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Staring out of the window at the looming grey sky, Jemma sighed.
In her fourteen years of life she didn’t think she’d seen a worse storm, and she was scared .
If a storm less severe than this one had managed to rip her parents from her, what could this one carelessly steal away from her life?
Things were finally good now: she had been living at Phil and Melinda’s for over six months, and Daisy and Bobbi were with her. Her sisters, her brightest stars.
Jemma had known Daisy since almost right after her parents’ deaths. While the girl was only a little older than her, she’d held Jemma’s hand every step of the way during her first year at St Agnes, calming her storming waters by stroking her hands through tangled hair or singing the younger girl to sleep.
It had been rough, despite being strong and holding Jemma through her worst nights of grieving, she had issues of her own. Ones that kept her up long after she’d sung her best friend to sleep.
That’s where Bobbi came in.
One mild October evening, the older girl had arrived at the orphanage after finding herself in a situation not dissimilar to either Daisy’s or Jemma’s. It had taken a while for the younger girls to get the older girl (exactly 2 years and 3 months older, as Jemma liked to recount) talking, but once they did, the pair went to her for everything. Hence why they refused to be placed in a foster home unless they were together.
It had been difficult, but eventually their social worker had managed to find a home where they could be together. May and Phil’s.
Jemma, being the quietest of the bunch and not a fan of new things or people, had taken a little longer to warm up at first, but now, six months and seventeen days on (yes, she had counted), things were going good.
Correction, things had been going good.
Until today.
This storm was throwing her entire sense of gravity off.
Below her, Jemma could hear the quiet (well, not really) competition of Phil, Bobbi and Daisy playing Uno, a Friday night activity that had quickly become tradition.
Despite being one of her favourite games to play, Jemma had excused herself a while ago, soon after the news reporter on the tv in the background had recommended staying in due to the storm.
She had wordlessly drifted upstairs, ignoring the worried glances from May and Phil as she went, finding herself sitting on the windowsill of her and Daisy’s room.
She took the storm in, eyes glazing over a little as she watched the rain fall heavily on the driveway below and the trees sway dangerously hard in the wind.
It reminded Jemma a little too much of that night.
They should’ve stayed home.
Then maybe her parents wouldn’t be gone.
But they were, and now this storm could take her new family from her too.
Of course, Jemma knew she was being a little ridiculous, the chances of dying in a storm were only 1 in 58,669, but nonetheless, she had lost two people to one.
Maybe the odds were against her, maybe her recent luck would finally run out.
She sniffled, half heartedly dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve before settling on clamping her hands firmly over her eyes to block out the sound of the wind as she cried.
That’s probably why Jemma didn’t hear the door being pushed open five minutes later when May came up to check on her.
The older woman’s heart broke a little as she took in the sight of the sweet, kind girl she had grown to think of as her daughter crying alone.
She wondered why Jemma hadn’t told anyone she was hurting, before settling on the fact she probably hadn’t wanted to be what she would call a burden.
Her little baby angel would always offer to help everyone else carry their problems, often forgetting about herself or refusing to share hers as to avoid hurting anyone further.
At that moment, May was a little lost on what to do. But nevertheless, she had to do something.
Slowly, she crossed the room and perched herself just by Jemma’s feet on the windowsill, gently lifting her hand in front of the girl’s eyes as unsolicited touch was often unwanted.
Jemma removed her hands from her ears, giving May silent permission to speak.
“Jems, baby, what’s going on?” she pressed quietly, hoping she wouldn’t recoil in on herself.
Without taking her eyes off the street below, Jemma contemplated her answer for a second, before turning to face her foster mother.
“I.. I miss them.” she croaked out, voice cracking.
Oh. May had read the files, she knew about Jemma’s parents. She didn’t understand why she hadn’t thought about the implications of storms for her until now.
“I’m sorry, love.” she whispered as Jemma swung her legs down and drew a little closer.
“It- it’s okay, I think. I’ve accepted that they’re gone.” Jemma said coyly, thinking for a moment before continuing, “Just, promise that we’re safe? You, Daisy, Phil, Bobbi, me, promise that we’re okay? I can’t lose any of you..”
May sighed, a sad smile forming at Jemma’s transparency.
“You won't, baby. We’re all going to stay inside and keep warm until it's safe to go out again, we’ll be just fine.” She reassured.
“Good.” Jemma murmured softly, “Cause I want to stay here forever.”
That was all it took for May to wrap her up in a hug, holding her until her breathing evened out and she fell fast asleep.