Steps in the Right Direction

Jemma sat up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and swallowing the awful taste in her mouth.

"Are you okay?" Deke asked, leaning forward.

"Fine," she said, catching her breath.

"I think the vomit on the floor tells a different story," he said. "Are you sick?"

She looked at him with a raised brow, deflecting his concern. "I did just have a fairly large surprise. Given the stress we've been dealing with, it's not that shocking to have a physical reaction, learning something so unexpected."

He was quiet for a few seconds, and Jemma was about to go and get some supplies to clean up the mess when he spoke again. "It's just – you seemed like you were gonna be sick earlier, when Fitz was taking out…" she closed her eyes at the memory of Daisy in pain, and he trailed off. "When we were with Fitz," he said instead, gentler than before.

She opened her eyes, forcing something she hoped resembled a smile. "I appreciate your concern, Deke, but I'm alright. Really."

He searched her face carefully, because they both knew she wasn't alright emotionally. But physically, he at least wasn't sure. Apparently he believed her, because he gave her a small nod.

Knowing he was their grandson, she could see bits of Fitz in him. The way he stood. The look in his eyes when he was searching for the truth, his gaze piercing but somehow still vulnerable, letting you volunteer the information instead of forcing it out of you. She found she couldn't keep his eyes after he nodded, it was too painful.

"If you'll excuse me, I need to get some supplies and clear this up," she said, standing. She was very aware of the tension between them now, and wanted to get away. He murmured something in response, but she was already walking away. She would walk to the medical bay, so she had time to compose herself before coming back… but then she would see Mack and Yo-Yo… she stopped and adjusted her course. She was sure there were supplies closer to her room.

Unfortunately, she didn't make it that far before the feeling rose up in her again, and she just made it through the closet door before she threw up again.

Great, she thought shakily, once the awful feeling was gone – this time more fully than the last. Now she had two messes to clean up, though at least no one had seen this one.

She cleaned the mess in the closet and walked back to the hallway she'd been in before. Thankfully Deke had gone, so she could stay in her own head as she cleaned. She'd just thrown the last paper towel in the waste bin when she decided she needed to talk to Fitz. Her manual task completed, she needed to fully confront what was going on, and she wanted to see him. Especially knowing what she did now, about their relationship to Deke. She wondered if it would be better coming from her or from Deke. Perhaps they should tell him together?

She hadn't decided what she even wanted to tell Fitz when she reached the room he'd told them to lock him in, and stopped by the glass partitioning. Fitz was lying on the bed, sound asleep.

Her hand automatically crept toward the glass as she took in how peaceful he looked, his chest rising and falling evenly, his face smoothed over in sleep. As badly as she wanted to wake him, and desperately wanted to talk with him, she couldn't do it. Not when he was finally experiencing a little peace that day. She had to let him be.

So she swallowed her need and stepped away. His need was far greater than hers at the moment, even if she was aware of her thoughts and emotions climbing to wonderful, terrifying, life-changing conclusions. She reasoned through the possibilities of her being sick for half an hour, sitting on the floor outside Fitz's room. Unfortunately, the possibilities were very few, and one seemed much more likely than the others. Especially considering that she'd been sick multiple times lately. As it started to lodge in her mind, she stood and rushed to their central workstation.

Sure enough, Deke was there, watching the security feed and opening a chip bag. He was alone, and turned when she entered. He half-smiled at her before looking back at the monitors. "You hungry?" he asked invitingly, holding out the bag.

"Deke," she said, unsure but questioning, standing just inside the doorway. She felt him look at her, shifting his attention fully to her. Her breath was becoming shallower by the minute, her pulse jumping erratically.

She looked at Deke and inhaled shakily, knowing there was no going back from this. He seemed concerned, by the tone of her voice and the behavior she was exhibiting, both now and earlier in the day, and was looking at her with a trace of fear in his eyes. She understood. She was terrified herself. She kept his gaze and voiced her question, her voice breaking on the first word.

"When – when was your mother born?"