pretty much: sleepy, tired, hungry, pretty girl, coupon book. Hardly stimulating conversation.
So, rather than risk having to provide further explanation, Skye heads toward the door of the shop, tucking her purchases under her elbow.
Within seconds, the woman is hurrying after all, quickly catching up. "At least let me make you a cup of tea. As a thank you."
Skye makes a face. "I don't really do tea." She replies. "American." She teases, pointing to herself.
The woman rolls her eyes. "Well, I can assure you that my tea is far better than the stuff they're trying to pass off as coffee these days."
Skye can't argue with that logic. She also can't argue with that smile.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Jemma Simmons' flat is nearly as small as Skye's own and resides on the fifth floor of an apartment building that has become a sort of haven for nurses and doctors and the women that work the factories to provide ammunition and guns to the soldiers. Jemma tells her all of this as they walk up the five flights of stairs, because apparently she's bothered by sharing a companionable silence with a near perfect stranger.
By the time they reach Jemma's apartment, Skye knows that she is, indeed, a nurse, working at the nearby hospital with the majority of her neighbors and that she can't stand the woman who runs the boarding house because she's incredibly nosy.
"I'm sorry." Jemma apologizes as she unlocks the door and holds it open for Skye. "I didn't mean to talk your ear off. It's been a long time since I've spoken to someone who didn't work at the hospital."
Skye shrugs, stepping into the room. "It's okay. Really, I know how you feel."
Jemma looks at her curiously. "You're a nurse as well?"
"Well…no, that's not what I meant." Skye smirks. "I just meant it's been a while since I've spoken to someone I didn't work with."
Though, when she says 'a while' what she means is 'months.' Her entire world pretty much revolves around her job which is pathetic but not all that surprising. Even back in America, she didn't have very many friends.
Jemma steps past her and into the kitchen, though it doesn't take her very long to accomplish that particular task. The kitchen, as well as the living room and bedroom seem to be just an extension of the same space, though Jemma has managed to make that particular space look warm and homey. There's an old throw blanket draped across the back of the small sofa and a coffee table and various, ratty medical books sitting on the surface. The blackout curtains are pulled back, letting in the sunlight, which floods the room with gold.
"What is it that you do, Skye?" Jemma questions, filling the kettle on the stove with water and reaching for a match to start the burner.
Skye steps into the kitchen, leaning against the counter. "Oh well…" She waves a hand. "All your basic war-time stuff."
Jemma looks at her, considering. After a beat, she returns her attention toward the kettle, apparently having decided not to press the issue. After all, secrecy is not something they're unfamiliar with anymore.
When the kettle whistles, Jemma busies herself with plucking out two small bags and dropping them into the water to steep. She carries both mugs into the living room, sitting on the couch and folding her legs beneath her. When Skye sits down across from her, she hands over one of the mugs and the smile on Jemma's face is as warm as the heat Skye feels against her hand.
"Cheers." Jemma says brightly, lifting her mug.
Skye gently knocks the rim of her cup against Jemma's. "Cheers."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
From that moment on, they start seeing a lot of each other. This is definitely not something that Jemma ever would have expected to happen. She doesn't make a habit of spending her off-work time with people, preferring to use those rare quiet moments to re-center herself and pretend like there's not a war going on right outside her door. She never would have expected that she'd look forward to spending her time with someone that she met while standing in line to buy soap flakes.
And yet…that's exactly what happens.
Thankfully, Skye doesn't seem to mind that she keeps long hours. She seems perfectly fine with meeting up whenever they can, either for a cup of tea at Jemma's flat or for a 'coffee' at one of the corner cafes. These unofficial plans are constantly on Jemma's mind while she works her excruciatingly long shifts; it somehow makes it easier to change bandages and stitch up wounds on fresh-faced soldiers when she has something to look forward to at the end of the day.
Skye is…unlike most of the people Jemma has come to know. A breath of fresh air, someone capable of talking about more than the war and the progress of the Allies in France and Germany and while Jemma understands exactly how important those things are, it's still nice to have someone else who seems fine with using those rare free moments to do a little pretending.
A part of Jemma can't help but wonder if she's so drawn to Skye because of the enigma that she presents. Skye still has yet to let her in on how, exactly, she spends her time when she's not spending it with Jemma and has also given up very little personal information about herself, preferring to stick to surface details during their conversations. Jemma has always enjoyed a puzzle.
And she's never been able to resist a pretty girl with a bright smile.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"So," Jemma remarks once sunny May afternoon as she brings a small tin of cookies over to the couch for them to snack on while they have their tea, "you still haven't told me what it is that you do."
Skye knows that this has been a question weighing in Jemma's mind since they first met. She knows enough about Jemma to understand that curiosity is the driving force in her life and even though Skye feels comfortable enough with her to start talking about her work –if not herself- she knows that she shouldn't.
So she just smirks. "Loose lips sink ships." She teases, picking up one of the cookies and eyeing it. "Are you sure you want to share these with me?" She forces herself to ask, even though her mouth is practically watering at the sight of them.
Jemma rolls her eyes. "Yes, of course." She remarks. "What good are treats if you can't share them with someone?"
That's all that Skye needs to convince herself to take a bite. She smiles, savoring the taste of the sugar and ginger on her tongue. "It's pretty sad that this is like the highlight of my whole month."
Aside from spending time with the woman sitting across from her, of course.
Jemma smiles, taking a cookie of her own. "I used to bake all the time with my mother before the war." She tells Skye nostalgically. "We always made our own cakes and biscuits for birthdays and holidays."
"That sounds nice." Skye says, adopting the oddly wistful tone that Jemma has come to expect her to have whenever some charming anecdote from her childhood comes up.
Jemma nods. "It was." And perhaps she'll be able to bake some time in the future, when they actually have access to the necessary ingredients. "Did you used to do things like that when you were little?"
Skye just shrugs and then shakes her head. "Not really."
For a moment, Jemma just considers this woman sitting across from her: beautiful Skye with her secretive smile.
"You've never told me how a nineteen-year-old American girl ended up in London during the War." Jemma remarks, even though she knows that her question will go unanswered, like the majority of the others before this one.
Skye gives her a enigmatic, almost sad sort of smile and before she can do anything, Jemma just shakes her head. "That's all right. I won't press you for your secrets."
As much as she might like to.
"I know." Skye says softly, reaching for the another cookie.
It's the last one, so they split it in half.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Good morning Skye." Antoine Triplet says cheerfully when she meets him on the curb outside of her apartment building. He always waits for her here when they're working at the same time, standing with his hands in the pockets of his tailored suit, a smile and a nod ready for any who pass by.
Skye, however, simply grumbles at him, never one for early mornings. Especially not when she was working on the machines until late in the night only hours before. Thankfully her boss had had sympathy for her and let her go home for a few hours before dragging her back in. Not that Skye minds as much as she pretends; it's nice to have a goal and a purpose, something that she's good at, something that people value in her. She never had that before, not until Mr. Coulson stumbled upon her.
Phil Coulson was the one who snatched her up just as she was starting to age out of the system, sensing something in her that Skye hadn't even seen in herself. He'd brought her here, no doubt rescuing her from a rather unfortunate future, just like he'd done to Trip. Taking him away from the racial tension still building in America and bringing him to a place where the people had more important things to worry about at the moment.
Skye has known Coulson for two years and she thinks that she'd anything for him, given the way that he's helped her turn her life around so far.
"Skye," Coulson smiles at her by way of a greet as soon as she and Trip walk through the front doors of the building that has been requisitioned for the cryptographers' purpose, "have you thought anymore about my suggestion? We could really use you at Bletchley."
Except, she thinks, for that.
By way of an answer, Skye just makes a face and shakes her head. "I don't think I'd be as good of a fit there as you think I would be, sir." She says as she follows Coulson and Trip down the familiar hallway.
Coulson shakes her head, clapping her on the shoulder. "Don't be ridiculous. No one here has the talent that you do, Skye."
Trip makes a good-natured noise of protest and Coulson gives her an apologetic look. "Sorry. But it's true."
"Oh, I know." Trip shrugs. "You're like a whiz with this stuff, girl."
Skye just smirks. "Then why haven't we defeated the Nazis yet?"
Coulson just pats her on the back. "Rome wasn't built in a day." He says, somewhat cryptically, before leaving Trip and Skye to their work.
The room vibrates with the hum and clicks of the machines and the steady breathing of those operating them. Skye knows how it feels to become so lost in your work that it feels like entire days could pass before you even looked up again. There are moments where she dreads settling herself in front of the machines and delving into the code because there's no quick fix, no fast solution. It's always an uphill battle.
But now, Skye can't help but think about the stories that Jemma tells her, stories of the continual steam of patients, those from the frontlines as well as though who are victims to the bombs dropped on the city. Skye can only hope that the time she spends in this room will make it easier to keep people out of danger and to finally force Germany and the rest of the Axis powers to surrender.
"Skye." She jumps in surprise when Trip pokes her in the side, startling her from her thoughts. "You okay?"
Skye looks at him, frowning and unsure of how long he's been trying to get her attention. Unfortunately she feels like she's more susceptible to day-dreams whenever thoughts of Jemma are involved.
"Oh, yeah." Skye nods her head, having a dismissive hand. "I'm fine."
But Trip still looks skeptical. "You sure? You seem…different recently." He smirks, quirking an eyebrow. "Finally found yourself a special fellow?" He teases, a brotherly smile on his face.
Skye just rolls her eyes. "Not likely."
"Is that why you don't want to go to Bletchley?" Trip continues, grinning at her. "Can't stand to leave the city?"
Skye gives him a shove and he laughs. "Just get to work. We're in the middle of a war here."
But, as Skye settles herself in to the do the same, she wonders about Trip's words. Of course she doesn't want to leave London, not now. Not when she has a coffee date with Jemma sometime in the near future, when both of them are freed from their jobs for a temporary amount of time.
Thoughts of Jemma reluctantly slip away as Skye focuses her attention on the transmissions in need of decryption. Coulson swears that the war is going to be won in rooms just like this one, rather than on the battlefield and while she isn't necessarily sure how true that assessment is, she can't help but give it her all anyway. No one wants to be in a war, she reasons, but she suddenly feels like she has even more motivation for seeing it come to an end.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
They're in the middle of a delicious and notorious meal of Skye's famed bread and cheese sandwiches when the idea to go out dancing is somehow born. At first, Skye is certain that it's more of a joke than anything else, a jest made in passing to make them both laugh. Skye knows that there are plenty of people who enjoy dancing and live music and meager alcoholic offerings even though they're in the middle of a war but she's never thought about finding one of these places herself.
Yet somehow it seems like the perfect thing to do on a rainy June evening.
"It could be an excuse to get all dressed up." Jemma says, her tone slightly relenting, and that seems to be the last bit of convincing that they need.
Skye doesn't have anything that she thinks is nice enough to wear out to a dance hall and eventually settles on a pleated skirt and a white blouse that she brought with her from America.
But Jemma…Jemma looks like she's ready for a night out on the town. Setting eyes on her makes Skye's mouth go dry and she finds it difficult to swallow, to regain control over her brain long enough to assure Jemma that she looks "fine" for an evening out. Skye chokes out the word 'fine' even though her brain has several other synonyms that she thinks might look better. Beautiful, gorgeous, like a dream.
"Sure you want to be seen out with me?" Skye teases when she's finally capable of forming actual sentences. "You need to snag yourself a GI."
She means it to be a joke, of course, but Skye doesn't really feel much like laughing when she thinks about Jemma smiling at and dancing with a smarty dressed soldier. Skye has primarily seen Jemma in her uniform or a wool skirt and blouse so seeing her in the a powder blue shirtwaist dress with a belt cinched around the middle is definitely enough to make her heart beat quicker and her blood run warm.
Jemma looks up at her, seeming worried by her comment. "Oh, no definitely." She shakes her head quickly, smoothing down nonexistent wrinkles in her dress. "I prefer your company to a GI's any day."
Skye laughs but the words warm her from the inside out anyway.
It seems like they aren't the only ones who are interested in cooling their heels at the dance hall. There are plenty of GIs and civilians alike crowded into the space, dancing to the music or standing around chatting and sipping from the glasses in their hands. As soon as they step through the front door, it's like another one of their games of make-believe. There's no war outside, no constant threat of bombs or invading Germans. There's only the music and the laughing and bright voices echoing around the dance hall.
Even though there are plenty of eligible men in the dance hall, Jemma doesn't seem interested in spending her time with anyone other than Skye. Which is just fine with Skye, of course, who wouldn't have it any other way.
Jemma laughs when Skye spins her around during "GI Jive" and "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy" and she throws her arms around Skye's shoulders when they finally stop dancing to catch their breath. Jemma's breath is hot against the side of Skye's neck and it sends tremors down her spine and she wonders if Jemma can feel her shivering against her.
Plenty of men stop by to offer to buy them a drink or two or to spin them around the dance floor but it isn't hard for Skye to turn them all down in favor of Jemma's company. This is, after all, why they came out here tonight. She has no interest in whiling the hours away with the young men getting ready to head to France. She'd rather listen to Jemma laugh and have Jemma's arms on her waist and shoulders any day of the week.
Finally they call it a night, leaving the noise and brightness of the dance hall for the quiet darkness of the London streets. The blackout makes it nearly impossible to see where they're going and they walk close together on the sidewalk to avoid running into poles or tripping over anything left behind and Skye definitely has no complaints about that. Clearly the blackout is good for something.
"I meant to tell you that you look beautiful." Skye blurts out suddenly as they get closer to Jemma's street. She's suddenly reluctant to say good night, even though she's bone tired and damp from sweat and the drizzle of the rain.
Jemma laughs softly, nervously. "You already did." She reminds Skye. "Before we left."
Skye frowns, pursing her lips. "Well…you do." She says again. "Look beautiful tonight."
"Thank you." Jemma says softly and Skye wishes that she could see her face in the darkened streets.
They don't speak for the rest of the walk. Skye can't help but wonder if she's said something wrong or done something wrong. Did she cross a line in complimenting Jemma's appearance? Did she hold her too close while they danced? Give too much away when she smiled or reached for her?
Skye feels like there's a knot resting in the bottom of her stomach by the time they reach the corner in front of Jemma's building. She swallows, turning toward Jemma, desperate to say something that will make everything normal and natural again. "Listen-"
"You look beautiful too." Jemma interrupts, peering up at Skye in the faint silver glow of the moonlight. "I should have told you that earlier."
Skye's heart jumps in her chest and that dry-mouthed feeling comes rushing back. She steps closer to Jemma without even thinking and she no longer feels the chill of the rain. "Oh." Is all that she seems capable of saying at the moment.
"Skye." Jemma says softly.
"Yeah?" Monosyllabic replies seem to be her forte these days.
Jemma smiles softly. "Kiss me."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Do you think the war will be over soon?"
Jemma asks this question several mornings later as they lay in bed together, taking more warmth from one another than from the wool blanket stretched over the pair of them. Skye is nearly half asleep, even though it's midmorning. Her eyes are heavy and she's sated in every possible meaning of the word, laying here with her arms around Jemma and her head resting on her shoulder.
It takes Skye a second to process the question and another handful of seconds to realize that she's actually being expected to answer. "I don't know." She says, her voice thick with the onset of sleep. "Maybe."
Jemma shifts so that she can lift her head, looking up at Skye. "Tired are you?" She teases, reaching up to brush a twist of hair away from Skye's face.
"Oh, yeah." Skye nods. "It's all the excitement over the invasion of Normandy. It wears me out."
Jemma rolls her eyes. "How patriotic of you." She leans in for a kiss.
Maybe the war will end soon. Maybe the Allied invasion of France will be the thing they need to push the Germans back and to claim victory. Maybe this whole stinking war will be over by the end of summer. But right now, Skye can't for the life of her remember why anything matters outside of Jemma Simmons.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Jemma wakes with a start, heart already pounding in her chest before she can even identify the cause of her terror. It doesn't take long, however, because the air raid siren is still sounding, splitting the stillness of the night with its shrill shrieking. The sound automatically makes her palms start to sweat and her blood run cold. During the Blitz, they'd heard that sound nightly, had gotten used to sleeping in the shelter built outside the house, listening to the bombs hitting the ground. It's been months since those sirens have pulled Jemma from sleep and she hasn't exactly been missing them.
But she does still remember what to do.
Quickly Jemma shakes Skye awake, loathe to pull herself out of the warmth of the other woman's arms. If they are going to be bombed by the Germans, maybe this is the better why to die? Wrapped up in someone she loves rather than huddling in the corner of a shelter with dozens of other people.
Skye blinks at her sleepily even as she's rolling out of bed, following Jemma's barked instructions to get dressed. "What's going on?"
"The siren." Jemma says necessarily, for the sound is still filling the room, making it nearly impossible to talk. "We have to get to the shelter."
Skye's eyes widen slightly, looking fearful in the darkness of the room and it isn't until they're already downstairs, cramming themselves in with the other tenants, that Jemma even thinks to take her hand and offer her some sort of reassurance. She knows that Skye hasn't been in London for the entirety of the war so she missed life during the Blitz and the small stretch of time early this year where they were being bombed with regularity would have hardly been enough to prepare someone.
"It'll be all right." Jemma says softly, hoping that Skye doesn't realize how her own hands are shaking. "It could be a drill. Or perhaps the bombs will fall far from here."
Skye nods, holding onto Jemma's hand tightly. They find a corner of the shelter to tuck themselves into and even though there's hardly such a thing as privacy given the sheer number of people who have to take refuge, they're relatively secluded.
"I don't know how you could ever get used to do." Skye whispers, shaking her head. They're as close to each other as they dare, all too aware of the dozens and dozens of pairs of eyes all around them, but still Jemma can feel Skye shaking, whether from fear or cold she doesn't know.
"I don't think you do." Jemma replies, giving Skye's hand another squeeze. "You just…adapt."
They simply have no choice but to keep calm and carry on, as the government has been continually reminding them since the outbreak of the war.
The shelter is filled with the faint hum of whispered conversations and there are even a handful of people attempting to make themselves comfortable enough to go back to sleep. All of that quickly comes to an end when the first bombs start to fall. Jemma unconsciously tightens her grip on Skye's hand as the impact of the bomb vibrates through them. People gasp and a woman holds onto her child as he starts to cry. Skye slips her arm around Jemma's waist and Jemma curls against her, grateful for the contact, hardly carrying what any of her neighbors might think.
The bombs continue steadily and Jemma can't help but think about what will be waiting for her when she returns to work in the morning. Or whenever they are given the all clear to leave the shelter. She knows that some of her colleagues are still at the hospital, no doubt moving the patients into the hallways or securing them as best as they can, praying that a bomb doesn't hit the building. She knows it's selfish but she's glad that here's here in the shelter with Skye, instead of there with the rest of the people she works with.
"I work for the GC&CS." Skye says suddenly, unexpectedly, and it takes Jemma a second to realize that she's spoken, let alone put her words together. "I'm a code breaker."
Jemma looks over at her, surprised. "Oh." Is all she can think to say for a moment, letting the words settle over her. "Well, no wonder you've been so secretive."
After all, it is hardly common knowledge exactly who is spending time trying to decipher Axis intel; all most people know is that the effort is being made, another push to end the war sooner rather than later.
"I'm sorry. I should have told you earlier, I'm just…not in the habit of talking about myself that much."
Jemma shakes her head. "Skye, you don't have to apologize." She assures the other woman. "I completely-"
"I grew up in an orphanage." Skye barrels on, as though Jemma hasn't spoken at all. "I…I had one family who was going to adopt me but after the Great Depression…I mean I wasn't the only kid that couldn't be fed, you know?"
Jemma takes her hand again but doesn't say anything.
"I have no idea how but my boss, Mr. Coulson, he found me and brought me over here to help with the war effort and…" Skye shrugs, holding her free hand palm up as if to say the rest is history. "But that's why I don't usually talk about myself." She finally looks over at Jemma, eyes searching her face. "Not much to say."
Jemma just shakes her head. "I don't know about that Skye." She says softly. "I think there's more to you than all of that."
As the shelter is jarred by the impact of another bomb, Skye leans in close and whispers the words that she's always longed to be able to say to someone, words that she's always hoped for someone to say to her and mean. The sound of Jemma's reply is nearly lost in the noise around them, but Skye can understand her all the same.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
They start calling the bombs "Doodlebugs" rather than resort to the impossibly long German term for them, as though that can somehow make up for the fact that the city is being bombed all over again. Give it a cute, childish name and maybe it won't be so bad. Keep calm and carry on, the British way.
Jemma first hears this term during the shift that she works directly following the first Vergeltungswaffe attack, though she has more on her mind than cutesy terms for bombs. Like dealing with the fallout of said bombs. There don't seem to be enough nurses and doctors to deal with those who have been injured by the bombs and injured on the frontlines or just plain hurt by the war and before she knows it, it's night again and Jemma doesn't see an end in sight.
Not for the first time, Jemma finds herself catching a nap sitting up in one of the chairs set up in the hallway, pillowing her head on her drawn up knees. Her heart aches for numerous reasons, so many things that she can't put her finger on. But, primarily, for Skye.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
After the V-1 attacks begin in earnest, there's even more of a push on those working at decryption. The focus turns to picking up any sort of message or transmission dealing with intended time and place of the strikes, though there seems to be very little planning down on the part of the Germans. The Doodlebugs fly without pilots, so the Germans don't need the cover of night to send them into the city, leaving the citizens even more vulnerable.
Coulson looks exhausted and a bit like he's aged a decade in a few days. Skye can definitely relate to that feeling, especially the feeling of exhaustion. She's been sleeping primarily on the floor underneath one of the tables in the workroom, covered in Trip's jacket with her head on her arms but that arrangement can hardly compare to sharing a bed with someone else. But still, they all have a job to do and Skye knows that Coulson is facing pressure both from himself and his higher ups. They're all working tirelessly to decrypt transmissions and to once and for all break the code of the German enigma machines but it doesn't seem to be enough.
"We need you in Bletchley, Skye." Coulson says one afternoon and not for the first time that day. He says it almost conversationally, like he's done with putting in any sort of effort to actively convincing her. "You could make a difference."
Skye shakes her head. "I can make a difference here too." She tells him. "What would you guys do without me?" She teases, surprised that she even still has the energy to joke. She can't remember the last time that she left this stupid building but she's desperately ready to be outside.
Skye understands that it's her "patriotic duty" to go wherever she's needed and do whatever she can to help with the war effort. But she's hardly sitting around here twirling her thumbs. She's making a difference here, she's helping the effort here. And here is where Jemma is.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Nearly three days have passed before Skye has Jemma in her arms again, meeting her outside of Victoria Station in the blinding afternoon light. Jemma looks just as tired as Skye feels, lost and bedraggled, beaten down by the bombs and the chaos that follows after them. Skye just steps toward her, pulling her against her and feeling relief drain the tension from her muscles and bones. All that have are a few stolen hours but Skye is going to make the most of them.
It takes them only seconds to shed their clothes and fall into Jemma's bed, trying to push aside their exhaustion with lazy touches and frenzied kisses. They eventually give up the fight and succumb to the fatigue and Skye thinks that sleeping curled into Jemma again is just as wonderful as anything else they could have been doing.
Not that she complains when Jemma wakes her up hours later with her wandering fingers and insistent kisses. She thinks that's a pretty nice use of their time too.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The days pass in blurs, no longer following the normal structure of minutes and hours and night and day. There is only the hospital and the short moments where she gets to see Skye. June has nearly given way into July, though even the seasons and months seem to blur together now; everything is grey and rainy and the scorched and bare trees make it look like winter all the time. Jemma is hardly bothering to keep track of the passage of time anyway, measuring instead by the snatches of time where she can steal a hour hours at home, with Skye. Or, even a few hours at home where she sleeps fitfully in an empty bed while Skye breaks Nazi codes somewhere else.
Jemma knows it's morning only because of the time on the watch around her wrist. She runs a brush through her hair, giving her appearance a last minute onceover in order to ensure that she's decent enough to go work on suffering GIs and other patients.
"You look beautiful." Skye assures her from her spot, perched on the edge of the bed. She's covered only with the bed-sheet, giving her a look of passing modesty, still rumpled by from sleep and Jemma wants to kiss her and fall back into bed with her. "Are you sure you don't mind me hanging around here while you're at work?"
Jemma quickly shakes her head, smiling at Skye. "Of course. I should be off by one thirty anyway. Should being the operative word, of course. Dr. Weaver promised shorter shifts since we have more volunteers."
Skye smiles at the idea. "I'll meet you outside the station?"
"Wonderful." Jemma leans in, giving Skye a chaste kiss, least either of them get any wonton ideas. She has the feeling that if she's late for work, Dr. Weaver isn't going to make good on her 'short shift' promise. "I'll see you soon, darling."
Skye nods, an expression of reluctance on her face as she watches her walk out the door. Definitely something that Jemma can relate to.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
When the V-1 bombs go streaking overhead, Skye can't do anything but stand there, staring upward, struck dumb by the sheer improbability and hilarity of the occurrence. What are the chances of walking down the sidewalk and just seeing a bomb go whizzing by overhead? It seems impossible, something that happens in a story that someone tells later in an effort to exaggerate how it really was in order to impress the people listening.
But then someone is grabbing her by the elbow, yanking her off the sidewalk and into the doorway of a shop and Skye is suddenly squeezing her eyes shut on instinct, covering her ears against the explosion of the Doodlebug bomb. The ground shakes and she finds herself leaning against this stranger, a middle-aged man who reminds her of Coulson because of the lines on his face and the way he pats her shoulder reassuringly as they listen to the city falling down around them.
Of course, it doesn't really crumble. When all is said and done, the place around Skye is still standing upright, carrying on as is the London way. But that doesn't keep her from quickening her pace, desperate to get to the station where she was supposed to meet Jemma.
The closer she gets, the most obvious it becomes that the bombs hit targets after all. Already the rescue attempts have begun and people are frantically trying to remove the rubble around the ruined Victoria Station, desperate to clear a space for anyone underneath. A handful of people are trying to organize the efforts, directing people and shouting commands but for the most part, the focus seems simply on grabbling chunks of rubble and debris and moving them somewhere else.
Skye feels like she can't breathe, her vision going fuzzy around the edges and her ears ringing. This can't be possible, this can't be happening. Maybe she was killed by the V-1 bomb she saw earlier and now she's stuck in some sort of horrible purgatory. Maybe this is some horrible nightmare, one that she'll wake up to find Jemma still sleeping beside her, hours before she was due to get onto the train that would take her to Victoria Station. Skye thinks there has so be some sort of explanation to make this living hell go away.
Someone bumps against her and when the man turns back to hastily apologize, Skye spurs herself into action, reaching forward and grabbing tightly to his arm. "The people…on the train…in the station…where are they?"
The man looks at her sadly, flicking his gaze toward the pile of rubble that doesn't seem to be diminishing despite the efforts being made by the civilians gathered around.
Skye hurries to join the rescue efforts, grabbing rocks and rubble and twisted rebar and anything she can get her hands on, desperate to single-handedly tunnel her way through and find Jemma there underneath. Safe and sound, of course, unarmed and impatient for rescue so she can make use of her time off. Those are the thoughts that keep Skye moving toward, clawing against the rubble, possessed by that one singular goal.
When the first body is uncovered, Skye crumples to the ground, her purpose suddenly draining from her mind and muscles. It's not Jemma but that hardly seems to matter, not when she's being smacked so blatantly with the reality of the situation. It's cowardly, she knows, but she struggles to her feet, running as fast as she can away from the ruined remains of Victoria Station. All she wants is to get away.
Without thinking, Skye finds herself back at Jemma's apartment and suddenly she's sprinting up the stairs, taking them two at a time, convinced that there was some sort of misunderstanding and that she'll find Jemma waiting there for her, perplexed as to what has taken Skye so long to meet her here.
Skye throws the door open, shouting Jemma's name, hurrying into the flat. But it's empty, silent and still.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Skye stays in Jemma's apartment for nearly two days and at no point during that time does the front door open and Jemma step inside. She knows she can no longer hide out here, no longer cocoon herself in blankets that still smell like Jemma and grieve the loss of her while the war goes on around them, while Coulson and Trip undoubtedly wonder where she's been. Perhaps they think that she's died too, another victim of the Doodlebug bombs. Maybe she has.
Only the fact that she's still moving, still able to push herself out of Jemma's bed and out of her apartment suggests otherwise. With little other direction, Skye points herself in the direction of the GC&CS building in London. At least there she can focus on something other than Jemma's empty apartment.
Trip's eyes nearly bug out of their sockets when he sees her. "Holy God, girl. We all thought you were dead." He claps a hand on her shoulder before thinking better of it and pulling her into a hug. "Where have you been?" Then he pauses, seeming to take her in. "What's wrong?"
But Skye doesn't bother to respond. There's no way to put it into words, no way to possibly explain the way that she's been hollowed out, how she's become another casualty of war because of the things that she's lost. "Where's Coulson?"
"In his office." Trip eyes her closely, concerned. "Maybe you should sit down."
But Skye just shakes her head and heads toward Coulson's office, opening the door without bothering to announce herself. Coulson, too, looks shocked to see her standing there but his surprise quickly turns to relief and a smile spreads across his face. "Skye-"
"Send me to Bletchley."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
London looks beautiful at night.
This is something that Skye has never noticed before, never had the chance to notice before. She'd arrived when the blackout was already in effect and now, years later, she finally has the opportunity to see the city as it's meant to be seen: burning brilliantly as night falls.
Skye studies the brilliantly lighted streets and buildings from the back window of Coulson's car, struck mute either by the sheer brightness or by the fact that she's suddenly back here, less than a year after she first left. Getting out of London had only helped dull the sharp edges of the hurt in her body; it had been a relief to be in Bletchley Park, away from anything she'd ever seen or experienced with Jemma standing there beside her. It had been a relief to be able to work, to not have the time or interest to talk about anything aside from codes and transmissions.
But now, the war is, in some ways, over. There's still fighting, still battles to be won but all of London seems to be celebrating anyway, relieving in the lights and the end of the blackout and the bombings.
Skye would prefer to still be in Bletchley, secreted away and kept in a world of her own.
But here she is, back in the city with no choice but to carry on. Her flat is gone, rented out during her absence, so she finds herself sharing a hotel room with Coulson and Trip while they make plans around her, plotting for the future and for the next step. Coulson hands her a glass of champagne and Skye drinks it only because she thinks it'll make him look a little less sad as he looks at her.
The champagne is thick and sour on her tongue, primarily because it reminds her of Jemma. During the nights they'd spent together, tangled in one another, they'd talked about this moment, making plans for how they would celebrate the end of the war. Their plans had sometimes been farfetched and ridiculous because it seemed like the end of the war would never come. But sometimes they had been simple, straightforward: cookies and sandwiches and another night at a dance hall. It seems unfair to be celebrating the end of the war without Jemma.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Though no one has ever pressed for details, Skye knows that Coulson and Trip suspect what happened to turn her from the woman they knew to whatever she is now. She knows that she's not the only one to lose someone in the war, knows that she doesn't have a monopoly on that sort of grief but sometimes she appreciates them treating her like she's special anyway, like she needs to be handled with care.
Or, at least, that was what she thought until suddenly Coulson isn't treating her like that anymore. Being given a task that extends beyond code breaking and decrypting and being expected to carry it out like a normal human suddenly seems like a breath of fresh air. Coulson presses a book of ration coupons into her hands and gives her a list of things they need for the next several days. The war is over but things are going to take a while to change, especially when it comes to production and supply.
Skye dutifully heads off to carry out her instructions, hands in the pockets of her jacket, fingering the tattered coupon book as she walks. London is still grey and bleak, healing itself from the constant bombs and the effects of war. Skye wonders if she'll hang around long enough to see it in bloom again.
The store is busy, full of women trying to shop and juggle children at the same time or simply shopping alone, studying the items on the shelves closely, enviously in cases. But only one person catches Skye's attention: the woman at the counter, digging through the pockets of her ratty jacket, muttering both to herself and to the man behind the counter.
"I swear I tucked them away before I left." She mutters, glancing hopefully up at the man on the other side of the counter. He looks unimpressed with her assurances. "I…I know that I have them somewhere." She switches her focus to her other pocket.
Skye feels oddly calm as she steps forward, almost as though she's being moved by some force that she isn't even entirely aware of. She tears a coupon from the book Coulson gave her, holding out numbly. "Here. You can use mine."
The woman turns around and Skye promptly bursts into tears.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Jemma knows its an exaggeration but she feels like she hasn't let Skye out of her grasp since that moment in the store. It seems incomprehensible, both that she actually has Skye in her arms and that there might come a time where she has to relinquish her again.
She can only imagine the sight they were in the middle of the shop, clinging to each other on the floor, crying, oblivious to the horrified shopkeeper and concerned patrons. Nothing else had mattered, no one else was there, except for Skye.
Even though, Jemma feels the threat of tears. Even though Skye is laying there beside her, even though she can feel Skye breathing, can feel the warmth of her skin, see the trace of the smile on her lips. They haven't spoken much, not since they'd left the shop, moving toward Jemma's flat by some sort of unspoken agreement. Jemma hadn't known what to say, wasn't sure there even were words to use.
But finally she says, quietly, simply, "I thought you were dead."
Skye only nods, tightening her hold on Jemma, her fingers digging into her hip. "I thought…I thought you…the V-1 that hit Victoria Station."
Jemma closes her eyes, feeling the thought tear at her heart. She hadn't left the hospital when Dr. Weaver had promised that she would, which hadn't come as a surprise at the time. And then they'd heard about the bomb that had hit the station, injuring nearly a hundred people and killing others. She'd been too focused on triage to think of anything else.
It hadn't been until later, when she'd finally had a moment to herself, to Jemma remembered that Skye had promised to wait for her outside the station. Victoria Station. There'd been no way to get in touch with Skye, to assure her that she was alive and well and stuck at the hospital but otherwise no worse for wear. And by the time she'd finally made it away from the flood of bleeding and broken bodies, Skye had been gone. There had been more bombs after Victoria Station, more injured and dead and no sign of Skye. Jemma had been certain that she was one of those lost amongst the rubble and had had to content herself with the fact that she'd never know for sure, that she'd have to go through her days with the hole in her chest and the ache that refused to fade.
And now…now she has Skye again. And the hole is starting to close.
"I looked for you, that day." Skye says softly and Jemma opens her eyes once more. "I couldn't…I couldn't stay…I'm sorry."
Jemma shakes her head, resting her hand against Skye's cheek. "Shhh, darling." She whispers, leaning in closer. "It doesn't matter. We're here now and the war is over." She smiles softy, almost ironically. "It's over. We should celebrate."
Skye kisses her and it feels like fireworks.