#skimmonsfic

*

Daisy pads across the deck of the space ship for what feels like the tenth time, carrying nothing but the thick, sickening feeling of something’s wrong in the pit of her stomach.

She’s not scared anymore. Not frantically running around and calling out for someone, anyone, to answer her. She’d stopped yelling hours ago, when her throat had started to burn and she’d accepted the futility of it all with a heavy heart.

Now she’s just wandering around, hungry and tired and aimless, acquainting herself with her new surroundings.

Daisy pauses by one of the many ceiling-to-floor windows on the ship. It’s almost funny, she thinks, the contrast between the stark whiteness of the ship’s interior and the darkness that stretches out endlessly in front of her.

There’s something disconcerting about it, the thickness of it, the way it looks like ink but feels substantially heavier, and Daisy stares until her eyes start to ache.

She still sees spots and blotches across her vision even after she looks away.

*

Daisy eventually finds herself in the Cafeteria, a large gleaming hall as pristine — and as empty — as the Hibernation Bay had been.

She passes hundreds of unoccupied chairs and tables on her way to the food dispenser, and a shiver hurtles down the length of her spine, stomach churning with unease. She struggles to swallow around the lump in her throat.

With a shake of her head Daisy drops her gaze, focusing instead on obtaining food from the machine in front of her. She swipes her standard-issue ID bracelet against the sensor as instructed, and waits.

A menu appears in front of her and for the first time in a long time, the corners of her lips lift into a small smile. She taps the hot beverage symbol and watches as the machine brings up a list of over twenty different kinds of coffee.

Something like giddiness bubbles in Daisy’s chest, and she lets herself think that maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

After some contemplation, she selects the caramel macchiato.

“Sorry.” A tinny voice chirps from somewhere inside the machine. “Caramel macchiato is reserved for gold-class passengers. Please select another item.”

She rolls her eyes but obliges, trying for another only to get the same reply.

Daisy groans, throwing her head back in frustration as hot tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She exhales shakily.

She eventually settles for a large coffee (for a lack of better options) and two pieces of toast, and it’s not much but it fills her stomach just enough to ease the queasiness.

*

After her brief lunch break, Daisy continues wandering around the ship. And when she tires of that, she opts to take the elevator.

She eyes the myriad of options before pressing the button for Grand Concourse for no reason other than the fact that it sounds fancy.

Staying true to its name, Grand Concourse leaves her gaping, stumbling out of the elevator in wonder.

A wide plaza stretches out in front of her, its lofty atrium cutting through seven decks, creating tiers of promenades framing a vast skylight. Like everything she’s encountered on the ship so far, the promenades are empty.

But at least it’s not silent here. There’s a consistent splash of water streaming from the jets of an ornate fountain, and jazz music playing softly in the background, and Daisy finds comfort in that.

Beetle-like robots busily flit across the floor, swirling around her ankles though there’s nothing to clean.

Daisy hears the startled gasp before she sees her face. She spins around and lifts her eyes to meet the stranger’s gaze. Her breath catches.

It’s a woman, about Daisy’s age by the looks of it. She’s got chestnut hair that spills over her shoulders and warm brown eyes and—freckles, maybe? She’s too far away for Daisy to be sure.

The woman blinks.

“Are you crew?” She asks, accented voice hopeful and eyes wide as she steps into Daisy’s space.

“No.” Daisy shakes her head.

“Oh.” The woman says, and it sounds like disappointment. Her face falls, and something sympathetic kicks up under Daisy’s ribs. She wishes she could tell her what she wants to hear.

“Do you know what’s happening? Nobody else in my row woke up. What about you?”

Daisy gives her a shrug. “Yeah, it was the same for me.”

“So you haven’t seen anyone else?” She presses.

“Just you.” Daisy says.

They examine each other for a moment. The stranger blinks, then, as if remembering something.

“Jemma Simmons.” She says with a small, tilted smile, and for a moment Daisy’s blood warms.

She reaches out, offering a hand, and Daisy takes it.

“Daisy Johnson.”

*

They somehow talk about everything and nothing at the same time. The lives they left behind on Earth and the lives they were going to lead on Homestead II. Even the mundane topics, things like favourite foods and hobbies and childhood memories, now seem endlessly fascinating.

It’s funny, Daisy thinks, the way a stranger can feel so familiar.

And, as it turns out, Jemma’s a gold-class passenger, which certainly doesn’t hurt. Daisy trades in the toast and black coffee for scrambled eggs and fruit salad. And she finally gets that caramel macchiato.

Daisy decides to drop the heavy news first.

“I don’t have access to the crew’s quarters, much less the navigation room.” She pauses, lowering her voice. “But as far as I can tell, they’re all…still asleep.”

Jemma’s breath hitches, worry creasing her forehead.

“Even the captain?”

Daisy nods.

“Fitz.” Jemma shakes her head sadly. She pauses, heaving a deep sigh. “He’d know what to do.”

Daisy can’t help but notice the way her eyes light up when she talks about him.

“Is he here?” She asks, piercing a slice of peach with her fork and popping it into her mouth.

“Yes.” Jemma says. “He’s in my row. I checked his pod when I woke up, but…” She trails off, throat bobbing as she swallows.

Daisy can tell she’s trying to keep herself together, but the tension in the pull of her shoulders shows she’s struggling.

“So, you two,” Daisy asks, getting an inquisitive glance from Jemma as she clarifies, “you’re close?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Jemma beams. “Joined at the hip, really. Have been, ever since the Academy.”

Daisy shoots her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry.”

Jemma’s brows knit together.

“Oh.” She squeaks, waving her hand around in a dismissive gesture. “Oh, it’s nothing like that! We’re just friends. Well.” She rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Best friends.”

“So, you’re not…?”

Jemma lets out a laugh. “He’s got a wife. They’re both here, actually.”

There’s a short stretch of silence as Jemma chews her lip.

“So.” Daisy starts, hand cupping her cheek as she leans on her elbow. “What did you do at the Academy?”

Jemma grins, wide and bright and happy as she launches into her story, and Daisy tries to ignore the warmth that spreads over her chest.

*

Without sunrises or sunsets, Daisy relies on her body to gauge the time.

She scans a map of the ship, eyes fluttering, temple throbbing with exhaustion. She stops once she gets to the good stuff: palatial suites named for European cities. Her finger hovers over one of the biggest. The Berlin Suite.

What Daisy can’t hack on the panel mounted outside the room she compensates for with a crowbar. The door jumps in its frame, momentarily resisting the violation, before sliding open with a hiss to reveal high ceilings, posh furniture and panoramic windows.

Her lips pull back in a triumphant grin.

*

The next morning at breakfast, Jemma greets her with a loud thump as she deposits a thick manual on the table. Daisy raises an eyebrow.

She looks up from her standard-issue bowl of cereal to find Jemma standing over her, hands on her hips, determination etched into the lines of her face.

“I thumbed through this last night.” Jemma says, nodding towards the manual. “A lot of that stuff is too advanced for me, but it’ll probably make sense to you. Maybe you’ll find something I missed.”

Daisy blinks.

“That’s…diligent.” She manages, making no attempt to hide her surprise.

Jemma beams. “I excel at preparation.”

There’s a pause as Jemma’s grin dims and melts into something smaller, softer. She eases herself into the seat opposite Daisy.

They sit in silence for a moment, Daisy watching as Jemma flushes, tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“I got your note.” Jemma says finally. She looks up, meets Daisy’s gaze. “Thank you.”

It takes Daisy’s groggy mind a while to remember what she did last night before crawling into bed, but then she catches on. Realises Jemma’s referring to the Good night note she’d left on the door of the Paris Suite, right next to her own.

Daisy shrugs.

“Figured you’d need a place to sleep.”

“You didn’t have to, though.” Jemma says, hand moving to brush against the valley of Daisy’s knuckles on the table. “Thank you.”

She drops her hand into her lap before Daisy can process the touch.

*

It takes them another two days to realise they’re not alone. At least, not really.

Daisy’s the one to make the discovery, immediately rushing off to find Jemma. Hand encircling her wrist, she leads her towards the bar in the Grand Concourse.

“Look.” She says excitedly, pointing to a dark-haired woman standing behind the bar.

“Is she...?” Jemma gasps, eyes widening. “Is she like us?”

“Well.” Daisy grimaces, meeting a frown. “Not exactly.”

The robot’s—

“Android, technically.” She corrects with a smile.

—name is Aida.

Daisy and Jemma slide onto the bar stools and examine her. Jemma’s admittedly quite taken with her, passing comments about her conversational responses and her range of motion with nothing short of admiration.

Daisy’s mostly just pleased that she can make a damn good mojito.

Well, that’s callous. It’s good to have a third voice in the mix, especially one so well acquainted with the inner workings of the ship, even if she can’t quite get past the glaring issue: she’s not human.

*

Things get easier after that. They fall into a routine, and it’s nice.

There is no real division between day and night in the void outside, but there are tasks and responsibilities.

Jemma, Daisy finds, is more than happy to draw up a schedule. It’s easier, she supposes, knowing there is one step, and then another, and so on.

They synchronise their bracelets and each clip on one of the earpieces Daisy had found on one of her previous searches, dividing the chores up among themselves: Daisy working the technological angle while Jemma scours the decks to find more information. Though they’d both frantically searched every corner of the ship several times already, Jemma had insisted to look again, now that they were slightly calmer and well rested.

The first time they decide to split up, they linger there for a while, just looking at each other before hesitantly moving to go their separate ways. Be careful, Daisy doesn’t say, but it hovers between them all the same.

Their activities tend keep them busy for a while during the morning hours, and they usually reconvene in the Cafeteria for lunch around midday, swapping stories and findings back and forth.

Daisy figures it’s the certainty of routine, more than anything, that keeps Jemma’s mind awake and alert.

And it’s Jemma that keeps her grounded.

*

They argue, sometimes. Not very often, but it happens nonetheless, when the strain of prolonged proximity gets to them and they both snap like rubber bands stretched out past their limits.

Daisy is still intense, even mercurial at times, when the frustration of incapacity boils her blood and ignites her mouth. Her anger comes in quick, violent bursts, but it dissipates quickly.

Jemma’s rage, on the other hand, is a silent affair, simmering low in the pit of her stomach. Daisy never thought it was possible to have a calculated, subdued kind of intensity, but Jemma has proven to be its personification.

They argue, sometimes. It’s happened before, it’s happening now, and it’ll happen again.

It takes a toll on them both, and Daisy can taste metal on her tongue for hours afterwards.

*

It’s good until it isn’t, until weeks later, as Daisy’s tinkering with her hibernation pod, manual flipped open between her legs and a screwdriver in her hand, Jemma approaches with a tight expression and worry lines between her brows.

She’s uncharacteristically quiet, and it takes Daisy a moment to realise she’s standing above her.

“What is it?” She asks.

Jemma doesn’t reply. Her mouth twists like there’s a sting in her chest.

She holds her hand out, eyes trained on Daisy’s face.

“I have to show you something.” She says.

*

That night they skip dinner and drink far more than Aida approves of. Over the past few weeks she’s somehow become part friend and part counsellor, and Daisy honestly isn’t sure which they need more right now.

“This is not good.” Jemma giggles over the top of her drink. Something pink with an umbrella. “This is bad.”

Daisy knocks back her own shot of vodka. It burns as it slides down her throat, and she squeezes her eyes shut for a moment.

She’s only half listening, her eyes drawn to the spill of Jemma’s hair over her neck, the line of her jaw. It’s become increasingly difficult to keep herself from staring lately.

“Okay.” Daisy says, clamping a hand down on Jemma’s shoulder as she sways on her bar stool. Her knee bumps against Jemma’s thigh, though she seems to take no notice of it. “I think that’s enough for one night.”

*

Daisy bends to slip Jemma’s shoes off while she haphazardly grips Daisy’s shoulders to keep her balance.

Her drunken bubbliness has faded away, tapered off into a hazy kind of numbness. She blinks at nothing in particular, her eyes mellow, just a shade away from actual tiredness.

Daisy straightens up, placing a hand over the small of Jemma’s back as she gently eases her onto the plush king-sized bed. She lingers there for a moment, glancing down at Jemma as she curls up on her side, cheek pressed against her forearm. She turns, making to leave, when Jemma’s warm fingers catch her wrist.

“Stay.” She mumbles into the quiet of the bedroom.

Daisy pauses, biting at the inside of her cheek. And then she’s slipping off her shoes and pulling her sweater up over her head, sliding under the covers. She settles on her side, Jemma’s face inches away from her own.

Jemma smiles as she reaches for Daisy’s hand, fingers fitting neatly into the spaces between hers. Something like reassurance and affection.

“Do you believe in destiny?” She asks, voice so quiet in the dark.

Daisy’s brows pull together in confusion. “What, like, fate?”

Jemma nods.

“Yes.” Licks her lips. “I mean, as a scientist I should approach things rationally. Think critically, analyse the situation. But…” Jemma trails off, eyes moving from their tangled hands to Daisy’s face, and for a moment Daisy thinks that’s all she’s going to say. “Maybe this was meant to be.”

Daisy’s frown deepens as she shakes her head.

“No.” She says eventually. “Our hibernation pods breaking was an accident.”

Jemma shrugs, eyes fluttering as she tries to put the feeling into words. “I’m just saying. You and me both waking up twelve years too soon? Maybe it’s a bit more than just a coincidence.”

Despite herself, Daisy snorts. “Maybe you’re just very drunk.”

Jemma lets out a laugh and the sound vibrates against Daisy’s ribs. The warmth she’d felt days before spreads over her again, thick and languid and molten, pooling in the pit of her stomach like honey.

“Or maybe I’m in love with you.” Jemma whispers, achingly tender in the unforgiving silence.

It’s all so sudden, then. She’s leaning forward before she notices it; maybe because of the rush, or maybe just because she wants to, she’s not really sure.

Daisy’s hands grip Jemma’s cheeks as their lips meet, soft and warm, curtailing all the disclosed territory between them. Jemma’s fingers curl around the nape of Daisy’s neck, pulling her closer as she deepens the kiss, too caught up in the taste of Daisy’s mouth to be ashamed of her unexpected bravado.

Daisy’s palm finds the dipping curve of Jemma’s back and she moans softly into the kiss, a small implosion of desire that sends shivers hurtling down the length of Daisy’s spine.

A beat, and Jemma’s pulling away, skin hot and mouth gasping. She rests her forehead against Daisy’s for a moment, both breathing heavily in the dim light of the bedroom.

A languid smile curves the edges of Jemma’s lips as she tilts her head, hands still pressed against the sides of Daisy’s neck, pulse thudding rapidly beneath her fingertips. She slides them up, thumb brushing the soft curve of Daisy’s lips. They stay like that for a while, an entwined mess of limbs.

Daisy smiles softly as Jemma’s eyes flutter, bringing a hand up to card through her hair. Jemma hums contentedly at the gesture, eyes sliding shut, something peaceful colouring her features.

It’s then that Daisy’s eyes catch on something past Jemma’s shoulder. She squints against the dimness of the bedroom, just about making out the shape of a thick, severely dog eared book. A manual, she realises, the one about hibernation pods that had landed on the cafeteria table on their second day. There’s a note tucked inside, the edges of it sticking out above the pages like a bookmark.

Daisy’s heart clenches in her chest, warmth washing over her like a tidal wave, the overwhelming force of it nearly knocking the breath from her lungs.

“I love you too.” She admits, and it’s rushed and it’s messy but it’s true.

Between one breath and the next, Jemma’s eyes flicker open from where she has her head pillowed on her arm.

“How do you know that?” She asks.

Daisy’s eyes briefly dart over to the manual on the nightstand and a small laugh pushes past her lips.

“Go to sleep.” She says, gently running her thumb over Jemma’s cheek. “I’ll be here.”

A pause, and then, softly: “We have time.”

Jemma makes a sound, something between a hum and a sleepy laugh. She reaches over in the darkness and squeezes Daisy’s hand.

“So, coffee?” Daisy offered.

“Sure,” Jemma agreed, “but uh - that hot date promised to teach me how to hit a six, so maybe later.”

Daisy blinked, surprised, and glanced at the pile of equipment the rest of the team had left nearby. She hadn’t really expected Jemma to be seriously interested in softball, it was just a helpful ruse – and a universally accepted one, or so she’d thought. Still, she knew better than most that the heart wanted what the heart wanted. And she was on the pack up roster this week, after all, so she could swing it. Literally.

“Are you sure?” she checked. “In those shoes? And what does ‘hit a six’ mean?”

Jemma shook back her hair, and took off her gloves. “Oh, my apologies,” she corrected, and affected an American accent to add, “I meant ‘a homer’.” `

Daisy rolled her eyes, and strode up to the pile of practice bats. She selected her favourite –electric blue aluminium, a little battered and with paint chipped off in parts, but still good – as well as a practice tee, and then she backed up into the field, goading Jemma to follow.

“Alright, hot shot. Come on then.”

Jemma’s heart leapt in her chest as Daisy plunged the practice tee into the earth. It was at once, a rush of attraction – she was strong, and in her element, and this was something a little different from the standard coffee date – but at the same time, no shortage of fear. It was all well and good to talk the talk, but in truth, Jemma had no idea how practically coordinated she was… or was not. It was not that she was unfit; far from it. It was just that… well… there was a lot going on with one’s hands, eyes, and mind, and she had been too busy flirting to remember that she didn’t actually have the faintest idea what she was doing otherwise.

And then Daisy held out the bat.

“Uh.” Jemma hesitated, just for a beat, but it was enough to catch herself out. How was she to take it? How was she to hold it? Like a sword, a mallet, a racquet, a baton? How had she gotten to this point, standing in the grass, about to make a complete fool of herself in front of Daisy? Fantastic. In the span of a few seconds, she’d overthought it so much by that she’d scarcely be surprised if she downright dropped the blasted thing.

Daisy raised a curious eyebrow. It was strangely comforting to watch Jemma “Brilliant At Everything, Including Saying the Word Brilliant” Simmons confront her own overconfidence, but Daisy couldn’t let her flail for too long. She took the bat back, demonstrating the hold.

“Like this, remember?”

“Right. Yes.”

Jemma finally took the bat, and though she fumbled with its obvious foreignness, she didn’t seem too fazed. In fact if anything, Daisy thought, that scowl of concentration meant she was genuinely interested in putting her money where her mouth was and learning how to hit this thing out of the park. Daisy bit her lip. She liked a woman who liked a challenge, especially when said woman decided to shuck off her coat as well. She cut a fine form in a cardigan and neat slacks, and though she looked a little out of place, she was fit and determined. Daisy found herself perusing the curve of Jemma’s hip with such admiration that she all but ignored the woman’s otherwise poor form until her first attempt at bat crumbled into a twisted, poorly aimed, overzealous mess.

“Oh, bloody hell!” Jemma cried, but it was more of a whimper than a curse. She hit the tee with an unflattering clang and the ball bounced off half-heartedly, and the base of the tee ripped up a clod of earth and grass as it keeled sideways. The bat all but fell from her fingers.

Jemma closed her eyes for a long moment, cringing on every conceivable level of consciousness. She looked a fool. She had probably insulted Daisy by not taking it seriously, something she loved and had been invited into. Was she going to get Daisy in trouble? Oh no.

Instead, Daisy laughed. It was a gentle sort of chuckle, barely mocking at all.

“Don’t worry, that happens to all the newbies,” Daisy promised, fixing the tee and resetting the ball. “You’ve just gotta stay grounded. Here. If you don’t mind…”

She disappeared back behind Jemma for a moment, but it was only a moment, and then Jemma’s heart was pounding for an entirely different reason. Daisy reached in from behind to steady her hands on the bat, and stayed there. Jemma felt with every fibre of her being the warmth of Daisy’s breath on her neck; her weight where their legs brushed; her breasts just ever so slightly pressing against Jemma’s back.

Hesitation. Daisy’s fingers tensed around the bat, wondering if she’d pushed it too far. It was only a first date, after all. Maybe she should have just stuck to coffee. But then –

“Like this?”

Jemma asked, and if Daisy was not mistaken she was holding her breath a little as she moved her hand to wrap it over Daisy’s. Jemma’s fingers were cold, but Daisy felt a stinging warmth where their skin touched. She swallowed hard. She’d brought this tension on herself. Jemma laughed, and Daisy knew it was for her. The sly little minx was enjoying herself – she should have known, she was not the only one to have seen enough rom coms to recognise this move.

(She would later find out that Jemma had learnt it from the X Files. Funnily enough, that’s where she most vividly remembered it from too.)

Then, because Jemma was full of surprises today, she swung with force and a shriek of panic-slash-delight, and sent the ball careening – well, not that far, but still. She collapsed into more laughter; this time, not a smug little chuckle, but crinkle-nosed hysterics, as she jogged through the grass to collect the ball. Daisy found herself beaming too, despite the flush in her cheeks, as Jemma held the ball out to her.

“I think I’d best leave it to the experts, hm?” Jemma speculated.

“I don’t know,” Daisy suggested with a shrug. “I think after a few more training sessions, you could really be something.”

Was she thinking, Jemma wondered, of more skin-on-skin, breath-on-breath ‘training sessions’; like this one, but perhaps, in more private and opportune locations? Or was it coffee and dinner and films and stargazing on her mind, and that something they could be… maybe in that sunlight-yellow breakfast nook Jemma had always dreamed about?

There was a little smile on Jemma’s face at whatever she was thinking, and Daisy drunk it in, surprised at her own enrapturement. She hadn’t spent a lot of time imagining her own future, but it was easy with Jemma. The now was, at least. They jested with each other, talked; they read each other like nobody seemed to have done before. If she were being honest, Daisy wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted, or thought they could be. All she knew was that she wanted to spend more time with this woman. Any time. All the time.

They stood two arm lengths apart, holding the ball between them and thinking. Overthinking. Until each of them decided, in the spirit of those thoughts, to step in and close the gap.

“I – um,” Daisy murmured. She wasn’t used to feeling so many butterflies with her crushes.

“I think I rather like you,” Jemma confessed, and Daisy laughed and filled the space between them with frosty air. It seemed so soft, so simple put that way.

“Me too,” she agreed.

“If I’m being honest, I actually don’t have a great deal of interest in softball,” Jemma continued. “It was all a ruse. I was rather hoping to kiss you, actually.”

“Good, because I was rather hoping you were hoping to kiss me.”

Jemma blushed, and Daisy smirked and raised her eyebrows; a little bit of a challenge, but one she knew Jemma would take as an invitation. Especially when she tugged on the softball they were both holding between them, pulling Jemma even closer.

For her part, Jemma didn’t need to be asked twice. Her nose was cold and she wasn’t sure exactly where she was sticking it, but she was a practiced kisser and if she stood on her toes just right she could almost find the perfect angle for her and Daisy to fit together. Satisfied, she grinned against Daisy’s lips when she heard the softball drop to the grass between them with a dull thud, and felt Daisy’s arms wrap around her hips instead.

They stood in that little pocket of embrace for a long moment, until they started to realise that the world was still moving around them. Jemma took a deep breath, and sighed it out. Daisy looked around at the mess she had left to clean up. The day was pressing on, and time waited for no woman… but maybe they could chase after it for a while.

“I still have time for tea before my first class?” Jemma suggested.

“Help me put away this junk and I’m there,” Daisy agreed. “I haven’t even eaten breakfast.”

And so help her, Jemma made it almost thirty seconds – she collected her gloves and picked up some of the equipment and made it a few paces behind Daisy before it finally slipped out –

“You know, it’s not just a saying, that breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

“I’m not sure, just know that I’ve never seen you look like that before.”

Crossing the room, Skye wraps her arms around Jemma’s shoulders from behind then kisses the top of her head. Then she spots the photo of Ward with marker marks all over it.

Skye frowns.

“Babe, what is this?”

Looking at picture she’s taken her rage out on, Jemma grabs it then puts it into a drawer.

“Oh nothing, Skye. Don’t worry about it.”

“Uh yeah, that’s not gonna happen so you better just spill.”

Letting out a sigh, Jemma knows she really has no choice because she can’t ever really keep things from Skye. She turns slightly so she’s able to pull Skye down onto her lap and the other woman comes willingly before snuggling up close to her.

“I love you so much and feel so protective of you especially after recent events where Ward is concerned. Karma is going to come around to him but I can’t help wanting to be a part of that. Does that make me a bad person?” states Jemma.

Skye doesn’t answer right away.

Her girlfriend deserves a serious response.

“The fact that you’re worried about your reaction tells me that you are a good person, a wonderful person who I am so lucky to be in a committed relationship with. If you were a bad person, you wouldn’t worry about something like this. What he did and was apart of, is terrible…absolutely fucking terrible. I don’t want him near you at all,” says Skye as she runs a hand through Jemma’s hair.

Ward’s actions disturbed the whole team but its clearly getting to Jemma.

“The best thing you can do, Jemma, is to be happy with me. Live your life, love the people in it who deserve it and science the shit out of everything. At the end of the day, he’ll rot in hell as he deserves.”

Jemma couldn’t help giggling at Skye’s words because she knows she’s right.

“You certainly have a way with words, darling,” comments Jemma.

Standing up, Skye stretches then holds out her hand to help Jemma up because there are plenty of other places, more comfortable places to get their cuddle on after all.

“I can’t help worrying about what could have happened, what could still happen with Ward on the loose now,” admits Jemma worriedly.

She looks down as her fingers play with the hem of her shirt.

“I’m worried too and I’m protective of what we have. We’re going to find him together and end him once and for all. I can promise you that.”

Jemma meets her gaze as she hears how confident Skye is.

“You’re right, you’re right.”

Taking her hand, Skye leads Jemma out of the lab and towards the kitchen.

At the pointed look from her girlfriend, Skye grins.

“You look like you could use a cup of tea. I’d try to make you one but I know how particular you are and you say that us Americans can’t make a cup of tea the right way so…I’ll keep you company and make myself a cup of coffee,” she says.

Jemma scrunches up her nose as if she smelled something terrible.

“How you and the others can drink that sludge and not tea is a mystery to me and not one I’m sure I’ll figure out any time soon,” she replies.

Laughing at her comments, Skye squeezes her hand.

“You have plenty of time to try to convert me. After all, we have the rest of our lives to spend together,” she says.

Skye’s eyes widen at her words and she ducks her head as she blushes.

Cupping her face, Jemma makes Skye look at her.

And not just any somebody else either. A girl. A beautiful girl, about Daisy’s own age by the look of her – so, a young woman really, not that Daisy was used to thinking of herself as such. Either way, she was apparently a massive nerd, with stacks of books and photocopied pages piled like a nest around her. She had music in her ears, humming along under her breath as she read and highlighted and took notes. As Daisy watched, the girl swept a lock of hair behind her ear, revealing hazel eyes and a whorl of freckles across her face. Her eyes lit up and she giggled to herself at something one of the theorists had written. From what Daisy could tell, these were biology textbooks, and so she found herself thinking how this woman must have a bizarre, adorable, terrible sense of humour, and then she found herself thinking, what a nerd, I love her, and very shortly after that, there was no more time to think. The magic of the moment erupted into chaos when Daisy’s distracted, slackened, love-struck hand upset the careful balance of her lunch tray, and sent her pink lemonade flying.

Daisy screeched, helplessly embarrassed and desperately trying to stop the rest of her tray from jumping ship in the opposite direction, and her phone from flying into the mess.

The girl screeched, jumping in her seat and scrambling to save as much as she could of her work from the sugary sweet, irreparably sticky assault.

Time, space, and every long-forgotten, mildly embarrassing moment in Daisy’s entire life flashed before her eyes, and then, even after the longest split-second she had experienced in some time, she still hadn’t worked through it far enough to remember that she should probably be helping. By the time her bodily awareness had returned to the present, the other woman had already shunted all her books away from the puddle of lemonade, had stripped off her sugar-spattered cardigan, and was forlornly dabbing at her shoulder-bag with her scarf, as lemonade dripped on down to the seat of the booth and over everything she owned.

“Oh, Jesus,” Daisy groaned. “I’m so sorry. Here. Take my napkins. Uh. I’ll go… get more napkins.”

After a moment of back and forth, she put her tray as daintily as possible down on the end of the table, right in the middle of the lemonade pool – it’s not like there was anywhere else she could put it, anyway, and what was she going to do? Take it with her? It was already full of lemonade anyway – and then she jogged over to the table full of condiments and cutlery, and grabbed napkin napkin napkin napkin… She kept guilt-pulling napkins until she started to wonder if she was stalling the return to the table, and then she decided that she was, and gritted her teeth, and slunk back to the beautiful woman she’d just made a complete ass of herself in front of and ruined forever.

She held the napkins out as an offer of peace, with an appropriately chagrinned expression.

“Oh, thank you,” said the other woman, removing her sopping scarf and sighing in defeat. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.”

“No, no, it’s my fault,” Daisy insisted. “You don’t have to think of anything. I just- I didn’t see you and I thought –“

You’re beautiful.

She cleared her throat instead. “The point is, I’m… uh… I’m really sorry. I’ll wash your scarf. Does it wash? I don’t know. And your jacket. And your bag, oh god-”

“Oh, no, it’s alright. It was an accident. And it’s just the outside, no drowned electronics or anything. All will be well, with a little elbow grease, I’m sure. Come sit down, please, mi booth es su booth.” The woman waved a distracted hand, inviting Daisy in, and then blushed and looked up at her. “Oh, dear, how rude. I’m Jemma, by the way. Jemma Simmons. I’m on exchange from England, busy recontextualising, so sorry about the mess. Pleasure.”

She held her hand out and, helpless, Daisy shook it. She was still far too mortified to pull off Hi Jemma by the way Jemma Simmons, I’m Daisy, with any degree of swagger, and she couldn’t think of anything else even remotely clever. She kind of just wanted to say You’re English because that voice – but of course, Jemma already knew that. So Daisy just laughed. A really, really uncomfortable laugh, so painful it made even her wince, so she quickly steered herself out of it and cleared her throat instead.

“Uh, Daisy,” she returned. “And I would love to take a seat but I don’t think there’s an inch left down there that’s not swimming in lemonade. I’m just gonna go. But uh, if you like, I could show you the other places I go around here? If you liked this spot, maybe you’ll like those. And I’ve run out of lemonade, so, you’re good there. I mean, assuming you don’t want to rip my throat out. Which would be fair.”

Jemma narrowed her eyes and tilted her head, studying Daisy as if to work out what angle she might be trying to come from. There was no doubt, theirs had been odd as far as introductions went, but Daisy’s bounce back was remarkable, and Jemma was rather determined to extricate herself from this sticky pink nightmare as soon as possible without making Daisy feel too bad about the whole thing. Convenient for both of them, then, that it seemed she had happily presented the perfect opportunity.

“I’ll tell you what,” Jemma proposed. “Forget the scarf and the bag and all of it. You can buy me a cup of tea on the way to these other wonderful places and we’ll forget the whole thing. Oh and – if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate some help with these books?”

“Sure.” Another uncomfortable laugh, but this one more breathless than scarred for life. Beaming ear to ear, Daisy felt suddenly aware of her heart thundering in her chest, and she gathered Jemma’s books toward herself as if she was picking armfuls of flowers. Carrying books for the pretty, quiet, nerdy girl. Wasn’t that the dream?

All but floating on air, Daisy led Jemma through the campus, past a coffee shop where she picked up a tea, coffee, and an everything bagel – a girl had to eat, after all – and on to an old brick amphitheatre. They talked the usual university fare; who they were, what they were studying, what they liked and did not like about various aspects of their courses. It seemed that much, at least, was international. By the time they reached Daisy’s second-favourite place to eat on campus, the lemonade incident was rapidly becoming a humourous memory.

“I don’t usually come here when it’s cold out,” Daisy explained. “It’s miles away from the computer labs and basically all my classes, and the wifi is crap, but I figured, you’re English, you can handle it.”

The amphitheatre was nothing special: a small installation for a class to practice projection, or perhaps for an intimate poetry reading. It was a concrete stage and red brick everywhere else. Fairly ordinary in and of itself. Yet Jemma found something wondrously unique about it. Perhaps it was simply the thrill of being let in on somebody’s secret, of being invited to belong, but there was a little piece of magic here that the cafeteria, and even the library where she usually felt at home, had lacked. Of course, there were also trees and sun above them, which Jemma had always loved.

“Oh, primrose!” she exclaimed, catching sight of some and running to admire it without a second thought. “This used to grow back at home, I do love them so. They’re marvelous flowers, you know.”

“What’s so special about them?” Daisy wondered. For a moment, Jemma scowled, feeling defensive of her favourite flowers. Then she realised that, though in somebody else’s mouth those words may have been dismissive, Daisy was watching her attentively, and when she did not answer immediately, began to approach as if to see them for herself. She knelt beside Jemma, and for a moment the words of explanation caught in Jemma’s throat. From the get-go it had been clear that Daisy was a fun person, a bit of a character, and judging by the rock band t-shirt and the jeans and boots and dozen or so political cause pins dotted over her computer bag, a rather passionate one too. But in their brief time together Jemma had noticed a streak of understated intelligence that she had to admire, and it shone through now as Daisy studied the flowers with a sense of inspiration about her.

“You really want to know?” Jemma wondered, hopeful.

“Yeah,” Daisy snorted, but was beaming back when she looked up. Her expression said that if she had not wanted to know, she would not have asked, and Jemma found herself feeling rather bashful all of a sudden.

“I- it’s just, well, I tend to ramble about these sorts of things. A lot of people lose interest fairly quickly. I wouldn’t blame you.”

“No, please, explain away.”

But alas, they had whiled away their seemingly endless time together. Jemma’s phone vibrated, again and again and again, and chimes began to ring out the alarm she had set. She pulled it out of her pocket, and checked it, and gaped in affronted surprise.

“Bloody hell!” she cried. “It’s three o’clock! I’ve got to get back to class!”

“Okay. Okay. Uh. Biology’s this way. Quick!”

They sprinted down the amphitheatre steps so fast that Daisy had to catch Jemma’s hand to stop her falling. They barely noticed the contact, frantic as they both were, and it was gone in a moment anyway as they scrambled to scoop up the books, climb the other side of the amphitheatre, and sprinted across campus with the wolves of poor time management at their heels. When they reached Jemma’s class, she paused a moment to catch her breath, adjust her hair and the lay of her bag and her shirt and all, and then she turned to Daisy.

“How do I look?” she asked.

“Perfect. Great. Good,” Daisy assured her, nodding emphatically. In truth her hair was a little windblown and there was a tiny smear of dirt on her knee where she’d knelt to look at the flowers, but just because Daisy had catalogued every inch of her, didn’t mean anyone else would. And didn’t mean it wasn’t good, great, perfect. “How- how are you feeling?”

“Nervous,” Jemma confessed. “Blimey, what a terrible first impression.”

Daisy huffed, and smirked at the irony as she helped Jemma arrange her copious books into a manageable pile in her arms.

“Personally,” she said, “I think first impressions are overrated.”

Jemma’s eyes sparkled as she smiled back. “Perhaps you’re right. Either way, I should go. No need to make things worse.”

She turned on her heel and spun, and the book that Daisy hadn’t finished passing back fell to the floor with a light thud. Daisy’s eyes followed it for a brief moment, and she yelped-

“Wait, you forgot-“

But when she looked up again, Jemma had already disappeared inside. Her heart beginning to fall, Daisy bent to pick up the book. It was thin, and it looked old, with a rough-textured, mint-green cover and a broken spine. On the front, there was an embossed illustration of a daisy and below it, the words: Flowers of the English Countryside. Daisy smiled down at it, and flicked through its pages. She had some time to kill after all; perhaps she could take a look before returning this to the library. She really was curious about primroses now, after all.

Not as curious, though, as she was about the slip of paper that fell out from between the covers and into her hand. It had been torn from a photocopy, by the looks of things, of a book called An Introduction to Conservation Politics in the United States. It had been, unmistakably, dipped in pink lemonade. And it had been scribbled on – no doubt, Daisy knew, by the hand of a woman running across campus like her life depended on it. This was Jemma’s number, and it was meant for her.

Daisy smiled. She smiled so widely that she had to bite her tongue to stop her grin consuming her entire face. She pumped a fist and let out a skittering jump of delight, before turning and walking back the way she had come with as much decorum as she could bother to muster. She had to play it cool, after all.

(But not so cool that she didn’t spent the rest of the afternoon wondering if that was a 4 or a 9, a 1 or a 7, or if it would be weird for her to just go back to Jemma’s classroom and meet her when they wrapped up for the day.