Hourglass

Could

I'm reminded horribly of a time not so long ago, when it was Skye's lifeless body on the gurney and not Jemma's. We were all gathered together in a room similar to this one, sitting in silence and dealing with grief in our own separate ways.

It was then that Coulson said, "We're her family," and I completely lost it and found it all at the same time.

I was unable to keep my shit together at the time but it was in that moment that something inside of me snapped. We are a family. We may be shattered from the inside out but we are a family.

And now we're here in the waiting room again and forget butterflies, I have wasps in my stomach, and Coulson is pacing and Skye is reading the same page of a magazine over and over again and Trip is fiddling with a piece of equipment and Jemma's inside the theatre being fixed as well as her broken body can be.

What the hell happened to us?

The nurse comes in and immediately Skye's on her feet, pulling her crutches up from where they lie on the couch beside her. They've already treated her leg and she's okay, only needing mild physiotherapy.

"Please tell me you have good news," Coulson says, and the nurse nods.

"We've managed to clean her leg - it would be so much worse if it hadn't been disinfected," she nods to Trip, "and she's currently having skin grafts on her hands. We're positive that the acid burns on her stomach will heal fine, but she'll have scars. She's going to be okay, Agent Coulson."

Skye bursts into tears and Trip takes her into his arms. Coulson smiles weakly at the nurse.

"Thank you. Thank you so much."

She leaves, the door swinging lazily behind her. The only sound in the room is Skye's muffled sobbing.

It occurs to me just how much Fitz's death has impacted on all of us. We wouldn't be in this situation if it wasn't for Ward.

Ward. Oh, what I'd do to that son of a bitch if he was here right now.

If Fitz hadn't died, we wouldn't be this distraught. Simmons would never have wanted to go into the field. I never would have let her down, and she wouldn't be in a hospital now.

But even if they can heal her physical wounds, there's no telling what state she'll be in emotionally when she wakes up.

✈

Two days after she's placed in a hospital bed, covered in drips and cords and bandages, her eyes flutter open.

Skye's scream alerts me from where I sit in the waiting room, my nose buried in a novel I've read countless times. Coulson and I both stand and run down the corridor to the ward she's in, pushing past nurses. They make half-hearted attempts to slow us down but they can't stop us now.

We burst through the door and there she is, lying flat on her bed, the hospital blankets tucked under her arms. Out of breath, we move toward her. Trip follows not long after us; he'd been to collect coffee and has steaming half-empty cups in his hands. Dregs of coffee are splashed over his arms and tee shirt.

Jemma tries to sit herself up, grimacing in pain as it shoots through her body, but Skye gently lowers her back onto the mattress again. "And you said I wasn't a good patient," Skye says lightly.

"You weren't," Jemma responds, her voice hoarse, and she coughs a little. Skye laughs just as a nurse arrives.

"You're awake," he remarks, checking the screen on which her vitals are displayed. "And looking good, although your blood pressure is low."

Jemma frowns, her hair splayed in a halo around her head. Skye takes her undamaged hand and traces circles in her palm.

Trip wordlessly hands me one of the polystyrene cups and I pass it on to Coulson. I hate coffee but he takes a sip, ignoring the fact that half of the contents were spilled on the way here. Trip passes the other cup to Skye.