Skye's head might be falling off her body.
No, wait, if it was detached, she probably wouldn't have such a headache.
"Did someone get the license plate number of that truck?" Skye mumbles, and immediately regrets it; her throat is so dry it feels like it's on fire.
"Here," a soft voice says, and Skye instinctively sucks on the straw someone nudges against her lips. The water is ice cold and it's the best thing ever.
Slowly blinking her eyes open, Skye takes in her surroundings. She's in her bunk on the Bus, they're airborne, and Jemma is sitting at the edge of her bed, holding the glass of water Skye's sipping from.
"The hell happened?" Skye asks, when she can speak comfortably again.
"You got drugged," Jemma says with a slight apologetic wince. One of her hands smooths Skye's hair back from her forehead, and it feels really nice.
Skye blinks and struggles to clear her head from the fog. It's difficult. The memories seem--watery, sort of, slipping through her fingers as she tries to grab them. The room is spinning faintly, and she fights back nausea. She remembers walking into the party where she was supposed to meet their target, and then--she's coming up short.
"That bastard roofied me?!" she asks in outrage.
"We're not sure what he dosed you with," Jemma admits. "We took some blood, and we're working on the analysis, but it might take a little while still."
"At least tell me the bastard's in custody," Skye moans.
There's a snort from the doorway, and Ward comes to lean against the frame. "He's in pain, is what he is," Ward says. "How are you feeling?"
"Headache," Skye says with a sigh. "Queasy. Glad you got the guy, though."
"I'll be in interrogation with Coulson if you need anything," Ward says. He sounds--odd, and there's something in his eyes. He then nods at Jemma before he leaves.
"Was he worried?" Skye asks.
Jemma shrugs. "We all were, kind of. It was a scary situation. And you weren't--yourself."
A vague sense of dread is creeping up on Skye. "Oh God," she says, "what did I do?"
"Nothing! You didn't do anything."
The protest comes far too fast, and Jemma's a terrible liar, she's got at least hundred thousand different tells. There's a very obvious blush staining her cheeks, and she avoids looking directly at Skye. Skye narrows her eyes. "Jemma?"
Jemma fidgets. "You were just--you were very talkative, that's all."
"Talkative? Talkative how?"
A blush is spreading across Jemma's cheeks. "Just, you know. Saying how awesome we were, how much you loved us, that kind of thing." She pauses. "You called Coulson Dad hot."
Skye wants to sink through the bed and into the floor. "Dad hot?"
"Hot, like a Dad," Jemma clarifies unnecessarily. The blush, however, has spread to her neck and ears, and it's increasingly adorable.
"I'm never going to be able to look him in the eye ever again," Skye whines. "What else?"
"Nothing else," Jemma lies.
"Oh, come on," Skye groans, "you blush like crazy when you lie, your little I am lying wrinkle is right there." She points at the little wrinkle on Jemma's forehead. "And you're sweating."
"I am not!" Jemma exclaims, outraged, as if the very notion of sweating offends her.
"You totally are," Skye says firmly. "Look, if you don't tell me now, everyone's gonna make fun of me later anyway, and it'll be much worse that way."
"We wouldn't make fun," Jemma says, then adds, quietly, "It wasn't actually that funny."
And that is worrisome. Struggling to sit up, Skye waves off Jemma's hands and tries to ignore how the entire Bus seems to tilt. "Jemma, come on, you're worrying me. Did I hurt anyone?"
"Oh God, no, no," Jemma says quickly. "I just..." She takes a deep breath. "You were just so out of it. You had everyone worried."
She looks carefully at Skye with a shaky smile before averting her eyes, and it makes something flutter in Skye's stomach. Without thinking too hard about it, she reaches out and places a hand gently on Jemma's cheek, just a brief touch, encouraging her to meet her eyes again. "Hey, I'm fine," Skye says, smiling in what she hopes is a reassuring manner.
"Ward had to carry you back," Jemma says. "You told him he was the best brother ever."
Skye feels her own face heat up, and she sincerely hopes she didn't say anything else. "Well. I'm sure nothing I said while high can be held against me, right?"
"You told Fitz you'd like to rub his luxurious curls all over your body, and you told May she was the bad parent, while Coulson was the good parent."
Skye closes her eyes briefly in embarrassment and fights through it. No way around it. She definitely let something slip; she can feel it. "And what did I say about you?" she finally dares to ask, opening one eye to peer at Jemma.
Jemma's not looking at Skye, face turned slightly away again. Her blush is deeper than Skye's ever seen it before, and her fingers are twisting and untwisting a corner of one of Skye's blankets, over and over. "Something about my looks;, I don't know."
Skye's heart is thundering in her chest as she puts her hand back on Jemma's cheek. "Jemma," she says quietly.
Jemma looks at Skye for a long time, before she finally takes a deep breath. "You told me that, um, that--I was your dream girl and that I had soft-looking lips, and that you wanted to--" She shakes her head. "I am not repeating the rest and you can't make me."
And this is it. This is how Skye will die. From embarrassment, in her little bunk in the Bus. Slowly, she takes her hand off Jemma's cheek, lies down, and with great care pulls all her blankets up over her face.
"I'll see you next decade sometime," she says from underneath her blanket pile. "When I have recovered from the embarrassment."
There's a muffled sound from outside the blanket pile, and Skye lifts them just a little--just enough to make a gap she can hear through--to say, "What?"
"Did you--did you mean it?" Jemma asks. Her voice sounds shaky.
Skye considers. She thinks about the pros and cons of coming clean, the close quarters they live in. But then she considers Jemma's face, the way she just looked at Skye, the way she stroked her hair back.
"Maybe," Skye says. "Is it going to be awkward?"
There's a long silence from outside the blanket pile, but Skye thinks she can hear Jemma's breathing quicken.
"Jemma?" she asks, when the silence has stretched on long enough that she's getting really nervous.
"What if," Jemma says, voice trembling, "what if--I wanted to--do those things with you as well?"
Something loosens in Skye's chest. It's like ice melting in spring. She doesn't realize she's grinning at first, until it's so wide it almost hurts her face.
Raising one arm, she shifts over on her bed and holds up a corner of the blanket pile in invitation.
For a moment, everything remains silent. Then finally the bed shifts, and Skye catches a glimpse of Jemma's smiling face before she joins her in the darkness of her blanket pile.