#skimmonsweek2017

*

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.