May's Golden Dragon - independentalto (2024)

Chapter 1: Fried Rice

Chapter Text

The glass pane of the door was streaked with aged grime as Phil Coulson reached out with a cautious hand, swinging it open with a single motion. He barely paid any notice to the small tinkling bells that let out a soft ring, and stepped in. Wow. Ros wasn’t joking when she said it wasn’t like other Chinese restaurants. For one, there wasn’t a shortage of dark corners. Not to mention the shady, hunched looking group in one of said dark corners.

And finally, there was the plume of smoke that was emitting from the back end of the kitchen. Phil was pretty sure that didn’t fall under standard operating procedure. He briefly wondered how they’d managed to escape inspection all these years before shaking his head and stepping up to the hulking man standing to his right.

“Uh, Phil Coulson?” The man said nothing, simply staring Phil down. Phil adjusted his glasses nervously - more force of habit than anything - before chancing another look up. “I - I’m from the SHIELD? Uh. South Harlem International Eating Living Directory? I - I’m here to see -” He squinted down at his hand; unfortunately, with his having gotten lost three times on the way here, the name was smudged into an unintelligible blur. “Melissa Moy?”

At least he got a crack out of the guy in front of him. “Melinda May’s our head chef and owner,” the man corrected, chuckling at Phil’s look of relief and embarrassment. Melinda May. Well, at least he was close. “Name’s Alphonso Mackenzie, but they call me Mack ‘round here.” His handshake nearly took Phil’s arm off, and he came away already planning a gym workout for the weekend. “Why don’t you grab a seat, and we’ll get one of the servers out here in a minute.”

Still somewhat shaken by the encounter, Phil took a seat at one of the nearby red cloth-covered table, doing a double take at the chopsticks on the table. Why, oh why had he chosen to take this assignment? He could’ve stuck with the Portuguese cafe in Hell’s Kitchen. Or the new Italian place over on West 36th and Seventh. (At least they had gelato.) But no, he’d been in such a fit to impress Rosalind that he’d taken the riskiest assignment known to man like him - the Chinese restaurant buried deep into a back alley in Manhattan Chinatown.

“Whoa, you’re new.” A frazzled looking woman dashed out, skidding to a stop in front of the table with the teapot hanging from her arm. “Haven’t seen you around here before. Hey, Fitz!” she yelled to the kitchen. “We got fresh meat!”

Phil held his hand up. “Actually, I’m just from the South Harlem -”

“And he’s from the papers!” The woman co*cked her head, listening for a reply before her mouth stretched into a grin. “Excellent. Well, welcome to May’s Golden Dragon, I’m Skye, I’m your server today, yes, I can speak Mandarin, yes, this tea is hot, don’t try to drink it right after you pour it.” She plonked the teapot onto the tablecloth and poured him a cup of tea, the brownish liquid sending up a plume of steam into the air. “Drink,” she smirked, catching Phil’s hesitant look. “I promise it’s better than it looks.” Indeed. The tea was the right amount of bitter, but not so flavorful that it took over all of the tastebuds in his mouth. Phil hummed, putting the teacup down. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Skye, right?” he asked the woman. She nodded. “Can I get a menu?”

The smirk returned. “Don’t worry, sir, we have a...special menu for the fresh meat that walk through the doors.” Skye whipped out a notepad. “Now. Any allergies, severe dislikes, things that might make you projectile vomit across the room?” Phil shook his head hurriedly, and Skye scribbled ‘FEED EVERYTHING’ before stuffing the notepad into the back pocket of her jeans. “And what’s your name?”

Phil gave her a weird look. “Why would you need to know my name?”

“I make it a point to get to know my customers,” Skye fake drawled, looking offended. “Do that, and they tip higher.” She grinned. “Plus, if you’re going to be my new dad, I have to at least know your name.”

The promise of a date with Rosalind was all that kept Phil from hightailing it right out of the restaurant right then and there.

“I’m kidding!” Skye laughed, and the tight ball of tension in Phil’s chest loosened just a little. A little. He wasn’t sure if Skye was deranged, determined, or both. “We need your name for the ticket. Aren’t really any table numbers around here. And like I said, you’re the fresh meat.” She refilled his teacup without spilling a drop. “Soon, you’ll be a regular. I always know the names of my regulars. So. Your name?”

“Phil? Phil. Phil Coulson. I’m Phil Coulson.”

Skye laughed and dashed off. “Nice to meet you, Phil Coulson! Your food should be out soon!”

“Fresh meat, huh?”

Bobbi Morse edged past Skye with a tray supporter tucked under her arm, the other brunette already balancing a tray laden with dishes on both hands. It’d been a while since she’d seen fresh meat, and having come from fresh meat herself, she was plenty aware how the May family ran things. She just hoped this one wouldn’t run off before they got to the fried pig intestines.

“Yeah, this one looks a keeper,” Skye said breezily as she began to set the plates onto the table in the corner, including a large bowl of egg drop soup into the center surrounded by several smaller bowls and a ladle. Fresh murmurs of approval went up from around its occupants. “He didn’t even run when I pulled the dad line. Most single guys run at the dad line.”

Bobbi chuckled, leaning over to ladle the soup from the large central bowl to the smaller ones. “Which one is it again? Dude in the middle table? What, didn’t want to put him too close to Mack?” She stopped for a minute and straightened up, the prickly familiar feeling of a leery stare at her chest beginning to set in. Most of the seedy Asian men at the table had the grace to stare down at the starched white tablecloth when she glared up at them, pausing momentarily from her ladling.

All except one. Well, at least it was the same guy from last week. And the week before that, and the week before that. Honestly, who else had she been expecting? Bobbi sighed, sending her own frosty glare right back.

“ Tíngzhǐ dīngzhe tā de xiōngbù, Yáng,” Skye deadpanned without even looking up. The man, caught, muttered a ‘pssh’ and turned back to his conversation with the man next to him. “Honestly, does he not know they’re fake?” she wondered out loud, earning a smack on the shoulder from Bobbi. “Hey, watch it, Morse. You know how the Chinese mafia gets when we mess up their food.”

“Oh, please,” Bobbi shot back, smiling sunnily at said mafia members before picking up the tray table and sauntering to the kitchen. “They can’t get upset at me. I have boobs and an ass. I’m still waiting for the day they bring their mothers in and they try to matchmake me with their grandsons.”

They entered the kitchen, Skye dropping off her now-empty tray before leaning against the counter to wipe the sweat off her face. “Hey, Fitz, how we doing with the fresh meat intro?”

“I wish you’d stop callin’ it fresh meat, Skye,” Leo Fitz emerged from a fresh billow of steam, red-faced and sweating. “Makes it sound like they’re prey or somethin’.” He handed her a plate of fried rice, hot off the wok. “Took down the spice, just like you said.” When Bobbi gave him a look, he threw his hands up in protest. “I mean it! ‘S nothing like Garner!”

“Fitz, he was drooling. On the carpet .” Needless to say, that attempt at matchmaking had not gone well. “You know how May hates it when people drool on the carpet.” Skye sniffed the plate just in case she needed to warn Phil. “And I like this one. Try not to scare him off with your spiciness.”

“Way more than a Scot should have,” Bobbi mumbled under her breath.

Fitz rolled his eyes at her. “Fine. No spicy ribs for you tonight, Morse.”

Skye just laughed and headed out of the kitchen at Bobbi’s petulant whine, their argument fading out of earshot to the sounds of fresh vegetables hitting hot oil. The kitchen door swung open just in time for her to see one of two things.

First, the array of plates they’d just set down at the Chinese mafia’s table were now all over the floor, some shattered and others flung aside. A full-blown brawl had broken out among the men, and from what Skye could pick up, someone’d questioned the quality of the knockoff handbags being brought to a deal...again. She winced as she heard a bone crack, wondering if she should put down her plate of fried rice and call an ambulance.

But when the man who’d presumably had his arm broken reached out and socked his attacker right in the jaw, she decided he’d be alright. Hm. She wondered who’d bet on him landing the worst injury this week. Mack always had a knack for betting on the underdogs, and it’d served him well time and time again.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a horrified Phil Coulson edge towards the door, clearly trying to make it out of the situation unscathed. Skye wanted to call out and stop him - after all, he hadn’t even had a chance to try their fried rice! - but doing so would’ve drawn the mafia’s attention to the fact that there’d been a foreigner in their territory.

And if there was something they hated more than oversalted soup, it was foreigners in their territory.

She nodded at Mack, who waited before the small bell’s tinkling went silent before he waded over to the fight, pulling apart the Chinese men easily. He didn’t even flinch when one of them landed a tricky hit to his leg, just held on with a blank facial expression until the man stopped flailing. The other security guards did the same, their stance clearly infused with the weariness of men who’d done this way too many times in their lives.

“Gàosù wǒ nǐ méiyǒu yìyì, bùyào mìnglìng shāyú tāng.” At the sound of that low, almost growled voice, the men went silent, straightening up in almost a comical fashion. Skye and Mack even stood to attention, the former hastily setting the fried rice onto a nearby table.

If there was anyone at all the Chinese mafia had to fear, it was the woman that allowed them to do their business. And it was safe to say Melinda Qiaolian May wasn’t looking too satisfied with their behavior.

(At least to the men. Skye had the pleasure of knowing that as soon as they left the premises each time, May would round up the untarnished food and send Skye out to feed the homeless. Frightening, her ass.)

“ Qiào liǎn,” One of the elder members, goatee and sideburns tinged with gray, bowed his head. “ Yīxiē màoyì de xìjié bèi rènwéi shì bù mǎnyì de.” Behind them, Skye resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Talk about overkill.

“Zhè shì shénme, zhège yuè dì wǔ cì? Wǒ bù xīwàng nǐmen de qīzi duìfù nǐ suǒ fù de qián ér gǎndào gāoxìng.” May, ever so cool, quirked an eyebrow at the men, who looked even more ashamed than when Bobbi’d caught Yang staring at her chest.

‘Fifth?’ Skye mouthed to Mack, who nodded. Damn. She’d probably missed a brawl or two while she’d been studying for the last couple of weeks. Waiting tables was fun, sure, but that diploma wasn’t going to earn itself.

“Gěi wǒmen zhàngdān.” May gave him a sharp, curt nod, and with a single hand motion, all of the mafia members were filing out of the restaurant. Some of them, Skye noted with glee, had sauce all over their pants. Oh boy. That was going to be a fun one to get clean. When the last man had departed, May sighed, her eyes flicking over the damage.

“What do we say, May?” Mack asked, rubbing his hands together. “$100? $150?” A sharp crack alerted them to the fact that the glass Lazy Susan had split right down the middle. “$200?”

May snorted. “Are you kidding me? I had that thing imported. That’s at least $300 right there. Tell Morse she wins.” Bobbi’s cheer could be heard from the kitchen as May’s glance switched over to the now cold plate of fried rice. “Who was that for, Skye?”

“Oh!” Skye snatched up the plate of fried rice. “We had fresh meat today. Guy by the name of Phil Coulson. Said he worked for some paper named The SHIELD?” When May’s eyebrows went up, she sighed. “He ran when he saw the fight break out between the mafia dudes.”

Well, at least there’d be a homeless man getting a fresh container of fried rice today.

“What do you mean, you ran when you saw the mafia fight break out?”

Rosalind Price only paced when she was agitated. Very agitated. And at this moment, she was ready to wear a hole in her carpet. If Phil Coulson hadn’t been one of her best, she’d have him clearing out his desk yesterday. (That, and he was marginally cute. Marginally. In a way one would look at a golden retriever.)

Phil tried to raise his hand meekly in defense. “Ms. Price, it seemed like a situation best handled by the restaurant without any extra witnesses...”

Rosalind sighed. He had a point. An annoying one, but a point nonetheless. “Did you at least get any food?”

Phil gulped, thinking of the spread Skye’d said had been laid out for him. “...No?”

Her head snapped up to give him a steely glare. “Get out of my office, Coulson. And don’t come back until you’ve managed to sit through a whole meal at May’s. I don’t care whether it’s sixteen courses long or if a mafia gets beat up three inches from your face. Get me. That. Review. Dismissed.” Coulson ran out of her office faster than he’d fled the scene of May’s.

Tíngzhǐ dīngzhe tā de xiōngbù, Yáng -stop staring at her boobs, Yang.

Gàosù wǒ nǐ méiyǒu yìyì, bùyào mìnglìng shāyú tāng. -Tell me you had the sense not to order the shark fin soup.

Yīxiē màoyì de xìjié bèi rènwéi shì bù mǎnyì de -The specifics of a trade were deemed...unsatisfactory by some.

Zhè shì shénme, zhège yuè dì wǔ cì? Wǒ bù xīwàng nǐmen de qīzi duìfù nǐ suǒ fù de qián ér gǎndào gāoxìng -This makes...what, the fifth time this month? I don't expect your wives are happy with the money you're paying for damages.

Gěi wǒmen zhàngdān -send us the bill.

Chapter 2: Char Siu Bao

Chapter Text

Bobbi simultaneously loved and hated Sunday mornings.

She hated them because Sunday mornings meant she was up at the crack of dawn (or whenever May decided to bang on their doors, which sometimes meant it was before the sun had even thought of showing its face) to prepare for the Sunday dim sum rush. It meant weaving through narrowly placed tables with clumsy, metal carts and hoping she didn’t knock anyone’s teapot over. It also meant dealing with scalding hot, steaming dishes for five hours straight, and yelling out the names of the same dim sum food over and over again. Not to mention all of the gawks of the sure newcomers that week (there always were some) at her hair and very American blue eyes.

“Did her parents really let her dye her hair like that?”

“What kind of good parents let her get blue contacts?”

“No wonder the Wongs never let their adopted daughter see the light of day. Thinks she’s a white girl.” (Fun fact: Bobbi had indeed met said Wongs one night, in an odd twist of fate and desperate take-out orders. They had not been happy with what their neighbors had been saying about them. The mentioned adopted daughter, Jade, went to boarding school. It made a lot of sense, really.)

But the one thing she liked about Sunday mornings?

CLUNK. “Three points for me!”

“Oh, come on, Skye, you jus’ barely touched the edge of me cart!” CLUNK. “Bloody hell, Mack, not you, too!”

CLUNK. CLUNK. BANG. “Sideswipe!” Bobbi grinned to herself. “Ten points for me!” Dim sum bumper carts. It was a tradition, really, for the staff to spend their Sunday morning rush distributing their food via bumper cars. They never failed to entertain their patrons, who often took bets on who would come out on top and even sent their children sometimes to disrupt a cart’s path if they were feeling particularly vindictive.

May pretended not to notice the dents in the side of the carts at the end of each weekend. (They all knew she favored Skye’s odds, though. It made sense - Skye was her adopted daughter, after all.) Sometimes, she joined in when the flow got heavy, giving a whole new sentiment to the terms ‘Asian driving’.

“Sh - ah!” Bobbi yanked her cart back as a small child in a blue sweatshirt dashed across her path, laughing. She turned to see where the distraction had come from, catching one of the mother’s eyes from the other side of the restaurant. Bobbi sent her the ‘I’m watching you’ sign - Skye’s influence unfortunately reached much further than the rest of theirs. It was probably because she looked Chinese.

“Char siu bao!” The call came from the other end of the restaurant, and Bobbi barrelled toward it, managing to not only smash the corner of Mack’s cart, but nearly t-boned Fitz and rear-ended Piper, another server. The curses flew at her when she skidded to a stop in front of the table, a bright smile on her face throughout the entire order and distribution. Another stamp, another two bucks to my paycheck.

“YOU SUCK, MORSE!” came the shout from across the restaurant, and Bobbi didn’t even have to look to know it was Skye, sending up her middle finger in response while still managing to hand over her pork buns to the table in front of her. “OI, LANGUAGE!”

“Oh, please,” Bobbi yelled over the din of chatter and pans. “Which one of us was the one who could recite a whole page of swears by the time they were eight years old?” Skye collided with her cart in retaliation the next time they crossed paths.

All of a sudden, Piper flew out of nowhere, nearly upending Bobbi’s cart and almost colliding with a table of elderly women. “RECKLESS CARTING,” they heard someone yell from the kitchen. “MINUS SEVEN.” Everyone stopped to update their charts before hustling around the dining room once more.

In the haste of all of their competition, none of them noticed Phil Coulson step into the restaurant almost as quietly as he had the day before. Since Mack hadn’t been there to greet the easily-flustered newsman, he stood there for quite a while, gaping at how organization could exist in such chaos.

Piper saw him first. “INCOMING!” she screeched, letting her cart run amok. Phil barely managed to get out of its way before it hurtled in front of him, seconds where he’d been standing before. The cart collided with a mighty crash with Bobbi’s, the chicken feet inside managing to not spill a single drop of sauce. “I am so sorry, sir,” she apologized, hurrying past him and collecting her cart. “I didn’t see you until I was letting the cart fly, are you okay - ?” She was going to get fired for sure , she reckoned.

“Knew you needed more cart’s ed before we put you out there, Pipes, May would’ve killed you if you’d managed to hurt - hey, Phil!” Skye grinned, holding her hand up for a high-five. Phil met it weakly, clearly still traumatized from his near-death experience. “And the fresh meat is back. See? Told you you’d make it back!” Phil mumbled something about his boss forcing him there, but Skye was having none of it. “Welcome to our dim sum day! Let’s get you a seat, and we’ll give you the fresh meat intro on that too!” When he didn’t move an inch, she let out a dramatic sigh, tugging his arm. “Come on, old man. We promise no one’s gonna start a mafia fight.” When Phil still didn’t move, she nearly yanked at him. “I’m serious. It’s the middle of the day. No one’s going to start throwing food or crack any dishes.”

“Mm, I can’t guarantee the food,” Bobbi remarked offhandedly. “Depends on how fresh you get with me, May.” She paused. “That sounds really weird. It’s like I’m challenging my mom, but I’m also challenging my boss, but I’m challenging neither

“The mafia’s tonight, actually,” Fitz chimed in helpfully (or unhelpfully, depending on the view). “No one comes here during the dim sum hours except for large families.” He shuddered. “They like to pinch my cheeks and tell me how cute I am ‘cause they think I can’t understand ‘em. Surprised ‘m not married yet.” Skye seemed to take that as a confirmation, and took Phil’s elbow, frog marching him to a small table next to the window. The rest of the crew followed, already spreading out for the initiation ritual.

Bobbi just hoped Phil knew what he was in for.

“Zhùyì dàjiā!” Skye stood on the other chair, clapping loudly. The crowd went silent, everyone turning to see what the fuss was about. Below, Bobbi could just catch Phil’s face, redder than the tomatoes Fitz insisted on bringing in from his mother’s garden in the fall. “Wǒmen zài zhèlǐ dédàole yīxiē xīnxiān de ròu, tā de míngzì jiào Phil Coulson. Gěi tā yīgè wǔ yuè de jīnlóng huānyíng!” With that, the entire crowd burst into applause, a lot of the children letting out loud shouts of approval. Phil, to his credit, took the attention with grace, waving to the crowd with lots of nods and butchered ‘ xie xie ’s. Well. At least he knew something.

As the regular babble of the crowd resumed, Skye hopped down from the chair. “So how dim sum works is that one of us -” she gestured to herself, Bobbi, Mack, Piper, Fitz and the other servers, “-go around with our carts and shout out whatever foods we’ve got in there, and if you want one, you shout it out, and we’ll give you a platter. Then, you’ll hand over this -” She held up a gridded paper, much like a check. “And we’ll stamp it so they know how much you’ll have to pay. Now, since you’re fresh meat -” Everyone winced. “ - you don’t have to worry about a thing. We’ll keep it relatively tame. See you later, Phil Coulson!” Everyone watched in silence as she dashed around the restaurant, calling out the names of food once again.

“What’s that, Mrs. Guo?” Mack bent down to one of the nearby tables. “Oh.” He looked up at the rest of them. “She’s apparently got $10 riding on Piper to win this weekend and Fitz is currently at the top.”

Piper dashed off. “I won’t let you down, Mrs. Guo!”

“Hey, Skye,” Mack caught up to her a few minutes later, once the hubbub around Phil Coulson had died down. She still couldn’t believe she’d had to tell them that he wasn’t a health inspector coming around to shut them down (which, speaking of that, they were probably due for a visit soon) and was just a curious soul. After all, there weren’t that many curious souls in the land of dim sum.

“What’s up, Mack?” she asked, double checking her towel, sauce and tongs before starting on a path to the kitchen. Mack fell into step with her, their carts creaking in unison. “Fitz getting too down again? Do we need to set him up again? Because this time, I’m picking. You picked Ophelia last time and she turned out to be a dramatic bitch that couldn’t handle spice.”

“Ouch, but not what I wanted to talk about.” Skye turned the cart into the kitchen, a sign for Mack to keep on talking. “Your man Coulson came in here yesterday looking to get an interview with May. Your mom May.” Mack pulled back hastily when Skye stopped with an abrupt lurch, nearly causing the entire cart to spill over. “Hey, warn a man before you do that, May.”

But Skye’s mind was already whirring. Phil looked to be a single man, right? She racked her brain, trying to determine if she’d seen a wedding ring on his finger the first day she’d served him. There wasn’t one. I’m sure of it. He’s definitely single. Otherwise he would’ve brought his girlfriend here or something, right? He looked about the same age as May, if not a few years younger. Skye’s head began bobbing. Yes. She could do this. It’d be perfect.

“May?”

“Phil and mom,” Skye’d already moved onto the dreamy-eyed stage. “Just think about it, Mack,” she said excitedly. “They’d be so cute together!”

Oh, no. Mack remembered the last time Skye’d gotten herself into one of these plots, and it’d ended with a psychology professor from Columbia drooling into their carpets. May had not been happy. “Skye, no. Remember what happened the last time you tried to set your mom up?”

Skye huffed, rolling her eyes as she sent her cart rolling towards the dishwashers with a practiced flick of her wrist. “Okay, but it’s not like that this time, Mack. Phil’s...different from Garner. Less stuffy. More nervous. He’s almost cute.” At that, she made a face. “If going for older guys was my thing. Which it’s totally not.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Skye,” Bobbi’s voice rang from the doors of the kitchen. “Guys much older than you you wouldn’t do. I see the way you’re eyeing Grant Ward whenever he’s on the football field.” She and Mack exchanged high-fives while Skye scowled at them both, fiddling with her ponytail to hide her blush.

“He looks at you, too, Bob,” she muttered. “Why have plain, old, boring Skye when he could have her gorgeous, Amazonian goddess of a sister?” Before she could react, Bobbi was by her side, tipping her chin up with two fingers.

“Hey. Look at me.” When Skye still didn’t look up, the blonde jostled her chin slightly. “Skye. Look at me.” Brown eyes finally met blue ones, automatically dipping back down to stare at the ground. “You are gorgeous just the way you are, okay? Just because you’re not as tall doesn’t mean you’re not as stunning.”

Skye stood there, frozen, until Bobbi pulled her in for a hug. Hugs. Yes. Hugs. This I can do. Stiffly, she wrapped her arms around her adoptive sister, trying not to relax but ultimately failing. “There, there,” Bobbi patted her head. “Forget I ever said anything, hm?” She turned to Mack. “What were you saying about Phil Coulson wanting an interview with May?”

“First thing he looked for when he got in here,” Mack said, delighted the attention had been shifted. “Skye was thinking they’d matchmake well. Someone’s got to ask her to do the interview.” The atmosphere quickly shifted from comforting to terrifying - May’s reluctance at doing interviews stemmed (rightfully) from a memorable incident which’d resulted in Mack needing to taser the reporter.

“NOSIES!” The exclamation echoed throughout the kitchen, and everyone, from the chefs to the servers, slapped their hand onto their nose. Food could burn, it was easy to replace - but being permanently scarred from having to ask May to do an interview was much more costly. Bobbi, who’d still been in ‘comfort Skye’ mode, was last, groaning when the entire kitchen burst into cackles.

Skye gave her a quick hand squeeze before grinning. “Well, good luck, Morse. You’re gonna need it.” She regretted the squeeze as soon as she did it, yanking her hand back as if it’d been burned. Stupid. Stupid, Skye. Stupidest decision ever. All of the kitchen chimed in their various condolences as Bobbi made her way to the office, shoulders slumped. “I can feel you staring at me, Alphonso,” she bit out resignedly. “Say it.”

“I didn’t see anything,” Mack said innocently. “Sisterly support, is all.” It just made Skye sigh even heavier, groaning. “Like I said, my door’s always open if you want to talk. You haven’t seen Hope in a while, either.” Skye just shook her head. “She misses you, you know.”

But the younger May was already squaring her shoulders, preparing to go back to work. Bobbi was her sister. That was it. Just her sister.

Bobbi exhaled, her fist raised before rapping against her mother’s office door once, twice, three times. Now or never. “Mom?”

“No, you can’t have next weekend off, I wrote your recommendation letter two weeks ago, and yes, I know Mrs. Guo needs Piper to win. The super glue’s in Mack’s cart.”

Bobbi groaned. Dammit. She’d really wanted next weekend off to hang out at the Coney Island carnival. She hadn’t flirted with a guy in weeks. Weeks. For all she knew, the old crowd could’ve been completely replaced with a cuter batch. Scratch that. It probably had been. “As much as I’m ready to beg for next weekend, that’s not what I came to talk to you about.”

Silence. It meant she wasn’t dead yet, right?

“Spit it out, Morse.”

“There’s a reporter out front. His name’s Phil Coulson, and he wants to do an interview with you.” There. She’d said. Bobbi squeezed her eyes shut and waited, praying to whatever was up there that she was smote quickly and painlessly.

“You do remember what happened the last time I had an interview with a reporter, right?”

“We all do, Mom.” Honestly, it was the stuff of restaurant legend - she and Skye used it as a hazing initiation story. (Speaking of Skye, apparently another self-care day was in order. She was falling too far into the depths of self-deprecation again.) “Mack still won’t let me touch the taser he used.”

“Exactly. Who put you up to this?”

“Skye. And Mom, I think we have to bring her up again. She’s slipping.” When a large sigh emanated from the other side of the door, Bobbi knew victory was in sight. “Have the interview, please? If not for the good of the Golden Dragon, then for Skye. She was so excited about seeing - about seeing the restaurant finally get some press.” Yeah. Not seeing them get together, Morse. Sometimes, you make bigger mistakes than the Chinese mafia staring at your boobs. “Please?”

Another large sigh. Bobbi reckoned May was probably rubbing her temples in exasperation. “Fine,” came the long-awaited answer. “But he makes so much as one wrong move towards me -”

“Yeah, yeah, Mom. We’ll have Mack on standby.” There was a loud CRASH , some shouts, and the clang of metal. “I’d better get back out there.” Then, with one final look at the door: “I’ll get you when it’s time for the interview?”

“Come and get me when he’s ready. I suppose I’ll be eating with him, too?” Bobbi nodded silently, but even through a closed door, May understood. “Of course. I’ll make sure to tone up my accent.

“Wúxiàn jiàshǐ, qī hào xiàjiàng ,” one of the waiters was yelling to the crowd, various tables groaning loudly as their bets were lost. Piper just sighed sadly as she was led away in fake handcuffs to the kitchen. “ Ér diǎnxīn yǐjīng jiéshùle, suǒyǐ nǐ zhīdào zhè shì shénme yìsi!”

The entire restaurant went silent as the waiters walked around the dim sum carts, inspecting the damage and wear. Skye herself was on the edge of her toes, waiting to see if the superglue she’d put into Mack’s cart had worked.

“LEO FITZ!”

“That’s the third week in a row,” she heard Bobbi complain loudly, as Fitz went all red and was awarded a towering trophy consisting of take-out boxes cobbled together five minutes before. “Someone’s rigged his cart, I swear.”

“Next week, you and me are switching carts, Turbo,” Mack threatened, and Fitz just rolled her eyes. As customers streamed out of the restaurant, the little gang managed to catch sight of Coulson and May, chatting stiffly at their table by the window. It was a bit of a sad sight, to be honest - their interactions needed a push to get them going.

And Skye knew just the push.

“I’ll take the har gow. Bobs, you take the cheong fun. Mack, you take the congee. Piper!” Skye waited until she heard an affirmative. “Can you cart the pai gwut and the bao ? Fitz, make me the best ngau pak yip you can get.” She rubbed her hands together gleefully. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

Chapter 3: Har Gow, Siu Mai

Chapter Text

When Phil Coulson had walked into May’s Golden Dragon two days ago, he’d expected some serious Chinese decorations with an equally Chinese staff. Perhaps some questionable foods that he’d look twice at. He would’ve done it all, of course. Roz was counting on him, in that way only she could.

But here he was, two days later, already fresh off of an encounter with the Chinese mafia (which he hadn’t even known existed until then), and sitting next to a window after nearly getting run over by a dim sum cart.

Did dim sum even exist? Had this been some elaborate plot by the restaurant to make him write a good review? After all, he imagined reviewers didn’t come around much, what with the whole Chinese mafia situation. Yet, despite that, May’s managed to bring in a decent amount of customers - enough that it’d caught Roz’s attention. And not much caught her attention these days, apart from critics directed at her and men vying for her attention.

(Phil Coulson was very much not one of those. No, sir.)

“Last time you came in, I think you were looking for our head chef and owner?” Phil, lost in his own thoughts, looked up to see Mack, the man he’d met yesterday, standing next to his table with his cart. “I’ve told her about your...return after the series of unfortunate events last time.” He smiled comfortingly. “She’s more than willing to sit with you and walk you through the dishes we offer today.”

“Oh.” Phil was taken aback. Melinda May, he’d been told, was extremely hard to get ahold of and a force to be reckoned with once faced. ‘If you get an interview with her, you’d better damn well do it right,’ Roz had said when he’d gotten the assignment. ‘No stupid jokes or puppy faces, Coulson.’ (He’d been a little offended at that. His jokes weren’t that stupid, were they? And he by no means made puppy faces . No, she’d definitely meant it as a joke.)

That settled it. He was going to be the best damn reporter Melinda May had ever had the opportunity to be interviewed by in her entire life. He was going to ask all of the right questions. Play to her strengths. Make it more of a conversation between two friends. Rosalind Price was going to get the ultimate scoop, and she’d be so bowled over she’d have to have dinner with him. More than once, if he was lucky.

“Phil Coulson?”

Phil jumped, accidentally knocking his cup of tea over. The brown liquid spread across the stark white tablecloth like wildfire before it’d even registered in his mind what he’d done, and once it had, he jumped into action, scrambling for the cotton candy pink cloth on the side of the table. “Oh, no no no no no no no ,” he muttered, trying to dab at the stain. How was he supposed to conduct an even barely acceptable interview with Melinda May with a stained tablecloth? This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t.

A gentle hand reached past his arm and righted the small, concave teacup, putting a hand on his arm to steady it. “What’s done is done. Happens all the time, if you can believe it.”

“R-right. Y-yes, of course,” Straightening his glasses, Phil stood, extending his hand with a winning smile. He shook hands with his savior - a petite Asian woman, with stern but soft features - if he looked hard and long enough, perhaps he’d be able to find some presence of mirth behind her guarded, brown eyes. Something about her presence made him feel at ease...although it was most likely just his embarrassment talking. “Thank you. I’m not sure how much more I would’ve spilled if you hadn’t saved me.”

A small smile broke the stern features, and Phil did a little internal fist pump. He had the feeling she didn’t smile a lot. “Of course. Now, Mack sent me over here because you’re a newbie at dim sum?”

Phil dropped her hand, his stomach dropping at about the same speed. “You’re - oh my god, you’re - you’re Melinda May. Ms. May.” Certain his face couldn’t get any redder, he just settled for covering his face with his hands. “I just spilled tea all over your tablecloth. The tablecloth I was supposed to interview you on. Oh my god.” He was doomed. Any second now, she was going to give him an annoyed sigh and a glare and walk off, because clearly he wasn’t a good use of her time and he was never going to get the scoop and get that date with Roz and oh god, he was doomed.

“Phil, hi!” Out of nowhere, Piper appeared with a fresh tablecloth. “May,” she continued, dipping her head slightly. “New tablecloth, guys?” Phil could feel the heavens opening up once more. He had a chance. Some karmic instance had gone his way.

To his surprise, May started taking the settings and piling them into her arms while Piper exchanged the tablecloth, only setting the table once the corners had been smoothed and settled. “So,” she said once they were both seated once more (Phil was still silently thanking every deity he knew in his head). “What questions do you have for me?”

Questions. Right. Phil fumbled for a list of questions he swore he’d grabbed before he’d left that morning. May simply looked slightly amused as he uncrumpled the paper, swearing under his breath. “Stupid list...right, where was I?” He looked up, a bright look on his face. “How’d you come by...well, your restaurant? How’d you come by the Golden Dragon?” With any hopes of salvaging what was left of his interview (and his dignity), Phil gave her what he hoped was a winning smile.

“It was handed down to me by my parents,” When he bent down to scribble the answer furiously on his notepad, Skye came by with the first cart, sending her adoptive mom an exaggerated wink before clearing her throat.

“For your first forage, har gow and siu mai ,” she declared. “The har gow is just shrimp, maybe some ginger, depending how Fitz is feeling that day -” She stopped when she caught May’s look. “Right. Sorry. Shrimp. Just shrimp, wrapped in a wrapper made of tapioca and wheat starch. And steamed.” She stared at the multitude of steamed platters before picking one up with her tongs and depositing it onto the table. “And your siu mai, which is pork and shrimp mixed together and wrapped around vertically with a wonton skin.” Phil stared at it for a while before Skye whispered dramatically, “Phil. The ticket.”

“Ticket. Right.” Just like that, his face had flamed up again. At least he hadn’t spilled the tea. “Here you go.”

“Thanks, Phil,” Skye chirped. “I knew it was a good idea learning your name the first time. Welcome to May’s!” Her cart rattled off, most likely to go sideswipe someone else’s. It left both Phil and May staring at the little dumplings in silence, neither of them wanting to go first.

“So, Skye’s quite a character,” It was all the invitation May needed, it seemed, for she picked up her chopsticks and dug into a har gow . “She seems to breathe soul into the restaurant, really. Treats every customer in here like they’re family.”

“That’s because to her, they are her family,” Phil decided it’d just be easier to activate his voice recorder at this point. As long as it didn’t pick up the sounds of him chewing. “Skye was put into the foster system at a very young age. How young, she hasn’t told me, but I have the feeling it was very close to her birth.”

“That’s terrible,” Damn, but this har gow was good. Skye had been right - Fitz, whoever he was, had been feeling particularly herbal that day, and little pops of ginger exploded in his mouth whenever he chewed. Skye. Foster system. Phil swallowed, hoping his facial expression hadn’t come across as a representation of how he felt about Skye. “And you adopted her?”

“I did,” This time it was the siu mai , and May took a minute before she continued. “I took Skye in from foster care when she was four years old.” The slightest curl of her lips tilted up as she swallowed. “It was an...interesting couple of years.”

Phil grappled for a siu mai , frowning at his chopsticks when the dumpling slid right out of his grasp. “Interesting in what sort of way?” Ah. There it was. Mm. Whoever seasoned the pork did it well. The oil’s tasty, but not in that greasy sort of way.

“That’s not my story to tell,” The quick glimmer of humor he’d caught was already gone. “If you want to know about that, you’d have to sit down with Skye. Of course, if you plan to use her story for the magazine, we’d have to discuss consent of release, since she’s still a minor...”

“Of course,” Phil nodded, as did May, and they shared an awkward moment of silence before Bobbi rolled by their table.

“Bobbi Morse,” Automatically, Phil stood up to shake her hand, not quite able to disguise his curiosity at how someone of her appearance had managed to do so well at a Chinese restaurant. “It’s a long story, sir,”

“Also consent of release,” May said sharply, and Bobbi whined. Phil started. May’d adopted Bobbi, too?

“Come on, May, I’m almost an adult!”

“You’re seventeen, Barbara ,” May said pointedly, and Bobbi sulked. “You don’t turn eighteen until next May. Just because you’re raring to go to college across the country doesn’t mean you can start acting like an adult now.”

“Across the country?” Phil couldn’t help but ask. “Where you thinking of?”

Bobbi shrugged. “Depends on how much money we come up with, y’know? I mean.” She gave him a self-deprecating grin. “We’re making a killing from all the business the mafia brings in, but affording law school? A good law school?” She exhaled. “I’m gonna be seeing debt for days. It’s why I basically work here as much as May’ll let me. She’s still got Skye. I’m just the girl she took in behind the alley.”

“Barbara . ”

Bobbi shrugged again before lifting two dishes onto the table. “So I’ve brought you the cheong fun in two forms.” The chipper voice she’d had before had hardened somewhat. “First thing you need to know is that cheong fun is a rice noodle. So, basically, rice flour. And water. Inside you can either have shrimp or pork, both of which we have here. They’re steamed and soaked in soy sauce.” Bobbi stamped the ticket a little harder than she normally would. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Coulson.”

May waited until she’d rolled off before sighing and burying her head in her hands. “I trust none of that’s going to make it into the story.”

“Of course not. You have my fullest discretion.” Something told Phil that he’d be back for an expose, though, whether it was of his own volition or Roz’s commands. He had to know their stories. He wanted to know more about them - both Skye and Bobbi, about their relationship with May, their relationship with each other . So much begged to be told about them. “May I ask, though -?”

“If I think it’s okay to answer, then yes.”

“Did you teach both of them Mandarin? Bobbi and Skye, that is?”

There was that smile again. Elusive and captivating at the same time. Phil vowed he’d get a full smile before this interview was over. “Yes. Both of them are very good at it, although Skye’s a little better at it.” A little more of the smile. “I’ve seen people quake in their boots when she dresses them down for not tipping. Don’t tell Bobbi.”

Phil pantomimed zipping his lips. “My lips are sealed, Ms. May.”

“Melinda.”

He paused in the middle of taking a giant pork cheong fun . “Mel - Melinda. O - okay. Melinda.” The rice noodle landed with an ungraceful flop onto his serving plate, sending sprinkles of soy sauce onto his face. Phil blinked, not even registering the small flecks of oil on his glasses. Melinda May had just told him to call her by her first name. Melinda May. He was so getting that date.

Huh . He hadn’t thought about Roz or the story since they’d started the interview. Bobbi and Skye’s stories, interspersed with May’s, had just been so interesting he’d forgotten he’d been recording the conversation at all. He took a bite of the food currently on his plate, grinning at the now-familiar taste of savory oil and pork.

“Excellent,” he grinned, and May’s face morphed into relief. “Just as good as the other food I’ve tasted here.”

“Even your fried rice?”

“Even my fried - oh,” He’d gotten it! A full-on grin! Well. It was a smirk, but Phil would take what he could get. A smile would be his next goal. Even if it would be embarrassing to him. “Skye told you about the fried rice, didn’t she?”

“It's hard not to notice when it's the only filled plate left in a room full of destroyed dishes, Mr. Coulson” was all May smirked back. Wow. He was running on ten seconds with one. How long would it last?

“Call me Phil.” Dammit, dammit, dammit! He was going to lose that smirk for sure. What'd he say that for? It wasn't like he liked May. These were purely professional terms. Professional.

Regardless, May was still nonplussed. “Well, Phil,” she said, not unkindly. “What other questions do you have for me?” Her professionalism was back like a polished stone - too bad the same couldn't be said for his.

From the kitchen, Skye, Bobbi, Fitz, Piper and Mack all watched the interaction. Piper sighed as she slapped a five into Mack's hand without tearing her gaze from the table. “All he's done is spill his tea,” she deadpanned. “I was sure by now he'd make a blunder.”

“He's too adorable to do that,” Skye said absentmindedly, choking when four pairs of eyes slid over to her. “Not like that, you assholes! I mean nervous,” she muttered, leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen. “He wants this to go well.” She didn't blame him - whoever was sending him on this story clearly had a lot of power to make Phil cower, she figured. As Phil sat a little straighter whenever May supposedly challenged one of his viewpoints, Skye nodded. Definitely that, because Phil Coulson seemed to be a force to be reckoned with on his own.

“Is it here yet, is it here yet, is it here yet???”

“Oh my god, Morse, you're like an actual child,” Skye rolled her eyes and shielded her copy of the magazine within her arms, screaming when Bobbi half tackled her in an attempt to try and get it. “MACK!” In Mack's attempt to rescue the poor magazine, however, it was ripped out of her hands by Bobbi, allowing the tall blonde to climb off of Skye and dust herself off. (Not that Skye had minded. )

“IT'S HERE, Y'ALL! THE MAGAZINE'S HERE!”

The entirety of the kitchen staff seemed to stampede at the words, all of them eagerly gathering around Bobbi to hear what she’d had to say. Fitz was the most eager of wall, wanting to know what a magazine had thought of his food. It was his first, after all. Magazines didn’t come sniffing around that often when the mafia was around.

“May’s Golden Dragon was nothing short of a mystical experience.” Another ruckus broke out, the kitchen staff high-fiving each other and Fitz. It took several tries from Bobbi, Skye and Mack before it was quiet enough for Bobbi to continue reading. “As soon as I walked in the door, I was greeted not once, but twice by the enigmatic guardsman Alphonso Mackenzie and lively server Skye. Getting greeted once is hard enough in this city, but twice? About as rare as a golden dragon itself.”

“Hear that, lil’ sis?” Bobbi laughed, ruffling Skye’s hair. “You’re a ‘lively server’. He loved you!” Skye just scowled at her and fixed her ponytail, a slight tinge of pink dusting her cheekbones.

“Yeah, yeah, Bobbi. Keep going.”

“Unfortunately, my first visit was cut short due to an...unfortunate incident in the restaurant that resulted in its evacuation. Thank god he didn’t mention the mafia,” Bobbi deadpanned. “He would’ve been six feet in the ground. My second visit was no less chaotic, as I’d arrived in the middle of their Sunday morning service, otherwise known as the ‘grand dim sum prix’. Hey, who told him that?!” All of the kitchen hands simultaneously pointed to Mack. “You know that’s a restaurant thing! We’re gonna have to start selling tickets now, jeez. However, showing up in the middle of the dim sum rush did have its perks. I got a table by the window, for one. And two, I managed to get an exclusive from none other than the owner herself, Melinda May.”

“Did he really leave out the part where he spilled his tea and they half-flirted for the entire meal?” Piper rolled her eyes. “That’s like, the best part!”

“Melinda May, unlike the rest of her staff, seemed to be a bit more reserved and guarded. Hey!” Bobbi frowned. “But once I got her talking about the food and the staff that served it, it was easy to see the passion and dedication both she and her staff put into making sure every customer had an enjoyable experience. Skye, her adoptive daughter, was, as I mentioned earlier, all smiles and friendly quips. Her sister, Bobbi Morse, was just as quippy, but in a brazenly honest way most waitresses wouldn’t be allowed to be.”

“That’s just a nice way of saying sarcastic ass,” Fitz laughed. “C’mon, get to the food! I want to see what he wants to say about the food!” Bobbi just rolled her eyes and kept reading loudly.

“The food arrived quickly on carts driven by the kitchen staff, although not without bearing signs of the ‘grand dim sum prix’. Smashing carts, apparently, is a great way to get out frustrations. If you’re a bad cart driver, though, it won’t do you well. Put Pipes back into karting ed. Each dish was packed to the brim with flavor, and the chef, Leo Fitz, did his best to make sure that each bite had its flavors evenly spread and not too forced with spice.” Fitz let out his own loud whoop of joy, doing a lap around the restaurant before settling back in.

“I came away from May’s Golden Dragon feeling like family,” Bobbi read the last paragraph quietly. “In the beginning, Skye asked me for my name, saying it was not only because they didn’t have table numbers, but because once new customers came in, they’d always come back. And I definitely plan to come back.”

“Coulson, you’re going back.” Roz stared Phil down, a steely glint in her eyes. “I want to get exclusives about the family that made May’s. Get me interviews with both of the daughters. Get me an interview with the chef. Hell, even get me an interview from the security guard.” She grinned, and Phil wasn’t sure whether he feared it or liked it. “May’s is going to be our next big thing.”

Chapter 4: A Whole Chicken

Chapter Text

“And he returns,” Mack greeted jovially when Phil stepped through the doors for the third time, recorder in his hand and stoic look on his face. “Man on a mission, it looks like. Can I help you?”

“Actually, you could,” Phil immediately dropped the facade, leaving Mack to wonder why he’d even tried putting it on in the first place. “Roz - my boss - sent me here to get the scoop on everyone. Literally everyone, from you to Fitz. She wants to know, and I quote, ‘what makes May’s a family’. And I’m pretty sure this is gonna get me a date with her, so,” He gave Mack a pleading, nervous grin. “Help a man out and do an interview with me? I’ll buy you lunch.”

Mack shook his hand a little more vigorously than he probably needed to. “On one condition.” Phil looked like he was ready to agree to anything from swimming with sharks to disturbing Fitz when he was figuring out spice combinations. “You gotta eat what I eat.”

“That’s it?” Phil was taken aback for a second. That was easy. “Okay...”

“Fitz, my man!” A vague acknowledgement was heard behind the clamor of the kitchen. “Get me two bowls of rice and a whole chicken, yeah? And extra scallion ginger sauce!”

Naturally, Phil paled. “A whole chicken,” he said, his Adam’s apple bobbing quickly. “A whole chicken.” What did that even mean? He’d never seen parts of a chicken that weren’t a wing, breast or a thigh! What other part of a chicken could there possibly be to eat? “What...um..what’s on a whole chicken?”

Mack recognized his nervousness and laughed. “Don’t worry, nothing’s going to be poisonous. Chicken skin’s actually really good when it’s not fried, surprisingly,” he said when Phil started at ‘poisonous’. “Fitz is gonna steam and brine it, and the sauce is made from scallions, ginger and oil. Nothing to shake a tail feather at.” When Phil gave him a sharp look, he relented. “Okay, okay. No more dad jokes. I can’t help it. It’s part of who I am.”

“You’re a dad?” Now that he could use. Both men sat down at a table, separated from all of the hubbub of the restaurant. Piper came by and set down two place settings, nodding before pouring each of them a cup of tea and withdrawing. “Son or daughter?”

“Daughter.” Mack lit up immediately at the first mention of her. “Her name’s Hope,” he said, stark pride coloring his cheekbones in ways only a father could. “She’s about seven now, and she loves talking mechanics with Skye whenever she comes around.”

So the kids got along. That’s nice to know. “Her mom lets her do that?” Phil realized almost immediately he’d put his foot in his mouth, and backtracked splutteringly: “Not that I don’t think that girls can be scientists! I know girl scientists! My best friend Maria is one! Girls are better than guys at being scientists sometimes!”

Surprisingly, Mack didn’t capitalize on that point at all. “Her mom’s not around anymore,” he said heavily, brightening only a little when Fitz set the chicken on the table, heaping plate of sauce included. “It’s a long story,” It was a story he felt he was sometimes losing, as Hope didn’t remember her mother at all. His friends never wanted to bring up the topic either, knowing the night usually ended with Mack in tears or in a mood so deep it took days to bring him out. “No one really wants to talk about it anymore.”

Phil saw the jagged edge of Mack’s exterior and swooped in to peel it back, gently placing his recorder on the table. The chicken was forgotten for the moment. “I’ve never heard the story,” he said softly. “And Hope sounds like a wonderful little girl. I’ll talk to you about it as long as you like.”

The chicken was placed onto the bed of rice, Mack lowering his head onto his elbows so that only the top of his head was seen. “Her name was Nicole.”

Ninety-six hours.

Hope Natalie Mackenzie had only known her mother for ninety-six hours.

The procedure, they’d been told, had been difficult, but Nicole had pulled through, albeit a few complications that should resolve themselves within a few days. They’d even let Mack bring in Hope, freshly wrapped in a pink blanket with inquisitive brown eyes, from the nursery to see her mama.

“Hope,” Nicole croaked, the blinding smile on her face transcending all of the pain she’d been feeling. “My baby.” Mack gently set the pink, swaddled bundle into her arms, careful not to disrupt the maze of tubes running to and from different parts on her body. “My beautiful, sweet, baby.”

She hadn’t seen Hope immediately after delivery, only had had time to hear her piercing cry fill the room before she was rolled away to the operating room, leaving Mack with her last fleeting touch and the ghost of a prayer. Hope had been deposited into his arms not shortly after, eighteen years of responsibility in merely 11 inches of innocence and beauty. It was only seven pounds, he reasoned, lifting it experimentally. He couldn’t understand why so many of his friends had raved about having a child, about the light and wonder it brought the first time they’d held their firstborn. This was like lifting weights. Up, down, up, down. Except less bicep curls and more whole weights.

Then Hope had opened her eyes, and Mack finally had understood what they’d all meant. Both he and Nicole were present in those bright brown eyes, wide and searching. Something in them begged Mack to do whatever she wanted. And he knew he would.

“Waaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh!”

Maybe just not at that moment, when he hadn’t slept for about forty-eight hours straight.

“Go get some rest,” Nicole had advised him, letting out the first laugh in days since she’d gone into labor. “I can hold her for a little while.” When Mack hesitated, the laugh turned into the best glare she could give. It wasn’t her glare at full strength, which would have sent him running from the room - but it was enough to have him consider it. “Honey, I had a C-section, not a kidney transplant. Go. Sleep for a little while. I don’t want to see you back in here until you’ve changed clothes.” That part, at the very least, was true - he hadn’t changed out from his work shirt and tie from when he’d entered the hospital, and it was crinkled and spattered with various coffee stains.

He’d still felt uneasy about leaving, but went home and changed out of his shirt, as per his wife’s directive. Made a pot full of pasta, misjudged the portion again (how did Nicole do it?), and sat in front of the living room, eating his first meal not straight from the hospital cafeteria in forty-eight hours.

Every fiber of his being had screamed out to go straight back to the hospital, to go and be with his wife and daughter, but some small and powerful part of his brain forced Mack to fall asleep right there on the couch. Probably the part that hadn’t been used to consuming so many carbs at once. Either way, he woke up to sunlight trying stab through his eyelids, jolting off of the couch once he’d realized the time.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have sent you home to sleep,” Nicole had joked once he’d raced back to the hospital. “You look worse than you did before.” Maybe it was true, but in his defense, Nicole usually paired his tie and shirt. And tied it. No wife meant he was terrible at doing both.

“We both know who’s behind that,” he’d laughed, settling into the chair next to the bed. “How is she?” Nicole shifted to show the little bundle of pink nuzzled into her chest, and he smiled.

“Doing just fine, we are,” she smiled. “I think she missed her daddy a little, though. Took me forever to get her to sleep last night, and no one knew how to do it.” Mack shrugged - he had no idea what possessed Hope to like him better than the others. The baby chose that moment to open her eyes and wail loudly, startling both parents back into their newfound roles.

“Aw, come here, Hopey,” Mack cooed, missing the amused look on Nicole’s face when he scooped the pink bundle from her. “Daddy’s here. Daddy’s got you.” She looked out of place in his arms, the length of her not even the length of one of his shoulders. “Daddy’s never gonna let you go,” Almost instantly, Hope quieted, much to the amusem*nt of the rest of the hospital staff.

“Someone tamed the famous Hope Mackenzie,” one of the nurses chuckled, quailing when she caught Nicole’s glare. “Not in a bad way, ma’am, of course that’d never be in a bad way...” As soon as she turned the corner, fleeing in embarrassment, Nicole burst into a full-out cackle that subsided when she had to cough concerningly.

“‘S fine,” she muttered, waving Mack off when he stood, fear wavering his step and causing Hope to shake a little in his arms. “Doctors said it might happen.” When she was still met with a concerned stare, she rolled her eyes even harder. “I’m fine , Al. Stop acting like I’m going to die on you. I’m not going anywhere, you’re stuck with me for life. Like you said in your vows.”

Famous last words.

“Here’s your chicken,” Fitz said, setting down a steaming platter of food onto the table, golden skin and all. Phil had to stare at just how much chicken there was, heap upon heap piled onto each other. A small plate of greenish, sharp-smelling sauce rested next to it, and when Mack turned to Fitz, disappointment and sadness in his eyes, the chef sighed and brought out another bowl of it from behind his back, plunking it onto the table. “There, Mack. You happy?”

“Thanks, man,” Mack’s voice was gravelly from all of the talking he’d been doing, and he had to clear his throat several times before looking up at Fitz. “Really, man. Appreciate it.” Coulson also nodded his thanks before Fitz withdrew. The both of them picked at their food for a little while, neither of them feeling the need to break the silence.

“You really do know how to get your chicken,” Phil said finally, still trying to figure out which piece of chicken to choose. “I wouldn’t know which one to pick if my life depended on it.”

A sad smile made its way onto Mack’s face. “Nicole used to love getting a whole chicken from here,” he said. “She always said it made a better centerpiece than getting a turkey. Cost less, too, and she hated cranberry sauce.” Phil sat back then, studying Mack. He saw a man who’d been through hell and back losing his wife, who’d probably been handed more hell in raising a daughter alone, and yet still found time to give good to the world. Mack was a man he’d probably aspire to be, had he been in his position.

“She sounds like an amazing woman,” he said truthfully, and Mack nodded, plodding more sauce into his bowl of rice. “And I think she’d be proud to know how you’ve been doing,”

The call had come at 3:46AM, startling Mack out of his slumber and nearly sending Hope into another crying fit. He hadn’t been sleeping well ever since Nicole had been in the hospital, missing the warmth curled into him and his cold toes.

He fumbled for the phone, just barely managing to get it open without dropping it on the floor. “Who.” They better have a damn good reason for disturbing the largest amount of sleep he’d gotten since Hope had been born.

“Am I speaking to Mr. Mackenzie?” Mack straightened. He knew that tone.

“...speaking.”

“This is Dr. Danvers from St. John’s,” the voice began, but the ringing had already began in Mack’s ears, deafening and insistent. He could barely fathom what was being said on the other end of the line. “...sepsis...heart too weak...come in as soon...”

He didn’t see how his feet managed to get both of them from bedside to hospital. Didn’t hear how the rain pounded down on the back window or how Hope wailed all the way there. Couldn’t even feel the steering wheel under his fingertips, or the cold, slimy hand sanitizer required with every trip to the hospital.

In fact, nothing really caught up to him until the doctor himself was in front of him, words so long coming out of his mouth they might have well been from another planet, but still wreaking the same havoc on his system had they been in perfect English.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Mackenzie...”

“Where is she?” It’d been the first words he’d said since that grunting greeting on the phone. Even the doctors were so shocked at his proclamation that all chatter ceased, the doctors falling silent. Mack glared at all of the doctors in turn, momentarily forgetting the small bundle in his arms he’d come to love over the last few days. “Where. Is. She?” None of them answered. “WHERE IS SHE?”

The noise awoke Hope, who opened her eyes fearfully and began to cry. She didn’t quite understand what was going on, but something had disturbed her sleep and she wasn’t too happy about it.

“Look what you’ve done,” Mack grumbled before turning his attention to the wailing charge. “Hey, Hope,” he said, the gentle words a direct contrast to his previous growl. “I’m sorry I had to wake you up, honey. Something’s happened to your mama and I’m trying to figure out what happened. Think you can go back to sleep for me?” Still, Hope insisted on crying for at least another ten minutes before deciding that yes, sleep was a good option, her cries fading into the silence still settled among the doctors.

A nervous young intern stepped forward, chagrin and pity written all over her features. “This way, Mr. Mackenzie,” he said, gesturing down the hallway with a shaking hand. Mack gave him a curt nod before following him, making sure to glare at the the rest of the doctors. Honestly. Sending an intern to do a doctor’s job. What kind of doctors were they?

When he walked into the room, he resisted the urge to laugh. Surely they’d f*cked something up. There was no way Nicole was dead. She looked fine, exactly the way he’d left her the last time - sleeping in the bed, eyes gently shut and hair mussed all over her face. She was just sleeping, he wanted to tell them. Went and caused him a bunch of stress for her to really just be sleeping.

The young intern took a deep breath, drew himself up to his full height, and turned to face him. “I assure you, sir, we did everything we could to save her...”

“Save her?” Mack let the chortle escape. “There’s nothing to save. She’s not dead.” The poor intern, really. He was probably the target of a terrible hazing ritual. Mack couldn’t even bring himself to be angry at the staff - he’d gotten a good chuckle out of it, and the intern got practice. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, and I really am sorry they chose you to haze, man.”

“It’s not,” the intern said quietly, desperation flickering across his face. Anger he’d been taught to deal with, but denial? Heavy and strong denial? He wasn’t so sure. “Her heartbeat’s stopped. You can’t hear it on the monitor anymore. We unplugged it.”

“Then plug it back in!” Mack laughed. “It’ll come up. You’ll hear it.” Sighing, the intern plugged it back in, waiting for the inevitable realization and consequent crash. This he was trained to deal with. He could do this. With a click, the monitor was plugged back in, the lonely whine filling the room with its significance.

“Sir...”

“Come on, babe, you can stop joking around now,” The grin was still on Mack’s face, fading a little with each passing second. “I know you’re going to wake up any second now.” When the monitor continued, injecting its tone into Mack’s brain, he frantically grasped Nicole’s hand, recoiling internally when he found it rapidly cooling. “It’s not funny, ‘cole. You said it. I was stuck with you forever. You were stuck with me forever. Just like in our vows.” At some point, the intern had edged out of the room and fled down the hallway, something Mack was thankful for when he heard his voice crack.

Somewhere far away, he heard Hope start to cry, a nurse darting in and trying to settle her. All he could hear was the whine of the monitor, the feel of Nicole’s cold hand in his. It hadn’t quite dawned on him as to what it meant in the long run. He still didn’t when the doctors swarmed in to wheel Nicole out, the room being recycled for the next unfortunate patient to languish away within the hospital’s walls.

He didn’t understand even when he was staring down at a freshly dug pile of dirt, the tombstone and casket ordered after his twentieth cup of coffee. Only when he’d climbed into bed, tucking Hope next to him (he figured it was easier than putting her in the crib) and stared at into her eyes, rather than Nicole’s, that he’d realized what’d happened.

Nicole Lynn Mackenzie (formerly Naderos) had exchanged her life for her daughter’s. And once Mack’d allowed that thought into his mind, there was no getting rid of it.

It was hard, not to ignore Hope’s every cry. After all, why would he ever think about watching over the very person - the very thing - that had cost Nicole her life? Mack hated it. Hated that with every look into her eyes, he saw the only remnants of his former wife, blinking up at him innocently like she’d done nothing wrong. When she knew she damn well had.

He considered letting her go for adoption, once. Didn’t even have the flare of self-resentment following it after the thought. He just didn’t want to see his wife haunt his bed anymore. Was that too much to ask?

“In a way, May saved me,” Mack said. They’d picked apart the chicken some time ago, the bones littering the plate and splotches of sauce all over the table. Phil was enraptured in the story, his chin in his hands. “She gave me something solid when everyone else was letting me slide.”

“She gave you this job,” Phil said almost absentmindedly, frowning when Mack let out a careful wheeze, still emotionally turbulent from having retold his story for the first time in what seemed like years. “She didn’t give you this job?”

“Well, it was close,” Mack said, quietly picking at his rice. “She gave me a wake-up call.”

Knock knock. Knockknockknockknockknockknockknockknockknockknockknockknockknock. Knockknockknockknock.

“Skye, I told you not to knock so many times!”

“But, Bobbi! What if he can’t hear it!”

“Then we’ll just leave the food, okay? Knocking too many times makes people mad,” There was a tinge of regret behind that comment, Mack noticed as he went to open the door. He wondered what was behind it.

“Hi,” He’d been expecting nearly anyone at his door - the IRS, a Jehovah’s Witness, even his mother. All of them he would’ve known how to deal with. But this - two little girls, one blonde, one brunette, with boxes in their hands - he didn’t know how to deal with at all. Hell, he barely knew how to deal with his own daughter (very grudgingly, may he add). Now there were two of them at his doorstep. “‘re you Mister...” The smaller brunette, the one who’d presumably knocked so eagerly earlier, checked the piece of paper she held crumpled in her hand. “Mister Mac...Macke...”

“Mackenzie,” the slightly taller blonde finished, and the shorter one shot her a grateful smile. “Are you Mister Mackenzie, sir?” Mack frowned a little at the title. He didn’t think he was old enough to be called ‘sir’ just yet.

“That’s me,” he said, and the blonde flinched a little at his voice, the shorter one quickly shooting out a hand to hold her steady. Hm. That was...saddening, but interesting. “What can I do for you?” God, he hoped it wasn’t Girl Scout cookies. He and Nicole had always hated peanut butter patties. And these two girls were almost too cute to turn down. “If you’re selling cookies, I don’t think I can -”

“No, no, we’re not selling cookies,” the shorter girl interrupted, hanging her head when the taller one shot her a look of terror and a whispered ‘Skye!’. “We’re from May’s Golden Dragon,” she said proudly, puffing out her chest a little. “Our mama...I mean, the cook said you hadn’t called in a really long while, and she wanted to make sure you were okay. So she sent us with these!” A white take-out box was held up proudly.

“We live upstairs,” the taller blonde explained in a quieter tone. “We heard about your wife, we’re so sorry.” She spoke years beyond her age, Mack noted, a guarded demeanor draped over her features. “Melinda May, the owner downstairs, sent them, as Skye said. She wanted to thank you for all of the business you and your wife gave her over the years, and that she’ll be sending up food as often as she can.”

In the apartment, he heard Hope begin to cry, and Skye (he hoped that was her name) perked up. “Is that a baby?!”

“Skye!” the other girl shushed. “You don’t just go around asking people if that’s a baby! I’m sorry about my sister,” she apologized immediately. “She’s still young, and gets excited by a lot of things...”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Mack found himself saying, and surprised even himself. “Would you girls like to come in?” The two girls shared a look before cautiously picking up the boxes and stepping in. “I’m sorry about the mess, I wasn’t really expecting people to come in...”

“Baby!” ...for people to come in and take a shining to his daughter as soon as they crossed the threshold. Behind him, Bobbi was quietly taking the boxes out of the bags, setting them on the table where there weren’t any papers.

“Yeah, this is Hope,” Something flickered into Mack when he saw Skye’s excitement, streaking across his almost constant dreariness. Was this what having a daughter would be like later? “Would you like to hold her?”

“Can I?” Shining brown eyes looked up at him, and for the first time, he was able to look into a pair of brown eyes without seeing Nicole. Mack nodded and easily lifted Hope out of her crib, settling her into Skye’s arms. Skye gasped, holding Hope as if she were a precious treasure. “She’s so pretty.”

“Skye, come on, we have to go.” The older girl’s voice rang out from behind them, and Skye turned towards her, disappointment and sadness clear in her face. “Mom wants us back as soon as she can.”

“Well, thank you very much for coming by, miss Skye,” Mack figured it was the polite thing to say, and really, May’s had gone above and beyond in their service. Skye giggled. “You tell Miss May thank you for all of the food.”

“Mr. Mackenzie?” Skye stumbled over the other half of his last name, but was still shy all the same, toeing the ground nervously. “Can - can I come back and visit Hope sometime?” Genuine admiration shone on her face. “She’s really cute.”

Mack chuckled, jolting a little bit at how unfamiliar the sound sounded. “Sure. Anytime you want.” Not that she’d probably be back, he mused, putting away the boxes for later. It was a polite visit. Nothing more.

“But they kept coming back,” Mack said. “They kept bringing me food. Every day, without fail.” Fitz had finally arrived to take away their plates, Coulson shooting the chef a thumbs up that had nearly caused him to drop the plate. “For six months. And sometimes, there wasn’t food, just Skye.”

“She wasn’t lying about Hope,” The more Phil learned about Skye, the more admiration he had for her. The young woman seemed to light a fire in everyone she met, easily charming them and converting them into lifelong patrons of May’s. Suddenly, he was starting to understand why there were so many loyal customers at the restaurant.

“Bobbi had to explain to me where she kept going every afternoon,” a soft voice echoed above them. Both men turned to see Melinda May standing at the edge of their table, two takeout boxes in her hands. “I thought she’d joined the Chinese mafia. Mack. Phil.”

“May,” Mack smiles. “How’re you today?”

“Trying to fix the damages to your dim sum cart, as always.” May didn’t smile, but there was no barb behind her remark. She handed both of them a box each. “Mack. Your beef chow mein. Phil, your surprise box.”

“Surprise box?” Phil wasn’t sure he could handle any more surprises after the whole chicken. “I didn’t order a surprise box.”

“Skye suggested it,” May answered with a fond, exasperated look silently directed at her daughter across the room. “She said, and I quote, ‘I’m not waiting around for Phil to grow the balls to try one of the cooler things in the restaurant. He needs to be dunked into it head first.’ Thus, surprise box. I don’t even know what’s in here. Fitz made it.”

“You didn’t look in the box?” As much as he trusted the chef not to poison him, something about Melinda May knowing was what in the box comforted him.

May quirked her lips into a smile. “What would be the fun in that?”

And, as Phil opened the box later to find a heap of chicken feet with sauce and rice, he had to wholeheartedly agree that there was indeed some fun in not knowing sometimes.

Chapter 5: Chicken Feet

Chapter Text

Greenwich Village was too quiet, May decided. Too green. Too...well, there were probably at least fifteen other things that were off-putting about the neighborhood, all of them having to do with just the atmosphere itself. Absentmindedly, as the mass of bodies shifted, she turned left. To her right, Bobbi followed, her wide blue eyes much more impressed with the modernity of the village than May was.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t not been there, either. She’d made sure to take both of her girls around every borough of the city at least once. Even Alphabet City - she was pretty sure that’d been where Bobbi’d decided she’d go into law. But she supposed that everything was different when you were taking it in as a potential college site: the traffic sounds heightened, the breezes gentler, the sun warm and promising good times on your skin. All of it screamed ‘perfect college experience’. It was a pretty good gimmick, she had to admit.

“Look, Mom,” Bobbi breathed, breaking May out of her musings. They’d arrived at the library, with its higher-than-the-eye-can-see ceilings and intricate sculptures. Around them, the other parents whispered with each other and their kids as the tour guide droned on about the library’s history and all it had to offer. “Isn’t it amazing?”

May certainly had to admit the building had its charms. On the outside, it’d seemed perfectly nondescript, made of brick just like every other university library she’d seen. But once they’d walked inside, she’d been forced to swallow her words as she stared up at the symmetrical jagged staircases, the far wall’s flights forming almost a chevron. The sides, thank goodness, were perfectly straight. And did everything have to be covered in those drapey, off-color beads? They were either beige or cherry wood, but they most definitely made her dizzy.

She didn’t even want to get started on the floor. Damn cubed optical illusions. What was with NYU and their beige?

“So, what’d you think?” Bobbi asked her excitedly once they’d exited the library, choosing not to follow the tour guide back to Washington Square Park to end the tour. The two of them stood on the street corner, people and cars passing by as if they were rocks in a stream. “Isn’t it amazing? It’s only a fifteen minute train ride to Chinatown, so I can work whenever you need me to, and it’s enough distance that you don’t have to come visit every part of every day, and there’s so many opportunities for me to try once I graduate - hell, even while I’m in school, there’s tons of opportunities - and all of the buildings are so pretty and it’s like living in the rush of the city, Mom, this could be it,” May watched her daughter’s eyes shine so brightly she swore she could see stars. “This could really be it.”

May sighed, her age and culture beginning to catch up to her for the first time since they’d stepped off of the train. In a year and a half, she’d no longer be constantly surrounded by Bobbi’s effortlessly bubbly presence, come with sarcastic quips though it may. In a year and a half, her eldest daughter would be off to pursue her own education, jumping feet first into the deep end of life’s challenges.

The thing was, she’d never seen Bobbi so at home as she’d looked during the tour; for the first time, her daughter’s blue eyes, blonde hair and pale skin allowed her to fit in instead of marking her as the outlier. It was the one thing May hadn’t been able to give her when she’d been adopted - a childhood mirroring that of the culture she belonged to. Sometimes she wondered if Bobbi ever resented the cards she’d been dealt, having to live in a family where no one looked like her. Where instead of macaroni and cheese and chicken nuggets, invited friends were treated to fried rice and crab rangoon. Where local hangouts meant in Little Italy and the Financial District, rather than Chelsea or Central Park.

Bobbi attending NYU would mean she’d get what May had never been able to give to her. And as a mother, shouldn’t she have tried everything in her power to do that? She could already see it - her daughter, fresh from law school and already making strides, her past hidden behind her Caucasian last name and all-American appearance. It’d be selfish of her to keep Bobbi from achieving her full potential, of course, but a small part of her wanted to dig her heels in as best as she could, if only to keep her daughter the same girl she was now.

So she did the only thing she knew how to do: she inhaled. “You smell that, honey?”

Bobbi looked confused, but inhaled anyways. “What?”

“Smells like $70,000 a year. Better get back to the restaurant and let Yang stare at your boobs a little more.”

“Mom!"

“Chicken feet?”

May stared at Phil in amusem*nt when he turned up later that day, rattling box of bones in his hand. “Chicken feet’s an integral part of dim sum culture, Phil,” she said, reminding herself to give Skye a light lecture about scaring off potential customers with unusual foods. She couldn’t deny that the look on his face was funny, though. “I would’ve ordered it during the interview, but I didn’t want to scare you off again. You were scared of a plate of fried rice, after all.”

Somewhere in the background, Fitz and Piper burst into laughter, and Phil scowled in the general direction of the kitchen while May just shook her head. “Yeah, well, bring on the next one,” Phil said, trying to retain some sort of bravado. “It’s gonna take a lot more than a batch of chicken feet to make me run.” He decided not to mention the long googling session he’d had trying to identify the food Skye’d boxed for him. Nor did it seem appealing to think about all of the bones he’d consumed and spit out in that thirty minute span. His jaw hurt just thinking about it. What was the appeal of eating chicken feet, anyways? Did the Chinese just like eating bones and spitting them out again?

“Of course. Have you eaten yet?” When Phil’s stomach answered for him instead of his vocal chords, May nodded. “Fitz, get me a plate of fried rice and some bowls. And talk to Skye, ask her what she wants to put in Phil’s next surprise box.”

“Yes, Chef!”

“And I swear if you keep watching Hell’s Kitchen I’m sending you to work in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Yes, May.”

“So,” Phil said awkwardly once they were seated, luck having found it in itself to seat them at the same table they’d been at before. “How’ve you been, Ms...Melinda?” He adjusted his tie uncomfortably. “I spoke to Mack yesterday about his story.” It’d been nothing short of inspiring to him, and more than in just the typical heroic way. “I thought it was brave of him, to admit that he’d considered giving Hope up.”

“Mack’s always been a different sort of man,” May remarked quietly. “He’s a considerate person to everyone, even to those who don’t deserve it. Always took the time to treat our staff nicely, even back when there weren’t a lot of English speakers. Did he tell you he learned Mandarin so he could communicate with the staff? He was a businessman before he came here; the extra language helped him out in the foreign relations department, too.”

Phil had a couple of war flashbacks to when he’d tried to learn Spanish. Learning Mandarin , on the other hand...He shuddered. Better leave speaking languages to the pros. He just wrote things. “He told me you were key in turning his life around.”

May gave him a rueful smile. “He always tells people that. I just bombarded his apartment with food until he cme downstairs.” Phil tried to imagine a younger, more stubborn Melinda May who, despite running a restaurant and fostering two daughters, still managed to find the time to send food to a neighbor upstairs to make sure he was eating constantly. He found it in the stubborn set of her jaw, the determination of her eyes. It was something partly caring, partly general generosity, and he stared for a minute, trying to figure out just how the universe had produced something so good .

Nope. His brain was failing to compute.

“...Phil?”

“Right.” Phil snapped his eyes back up to May just as Fitz set down a heaping plate of fried rice, complete with two bowls, a set of chopsticks, and a spoon. “Is that spoon for me?”

“...should I have gotten you chopsticks?” There was a twinkle in her eye, and Phil added it to the list of things he needed to get out of Melinda May more often. Second only to that smile. “I can pretend that’s a serving spoon and get you another pair of chopsticks.”

Well, now he was cornered. But Phil Coulson had never been one to back down from a challenge. “Sure. I’ll take the chopsticks.” Piper, who he swore had probably been hanging around for that exact reason, handed him a pair of chopsticks and disappeared. Sticks in hand, he stared at them, trying not to clue May in on his naivete. Seriously, Coulson. All these years of Chinese takeout and you never once use chopsticks. What sort of New Yorker are you?

“Eat up,” May said nonchalantly, a grin curling up on the right side of her lips. “If you don’t hurry, I just might eat it all.” Fueled by that elusive smile and the possibility of no food, Phil picked up his chopsticks haphazardly, hoping that some sort of holding combination would allow him to get at least a grain into his mouth. Maybe a vegetable, if he was lucky.

Maybe he could stab it like this...? Nope. The chopsticks sliced right through the rice, briefly picking up a grain when he tried to close them. Desperate, Phil snuck a look at May’s hand, trying to emulate her technique; much to his dismay, not only was she handling the chopsticks way too intricately for him to stare at, she hadn’t been lying about eating all of the fried rice.

The struggle went on for a good five minutes before May finally took laughing pity on him. “You need some help there, Phil?”

The sheepishness on his face was almost cute enough for her to tell him that Skye’d put jellyfish into his surprise box for tonight. It was pretty cute. But not...not cute , cute. Melinda May didn’t do cute. She didn’t do attraction. Not since the carpet incident. And Phil Coulson, she suspected, she didn’t want to taser into the carpet.

“Could you help me, Melinda?”

“What kind of New Yorker are you?” she asked as she got up, flitting over to his side of the table and sliding the chopsticks out of his hand. “Okay, so first you want to pick one up and hold it like you would a pencil.” Phil did so, his expression so serious one would’ve thought he was defusing a bomb. “Rest it on your fourth finger...no, like that,” Without thinking, May reached over and adjusted the chopstick, the heat of Phil’s hand causing her to pause for a second before settling it delicately onto said finger. “Okay, press your middle finger against it - yup, just like that. Now, take the second one and hold it between your second finger and thumb - your thumb should just be a fulcrum point, and your second finger pivots it back and forth...I’m going to let go now,” and it was only then that she realized they were essentially holding hands. Cheeks burning, she snatched her hand back. Not cute cute. “Go ahead and try and pick up a vegetable or a shrimp now.”

There was some clumsy clicking as Phil tried to get used to the position, the second chopstick slipping several times before he held up a shrimp in its clutches. “I got it!” The achievement seemed to sink in a second later. “Melinda, I got it!” He popped the shrimp into his mouth. “I got a shrimp with chopsticks!”

“Of course.” She gave him her winning smile, the one she used whenever a customer dealt her a compliment. “Now, just make sure, when you eat rice with chopsticks, hold them together and shovel small bites into your mouth from the bowl.” Phil frowned at the smile. It was a smile, yes, but it wasn’t his smile. It was fake, rehearsed. Another layer to add to his notebook. He wanted to tell her no, she didn’t need that smile around him, she could give him her real smile, but instead, he reached for the platter.

“Phil?”

“Hmmm?” he asked inelegantly, his cheeks full with fried rice. May waited until he’d swallowed (and choked on a couple of grains of rice, causing Mack to rush over and watch him worriedly in case the Heimlich was needed) before continuing. “What’s up?”

“What do you know about NYU?”

“NYU?” Phil put down his bowl, looking May over earnestly. The normally confident woman looked a little frazzled by the topic, eyes brimmed with uncertainty. “It’s a good school. I mean, they only take a good amount of the best of the best. Why d’you ask?” His mind flashed back to their previous dim sum luncheon, back to sunny but wintry remarks and flippant attitude. “Is...forgive me if I’m stepping a line here, but...is Bobbi looking at NYU?” She’d be a good fit there, he mused. She was strong but vulnerable, and had the ability to change the world if she put her mind to it.

“I...” May had no idea why she was even asking him about this. They’d only known each other for a week, tops, and here she was, asking him for advice about how to parent her eldest daughter. She didn’t even ask her mother for that advice. Phil noticed the sudden change in her demeanor, and folded his hands on the table.

“Tell me everything.”

“Well, we took the tour yesterday...”

“...and oh my god, I love it so much, Skye, I can already see myself there, y’know? Shoving my way through the crowds and running down city blocks at night and curling up in a chair in the corner of the library...” If Bobbi hadn’t been in the middle of a mass herd of students trudging towards the school, she would’ve done a little spin right there in the street. Skye just looked up with an amused eye, still typing rapidly away on her phone. “Come on, May. You could at least pretend to be happy for me."

“I am. Your enthusiasm is just suffocating me.” With what exactly, Skye would never tell her. She hated that Bobbi had already had her heart set on where to go. Like she was ready to turn and abandon them at the first sign of opportunity. Didn’t Bobbi know that Skye needed her sister now more than ever? When boys were throwing her catcalls around every corner and the mafia had started staring at her boobs? So she could help her figure out why there was a constant fluttering in her stomach (she was probably sick, but Bobbi always managed to make everything feel better)?

No, she needed Bobbi now. And now, she was planning to just up and leave them like they’d never existed. It wasn’t fair. Her parents had left. Her foster parents had kept leaving. Bobbi was leaving. Skye expected May to up and leave her at some point, too. Par for the course. “Piper’s gonna devastate me with you gone.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Bobbi snorted, waving a hand in dismissal. “I’ll be around all the time, of course. Gotta make a living somehow, y’know? Might even just live at home.” But it wouldn’t be the same, Skye echoed churlishly. And it wouldn’t. Instead of whispered conversations at 2AM, it’d be Skye trying to sleep while Bobbi studied feverishly for her exams. Bobbi remaining blissfully asleep while Skye dragged her tired ass out of bed at six in the morning. Both of them, ships passing in the night. Nothing would be the same. And Skye wasn’t sure she was ready to handle that just yet. “Besides, what’s it to you? It’s not for another two years anyways. You’ve got two years to get all of your blackmail material in.”

“Nothing,” Skye swallowed down the knot of bitterness in her throat, warning herself not to bring it back up until it was absolutely necessary. Bobbi didn’t deserve that. It wasn’t what sisters did to each other. “Hey,” she said, partly to distract Bobbi from the topic of college and partly to distract herself from the fact that she’d been thinking about her sister a little more than sisters should’ve. “Who’s got the bike parked out front? Do they know they’re gonna get towed?”

“Wha?” Bobbi looked up, just as confused, and blue eyes promptly blew wide upon seeing the shiny black motorcycle edged neatly into a parking spot outside the school. “Holy sh*t.”

“Holy sh*t is right,” her friend Kara breathed, popping up next to them. Bobbi was so thrown by the bike she didn’t even make her usual short joke. “Dude must be ripped. You think he’s new? God, I hope he’s part of the football team. I would kill to touch those pecs. I bet he’s got abs, too.”

“I’d ride that,” Bobbi blurted out, causing Kara to cackle and Skye to blush redder than the brick that made up their school building. “The bike , Jesus, Kar, Skye, get your minds out of the gutter. Honestly,” she shook her head at her friend and sister. “How’d I get stuck with you two, anyways? Keep laughing, Skye, I’ll tell Mom you got what that joke meant.” Skye immediately fell silent. The sex talk from Melinda May was nothing to trigger. She’d heard rumors from Piper it involved a chicken and a zucchini.

Still curious, the three of them joined the small crowd that was gathering around the bike, the students speculating as to whose it was.

“Gotta be someone new. No way they wouldn’t know not to park there.”

“I bet he’s part of one of the gangs.”

“What, and you think that keeps them from not giving a sh*t? Dude, Von Strucker’s part of the Pedes, and he still thinks it’s a bad idea to park there.”

“Von Strucker’s a kiss-ass. He’d do anything to get ahead.”

“‘Xcuse me, if you will, I have to move my bike.” The entire crowd looked up, presumably for the mystery man that owned such an extravagant motorcycle. Dissent rippled through the crowd when they found none, a large gasp going up instead when the person straddling the bike was not a man, but indeed a woman.

A woman who, Skye swore up and down when she talked to Mack later, was literal walking perfection . (Hope had looked unimpressed Skye’d fallen so quickly while Mack held back his chuckles.) Her dark skinny jeans were nearly painted on, tall, intimidating leather boots stretching up to her calves. A forest green tank top molded to her (seemingly many) curves, and the mystery woman shook out her dark hair (“It was like ebony, Mack. Like olives. What do you mean? Girls can appreciate girls!”) before replacing her helmet on her head.

“Holy sh*t,” Kara whispered again next to them as the engine roared to life. “I think I just turned gay.” The students scattered when the bike turned out of the spot, save for Bobbi and Skye. Both of them were staring at the girl for entirely different reasons; Bobbi because she recognized the woman and was thoroughly confused, Skye in the manner of someone who’d been automatically smitten.

The woman on her bike paused, unused to having passengers gawking as she tried to exit. She lowered her visor, sealing the deal for Bobbi’s confusion and Skye’s obvious admiration. Dark green eyes peered at the both of them, flashing in appraisal. “Can I help you ladies?”

“I’m just going to apologize for them both,” Kara broke in, dragging Bobbi and Skye away when neither of them moved. “You have a kickass bike, I’d love to learn about it sometime, but really, go park it before Fury finds out and kicks your ass instead of the bikes.” The other woman nodded, roaring off. “Care to tell me what that was about, you idiots?”

Skye was still completely mute, her jaw scraping the ground. “She’s hot.” Kara frowned. Maybe Mrs. May was going to have to give that talk a little sooner than she wanted.

Bobbi, on the other hand, was still just confused. “Huh,” she muttered. “Jade Wong’s back from boarding school.”

Chapter 6: Spicy Fish and Calamari

Chapter Text

Piper had had her fair share of retail jobs. In the course of her lifetime, she’d been a coffee barista (never was she going near that unicorn frappuccino ever again,), a clothes cashier, a sandwich maker, a drive-thru operator, and everywhere in between. Each job had brought its own challenges, some she’d powered through and others she’d quit straight away. While she’d expected waitressing at May’s involved some...daunting challenges (read: re- learning Mandarin, which she’d taken in high school), she hadn’t quite come to expect spice tasting would be one.

Specifically, Fitz’s spice tastings. At the moment, Mack had run to the bathroom to douse his head under the sink, Skye was pretending to choke, Davis had gone to call his wife for ‘one last goodbye’, as he’d called it, and Bobbi looked like she was seriously considering ripping her tongue out of her mouth. May, of course, looked perfectly unruffled.

“It doesn’t look so bad!” Fitz exclaimed, a bit of his Scottish brogue slipping out in his hurt. “‘S not like I put in as much as last time!” Oh, yes. Piper remembered the last time they’d all sat down like this: the last dish revision, when Fitz had slipped a ghost pepper into their spicy fish and calamari. “There’s less ghost pepper in it!”

“Less ghost pepper?” Skye actually seemed to choke. “Fitz, how about next time, you hold up on the ghost pepper unless someone asks to burn a hole into their esophagus?!” May just hummed beside her, picking up another piece and popping it into her mouth. Fitz just harrumphed and muttered something about ‘destroying his creative expression’.

“I heard that, Fitz,” Piper snarked, taking a giant sip of the tea she’d poured earlier. Mack ran back in, still dripping wet, and proceeded to drink directly from the teapot. “You’re destroying our ability to swallow. You might wanna think about that the next time you’re with a girl.” At that, May choked, Skye fell out of her chair, and Bobbi considered ripping her brain out instead of her tongue.

“No!” Mack yelled. “No, no, no no no no. I do not need to think about my man Fitz like that.” Piper smirked as Skye groaned in agreement. “Give a man some boundaries, Piper. Isn’t like I’m his brother or anything.”

“Bloody hell,” Fitz looked like he was considering eating a ghost pepper just to avoid thinking about that. “Wasn’t planning on getting a girlfriend, Piper. Now I’m most definitely not getting one.” To prove his point, he bit viciously into one of the calamari. “Oh, hell, hot, hot hot!” His cries could be heard all the way from the kitchen, mingling with Davis’.

“I’m gonna go get him,” Piper sighed, scooting out from the table as the rest of them began to cautiously taste the dishes.

“So, how’s school been this week?” May asked casually, scooping some sauce into her bowl. She didn’t get much of a chance to catch up with her daughters, especially given their age and her position, but dish review was always a good chance to hear about the latest gossip.

“Well, first thing you should know is that Nathaniel Hawthorne is the evillest person to ever exist,” Skye said, forcefully shoveling down a spoonful of rice. “Always speaks in stupid metaphors and ideas that are way too big for life, like he could expect anyone to understand what the hell he’s saying -”

“Skye failed a Scarlet Letter test,” Bobbi translated without looking up, not even bothering to glance at her sister’s affronted face.

“Hey!” Bobbi just shrugged and reached for a piece of chicken. “What happened to the sister code?” Another shrug. “See what happens the next time you try to start hooking up with some random dude behind the bleachers.”

“Don’t you even dare , Skye, it was one time -”

“Skye,” May paused in taking a bowl of soup. “Is this true?” The younger adopted May seemed to slump in her seat, ready to dunk her face in her plate of rice. “Did you fail that test?” Not that she blamed the girl. The book really had sucked. Plus, she was sure that somewhere in the bowels of their storage unit, there was a box containing the exact same test with Bobbi’s name on it. That grade hadn’t been pretty either.

“It was a 78,” she said glumly, speaking more to the rice than to either Bobbi, May or Mack. Fitz emerged from the kitchen, face cooled down and apron discarded. “Didn’t really grasp the idea that Pearl was the rose, or that the preacher was actually struggling with the brand to his chest.”

“ The Scarlet Letter ?” Fitz asked, snagging his own bowl of rice. Skye just sighed into her rice. “I remember that book. Read it a couple of years ago.” Skye snorted. Of course Fitz had. He never passed up the chance to passively aggressively remind them that he was somewhat of a boy genius. “Massively sucked.”

Piper emerged from the back room, half-carrying a sweating Davis. “Davis survives another week,” she announced, and everyone groaned, Piper leaning over to smack a five into Mack’s hand before continuing to drag Davis to the door. “Try harder, Fitz. I have rent to pay.”

May frowned. “Piper, you know that we have a spare apartment if you need it-”

“Shush, Melinda. I’m not taking your space and you know it.” May just sighed. She couldn’t remember how long they’d been contesting over this, but Piper’s pride was Piper’s pride, and as long as it kept her coming in for her shifts, she’d concede. Speaking of concessions:

“Skye. The test.”

“It’s only the second test of the term, there’s like another five,” Skye straightened up immediately, eyes wide with worry. “I promise I’ll study like hell for the next ones and I’ll get A’s on them, Mom, I promise. I won’t fail English this term.” She knew how much college was, and that May had to put not only her through, but Bobbi as well - and Bobbi was a genius in her own right.

Skye could afford a state school, but she’d be damned her older sister wasn’t going to change the world. She wouldn’t not let her.

To her surprise, May laughed. “I’m glad to see you’re taking your studies so seriously,” she smiled. “Good job, honey. I’m proud. But what I was really going to say was that -” her eyes twinkled with mischief, and Fitz knew a bomb was about to be dropped. “Your sister took the same test last year, and she failed by a lot more than you did.”

“MOM!”

Skye burst into laughter, nearly dropping her chopsticks. “Oh, this is too rich,” she guffawed, clutching the tablecloth for support. “You see,” she gasped out, cheeks red, “this is what you get when you tell on me. f*cking karmic retribution. Wait, Mom.” She turned to May, who had a corner of her mouth quirked up. “What did she get?”

“Bobbi?”

“Igotasixty.”

“Sorry, you’re going to have to speak up,” Skye smirked smugly. “Didn’t quite catch the sound of your failure,”

“I got a f*cking sixty, okay, Skye?” Bobbi flushed and attacked her rice with vigor. Skye let out a last chuckle before turning back to her food. “And don’t act like you’re so high and mighty. I wasn’t the one that couldn’t pick her jaw up off the ground this morning.”

Mack thought it hadn’t been possible for Skye to turn redder, but she did. “What?” This time, it was May’s turn to look amused. “What happened this morning?”

“Jade Wong’s back from boarding school,” Bobbi said, relishing how Skye looked up in shock, chicken halfway to her mouth.

“You know who she is ?” she asked in awe, the chicken slipping from her chopsticks and onto the plate with a THUNK. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me? Does she come here? Does she come here a lot?” There was sauce all over her chin, but she ignored it. “Oh god, what if she comes here and recognizes me? She’s gonna see I work at a restaurant in my spare time - uh, no, Mom, I promise I’m not ashamed of working here, I promise! - oh, this sucks,” This time, she plunked her face into her plate as only a dramatic fifteen-year-old could.

Everyone stared at her in silence.

“So that’s who Skye was ranting about this afternoon,” Mack said finally as the meal resumed. “I gotta say, Hope was not impressed.” He went on to recount how Skye had barrelled into their apartment as she had every afternoon for the last eight years, babbling immediately about the new girl while they waited for Hope to come back from school. The eight-year-old had given Skye one look and told her to ‘just write her a note, Skye’.

May, meanwhile, was looking over at her youngest daughter in contemplative silence. So Skye thought about girls. That was new. She wasn’t exactly sure what to make of the revelation, especially since the only people she’d come home raving about (according to Bobbi) were boys. There’d been Miles in the fourth grade, Tripp when she was thirteen (poor boy, she’d heard that avalanche had been devastating), and most recently, Grant Ward. This was the first time a girl’s name had even come out of Skye’s mouth, and needless to say, May was a little shaken.

But then she thought about how Skye’d stuck close to Bobbi throughout the years, always quick to defend and first to blush whenever someone brought up her first daughter’s looks. How she’d constantly pushed Bobbi at whatever boy had shown even the slightest interest in her. Skye’s phases of interest in different actresses, quite a few of them bearing a resemblance to her older sister.

Her revelation didn’t seem like much of one after that. Although she’d seen the way Bobbi looked at boys - she and Kara both. The pair of best friends had been googly-eyed for boys since they’d been able to talk together. Bobbi loved her sister, May knew, but she could never love her in the way Skye wanted her to. She wasn’t sure who to be mad at there - after all, how could one be mad at one daughter for not being able to love another? How long had Skye been sitting on that, she wondered. How long had she been stuck in that cycle of hope and self-rejection? Had she even looked at it like that?

May just hoped Skye would be able to talk to someone before it was too late. She wouldn’t offer herself up by a long shot - one, she’d probably do more harm than good and two, she was definitely not a good choice to talk to - but she’d wait for her daughter to figure it out and tell her on her own terms. “Mack?” she muttered to the hulking security guard while Skye was having a playful argument with Bobbi. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

Mack studied both girls for a minute before turning back to her. “Which part? The one where Skye’s trying to figure herself out or her crush on Bobbi? Because the latter’s been coming for a while now.” May rolled her eyes. “What? It was a reasonable question.”

She knew there was a reason he was in her will. She would never marry him - they’d both agreed it wasn’t like that, and she’d never encroach on Nicole - but she trusted him all the same. “Glad to know I’m not the only one. But keep an eye on Skye, will you? Bobbi mentioned last week that she was beating herself down again. I just want to know she’d taking initiative to work on herself, is all.” Mack nodded.

“Time for dessert!” Fitz called from the kitchen, and the table as a whole perked up, wondering what he’d cooked up this time. All of them didn’t even bother to suppress their groans when Fitz plonked down a plate full of orange slices. “Fruit!”

“f*ck you, Fitz,” Skye muttered, reaching for some slices all the same. “I was hoping for an actual dessert.”

“Make your own desserts, Skye,” Fitz scoffed back, mussing her hair. She smacked at him with sticky juice hands. “I’m just a chef and you know it.”

“Well, this has been fun,” Bobbi declared dramatically, standing up. “But I’ve got to go, there is some ugly-ass AP Lit calling my name.” She grabbed her plate and ran to the kitchen before coming back out to hug May. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll catch you later.”

Skye frowned at her sudden departure. “Yeah...I’ve got, uh...I’ve got some Thoreau to annotate...won’t annotate itself, y’know?” She stood up and returned her plate almost as quickly as Bobbi had, following her older sister up the stairs. “Thanks, Mom! Bye, Mack! See you tomorrow!”

It was only after both girls had left that an earlier fact reintroduced itself into May’s head. “Huh. Jade Wong’s back from boarding school?” Good. At least she’d get a chance to start making fried shrimp again.

“Bobbbbbbiiiii,” Skye was ready to chuck her Thoreau packet across the room after only a mere twenty minutes. Why would anyone want to give up life and move into the woods, anyways? Social life went kaput that way. Mosquitos sucked. And she was pretty sure there was jail time for anyone that didn’t pay their taxes. “Can you do my Thoreau for me?” It was a reasonable request. Bobbi loved anything wordy and difficult to decipher. It was kind of like her, Skye mused. And she loved deciphering things.

Just. Just not Thoreau.

“I did your Scarlett Letter for you last time, and look where that got you.” Skye huffed from the top of her bunk, sending Bobbi a glare downwards towards the desk. “Maybe if you read the packet this time, you’ll get better than a 78 on the test.”

“Yeah? And who did yours?” she retorted absentmindedly, and uncapped another highlighter. “Kara? That’s probably the only reason you did so badly on the test.” She didn’t notice that Bobbi had silently climbed up the ladder until the blonde tackled her, leaving a giant streak of highlighter across the text.

“Take it back!” Bobbi shouted, tickling Skye in the sides. Her sister burst into laughter, trying to wiggle away while at the same time trying not to fall off of their bed. “Take it back, you lil sh*t! Take it back! How dare you insult my best friend!”

“No - take - backsies - Bobbi!” One of Bobbi’s blows caught her stomach, and Skye absolutely wheezed with laughter. “Lemme go!” If she kept going, Bobbi would probably notice the slight flush creeping up her cheeks, or the prickles that were running over her skin. She had to make sure she didn’t. “Okay, okay, I take it back!”

“You take it back?” Bobbi sat on Skye’s legs, watching as her sister tried to catch her breath and rearrange her ponytail. Grinning, she picked up the Thoreau packet. Skye’s eyes grew wide. “Take it back or this turns into two pieces.”

“Tear that into two and I’ll tell Mom about the time you ate all of her pita chips!” Bobbi froze. “Yeah, the time when you drank all of the special edition beers she got from Vegas.” Skye cemented her blackmail with a smirk. “You know. The ones she threatened to kill someone over?”

Bobbi tossed the packet back in disgust, smirking when it hit Skye in the face. No amount of Thoreau was worth dying. “I’m telling Kara you said that, by the way.” Sure, she’d tell Kara - but that didn’t mean Skye had to know it was true. Besides. Civil disobedience was the way to go. “And it’s not like I don’t have dirt on you.”

“You’re my sister, I tell you everything on purpose,” Skye said, flipping the packet open back to the appropriate page. “You ain’t Sherlock, honey.”

“Oh, really? I think I’d remember if you told me you weren’t completely straight.”

Something panged in Skye’s chest then, almost willing for her to acknowledge some sort of truth way inside of her. She just wasn’t sure of what. “What do you mean? Of course I’m straight.” She was, right? She’d had a crush on Miles, on Tripp. And sure, Grant Ward was out of her reach, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t drool over him. “I’m straight, Bob. Straighter than Mom’s hair when she permed it for Davis’ wedding.” Yeah. She was straight.

“Honey, I’m straight.” Bobbi frowned and sat cross-legged at the end of Skye’s bed. “Your jaw was on the ground today when you saw Jade Wong on that motorbike.”

Skye let out a sharp huff. “Girls can appreciate girls, you know! I just do it more externally than internally!” She capped the highlighter, brown eyes snapping defensively. “Just because I think Jade Wong’s gorgeous doesn’t mean I’m not straight!” Inside, her mind was spinning. Girls were pretty. Of course they were. Jade Wong was pretty. Maybe prettier than some (okay, a lot prettier), but that didn’t mean she wanted to kiss her or go out with her or anything. She didn’t. She’d rather go out with a cute guy that paid for her dates and brought her flowers...and maybe didn’t fawn over Bobbi before moving on to her. It really was never fair that they all considered her the sloppy seconds. “I’m straight, Bobbi. I don’t know where the f*ck you got the idea that I was gay, but I’m not .”

“You can be both, Skye,” Bobbi’s eyes were soft, and she reached for her younger sister. “You don’t have to choose just one, either.”

“Get out,” Skye said suddenly, shoving Bobbi away. She didn’t need Bobbi, the pinnacle of walking perfection, lecturing her on who to love. What was it to her, anyways? She was able to have whoever she wanted! She didn’t have to wait for them to get tired of her older sister’s disinterest and try and score for second best. Everyone fell to their knees around Bobbi. She didn’t even have to try.

Skye wasn’t sure she’d ever been so angry towards her sister. Not since the Vegas beer incident, when drunk Bobbi’d been foisted onto her by a group of her so-called friends. No one got to tell her who she loved. Especially not someone who made it look so f*cking easy, not by someone who didn’t have a clue how she felt.

“What the hell, Skye? I live here too!”

“GET OUT!”

Chapter 7: Amphibians

Chapter Text

“Coulson!”

Phil scooped up his lunch for the day (compliments of Skye's surprise box the day before, all heated up) and hightailed it towards the voice. “Coming, Roz!” More than once did his box nearly slip from his hands, only to be saved with a gasp and sigh of relief. “Coming, coming, coming, box, no -!” Another save. Phew. “On my way!”

“That really took you long enough,” Roz said tartly when Phil finally managed to skid into her office, his glasses askew and box in his hand. “Sit. That’s from May’s, I assume?” she asked when he hurriedly sat. A nod. “How’s that coming along?”

Phil, who’d taken a giant bite of his rice (dunked in the ginger-scallion sauce he’d had that day with Mack, he’d gotten addicted to it) thinking Roz would give a lecture, hurriedly choked. “It’s going good, Ms. Price,” he said, swallowing when his boss looked anything but impressed. “I got to talk to Mack - you read his story, of course.” Roz nodded. “I’m planning on going back this afternoon and interviewing Davis and Piper, two of the servers there.”

“Good,” Roz said, picking at her nails before sparing him a careless glance. “And the main server? Sara, you said her name was?”

“Her name’s Skye,” Phil corrected as gently as he could. Wow, this chicken was good. He’d have to pay Fitz a compliment when he headed over to May’s later. Crunch. He hadn’t expected it to have so many bones, though. Or be so tender. “She and her sister Bobbi are minors, so I’d have to get disclosure forms approved by Ms. May to get their interviews.”

He didn’t mention the ‘interviews’ he’d had with May in his spare lunches, the two of them talking about everything from Bobbi’s decision to go to NYU, her life as a child in the restaurant circuit, and occasionally May getting Phil to try new foods. At this point, he was sure he could’ve done a whole issue on her alone, with a whole section on his attempts to pull that enigmatic smile out of her.

Roz picked up a carrot stick and bit into it with a crunch nothing like the one Phil had just made. This one spoke volumes of threats. “Get them as soon as you can. I want this exclusive done for the monthly issue.” Phil swallowed? Get interviews from...everyone? In the span of two weeks? And what was going to happen at the end of month, when Roz put him on another restaurant? He already knew there would never be another with a staff quite like May’s. “Chop chop, Phil. I don’t pay you to sit around and crunch on bones. Especially not for this issue. Your name’s going to be the only one on the bylines’.”

“Yes.” Phil gave himself a little shake to clear himself out of it. After all, this was what would be scoring him that dinner date. His own issue? That’d help too. “Perhaps you can come with me one day. To see for yourself, of course,” he backtracked when the Steely Eye of Doom swivelled towards him. “It’s not a date. It’s not even a luncheon of any kind!” Slowly, he picked up his box and backed towards the door. “Just two people who happened to be heading in the same direction and eating at the same place...yeah, I’m gonna go over now, your notes are noted, Ms. Price!”

Well, he’d escaped again. Crunch. Geez. What kind of chicken had Skye told Fitz to put into the box?

“Phil,” To his surprise, May was the one that greeted him at the door this time, the bland scowl on her face morphing into the smallest smile upon seeing him. “What brings you here today? Skye, Bobbi and Fitz are in school at the moment, but I can see who’s in the kitchen to give you their story.” She wasn’t stupid. She knew that was all he was there for. She just couldn’t understand why he chose to show up when he knew both girls were in school.

Phil just gave her a grin. “Can’t a guy just drop by to say hello?” He was rewarded with a faint blush on May’s cheek. “Besides, I wanted to get some comforting Chinese food. Every time I show up, Skye demands I try something new.” He’d also wanted to compliment Fitz on the chicken, but it seemed like that wasn’t about to happen. “Also, I was wondering if you could tell me what kind of chicken this was?” He held out the box to her. “It’s really tender, but it’s got a lot of bones. Can I get an order of it?”

May opened the box, raising her eyebrow at the rice mixture before catching sight of the meat. Her eyes widened fractionally, the corners of her mouth popping up just a bit before settling back down. “I’ll get you some dim sum instead,” she said, not looking up. “ Har gow, siu mai, har cheong, ngau cheong, dow fu fah!” was shouted towards the kitchen before May shut the box and led Phil to their regular table by the window. “So, tell me, how’s your week been?”

“Roz wants me to get all of the interviews together for the monthly issue, which is coming up in a couple of weeks.” Phil said, the deadline hitting him for the first time. That’s in two weeks. Oh my god. I have two weeks to interview, transcribe, write, and photograph. I’m never going to survive. I’m so fired. “I. That’s in two weeks. Deadline’s in a week, then.” I still have to write up legal documents for Bobbi and Skye, because god knows our legal department doesn’t have something like that, and I have to find a photographer to photograph the restaurant, there are legal documents for that, and it has to be on a day where everyone’s in, and I have to rush the proofing while making sure it’s flawless or Roz is gonna have my head -

“Phil,” At some point, his chopsticks must’ve slipped from his hand, for the clatter shook him out of his stupor. May reached out and took his pale hand, neither of them fully processing the action. “Calm down. Look at me.” His hand shaking just a little, Phil slowly slid his eyes from a spot on the opposite wall and to May’s soft, brown ones, steady and all-seeing. Eventually, he found himself able to blink again, the sounds of his breathing coming back into his ears. “You’re gonna be okay. Tell me what you need.”

Phil blinked back a few tears, letting out a shaky breath. “I - I need so much,” he admitted, his hand dropping from May’s. “There’s still so much to do that I haven’t done yet, and the final magazine proof needs to be submitted by the end of the week to the art department, and I have to have them rush so we can publish, so of course I’ve got to write all of your interviews and put up all of the legal documents and get someone to do photographs -”

“Phil.”

“Am I doing it again?” May nodded, the small smile appearing once more. “Sorry.”

“Hey, Piper, notepad,” The elder woman held out her hand, a pad of paper and pen immediately filling her clutches. “Thanks.” She turned back to Phil. “Okay. Tell me what you need, slowly and surely.”

“I need interviews with Fitz, Bobbi, Skye, Piper and Davis.” May nodded and scribbled onto the notepad. “I need to draw up legal documents for Bobbi and Skye, because they’re both minors and need legal consent.” More scribbling. “I need someone to come in and photograph you guys as well as the restaurant, I need legal documents drawn up for photographing the restaurant, and after I’ve transcribed the interviews, I need to write them up.”

“Okay, kay, and kay,” May nodded to herself before turning back to look at him. “I’ll get my lawyer to draw up the legal documents as well as get Skye and Bobbi to sign them before tomorrow’s out. I’ll also get a contract for photography of the restaurant drawn up, too, and I’ll sign that before tomorrow’s out.” Phil’s jaw dropped. “Oh, hush, Phil. We’re a Chinese restaurant that deals with the mafia on a weekly basis. You really think we wouldn’t have a lawyer?”

“I didn’t think you’d have to put him into power often?”

“Foggy Nelson is one of the best. He’ll get it done before tomorrow. I’ll give Piper and Davis a half day so you can interview them tomorrow; make sure you write up their questions. Have questions ready for Bobbi, Skye and Fitz in a couple of days, I’ll be sure to get them the afternoon off. Anything else you need?”

Phil paused. He’d already asked May for so much; any more and it’d be like he was leeching off of her. “Any chance you could get a photographer?”

May turned. “Hey! Davis!”

“What’s up, May?” The waiter in question set down a tray full of food for the senior citizens at the next table before jogging over.

“How’s your wife?”

“Any day now,” Davis chuckled, and turned to Phil. “Thirty-eight weeks,” he explained. “We’re still not sure if we’re having identical or fraternal twins.”

“Congratulations. First kids?”

“Absolutely,” Davis laughed a little. “I’ve already bought the coffee maker.”

“Davis, you think she’d be up for a photography assignment?”

Davis’ eyes lit up. “Boy, would she! She’s been begging me to come out of the house for a month, ever since they made her go on maternity leave. She’s a kicker, that one. Wants to work as much as she can. She’s a photographer for the New York Times.”

“Good. Ask her if she’d be willing to come in and shoot the restaurant on...” May checked her notepad. “Does Friday work?”

“Does Fitz like burning people’s stomach linings?”

“That’s a yes.” May gave him a grin. “I think I hear customers calling your name, Davis. Better not be neglecting your duties.”

“Ma’am, yes ma’am!” Davis dashed off, leaving Phil with an impressed smile.

“You’ve got your employees wrapped around your finger, don’t you?”

“It’s one of the advantages of being my own boss,” May replied, the smile still on her face. “I can treat my staff the way I’d want to be treated. Plus, his mother and mine get along famously.” She shuddered jokingly. “I still remember the time we held that mahjong tournament.” Skye still liked to remind her about the money she owed.

Phil couldn’t help but smile at the look on May’s face. She was a woman with her heart on her restaurant, it seemed. It hadn’t been long, but he wasn’t able to imagine going a day without trying to coax it out of her. “Sounds like she cleaned you out.”

“Are you kidding?” May snorted. “She cleaned Bobbi and I out and nearly cleaned out Skye.” Phil tried to think about the three of them, identical looks of horror on their faces as piles of change got swept from them and into the arms of an unidentified woman. It made him snort a little. “We nearly went bankrupt. I’m never inviting Mrs. Davis to mahjong again.”

Their dim sum arrived, both of them easily falling into conversation about the previous week - May reporting the damage done by the mafia, Phil rambling about his week with Roz - and it was only when Phil was regaling her with the story of the lesbian restaurant owners versus the most conservative Bible Belt customers that May remembered Skye.

“Phil,” she said suddenly, accidentally cutting him off during one of his better impressions of the wife. “What do you know about being gay?” There was a long silence between the two of them while Phil tried valiantly to keep his piece of har gow in his chopsticks. It was long enough that May wanted to take back the question as soon as she’d asked. What if Phil was a hom*ophobe? Or he was gay himself and she hadn’t gotten to know him well enough to know?

“Uh.” Good job, Phil. Eloquence that’ll really get the lady. “Not much?” He knew that Kara Palamas over in Accounting was bisexual. And despite their best attempts at glowering, the office romance between Isabelle Hartley from HR and Victoria Hand from Art was the best fairy tale any of them had heard in their entire lives. “I have a couple of coworkers?” He caught May gnawing at her lip. “Why, what’s wrong?”

May sighed. Well, at least Phil knew someone. That’d been better than consulting a clueless Mack, at least. She hadn’t had time to ask Bobbi yet, her eldest daughter still reeling from Skye’s sudden reaction to her a few days ago and trying to balance the elements of her life. “It’s Skye.”

Phil nodded sagely, and the confession felt thick on May’s tongue. Why was it so hard to force the words out? “I think...” Work, tongue, goddammit. “I think she’s gay.”

“Do...you?” Phil didn’t really have any words for that response. Surprise was hardly appropriate, especially given that the only interactions he’d had with Skye had to do with food and being a regular. (Which, he realized, he was fast becoming.) “I mean.” He cleared his throat. “What makes you think that?”

“She wouldn’t stop talking about this girl from school,” May said, sighing heavily. She’d never pictured Skye coming home with a girl, for all of her worries and thoughts about her youngest daughter. She’d thought of plenty of scenarios - where Skye came home with a delinquent, a nerd, even a member of the Chinese mafia - but never a girl. It wasn’t that she was opposed to it. She’d just never thought about it. “But she never talked about girls before now!” That was the main point. What had brought it on? “She always talked about boys, it was Tripp this and Miles that...What I wouldn’t give to know what she’s thinking, you know?”

“If I may?” Phil didn’t even have time to smile at his pun as he gently took May’s hand. She was too distraught to notice the gentle cage her fingers were now trapped in, although if she had, she probably wouldn’t have been complaining. “I don’t think Skye’s gay, either.”

“You don’t?” May frowned. “Then what’s with the talk about girls?”

“I...” Phil inhaled, trying to best figure out how to phrase it. “I think Skye’s bisexual. It means she likes boys and girls.” He could see the idea trying to settle itself into May’s head, smiling at the small crinkle above her nose. “Has she told you about any of this yet?”

May shook her head. “I wouldn’t expect her to talk to me about it, either.” Phil raised his eyebrow. “First of all, no one comes out to their parents first. Second,” She laughed a little. “I’m not the best person to talk to about it, you know? I came from a culture that banished the idea. I’m old. And Skye...” She remembered Bobbi’s sudden appearance in the kitchen late that night, eyes red-rimmed. “I don’t think she’s quite figured it out for herself yet. Bobbi had an...incident with her the other day.”

Phil gently squeezed her hand and May jolted, as if realizing they were holding hands for the first time. Still, he didn’t let go - it was tough, having to rethink their child’s entire life. “She’ll tell you on her own time,” he said reassuringly. “It might not be as simple as sitting you down and saying ‘Mom, I’m bi’, but she’ll tell you all the same. Just -” Phil flashed back to the rainbow tacos Kara had served them on her coming out (and consequently giving them all food poisoning). “Whatever unconventional way she does it, try to be aware that this is the way she feels comfortable doing it.”

May nodded silently. “Phil? Thanks.” Now that she had tips on her side (Melinda May had never done anything without consulting experts for tips, including running her own restaurant), she felt more organized, more at peace. “I...I don’t know what I’d do without you.” This, and Bobbi’s intense desire to go to NYU. Phil was really a good hand when it came to tackling her big issues, it seemed.

Phil gently pulled his hand back, the promise of support still echoing in his almost-translucent blue eyes. May stared at them for a few long minutes, not wanting to look away.

“Did you want a takeout box?”

Both of them jumped at Piper’s voice, the waitress standing by their table with a look that was two parts embarrassment and one teeny sliver amusem*nt. How could she not? Melinda May, finally finding someone in her life. And he wasn’t on the carpet yet. Bonus.

“Uh, yeah...if I could,” Phil nervously scratched the back of his neck. He’d gotten way too close there.

“Make it two,” May said, her eyes flickering over the uneaten food on the table. “And Piper, tell Davis you two are having half days tomorrow. Phil wants your stories.” Piper nodded and skipped off to the kitchen, returning a moment later with more takeout boxes.

It was only when Phil was boxing the freshly made food that he noted the original box he’d brought, still slightly warm and resting at May’s left elbow. “Hey, May? You never told me what kind of chicken Fitz made for me.”

May turned and frowned at the box, trying to recall the earlier conversation before pursing her lips in a silent ‘ah’. “See, Phil, here’s the thing. That’s not chicken Skye gave you.”

“It’s not?” It certainly had tasted like chicken.

“It’s not.” May grinned, whipping her phone out so she could record the next couple of seconds. “It’s toad.” The horrified look on Phil’s face was so getting a place as her lock screen later.

Chapter 8: Xiaolong Bao, Order 1

Chapter Text

May’s was a market of activity that morning. In addition to the regulars that came in for their midweek dimsum (and the occasional group of teenagers skipping school), servers raced to and fro cleaning tables, checking dishes for chips, and in general tried to keep the day chef from having a meltdown.

The first two they were doing fine with. The third? Not so much.

“May, I swear, you need to do whatever it takes to poach Fitz once he’s graduated,” Mack muttered as he dodged yet another flying plate from the kitchen. “I know Chan Ho’s great with fire dishes and all, but he keeps treating us like he creates fires out of his hand.”

“You’re right, as usual,” May grumbled from under a table ten feet away. “I’ll fire him as soon as I can find another chef. But you do have to admit -” Both of them winced when the telltale whoosh of fire was heard. “He is pretty good at his fire dishes.”

“Wǒ shì huǒ zhī shén!” The eye rolling in the restaurant was almost palpable. “ Zài wǒ de tǒngzhì xià nǐmen dōu bù chóng yào!”

Several pots clattered to the kitchen floor, and Mack and May peered out from under their respective tables to see Chan storming out of the restaurant, his coat splattered in grease. The dining room was silent. Even the teenagers hadn’t bothered to catch the incident on Snapchat. Not until the small bell on the door tinkled did someone begin to clap, the rest of the restaurant joining in.

Mack crawled out from under the table. “I’m too old to be taking cover like this.” Several joints popped and crackled, much to the alarm of Mrs. Lao three feet away.

“You know, you wouldn’t have to had taken cover if you’d been doing your job,” May shot back cheekily, chuckling when the security guard shot her the middle finger. “Nah. I got him with the restaurant. He always seemed kind of weird. Burned my food a lot.”

Slowly, business at the restaurant turned back to normal, carts rushing around and chatter rising in the room with the steam. May went to go check on the damage in the kitchen. A couple of broken plates, some burnt pots. Nothing she couldn’t deal with. Phew. The last time Chan’d thrown a tantrum, he’d smashed all of their sauce dishes. (Why had she hired him back after that, anyways?)

“May?” Davis called. “Who’s going to make the xiaolong bao for tonight if Chan’s gone?” May froze, half-stopping herself from jumping into the nearest vat of vegetable oil. Of course they’d lost their fiery chef on xiaolong bao night. And it wasn’t like she could keep the competition from going on. May’s Annual Xialong Bao Eating Extravaganza drew crowds from all over the city. Some even came from out of state to witness the carnage.

What was she going to do?

“May!” Just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, Phil’s chipper voice sounded from the kitchen door, way too bright and optimistic for her current situation. Right. Piper and Davis were on half days today. “What’s up?” You poaching two of my own when I need them is what’s up , May wanted to snap. But she knew that as much as she was on a deadline, so was he.

So she forced herself to breathe and turn around with a smile. “Phil,” she said, grimacing internally at the amount of cheeriness she’d put into her voice. “Here to interview Piper and Davis?” Of course he is, you idiot, a voice in the back of her head whispered. He’s not here to see you. “Let me get you your table.” That stupid smile on her face, she led him into the dining room. “It’s kind of crowded here, I apologize,” she called. “There was a bit of drama this morning.”

Mack snorted from the door. “ A bit. And my wife’s still alive.” Phil gave him a bit of an alarmed look then. “It’s been long enough,” Mack said ruefully. “If I can’t joke about it now, what can I do?”

“Piper! Davis!” May hollered to the kitchen. “Interview!” When both servers inevitably dashed over to the table, she nodded. “When you’re done, I need you back in the kitchen. Prep for tonight’s gonna be an all-hands-on deck now that Chan’s gone. Mack, I need you to do Bobbi and Skye’s homework tonight. I need their hands, too.” When the taller man begun to protest, she shushed him. “It’s Thoreau. Man goes off to live in a hut in the middle of nowhere. And it’s The Awakening . Woman discovers her sexuality because her husband’s an asshole. Drowns herself. Let me know if you have any more questions.”

“Tonight?” Four pairs of eyes turned to look at Phil. “What’s tonight?”

“May’s Annual Xiaolong Bao Eating Extravaganza,” Piper answered with relish before May could. “For years, May’s Golden Dragon has been hosting the GOAT of xiaolong bao eating competitions. Everyone who participates has to make their way through ten levels of xiaolong bao , or soup dumplings.”

“Each level has an increasing number of spiciness, all the way up to ten, when Fitz puts in his ghost peppers.” A shudder went around the present company, remembering their taste testing the other night. “If you eat all 150 dumplings - fifteen dumplings per level - first, you’re officially declared the winner.”

Phil looked pale. “And who’s won in the last few years?”

Davis gestured proudly to May, who suddenly found the ground very interesting. “She almost lost to one of the Keonig brothers a few years ago,” he whispered. “But she straightened up at the last minute, threw three level tens in her mouth, and swallowed them down without drinking a single thing.”

Piper was pretty sure she had to pick Phil’s jaw up off of the floor. “You know, it’s a pretty interesting event,” she hinted. “It’s a great part of May’s history, too. You should come tonight. I’m sure May would love to give you the scoop about the event beforehand, too.” The look May shot her was would’ve been pure venom, had it not been for the slight blush tinging her cheeks.

But Phil had other ideas, apparently. “It’ll make for a cooler special if it was from my point of view,” he shrugged. “I’ll enter, if that’s okay?” This time it was May’s jaw Piper worried about picking up off of the floor. To be honest, hers was dropping a little, too. Newbies didn’t just waltz into the Eating Extravaganza! Not even if they were newbies trying to win the heart of her boss.

“Uh. Yeah.” May shook her head. “I’m just going to be in the kitchen, prepping xiaolong bao . I’ll bring you some to eat.” With that, she was off to the kitchen, bumping into a few tables on her way.

“I daresay you just flustered the unflappable Melinda May,” Davis said casually, pulling out Piper’s chair for her before sitting down. “Now, Phil. What can we do for you?”

“I heard she was gay.”

“No way, girl like her? Gotta be straight.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you know you don’t have a chance.”

The whispers floated around Skye’s ears, and she frowned, absentmindedly shoving a piece of pizza in her mouth while trying to concentrate. Who were they talking about?

“Look, Wong couldn’t be gayer than if she’d showed up wearing flannel, leather boots, and yelled ‘GAY’ when they called her name. Trust me. Trust the gaydar.”

Jade Wong. The pizza suddenly felt slimy and rubbery in Skye’s mouth, and she spit it out. Kara gave her a weird look, but Skye just shook her head, and the other girl went back to talking their friend Raina’s ear off.

Jade Wong was gay. Supposedly, the small voice in the back of her head reminded her. (For some reason, it sounded an awful lot like Bobbi.) Rumors are rumors, Skye.

And yet, for such rumors, she was certainly intrigued.

There was only one place the LGBTQ congregated in school, she knew. Her friend Joey went every week without fail. Speaking of which... “Hey. Ramirez.” Joey turned, a piece of pizza halfway to his mouth. “First of all, gross. No one puts mango on pizza. But do you know if Jade Wong goes to GSA?”

“You have a crush on her.” It was funny how Joey was so blunt - Skye spent too much time around people that, for some reason, insisted on walking on eggshells around her. It was probably why they were friends. “Aren’t you straight, chica ?”

“I am!” Skye blurted out automatically. Maybe, the same voice added. “Shut up, Bobbi,” she muttered under her breath. Joey gave her a weird look. “Sorry. Voice in my head. So. Jade Wong? GSA? I just want to get to know her better, I promise ,” she said. Yeah. Know better who blessed her with those genetics. Damn, they’re good. “It’s a gay-straight alliance! I’m...the straight alliance!”

“Uh-huh.” Joey looked her as dubiously as he had when she’d denounced his mango pizza. “Sure you are.” It was only a matter of time before she found out, anyways. After all, he could only spend so many days listening to Skye talk about Bobbi. “And to answer your question, yes. Jade Wong goes to GSA. And yes, we have a meeting this afternoon. I’ll take you.” He nearly dropped his pizza when Skye grabbed his arm, squealing something that sounded weirdly like thank you thank you thank you gracias thank you!

The rest of the day seemed to pass by like molasses to Skye, who was on her toes waiting for the day to end. Finally, she was going to be in the same room as Jade Wong. Hopefully it was going to be without losing her cool, but if it went the same way as meeting any of her other crushes, she’d probably be a stuttering mess.

Wait. Crushes? Nah. Just a girl admiring another girl...admiring her hair. Her eyes. Does she have abs? Jesus. Admiration, Skye. You don’t want to touch them...no. Stop. You’re. Straight. Despite all of her talk earlier at lunch, it’d still taken Joey several tries to drag Skye into the room, “I thought you wanted to do this,” he hissed. “Quit dragging your heels!”

“I do!” Skye exclaimed, still remaining nervously at the doorway. “It’s just - I -” When she walked into that room, her label as a high schooler would change forever. She’d be known as a member of the GSA. No longer would she just be Skye, Bobbi’s sister. She’d be Skye, Bobbi’s sister and member of the GSA. She’d have something to her own.

“Going in?”

Skye turned to see amused green eyes twinkling down at her. A dark mane of hair tumbled over her right shoulder, almost reminiscent of the woman having swept a helmet off of her head... She gasped. Of course Jade Wong would show up when she was having a revelation.

Jade mistook the gasp of awe for something else, however, for the twinkle in her eyes disappeared, and she just pushed past Skye for a seat. Skye, watching her chances storm off into the distance, was already halfway to catching up to her. “Wait! Wait!” She skidded into the seat next to Jade’s before some freshman could catch it, waving off their glare. “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely, trying in vain to get Jade’s attention. “Did I do something to offend you?”

“Look, you can just cut right to the chase,” Jade deadpanned, lazily glaring at the sophom*ore. “Yeah, I was kicked out of boarding school. Yeah, I’m gay. No, I haven’t been in an orgy with Lena Luthor, that’s a rumor. Any more questions I haven’t heard yet?”

All Skye could manage was a squeak. Dear god, she’d embarrassed herself more than she could ever imagine doing. If only Bobbi could see her now. Her sister’d probably be in stitches and rolling on the ground. “I - I didn’t - I didn’t know, I’m sorry -”

Jade snorted again. “You didn’t know? Sure, and I wasn’t adopted.” When Skye was still red, refusing to look at her at all, she frowned. “Did you really not know?” Who was this girl, who hadn’t taken stock into any of the rumors being spread around school? Or, even better, something Jade dared not hope for - she didn’t believe them? “Have you heard the rumors?”

“I just heard a glimpse of them at lunchtime,” Skye replied, her eyes still wide. “I never believe them, anyways. They’re too speculative to be true.” It was her turn to give Jade the stink-eye. “ Are they true?”

“I told you everything they’ve made up rumors about,” Jade said flatly. “Kicked out. Gay. No orgy. That’s the truth, cold as stone.”

“Why’d you get kicked out?”

The corners of Jade’s mouth ticked up into a smirk, one that made Skye just a little weak in the knees. “Let’s just say they didn’t approve of... certain preferences.” Oh , Skye thought. Jade Wong really was gay... “Caught me with Veronica Sinclair, but I didn’t have enough money to get it covered up.”

“Alright, if we can get started today,” The teacher at the front, Mr. Jones, clapped his hands, causing the classroom to fall silent. “I see we have a few new faces.” A kind smile was directed at Skye, who blushed and looked down. “As most of you know, today’s the day when we do the pairings. For those of you who are unaware, this is when we pair our allies and LGBTQ friends. If you can pick your partners, great! If you can’t, then come on up and pick out of the appropriate hat, please.” Chairs shuffled against tile floor as swarms of kids walked up to the hat, some of the older kids already exchanging affirmations across the room.

Jade, for her part, looked at Skye, who seemed frozen to her seat. “Hey,” she whispered. Skye didn’t move a single move. “Hey. You. Kid that doesn’t believe in my rumors.” Brown eyes snapped to green. “Yeah. You. What are you?”

“Excuse me?” She was a lot of things, Skye thought indignantly. She was adopted. She was a proud Asian-American who could trash talk a senior citizen in chess and get her money’s worth over at the market every week. She was going to be comp sci major. She was going to be a kickass little sister who let her sister achieve great things. “What do you mean, what am I ?” If Jade thought she was going to get away with offending her with that deadpan attitude, she could shove it right up her ass, admiration be damned.

“Chill, kid.” Obviously, Jade had hit a nerve somewhere. It’d be interesting to find out just what. “I meant on the spectrum. You straight? Gay? Hella gay? Bi? Pan?”

“I.” Skye hadn’t even considered half of those terms. “I’m straight.”

“Oh. Good. You’re my partner. We’re going to be the best of friends, I can tell.” Even though the words had been deadpanned, giddiness flooded through Skye faster than endorphins. She’d get to admire Jade Wong up close. Jade freaking Wong. “So, what do you like to do for fun, best friend ?”

“Well, I’m trying to become a comp sci major,” Skye said shyly, twirling her hair around her fingers. Jade chuckled, giving her a fond smile. “I kinda just code and do nerdy sh*t for fun.” She wasn’t about to mention the part about working at May’s. Oh, no. Half of the school already knew she did it. She didn’t need her new best friend learning that. “But tell me about you. I’m sure you’re fascinating .” That’s what she’d come for, hadn’t she?

“Me?” Skye’s nod was so fast it was almost like her head had been replaced with a bobble’s. “There’s...there’s not a lot to tell.” No one had really bothered to get to know her since she’d arrived, losing interest once they’d confirmed the rumors. Jade bit her lip. “What do you want to know?”

Why do you look so pretty? How do you look so pretty? Can you teach me to ride you...your bike? Skye shook her head. “What’s your favorite color?”

Jade’s laugh caused everyone to turn and stare. “That’s what you want to know?” she asked incredulously. She had to admit, it was pretty refreshing. “You could literally ask me anything you wanted to know, and you ask me that?” Still, the hopeful look on Skye’s face didn’t cease. “It’s blue. I’ve always wanted to find someone with blue eyes. Something about them, you know?”

“Yeah,” Bobbi’s eyes were that pretty. She’d told her sister as much. “Like the sea and the sky at the same time, right?”

Jade nodded. “What’s your favorite food?”

Skye paused. “I...have a lot of favorite foods?” There. That was a safe answer. One that didn’t reveal she worked at a Chinese restaurant. “My mom tries to take me for new foods whenever she can, y’know?”

“I knew there was a reason you looked familiar.” Jade’s grin was wide, dazzling. Skye stared, unblinking. There was no way she was coming back from that smile. It was so pretty. How did she have such even teeth? “Don’t you work at May’s?”

The younger girl slumped. Was it too much to ask of the world that one person know when the decided to tell them? (Apparently.) “Yeah. Melinda May’s my mom. How’d you know?” After all, if a new girl could know just after a week, surely everyone else knew.

“I recognized you,” Skye’s head snapped up and was met with the smile once again. It was kind of like looking at the sun. If the sun was bright white, that is. “It’s not a bad thing,” Jade said quietly, patting Skye’s arm. Oh my god, she’s patting my arm. Calm, Skye. Calm. “You have a job, and you’re making money. That’s a lot more than half of the idiots around here can say, y’know?”

The bell rang then, saving Skye from any further humiliation. “Okay, if you’re done getting to know your new partner, I hope you’ll have a lot of fun with them in and out of school,” Mr. Jones called, clapping his hands. “I hope to see you all next week!” Students began filing out, and Skye was about to follow when she was stopped by a hand on her elbow.

“Getting rid of me so soon?” Even her eyes twinkle. sh*t. Straight. “I don’t even know your name.” That f*cking smirk. “I don’t let pretty girls go without knowing their names.”

“Skye. Skye May.”

“Skye,” Jade rolled her name around her tongue, and a burst of happiness exploded from nowhere in Skye’s chest. “Well, Skye May, if you’re going to be my new best friend, you can maybe at least give me your phone number.” In the twinkles lay a little bit of sincerity, pleading, and - was that hope? Skye shook her head and handed her phone over, unlocked and set to a new contact. Best not think about that now.

She got it back thirty seconds later with Jade’s name, number, and a silly selfie set as her contact photo. “I’m trusting you to text me, May,” were the taller girl’s parting words. “If not, I know where to find you.”

Skye half stumbled all the way home.

Chapter 9: Xiaolong Bao, Order 2

Chapter Text

“Skye! Where the hell have you been?”

When she’d gotten home from the GSA meeting (not thinking about Jade Wong the entire way, no, that would be very inappropriate, not to mention irresponsible), Skye’d expected there to be some chaos. After all, she knew tonight was the xiaolong bao eating competition - there were multiple orders of bao to be made. She expected one chef to be running around the kitchen - Chan, probably, but that was a regular Tuesday - but she certainly didn’t expect three , Fitz, her mother, and Bobbi all folding together soup buns so fast their hands were blurred.

Bobbi had that fierce proud look about her whenever she was hurried, Skye mused, watching the scene. At the moment, the taller blonde had thrown her hair into a ponytail that swung halfway down her back. She’d alway wondered where Bobbi had gotten her walk, the powerful one that exuded authority without her sister even needing to try.

A walk that, she realized too late, signaled the beginning of a tirade.

“I sent you a million texts!” She’d always loved when Bobbi’s eyes snapped at someone else. It usually meant they were in for a dressing down. Not so much this time. Skye guiltily checked her phone to find said messages. There they were, nestled in the upper left hand corner of her notifications bar. Whoops. “What happened?”

“I -” I stopped to get a kitten out of a tree. I got detention. Grant Ward asked me out. Skye snorted to herself. As much as she wanted that to happen, using that as an excuse would probably bring down the wrath of her sister and mother combined.

“Well?” Bobbi demanded. When her sister showed no sign of answering anytime soon, she sighed. “Come on. Chan quit, and we’re really behind on bao , which you would know if you’d checked your texts.” Thankful to be spared blurting out the truth - I had Joey take me to GSA because I heard Jade Wong was going to be there - Skye followed Bobbi into the kitchen, rolling up her sleeves before dumping her bag in a corner.

“Glad you could finally join us, Skye,” Fitz’s exasperation was right on par with Bobbi’s, it seemed. “I need more level sevens. No one does ‘em like you do,”

Skye nodded and busied herself scooping out the jellied meat, plopping it into the floured skin before pleating it together. She’d been making xiaolong bao since she’d been old enough to be trusted in the kitchen. Her hands pleated the skins as if they were on autopilot, giving her mind the opportunity to wander.

She still couldn’t believe the turn of luck she’d had this afternoon. First, to have run into Jade Wong at a GSA meeting. It’d been like it was meant to be. Secondly, to have effortlessly been assigned as her buddy.

Whatever good karma Skye had committed, she’d have to pay it forward soon. Obviously, she’d done something good to have been able to fall into the orbit of those green eyes. The rumors had always described them as being flinty, piercing, as if they’d been left in a snowstorm. And just like her sister, Jade was all self-assured confidence with a soft spot that one could fin if they were close enough.

Jade and Bobbi would be good together, she thought, setting down another dumpling. If Bob wasn’t completely straight. Her next grasp met the clang of a bowl, and she looked down at it, frowning. Huh. She’d probably done all of the level sevens on autopilot.

“Oh, good, you’re done,” May bustled over, several bowls in her hands. “We haven’t even started on the general orders yet, and you’re my best pleater. Come help me.” She set them down, and quietly, the two of them were rolling, pinching and pleating. “Were’d you go this afternoon?”

“Stayed at school.” She didn’t know if Bobbi and her mother were colluding, but she’d prefer that the less people that knew, the better. “Went to a club I wanted to try out.” May nodded, scooping up some more meat. “I...” Saying she’d gone to the GSA wasn’t necessarily telling, was it? After all, it was the Gay- Straight Alliance. “I went to GSA with Joey.”

“Oh?” Good, May thought to herself. There were a lot of theories she didn’t trust the school system with - especially their East Asian historical studies - but she supposed she had no choice but to put her faith in their clubs. They would be better informants to Skye, anyways. And Joey - that was some news. “What did you think?”

“I think...” That it was probably one of the better instances of karma that’d happened to her as of late. That Jade Wong was a mystery she couldn’t wait to learn about. “I think that it’s good on the gay - queer kids there, cause there’s totally more than just gay kids, to know who they are - I mean that they know who they are! And that they’re not fumbling around with their identities or anything.” There. No better way to do it.

May gave her a weird look, but folded the current dumpling in her hand anyways. “What about you?” The question was casual, but the weight behind it was heavy. “Were you able to decide who you are?”

The last of the meat was folded gracefully into a dumpling. “Straight,” Conviction, May noted. Perhaps she was simply making mountains out of molehills, and her daughter really was having a phase. “I’m straight, Mom.” Skye looked up. “Who d’you think’s going to win tonight?”

“It’s cheating if you’re not rooting for me, is it?” May laughed. “But I’ll forgive you this year if you root for your friends.”

“My friends?” Skye frowned. “I’m Hope’s babysitter, Mom. No one new’s competing, are they?”

“I thought Bobbi would’ve told you,” Her mother frowned. “One of your classmates is competing this year. I think you two were talking about her last week or so? The Wongs’ daughter? Jade?”

But Skye’s heart had already dropped through her stomach.

Phil had never seen more red in his life than when he walked into May’s that night. Banners covered the already red walls, every table was covered in red, and someone had taken the liberty of making sure that the disco ball attached to the ceiling was radiating only red light. I knew red was the lucky Chinese color, but this seems...

“A little overkill?” Mack met him by the door, decked out in a red bib. “Yeah. But you can never have too much luck when you’re eating these things.” He handed Phil his own bib, which, he was surprised to find, had his name embossed onto it. “Lucky man, getting yours for free. People usually have to cough up fifteen bucks for one of these things.” He led Phil over to the table, where the other competitors sat. “Guys, this is Phil Coulson.” Several of them nodded in greeting. “He works for a paper.”

“Newspaper man?” One of the older men turned to him, holding out his hand. Phil shook it, slightly nervous. “Name’s Andy Tai. Wife Ashley’s over here,” A sweep of the hand. “My two kids, Arthur and Angela.”

“Phil Coulson.” Phil waved at the other three before looking down the table. Ten minutes and five handshakes of various strengths later, he’d scoped out his competition. There was Mack, of course, but there was also Hope. It was easy to see why she had her father wrapped around her little finger. Mack’s story hadn’t done her justice.

“Daddy says I can’t have the higher levels until I’m this tall,” Hope pointed somewhere towards the ceiling. “That’s okay though, because he always falls to the ground when he eats an eight.” Phil stowed that mental fact away in his head. Never knew when he’d need it to boost his endurance.

There were the Koenig brothers - he believed to be there about four in total - and there was absolutely no way to tell them apart. Billy, Sam, Eric, and Thurston all had the same general expression of bland interest on their faces, and probably would keep the same smile on their faces even when steam was coming out of their ears.

Piper and Davis he’d waved to when he’d walked in, and Skye’d looked busy laughing with a raven-haired girl on the other end of the tables, Bobbi watching both of them like a hawk. Best not go near that.

Mrs. Lao was easily their oldest competitor, but not lacking in spirit. She’d shaken Phil’s hand vigorously until he feared it’d come out of his arm socket. “You write good in the papers, yeah?” He nodded. “You good to Qiaolian. I can hurt you.” It probably left Phil more shaken than anything, because since when had he been involved with someone named Qiaolian...?

“She told you my Chinese name, didn’t she?”

Phil turned to see May, decked out in her own bib and determined expression. Although it was sort of marred with embarrassment, the blush on her cheeks matching the night’s color scheme. “Qiaolian, yeah,” she said, answering Phil’s unspoken question. “It got relegated to my middle name when I came here. Can’t remember why exactly I chose it."

“You're competing tonight?”

May snorted. “Of course. What kind of restaurant owner would I be if I didn’t compete in my own competitions?”

“A fair one?” Because really, May would’ve had years of practice eating the higher levels. Phil didn’t stand a chance. Not even against Hope Mackenzie.

“Actually, that’s where you’re wrong. Get your pen, this is a scoop,” The twinkle in May’s eyes was enough to make Phil roll his own before reaching for his notebook. “Wow. I didn’t know you still actually used a notebook and pen. I was joking.”

“Some people use voice recorders. I like the notebook still.” He tucked his pen behind his ear instinctively, May’s eyes following it. “What’s your scoop, May?”

May gave him an exasperated grin. “Well, every year, Fitz uses a different pepper for each of the higher levels, so there’s a new surprise in for you every year, regardless of whether you’re a veteran or a newbie.” When she saw Phil scribbling frantically, the grin grew wider. “Should I repeat that for you again? Just in case you didn’t catch it all?”

Phil tucked his pen behind his ear. “Nope.” It was his turn to grin at May. “I’m going to go get a sense of the atmosphere. You know, figure out just how many people are rooting for you to lose.” May gaped, offended. “Doesn’t feel so great now, does it? Qiaolian? ”

“I’m going to demolish you, Phil Coulson.”

“Sure,” He sent a parting wink her way before pulling Piper aside with him, the two of them going around to the tables.

“Ladies and gentlemen, are we ready to rumble??? Nǚshìmen, xiānshēngmen, wǒmen zhǔnbèi hǎole ma? ” Fitz’s loud voice swept over the dining room, causing all of them to look towards the chef. “Welcome to May’s Xiaolong Bao Eating Extravaganza!”

“I guess that’s our cue,” May said with a small smile. “You ready to get your ass whooped, Phil?”

There was no way in hell he was going to lose. “You’re on, May.”

The entire restaurant had been thrown into a frenzy.

Hope had tapped out first, to no one's surprise. (Fitz made it a habit every year to lessen the usual amount of spice in her dumplings - what kind of chef would he be if he didn't give a 7 year old a fighting chance?) Davis had followed (again due to Fitz, who’d spiked his with an unnecessary amount of sriracha), then Piper, Angela Tai, one of the Koenig brothers, Arthur Tai, Mrs. Lau, another one of the Koenig brothers and both Tai parents. Skye, Bobbi, Jade, Phil, May, two of the Koenigs and Mack all remained, most of them beginning to reach the upper levels of dumpling spiciness.

While a lot of the patrons had filled out their brackets accordingly, none of them had expected Phil.

“Is this how it turns out every year?” Phil muttered to Bobbi, who’d winced upon throwing the last of the level sixes into her mouth. He was in the midst of his own sixes, the need for water steadily creeping up in his throat. “Just y’all competing for the trophy?”

The level sevens were placed before Bobbi by a sullen looking Piper (“Next year I’m going to out-eat you all”), and she sighed before digging in. Her eyes went wide. “These aren’t spicy at all,” she said incredulously before shoveling the rest of them into hr mouth. “And yeah, basically,” she said apologetically to Phil, signaling for her level eights. On her other side, Skye huffed, throwing her own sevens into her mouth before waving her own arm. “One year, I think Ashley Tai took the win because May and Hope were getting over bronchitis.”

Phil popped his last six into his mouth and waved for his sevens. Bobbi’d been right - they weren’t spicy at all. He was onto the eights before he could blink, missing the smirk Fitz had on his face when Davis delivered all three of their bamboo steamers.

“Is that - oh my, looks like the competitive Melinda May has kicked in!” Fitz crowed, and heads turned to see May take the entire steamed dish, tilt it backwards, and slurp up not one, not two, but three xiaolong bao into her mouth before slapping it down. Half of the restaurant burst into loud, boisterous cheers. Perhaps their brackets were saved after all. “ Zhè shì sì hào, wǔ gè kěnéng rēng jìn tā zuǐ lǐ de sì gè xiǎolóng bǎo! Tā jìnrùle yīgè xīn de shuǐpíng!”

Bobbi and Skye shared a look before steeling their expressions and doing the exact same thing to their level eights. Unfortunately, it was also the same time as the level sevens decided to kick in.

“I think the heat’s a little too much for our competitors,” Fitz smirked, while Bobbi, Skye, Jade and Phil basically threw their glasses of water on themselves. Skye took a step further, stuffing the tablecloth into her mouth in hopes that the dry cloth would leach the spiciness off of her tongue.

Jade gave her a humored, half-pitied look before sliding over her glass of water and going back to her level eights. The younger May embarrassedly spat out her mouthful of tablecloth and drank the water instead, sipping it slowly. Phil had an inkling she wasn’t going to live that one down for a long, long while.

Mack tapped out to a loud groan, stumbling towards the other end of the restaurant, where rice and milk galore awaited him. It was down to five.

Jade hissed immediately upon the level nine touching her tongue, setting it down and tapping out. The sigh was loud enough that it made Skye and Bobbi snort, the former getting spicy soup up her nose and shrieking loud enough to let her dumpling drop to the floor with a plop .

“That’s a drop!” Fitz nearly shrieked. Phil had a funny feeling his bracket hadn’t been in her favor. “Skye May is eliminated, folks! Update your brackets!” Mumbles went around the restaurant, everyone scratching out their odds and handing money over. His level nines were set in front of him, a dangerous red glow emanating from the skins.

“Uh, May?” he asked, tentatively picking one up with his chopsticks. May looked over from where she was halfway through them.

“Uh, Phil?”

“Are you sure these are safe to eat?” He watched as Bobbi put one into her mouth and automatically turned red, her gag reflex kicking in. Their waters sloshed everywhere when she slapped the table multiple times. “I’m not really...”

“Are you tapping out, Phil?” The dangerous glint in May’s eye was enough to egg him on, and he put it carefully into his mouth. Hm. It wasn’t bad. He’d had worse when he’d visited Spanish Harlem. But to eat them one after another....? Phil thought back to the large, burly man that’d stared him down that time, rippling muscles making sure he ate those ghost wings. Yeah. He could do this. From the other side of the table, one of the Koenig brothers tapped out, collapsing into a coughing fit.

May met the last one’s eyes. “You’re going down, Thurston.”

“Billy.”

“Dammit! I’m going to get it one day.” May signalled for her level tens at the same time Phil threw down his chopsticks, waving his hand as well. The restaurant had gone so silent one could hear a napkin drop.

If the level nines had looked dangerous, the level tens looked like the devil incarnate. Even May was looking at them doubtfully. “Fitz?”

“Yes, May?”

“You mind telling me where you got these peppers?”

“Undisclosed chef’s food truck in Brooklyn Heights,”

“So not something illegal?”

“What kind of person do you take me for?”

“Had to check,” May threw one into her mouth, her eyes beginning to water. “Jeez, Fitz. Strongest pepper you’ve had in years. I don’t think you’ve had them this spicy since you started here.”

Phil, on the other hand, was pretty sure he knew exactly where said peppers had come from. The last time he’d eaten them, they’d been from exactly where Fitz had said they were. And the last time he’d eaten them, he hadn’t moved from the toilet for a solid day. At least he knew what was in his shampoo now.

The prize had better be worth it.

“Six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, Phil Coulson is on his way to taking his first xiaolong bao trophy!” Fitz’s Scottish brogue was slipping out in his excitement. “Can he do it before May can? There goes Billy Koenig, it’s just the two of them - AND I DON’T BELIEVE IT! HE’S DONE IT!”

Every head in the room turned around to find someone who’d bet on Phil winning, confusion ruffling up among them when none of them apparently had. Well. He couldn’t blame them. He was pretty sure none of them had known he was going to compete.

“Money’s mine!”

A murmur went up when the voice came from the back of the room, the winner straightening up and fist pumping and turning out to be...Skye?

“You bet against me?” May asked, aghast. This was betrayal of the highest kind. Skye wasn’t going to see her bed in the morning. Nor half of her closet, if she could get Bobbi to help her. “After all I did for you -!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, forget about that,” Bobbi said archly. “You bet against me ?” What were sisters for, if not to support each other through competition bets?

“Me, too!” Hope looked just as offended, although more in jest than in anything. “You didn’t think I could win, Skye?”

”Look, I bet on Phil because he’s a good guy,” Skye said. “And he reviews restaurants for a living. He probably has the most seasoned taste buds out of all of us. If anything, he was probably able to stand half of the spices in the xiaolong bao because he’d eaten spicer things.” She shot him a hopeful look. “Right, Phil?”

Well, she wasn’t wrong. “I mean...I’ve eaten the pepper Fitz used in his level tens before...” His stomach growled. “And I’ll definitely be paying for it the same way I did last time.” Probably worse: the last time he’d eaten it, he’d been in his twenties. The thirties weren’t as forgiving, he was coming to learn.

“This just in, Skye, your total’s come to over three grand,” Fitz handed the money, freshly collected in an envelope, over to her. The smaller brunette clapped a hand over her mouth, tears springing to her eyes as the whole restaurant clapped.

Even Phil thought he was going to cry when Skye immediately turned around and handed the envelope to Bobbi. “Look, I know it’s like, two years away,” she began. “But f*ck, Bobbi, you’re gonna change the world. The best law school in the world is expensive. It’s...I know it’s not much, but I want you to have it. Just remember me when you’re living in the Upper East Side, yeah?”

Through the hubbub, Jade Wong watched Bobbi hug her younger sister with much more than what seemed to be sisterly affection and smiled wanly. Perhaps Skye May wasn’t as straight as she thought she was. Whether she knew that yet was another question, and she would certainly take it upon herself. After all, friends helped friends get their queer wings.

Chapter 10: Ginger Ice Cream

Chapter Text

"She just gave me the whole envelope, Kar," Bobbi slammed her locker door shut. "There was three f*cking grand in there." Her friend raised an eyebrow, shifting the books in her arms. "She said she wanted me to be able to go to a good law school and kick ass."

"She's your sister," Kara added. "Sisters support sisters,y'know. Just because mine's out for my head all the time doesn't mean yours is," She frowned, reconsidering the total. "Three grand? And she didn't keep any of it for herself?" Bobbi shook her head. "I wouldn'tnotsay thank you, I guess..."

"I just wish I knew what she was up to," Skye hadnevergiven up money so willingly. Hell, she'd never givenanythingup willingly, whetherit'dbeen the last piece ofcheongfunduring dim sum or a dollar to help her sister pay for the train fare. And three thousand? What was the catch?

But Kara was already looking over her shoulder. "Well, I can tell you what she's up to now," she said quietly, pointing. "Looks like she's getting charmed by the one and only Grant Ward." Bobbi followed her gaze. Skye seemed to be utterly taken by the taller football player, giggling and blushing whenever he said something witty - which apparently was every other line.

Something roiled in Bobbi's belly. Jealousy, perhaps? No, not that. Someone'd noticed Skye for who she was, and not because she was sloppy seconds for her sister. That pride resonated in her chest, rosy and bright. Apprehension?Hersister finally making it out into the dating scene? But that was impossible as well, Skye'd dated plenty of boys before this one...but it was definitely some sort of uneasiness roiling in her stomach.

"You know my friend Linc, right? Lincoln Slade?"

There it was. Bobbi's first party as a freshman, charmed by Lincoln Slade's words that he'd be her belle of the ball. The pulsing lights, alcohol mixing with sweat in the air, the crispness of her first beer. Her naive, fourteen-year-oldself hadbelieved Slade's idea of a small party meant a gathering of friends, perhaps some video games and pizza.

That fourteen-year-old had grown up quickly that night. In more ways than one. She remembered hands sliding over skinshewasn't even familiar with, told herself that she should behappysomeone was paying attention to her this way, that she'd be the talk of her friend group the next day. That despite where she'd come from, despite her sh*tty parents and her time in the streets, someone had wanted her for something other than a check. (So maybe the alcohol had embittered her a little.)

She remembered fuzzily her t-shirt on the floor, her jeans discarded in the corner of the room, a hungry hand sweeping between her legs.

It still made her nauseous every time she thought about it.

"I didn't even know they were friends," Kara said uneasily. Kara had been the reason Bobbi hadn't ended up completing a rape kit that night; completely by accident stumbling into the room with another boy's lips locked to hers. The hungry hand had yanked itself out of her underwear then, leaving Bobbi cold, humiliated, and shaky.

"Hey, hey, are you okay?" the guy had asked a still-shaking Bobbi. "Slade's a douchey asshat - you don't deserve that, trust me - but are you okay?" He placed a hand on her shoulder, and Bobbi flinched heavily. She hadn't meant to, but any sort of touch was freaking her out at the moment.

"Let me," Kara had said, although Bobbi hadn't known her name at that moment. "Honey, can you tell me what happened here?" Slowly, Bobbi began to stumble out the details of the incident, the grip on her clothes loosening. "Okay," she said finally when Bobbi got out the words 'touched me' and 'there'. "Let's get you dressed and get you home, okay? Is there anyone we can call?"

As drunk as she was, ice cold adrenaline still flooded Bobbi's system at the thought of someone calling May. What kind of disappointed would she be if she turned up back home, still reeking of alcohol when her adoptive mother believed she'd gone out for pizza? No. They couldn't call May. She shook her head vigorously.

Kara nodded. "Okay, let's just get you home, then," Together, she and the boy hoisted Bobbi onto their shoulders and carried her out to the car, Bobbi's head still spinning from the alcohol.

Mack had met them at the front door of the restaurant with a look that was both severe disappointment and relief. "Thank you both," he said quietly. "I knew that Lincoln Slade kid was trouble." To Bobbi, he said, "You're getting a cold shower, some water, and some rest. I'll see you in the morning."

"You can't tell Mom," Bobbi had bleated. "Please don't tell Mom."

To this day, Bobbistillhadn't told May what'd happened. Her mother still believed that she'd gone out for pizza and had come home drowsy from the cheese instead of drowsy with alcohol. She hadn't even told her about the assault, wanting to put things behind her and not wanting May to think she wasn't capable of being tough.

It was the real reason she'd chosen to pursue law - not from the awestruck experience she'd had in Hell's Kitchen when she was younger, as May believed (and loved to tell anyone they met) - but because the thought of putting someone like Lincoln Slade behind bars, for committing such a slimy, disgusting offense? She'd be lying if she said that the thought didn't make her blood sing.

She hadn't told Skye, either. As broken as fourteen-year-old Bobbi had been, thirteen-year-old Skye, who had basically saved her life five years ago in rainy back alleys, was still pure to her. Untouched. Clean in ways that Bobbi hadn't been since that night.

"Bobbi?"

Bobbi yanked her head out of her own reveries to see Kara waving a hand in her face. "Yeah?"

"You literally spaced out for a whole five minutes," Kara said patiently. "In those five minutes, Grant Ward managed to ask your sister out, and she said yes." The roiling was back in Bobbi's gut again. "We're gonna see a lot of his ugly mug around, aren't we?"

"Yeah, well,you'renot going to be the one who's going to have to tell my mom Skye's dating a f*ckboy." She'd also (although would die before admitting to it) have to pay Mack ten bucks and a night of babysitting Hope. Her baby sister was apparently still straighter than a pair of chopsticks.

"Bobbi! Kar!" Yup. A glowing, breathless face, eyes wide with newfound possibility. Bobbi remembered this face well. It wasn't hard to remember when it was the last innocent expression one saw on their faces. "Grant Ward asked me out! Finally!"

If Kara was disturbed by their observations becoming reality, she hid it much better than Bobbi did. "Congrats,lilMay!" she grinned, mussing Skye's hair. The smaller sophom*ore struggled to get out of her grip. "You've gotyourselfsa man!"

"Knock it off, Bennet," Skye scowled, but she was still flushed with victory. "He said he'd been admiring me from afar," she gushed to Bobbi as the three of them started down the sidewalk. "He said I was the prettiest girl in the whole school, which,psh,I know so much better than that, butstill! He thinks I'm cute!" The smaller May actually bounced on her heels. "He wants to take me to homecoming!"

Don't bother to pick out a dress,Bobbi wanted to tell her younger sister.He'll drop you faster than you drop hotxiaolongbaosas soon as the next seemingly unattainable pretty girl comes along. Homecoming will end up with your head spinning and hishandsplaces they shouldn't be."Be careful," she found herself saying instead. "You don't know what he really wants."

"Me,Bobbi," Skye answered, hurt and confused that Bobbi was shooting her down so quickly. Was her sister really doubting her ability to get a date? After all the years she'd spent trying to get out of her shadow? "He wantsme.Not you,me. Is that so hard to believe?"

"No, it's just -" How was Bobbi supposed to warn her sister off without telling her about her own past? Andher? Had she really hurt Skye's chances that badly? "He's bad news, okay, Skye? Trust, me, please. Just this once." She stared beseechingly at Skye, knowing that the stare normally made her sister blush, for some reason. "Please."

But Skye had already made up her mind. "He chose me for once, Bobbi. Deal with it."

Skye's entrance into the restaurant was all noise, the door slamming shut, chairs scraped to the side. On the way home, her anger had steeled into a scowl that had every patron of the restaurant steering absolutely clear of her as she walked through the dining room.

Whether Phil was just terrible at reading emotions or he was just an idiot, he'd never know.

"Hey, Skye, I was wondering if I could get your interview today, May said you weren't working -?"

"f*ck off, Phil"was all he heard before the door to their upstairs apartment slammed shut in his face. He did dare say he had to fix his hat a little.

"Well, that was rude."

"Does that mean Skye's not babysitting me today?" In all of his haste to get Skye's interview, he hadn't noticed that Hope had sidled up to the same door, staring at it with all of thedeapanan eight-year-old could. "Well, who's gonna make sure I don't break into the kitchen?" Inquisitive brown eyes turned on Phil. "Fitz usually ends up setting something on fire when I'm in there."

"I - well - "Hecertainly couldn't. He had an article to write, even though the subject had just gone up in flames - he could just make something up. Journalists did that on their most time-crunched days, didn't they? In a panic, Phil looked around the restaurant. Mack was busy serving tables, Fitz was in the back kitchen, Skye was...well, he knew where she was, and Bobbi was sulkily sitting at a table, playing with a single chopstick.

As much as Phil had a deadline, he was probably a better choice than a moody teenager with a potential weapon. His beliefs were only solidified when Bobbi twirled the chopstick a little too fast for his liking. "You're with me today, Hope," he said, hoping Mack wouldn't kill him for taking the liberty. "I don't think we've met officially." Phil held out his hand. "Phil Coulson."

"You won thexiaolongbao eatingcompetition." Hope slapped his hand in a high-five. "Solid. I don't think anyone's beat Miss May since I was alive."

"And that's how it's going to be for the rest of my life. Starting next year." May swung into Phil's line of sight, easily picking up the eight-year-old with a grin. "So. Hope. Is Skye not hanging out with you today? What'd she do to you?"

"Skye's mad," Hope said wisely, somehow knowing how to put gravity into the smallest amount of words possible. "She stomped in and slammed the door in Phil's face." Phil watched as May's own expression went stormy dark, although whether it was because her daughter had been so disrespectful or because she'd specifically disrespectedhim,he wasn't sure. "And Bobbi's sad at the table, so Phil said he'd be my babysitter till Dad was off!"

"It's really not a lot of trouble," Phil explained hastily when May gave him a surprised look. "I just have to get two interviews tomorrow from you guys. And Roz double-teamed me to try a new ice cream parlor in Midtown, I thought I'd take Hope with me."

How did Hope manage to pull such a wide grin from May?"Well, you're in luck," she said to Hope. "You're getting not one cool babysitter, but two this afternoon!"

"Two?" Hope looked as confused as Phil felt. "Who's the other one?"

"Me!" The smaller girl did a fist pump at May's declaration. "Let me go get my bag and we'll go, okay, honey?" Hope nodded happily as May headed back towards the office. Phil could only stare. He was going for ice cream. WithMelinda. Granted, it was forwork,and granted, it waswitha small child in tow, but they weregoing.Together.To get something other than Chinese food. Was this a date? Were they dating? Oh no. He wasn't ready for this.

"Mr. Phil? You look kinda pale." Hope was tugging at his sleeve, and Phil blushed. "You okay? Should I get Miss May?" He shook his head silently as May arrived back on the scene, that same smile on her face and bag in hand.

"Phil? You good? Last night'sbaomaking a comeback?"

"Are you sure yours aren't? I did win, after all," he sassed back immediately, and Hope gasped.

"Shots fired, Miss May!"

May had been somewhat skeptical of the new ice cream placePhil'dsuggested. Twenty three flavors? What kind of place evendidthat? Furthermore, what kind of place actually did thatwell?"Apple cider? What do you mean, apple cider is an ice cream flavor?"

Hope and Phil looked at her like she was crazy. "You've never had apple cider ice cream before?" Now would be a very bad time to bring up her lactose sensitivity, May decided. "That's it, you're getting apple cider ice cream." Phil frowned when she brought out her wallet. "This one's on me. Company credit card, remember?"

This was starting to feel very much like a date. If they hadn't had Hope in tow...

"Mr. Phil?" Hope looked up politely but expectantly. Phil gave her an indulging smile and bent down to her level.That was good,May noted unconsciously in the back of her head.Treats kids likethey'reequals, not inferior.(Where the hell had that thought come from?)

"What's up, Hope? Decided what flavor you want yet? I think you can get more than one."

"I know you said your company's paying for everything, but can I get a sugar cone? And can we bring some back for Daddy and Skye and Bobbi?" Sure enough, when Phil looked over at the cones, a sugar cone was indeed more expensive. "Skye and Bobbi looked sad today, and ice cream cheers up everything!"

Ice cream might not speed up a gay awakening,May thought ruefully. If her daughters had fought about that again, one of them was most definitely crawling into her bed tonight. And while she appreciated their willingness to be close, she'd somehow managed to adopttwodaughters that were cover hoggers. It was getting cold, okay? But she couldn't very well tell that to Hope. "Sure, honey," she said instead, and Hope's face was painstakingly similar to Skye's whenever she saw the creamy treat. "What do you think they'd like?"

Hope studied the board for an alarmingly long amount of time. "PB&J," she said finally. "'Causethey'resisters, and sisters are supposed to go together like PB&J, right?" Both Phil and May looked surprised at the comparison. "They're good together!'

"Half a pint of PB&J...actually, let's make it a pint," Phil said decisively.

May frowned. "Shouldn't we try it first before we lug a couple of pints home?" If they ended up eating subpar ice cream, she'd rather give it to one of the homeless people she'd passed on the way there. "I'm not spending hard-earned money on terrible ice cream."

"You're not wrong," Phil mused, and the matter was closed until they each cradled a cup of ice cream in front of them, squished into a booth. Sunlight shone through the window onto their table, slanting some of them in a golden glow. Hope watched it catch both Phil and May, their staredown highlighted in a dusky spotlight.

More specifically, it highlighted their staring contest. "You eat first," May challenged. "As the reviewer, you should have the first official bite." Guiltily, Hope put her spoon down. Mack had always told her to wait to be told to eat first.

"You're my guest," Phil shot back. "You should have the first bite."

"Well, really, I'm indebted to you for all of the press you're giving to the restaurant, and first is the best -"

"First is the worst, actually, and if you really wanted to make me feel good you'd go first so I can go second and have the best ice cream ever -"

"That's terrible, Phil, it really is, expecting me to make you feel good -"

"Hey, you said it, not me,"

"There is achild!" May finally said, blushing deeply. The look on Phil's face could only be described aspurevictory. "Fine. I'll eat first. Oh, Hope, honey. You can eat."Thank gosh.Hope picked up her spoon and shoved it into her mouth, frowning when the taste was acrid and bitter.

"Miss May?" She swished the spoon around her mouth, trying to figure out what was going on with it. "My ice cream tastes weird." May sunk her spoon into Hope's cookies and cream, popping it into her mouth.

Well. At least this took away any pretense of this being a date. No good date would've had such terrible ice cream. "That isdefinitelynot what cookies and creamtasteslike," she affirmed. "You can throw itaway,if you'd like." Phil frowned and did the same, his nose squishing adorably. May had to fight the urge to chuckle. "Yup. You're not the only one that thinks so."

"Oh god," Phil said, his nose still scrunched in disgust. "What kind of Oreo -" He took a scoop of his watermelon sherbert.Nope. Regret. Regret. Abort. Abort. Where's mywater."That's way too sweet. Nope. Bye." He jotted some notes down at lightning speed before fishing a bottled water out of his bag and chugging it down.

May took a bite of her own ice cream - ginger, which she'd been surprised to find somewhere outside of Chinatown - and waited for the subtle kick to make itself known. Sourness immediatelyshrivelledup what was left of her tastebuds instead, and she flinched. "Forgetxiaolongbao," she muttered. "Next year's eating competition is from here." Just to make sure she hadn't missed something, she tried another bite. Nope. Just as sour as before.Oh, god. How did they manage to mess up ginger ice cream? I'm scarred for life. The rest of it.

Phil stood and threw his ice cream out. Hope immediately scrambled to her feet and followed. Her sugar cone was still clutched in her hand, and both adults looked at it enviously. "Was it good?" Phil asked. "It'sfroma box. It has to be good, right?"

Hope crunched the cone, making a face and swallowing. "It tastes like sugar. Just sugar."

"One out of ten, would not recommend," Phil concluded. "Got it."

"One out of ten?" May asked.

"One of out ten. Because at least I got to see all of your faces eating terrible ice cream." They exited the shop and into the street, making a mild beeline for the local grocery on the corner. "Let's get some decent ice cream for the rest of your family, yeah? I have a feeling Skye wouldn't appreciate subpar ice cream." Hope nodded vigorously.

"You think they're gonna have PB&J ice cream, Mr. Phil? 'Cause I think Bobbi'nSkye still need it..."

Chapter 11: Jellyfish

Chapter Text

“Bobbi, you’re off for the afternoon,” May said as soon as Bobbi walked through the doors after school. “Phil needs his interviews, and since the both of you were...” She paused to phrase it delicately. “ Unavailable yesterday, I’m sending you and Fitz.” On cue, Fitz strolled out of the kitchen, wearing a black button up, a cardigan, and a lavender tie.

Bobbi jokingly averted her eyes. “Fitz, your tie burns. Go change it, please, for the love of everything spicy.” She got a punch in the arm for her troubles. “No, I’m serious, though. Go change your tie. It doesn’t match your shirt.” The Scottish chef sighed and slumped back through the kitchen, muttering something about ‘finding a girlfriend that appreciated lavender ties’. Bobbi snorted. He’d have a hard time on that front.

“Afternoon, Bobbi. Hey, Mel!” Both mother and daughter startled at the nickname, Melinda at the ease in which it’d rolled off of Phil’s tongue and in which she’d accepted it, Bobbi at the sense of impending doom that came on whenever someone called her mother by a nickname.

When was May going to taser him into the carpet? Any time now, surely -?

“Hey, Phil. No box today, I’ll bring you Fitz’s favorite.”

Holy sh*t, she didn’t taser him into the carpet. Bobbi’s first thought was to bolt and tell Skye, but then she remembered that the May in question was still at school, fawning over Grant Ward at football practice. Nor was she talking to her at the moment. Of course. Everything that could’ve gotten between us, and it came down to the f*cking Y chromosome.

“Sounds good. Bobbi, you ready?” The eldest May daughter nodded silently - half in shock, half in resignation - and followed Phil over to what was lovingly dubbed the ‘Phil table’. Piper, Davis and Mack had christened it as such, going so far as to vehemently bar patrons from sitting at the table by the window whenever Phil was in. (If Mack was asked, he would deny actually picking up a member of the mafia and sitting them down somewhere else. So would Piper and Davis. Just less convincingly.)

Piper set down two table settings with a grin and left, the awkward silence between the two of them expanding until it was forcing Bobbi’s eyes to look anywhere but at Phil. Truth was, she was still sort of in shock. “I can’t believe you didn’t get tasered into the carpet.”

“Tasered into the carpet?” Melinda May, taser someone into the carpet? Why hadn’t he heard of this before, pray tell? “What do you mean, tasered into the carpet?” Phil wondered if Mel was really capable of that. She did host the mafia in the dining room, it was true...

“You didn’t know?” At Phil’s still-confused look, Bobbi leaned in conspiratorially. “The last time someone asked May out on a date, she ended up tasering him into the carpet.” Oh. That made sense. Was it wrong for him to feel vehemently victorious against this man he didn’t even know?

“Why...why’d she taser him into the carpet?”

Bobbi shrugged fluidly. “She won’t tell us why. Skye bugged her for a week before May made her clean the bathrooms for asking.” A talented pair of chopsticks scooped up a piece of jellyfish. “So. What do you want to know?” Phil got out his pen, ready to ask Bobbi for her life story, before she chewed and grinned. “Wait. Try the food.”

The jellyfish was something that couldn’t be described as anything else as a slimy crunch, cold slipperiness migrating to his cheek and doing the wriggle. Phil fought the urge to fish it out of his mouth. “Bobbi. What.” The hell, he wanted to finish. “ What? ”

“Sorry I’m late, someone insisted that my tie was off-color,” Fitz, harried, pulled the chair beside Bobbi back and sat in. “Ah,” he said matter-of-factly when he caught Phil’s expression. “You’ve had the jellyfish. My favorite.” Bobbi’d pulled the same trick on him the first time he’d tried it - but really, the joke had been on her.. Hopefully she hadn’t told him they were worms yet.

The look the taller blonde gave him suggested that yes, she had just been about to get to the punchline of the joke. Coulson would thank him later. Served her right for telling him his tie didn’t match. It was a lavender tie. What didn’t go with lavender? One day, Leopold Fitz would find a woman that appreciated lavender ties. Even though today wasn’t that day.

“So,” Phil said, after he’d felt Bobbi and Fitz had glared at each other for an appropriate amount of time. “Which one of you wants to go first?” Chef and server exchanged glances, seemingly having an entirely mental battle before Fitz threw his hands up.

“There’s not much to say,” he said finally when Phil got his pen and notepad ready. “My mum raised me for as long as I can remember. We’ve been coming to May’s since I was little, and when I got old enough to work, May offered me a job.”

“That’s not true,” Bobbi butted in, batting Fitz’s chopsticks away from the last piece of jellyfish. “The first time he showed up, he ended up insulting Chan Ho because he thought his dishes weren’t spicy enough.” As if to prove his point, the Scottish chef reached for the bottle of Sriracha on the table, upending it over the jellyfish on his plate.

“Why, hello there,” May said kindly to the small boy who’d run into the restaurant. “Are you lost?” It’d been a slow night for customers, all of the servers lounging around in the dining room and the chef taking a smoke break for an undetermined amount of time. At least this kid looked like he’d provide some entertainment, lost or not.

“‘M not lost,” the kid answered with a surprisingly strong Scottish accent. “I’d like t’ speak t’ your chef, please,”

“Leopold Alistair Fitz!” A portly, redheaded woman hurried in, glasses and handbag askew. “How many times must I tell you that you can’t leave the house like that!” She was more recognizable, at the very least. Alice Fitz wasn’t someone that was easily forgotten. “You don’t know what could’ve happened to you!”

May stepped forward, a bemused smile on her face. “Mrs. Fitz,” she said. “I didn’t know you had a son,” It made sense as to why she kept asking for extra napkins and hot sauce every time she ordered out. Chan had made it very clear if he’d had to put a handful of hot sauce packets into a takeout package one more time, he’d walk.

“‘Course she does.” The kid puffed his chest out, a proud look in his eyes. “M’names Leo Fitz, I’m eight years old, and I’d like t’ speak to your chef, please,” May looked between the exasperatedly exhausted mother and expectant son, already half knowing how this was going to turn out. “Your Ma Po tofu isn’t spicy enough,”

It was if Chan’s hearing had been attuned to hear the words ‘not spicy enough’, because the next thing they knew, said chef was in the dining room, wielding a giant pot of hot sauce. “My Ma Po tofu always spicy enough!” he half shrieked. “You no think it spicy, have all spicy you want!” Mrs. Fitz let out a loud yell when the bright red goop was suddenly splattered all over her progeny, the affronted chef already stalking back towards the kitchen.

Bobbi and Skye, who’d heard the commotion from upstairs (it was hard not to hear a screaming Szechuan man through the bathroom vents), had rushed downstairs upon hearing the scream and had skidded into the dining room behind Fitz just in time to get covered in the same.

Silence.

Then Skye started screaming.

“MY EYES!” Servers scrambled to get wet wipes and towels to clean off the May daughters - they’d seen firsthand what it was like to neglect them in crises - but no one noticed young Leopold Fitz take a fingerful of sauce from the top of his head and pop it in his mouth.

“That’s why,” he remarked casually a few seconds later, as if he just hadn’t been doused with liquid fire. “There’s not enough red pepper flakes.” He made his way towards the kitchen, not even flinching when Chan brandished a knife with garlic at him. “You need more red pepper flakes,”

“Chan Ho Yin make fire, no one tell Chan Ho Yin how to make fire - !” The chef was just about ready to dismember the small Scottish lad when he dumped an entire container of red pepper flakes into the pot of hot sauce, calmly taking a spoonful and tasting it.

“Bloody hell, there ‘t is,” Fitz gasped out, his eyes watering. Chan was so thrown by the image of a kid crying that he didn’t even move an inch for his knife. “Here, try some.” Mollified but still annoyed, Chan took another spoon and tasted the sauce, his eyes going wide. “Told you, Red pepper flakes. Gives it a whole ‘nother level.”

“Kid make fire” was all Chan admitted grudgingly before stomping off, presumably to correct the recipe he had written down on a scroll somewhere. Fitz stared after him for a few silent seconds, his nonchalant silence broken by the heavy thwap of the swing door.

“Leopold!” Mrs. Fitz was on him in an instant, trying to sweep off all of the remaining goop on his clothes and hair. “ Why did you go into that kitchen, he could have killed you -” Her tirade was broken by loud, harsh Mandarin coming from the back room, a male and female voice dueling it out like there was no tomorrow.

Skye stepped up to fill the shocked emptiness left by the silence. “Hi, I’m Skye, I’m adopted, and I’m nine,” she said brightly to Fitz. She held her hand out, the smaller boy recovering quickly enough to take it and shake it. “Do I call you Fitz or Leo?”

“Hi Skye, you c’n call me Fitz. Only my mum calls me Leo,” The nine-year-old nodded. “Who’s that behind you?”

“Oh, that’s Bobbi,” Skye said. “She’s ten, she’s adopted too, and she likes to pretend she doesn’t show feelings. But I know she does.” Her voice lowered to a stage whisper. “Last week, I caught her crying at the end of some Hello Kitty thing.”

“Skye!” Bobbi was about to give her sister the worst lecture of her life when May stalked back in, her face red. “Hi, M...m...May,” she said meekly when the glare was turned to her. She hadn’t quite yet caught onto the whole parenting naming thing. “Did you take care of Chan?”

May sighed. “I fired him, but in three months I’m going to end up offering him a job again because too many people miss his cooking. Just watch.” She turned to the Fitzes. “I’m dreadfully sorry about that, Alice, are you and Leo alright?” Both mother and son nodded in affirmation. “Let me set you up with some recompensation for that, it’s the least I can do...”

“...and every time I came into the restaurant, May would just yell back to the kitchen and Chan would come out with a tray full of spices and a resigned look on his face,” Fitz finished with a straight face. “Then, when I got to be workin’ age, May had another giant argument with Chan in the back room,”

Coulson had already snapped a pen from having written so fast.

“Hey, Fitz,” Skye chirped when Fitz swung through the restaurant. “What’s cracking?” Her eyes skidded over his uniform - unlike she and Bobbi, Fitz attended a prestigious all-boys school, which of course required the dreaded polo and khakis. Blame a man for wanting to wear a cardigan, much?

Fitz gave her the same dry once-over. They’d gotten over the awkward part of their friendship a long time ago, both of them taking a look at each other and declaring in unison ‘No’. “What’s crackin’? Seriously? No wonder you’re still single.” He plopped his bag onto a chair, the both of them sitting down. “And to answer your question, nothin’. Hey, Davis, can I get some chicken wings?”

“And a bowl of scallion pancakes, school food is sh*t!” Skye called. “Yeah, Davis, I know. You keep telling me. Still not going to convince me to swear off of ‘em. And my language is just fine!”

“Hey, Chan! Xiāngliào nánhái zài zhèlǐ!” Instead of the usual chef walking out with a large tray in his arms, there was the sound of pots and pans hitting the floor. “Uh...Chan?”

“Tā hé nǐ yīyàng hǎo de chúshī, nǐ zhīdào ma!”

“Tā yīdiǎn yě bù liǎojiě zhōngguó cài de wèidào!”

“Rúguǒ nǐ gùyòng tā, wǒ tuìchūle!”

“Ránhòu líkāi wǒ de chúfáng!” There was a final bang, clang, and May emerged with the tray of sauces. “Hi, Fitz,” she said tiredly. “Here’s your sauces. Your chicken wings are going to be a while, I have to cook them myself.”

“Cook them yourself?” Fitz furrowed his brow. “Is everything alright, Miss May?” He wouldn’t have asked if he’d known it would cause Chan additional stress. And surely May didn’t have time to take out of her schedule to cook him a plate of wings.

“Chan quit,” Skye supplied. May shot her a look. “Sorry. You guys shout really loudly. Chan said that if Mom hired him, then he would quit. Obviously you were more important than he was, so he quit.” Fitz’s jaw dropped open. He’d been joking for years about finally working at May’s Golden Dragon (it wasn’t like he wasn’t already there all the time hanging out with Bobbi and Skye), but apparently someone’d been actually listening.

It was then that Bobbi burst through the doors, a bouquet of flowers and a bag in her hands. “Congrats, Fitz!” she exclaimed, handing the flowers to a very confused Scot. “We’ve been waiting forever to do this!”

Both May and Skye were giving her evil looks, while Fitz just tried to pick his jaw up off of the ground. “Uh...do what?” Davis took the opportunity to place two bottles of soda (Sprite for Skye, Fanta for Fitz) on the table. “What, exactly have you been waiting forever to do?”

Bobbi seemed to deflate then. “Uh...” She turned to her sister and mother, both of whom were facepalming. “You mean to tell me you guys didn’t tell him?”

“We were about to ,” Skye griped. “Then you came in and stunned the poor boy with your flowers and gifts. Probably thinks you’re about to ask him out or something.”

“Ew, no!” Fitz managed to recover enough to look sufficiently affronted. He was plenty handsome! “Sorry, Fitz. You’re a good-looking guy, really. But I just can’t see myself dating you, y’know?” Sheepishly, Bobbi re-handed him the flowers. “Guess the cat’s out of the bag now, huh?”

May sighed. “I wanted to tell you this differently,” she chuckled, “but if you’ll have us, I’d like to take you on as a part-time chef. In on the tips, fifteen an hour, and as many hours per week as you want or need.” Fitz’s jaw dropped again. May really was handing him a job. Just when he’d been looking for one, too!

“Sure!” he exclaimed in what was probably a too-enthusiastic voice. “When do I get to start?” Bobbi, Skye and May cheered, the latter grabbing the bag from Bobbi’s arms and handing it to him.

“Think of it as your initiation present,” she said with a small smile. Fitz opened the bag, gasping when he saw the small, brown pepper.

“Is this a Chocolate Bhut Jolokia?!”

Skye laughed, clapping him on the back. “Welcome to the family, Fitzopold,”

“It was great,” Bobbi quipped, swiping the sriracha sauce from Fitz before he could chug it by the bottle. “That is, until Fitz tried to cook us orange chicken with the ghost pepper that night,” She shuddered. “I don’t think I’d ever spent longer on the toilet.”

Fitz just rolled his eyes and swiped the bottle back. “I’ve made plenty worse, and you know it,” Coulson chuckled and flipped a page on his notepad. “Plus, tha’s nothin’ when it comes to what I used during the xiaolong bao competition.”

Coulson just shuddered. He really didn’t want to think about that - the Costco lady had looked at him weirdly when he’d checked out with three jumbo packs of toilet paper and some butt cream.

In the meanwhile, Fitz and Bobbi were trading looks once again like the shady duo they were.

“Do you want me to -?”

“No, it’s fine, it doesn’t -”

“I just think that it’s better -”

“ Fitz , it was eight years ago, I’m fine -”

“I still think it’d be better -”

“Ugh, fine . Get Mom to bring me some lobster, though? And have them just boil it!” Bobbi had to raise her voice as Fitz headed towards the kitchen. “None of that Chinese saucy sh*t!” She paused for a minute, evaluating Coulson. “Actually, make it two, one with that saucy sh*t and one without! I hope you like seafood,” she said without preamble. “I usually like to eat lobster when I’m telling this story. Helps get out the stress, y’know?”

Coulson could only nod. Was Bobbi’s story that bad?

Piper arrived not soon after, bearing lobster crackers, bowls, butter and bibs. “I’d be weary,” she whispered dramatically. “Bobbi really likes cracking them when they’re watery.” He gulped and reached for his bib.

“So,” Bobbi deadpanned chipperly. “I was born on a sunny day in New England in a hospital near the ocean. Word has it that the atmosphere in the room was like a unicorn had f*cking sh*t in the hallway.”

Coulson gave her a long look. “Really?”

The chipper deadpan dropped, and Bobbi sighed, looking out the window wistfully. “Yeah. I was born in Boston, actually. Can you believe I actually used to be happy?”

Chapter 12: Lobster

Chapter Text

Bobbi Morse once believed she could control the sun.

Every morning, she would wake up to see the sun dancing across her bedroom wall, little dashes of light that would flicker across the rosy pink paint. For a moment, she’d be rose gold, bright blue eyes and golden curls bouncing happily as she watched the mini light show she presumed was just for her.

After all, she was a princess. Daddy had told her so. Why wouldn’t she have control over the light? Princesses always got to control everything. At least, that’s what her books had told her.

“Princess! Come get breakfast before you’re late for preschool!”

Preschool! The four-year-old’s eyes had popped open wide, and Bobbi half hopped, half stumbled out of her bed, dainty feet scrambling down the hallway. It was her first day of preschool! Her toothbrush zoomed across her teeth, bright pink watermelon spat into the sink and quickly followed by a splat of cold water.

“Doesn’t someone look excited,” Robert Morse remarked when little Bobbi bounded into the kitchen, toothpaste still crusted around her mouth. She squealed with laughter when he sloppily picked her up and carried her back to the bathroom, making sure to wipe away the leftover toothpaste with a soft motion. “Maybe I should call you the toothpaste princess instead, huh?”

“Daddy!” She still squirmed at the touch of the cold washcloth against her upper lip. “Daddy silly!” Bobbi didn’t want to be the toothpaste princess! She was going to be the princess of...of...well, of what, she wasn’t exactly sure yet, but she most definitely didn’t want to be the toothpaste princess!

Her father had a fond smile on his face when he carried her back to the kitchen, setting her gently onto the counter. “I’m silly? You think I’m silly, honey?” When Bobbi nodded, so did he. “I see. But didn’t you know that silly people can’t make pancakes for princesses?” She gasped. Pancakes?! Her Daddy never made pancakes! “I guess if I’m silly, I can’t make you pancakes, princess...”

Noooooo! Bobbi wanted pancakes! “Nooooooo!” tiny Bobbi yelled, bursting into giggles. “Love you, Daddy!” Robert Morse had already grinned at his daughter’s attempt to save her breakfast, and was pouring the creamy batter into the pan as Bobbi watched.

“What shapes do you want today, princess?” When Bobbi put a finger to her chin, pretending to think, he casually flipped the pan and began shaping the lump of batter, already knowing what she would say. A star, of course. It was always a star. He couldn’t remember a time when Bobbi hadn’t asked for a star - not even when she’d nearly coughed her lungs out last year with that cold.

“C’n I have a heart today, Daddy?” The star-shaped pancake flopped to the ground in Robert’s surprise, the slightly scruffy man standing in shock with a sizzling pan in his hand. Bobbi scooted out of her chair, gingerly scooping up the pancake with a reverence only a child could have. Just because she didn’t want it didn’t mean it deserved to be treated badly, after all. Star pancakes deserved all of the love they could get.

“Daddy? You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghostie.” And that would most certainly be a problem. Ghosties had never come into her castle during the day! They were only supposed to come at night. Bobbi would have to have a word with the next ghostie that decided to hide under her bed. She was the princess - everyone had to follow her rules, even the ghosties!

“Not a star today, princess?” her father finally croaked out, reaching for more pancake batter. Satisfied that a ghostie hadn’t taken over her Daddy, Bobbi climbed back into the chair and resumed watching the pancakes get made. “You surprised me there, honey. You always have star-shaped things.”

“Bu’ today’s special ,” Bobbi said, assuming all of the old, wise airs she could muster. She held the persona for a moment, face grave and posture ramrod straight, before a small giggle escaped her lips. “‘M goin’ t’ preschool today, Daddy!” She paused for a moment, her eyes shining brightly. “Ya...ya didn’t forget, did ya?” Bobbi shrieked a little as the pancake almost fled the pan once more. “Daddy, that’s scary!”

Robert caught the pancake with ease, a charming smile stretching across his face as he slid it onto the plate. Bobbi ooh’d and ahh’d appropriately, clapping when a small dust of powdered sugar dusted the surface of the star-shaped pancake. “One star pancake for the most royal star princess in the entire galaxy starting preschool today,” Bobbi’s beam could’ve lit up the room. “Syrup, princess?”

“And sprinkles!”

Looking back, Bobbi would always remember those first few months of preschool as some kind of otherworldly heaven, when all she had to do was exist in a floaty golden haze of preschool, pancakes, and the ability to control the sun. All of her fears about making friends had vanished almost instantly when she’d stepped into the room, one girl running up to her and patting her hair reverently.

Another boy had even thrown a foam block at her, but it’d turned out he’d been as fascinated with her hair as the other girl was, but had been afraid to tell her. Bobbi had been pretty sure he’d been her first boyfriend. In, of course, the way that only preschoolers could be in a relationship - Bobbi shared her favorite books with him, reading them to the best of her ability; in return, he’d sometimes let her play with his prized toy Mustang wind-up car.

She wondered often what happened to them. Did they remember her? Kept her in their memories when they thought of ice-blue eyes and shiny hair? When they read those same books and played with the Mustang? Maybe they’d seen her at some point during when her face’d done time on the side of the milk carton.

She hadn’t been Bobbi Morse then. She’d been the girl who’d run away from her parents because of her extravagant attitude. She’d been a clueless, uneducated girl who was ‘bound to come back home eventually, she’d never last this long in the streets. Surprised they haven’t found her body yet’. She was weak, her father said. His little girl who he just wanted back.

Bobbi hadn’t seen a trace of that little girl, pink tutu and all, since the fifteenth crack of her father’s palm against her cheek. (Even after all this time, she wasn’t sure it was fifteen. It could’ve been twenty-five for all she knew.)

The first crack had been accidental - that’s what they’d all thought. Soon after the first few months of preschool, Robert’s firm had laid him off, citing necessary closures. It hadn’t been the end of the world for the Morse family, Robert easily finding new work elsewhere. Ann, the ever-versatile mother, was able to move just as easily.

Soon enough, Bobbi had found herself in a new room in a new city, where all she could see were rain droplets on the window and the sunlight’s reflection off of the skyscrapers harshly glaring into her eyes when she woke up. She missed her the rose pink of her last room, and she said as much to her father the first morning of her new preschool.

Unfortunately, there were no pancakes, star or heart-shaped, to be found this time.

“I’m sorry, princess, but we can’t paint your room again,” Robert was bustling around the miniscule kitchen as Bobbi sat at a poor imitation of their previous kitchen island, kicking her feet. “We don’t actually own this house, and we can’t do everything we want to it.”

Bobbi didn’t understand. She just wanted the sun to stop being so mean to her. Whichever princess was controlling the sun here was a big meanie. Having her castle meant that she could get her powers back! “Please, Daddy?”

“When things get better, sweetheart.” There was a brief kiss on her head. “I promise I’ll get you back your castle and everything you’ve ever asked for, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy.”

‘Things getting better’ went from two weeks to four, then to a month and six. As it’d turned out, Robert’s so-called ‘new job’ had been temporary in all senses of the word, and any money they’d saved quickly ran out. Bobbi’s father went from spending the morning preparing his favorite daughter pancakes to spending the morning combing the streets for jobs. Ann did her best to support the family on what she could give, but it was barely enough to feed the three of them. Bobbi lost her ballet class, the majority of her wardrobe, her favorite books. Ann had even tried to throw out Fluffy, her favorite stuffed duck, but there was simply no dealing with a five-year-old who’d been attached to that duck for her entire life.

And when the same kind of loss hit her father after one too many failed mornings, they usually meant a drink at night. Or two, or three. Bobbi was never sure how many drinks one could have in a bottle. It ended up being the least of her worries, anyways, after she learned that Robert liked to take his anger out on things when he was one too many drinks in. “Things” usually included his wife, daughter and nearest household object.

She was so stupid. Believing she could make her father better was one of Bobbi's larger mistakes, but still one she made time after time. Her sweet, naive, five year old self. Daddy had always said everything could be cured with the touch of her lollipop wand and a kiss. Why wouldn't he be the same?

“Don't touch me, kid” was snarled at her instead, a wide-eyed Bobbi shoved back onto her behind. Bewildered and momentarily confused, Bobbi clutched her little lollipop tight. “Don't need f*cking brats like you.” A swig. The thud of a bottle onto the nightstand.

“But Daddy...” Maybe one tap wasn't enough? Maybe he needed another one to feel better. Bobbi scrambled to her feet and tried to touch her father's nose with the lollipop wand once more. “A touch of love, a touch of fun, a touch from the lollipop --”

“I said, don't touch me !” The slap threw Bobbi back before she could comprehend what was happening. Robert clambered unsteadily to his feet, sending the young girl scuttling back. “What about that don't you understand, you bitch?” The lollipop was yanked out of her hand. “The real world isn't all rainbows and unicorns, you stupid idiot. You can't fix me.”

He'd been right about that one thing.

“Bobbi?!” Ann tore into the room to find a shadow of her husband cowering over a broken version of her daughter, and immediately scooped up the latter. “Robert, stop this. You're scaring her!”

“I'm scaring her ?” Robert laughed, and Bobbi squeaked in horror. That wasn't her daddy. She was too young to tell how, but that much she knew. Her daddy wouldn't laugh like he was a villain in her Saturday morning cartoons. He wouldn't dispute the power of the lollipop.

Her cheek twitched, and she put a hand to the answering flair of pain. Her daddy would never hit her. Never, ever, ever. In conclusion: this man wasn't her daddy. Bobbi's real father had been kidnapped and replaced with this evil man. Princess Bobbi had to get back to her castle, pronto, and bring the sun out so she could have her old daddy back!

“Bobbi, honey,” Ann, in the midst of everything, had taken Bobbi to her room and settled her small daughter into bed, holding two frightened, clammy hands. “Daddy's sort of sick right now, and we have to be nice to him, okay?”

“But I wases,” Bobbi whimpered, sniffling just a little. She was a big girl. She could be a big girl, and big girls didn't cry. “I tried to help daddy with the lollipop wand.” The aforementioned wand was lifted, and she palmed its slick surface. “He didn't let me. He. He.” Bobbi sniffles again valiantly. “He hit me, momma.” What had she even done to be hit? “I didn’ do anythin’! I promise I was nice!” The small girl burst into tears. “I wan’ daddy back!”

“I know, honey. I know.” She had to get her little girl out, Ann knew, but at the expense of their entire lives? Robert was going through a rough patch. They all knew that. Rough patches didn't last forever. He'd find work, they'd have a steady income, and he'd go back to making Bobbi pancakes in the morning before taking her to school. All would be forgiven. It had to be. “Sometimes...sometimes we have to give people time to get better. Like when your cousin Caitlin was sick, remember?” Bobbi nodded. “You and me, we have to give daddy time to get better before we can get him back. But we have to give him time.”

“And then we'll get daddy back?”

“And then we'll get him back. Him and all of his star pancakes. I know you love those, honey. Try and get some sleep, okay?” Bobbi nodded, already excited about the distant prospect of pancakes. “Daddy and I both love you very, very much.”

“I love you too, momma.” (If asked to repeat those words today, Bobbi would've laughed. Love her mother? The same one who’d drawn into herself at the first sign of conflict when, hours before, she’d promised to protect her one and only daughter with everything she had? f*cking bullsh*t.)

(She knew what real love was, now, too. It came in the form of teaching her how to stand tall when all she’d knew was to cower. In how to repair herself when someone else had torn her apart.)

“Barbara! Come here, princess! Daddy’s home!”

Bobbi, now nine, couldn’t remember what it was like to feel warmth at those words. As it was, ice was already running through her veins. What would her father want her to do today? She’d already done the dishes by hand yesterday. And cleaned the bathroom the day before when Robert’d dry heaved into the toilet one too many times. Still, with Ann at work for the next few hours, it was up to the youngest Morse to keep control.

She straightened her back -- slouching would earn her a cheek, and it was still stinging from the day before -- and marched out into the living room. “Hi, Daddy.”

“Why d’you look so down in the dumps, ey, honey?” Bobbi didn’t even react when Robert scooped her into his arms and spun her around. She didn’t shriek with happiness anymore when he did that. She didn’t even allow the tendrils of hope to sneak up into her stomach anymore -- that today was maybe the day that her father was back. There’d already been too many false incidents, and Bobbi was tired of getting her hopes dashed. “Wanna go out to the park?”

Bobbi didn’t want to point out that it was currently pouring cats and dogs outside, rain pounding the pavement hard as she’d ever seen it. “Sure, Daddy. The one down the street?”

“Thatta girl. Go get your coat and we’ll go.” He put Bobbi down abruptly, the ground slamming into the soles of her feet. She wiggled her toes a little to make sure they were all working before shuffling to get her shoes. The sound of beer bottles rattling in the kitchen were just background noise at this point as she shrugged her coat on. She couldn’t say she’d ever been forced to to go the playground before, though. This was new.

New meant a different set of variables Bobbi wasn’t prepared for. What if something happened that she didn’t know how to handle?

“Barbara! Come on, kiddo!”

“Coming, daddy.” Bobbi did a quick stretch to make sure nothing would hurt before ambling out into the hallway with her raincoat. She watched as Robert fumbled the keys shut, then as he stumbled down the staircase, then sighed when the rain hit him full force.

“S’ a f*ckin’ hurricane out here!” In her mild panic, Bobbi had forgotten to check if her father had been wearing a raincoat, and said man was now rapidly getting drenched while turning in circles. “Good thin’ ya got your boots’n, hm? C’mon. Lessgo.” He grabbed her hand and half dragged her down the sidewalk. “Jump in the puddles, Barbara!” Bobbi did so, wincing whenever Robert jumped a little too enthusiastically, splashing the passerby around them. “Sorry!” he would always call. “‘’M just havin’ fun withh my daughter!”

She wondered how long it’d been since he’d used that term sincerely.

It took them over twenty minutes to get to the end of the block, by which then, despite her best efforts, Bobbi was drenched through her thin raincoat. Robert seemed to care less. “Daddy, can we go home now?” she called. She wanted nothing more than to get home, get her father into a hot shower, and dry off. “It’s raining so much!”

“Nonsense!” Robert had other plans. “We’re going to play, princess. We came all this way.” With that, he was climbing onto the jungle gym, long limbs looking awkward in comparison to the small spaces on the gym. “C’mon!”

“N-n-no thanks, daddy,” Stand tall, she reminded herself. Stand tall and he wouldn’t try anything. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“‘M not going to get hurt,” Robert scoffed, waving a hand and automatically banging it against a pole. “Motherf*cker!” Bobbi winced at the language. “Goddamn motherf*cking pole! Hey, I bet I could pole dance,” She wrinkled her brow, the definition only becoming clear when Robert slid unceremoniously down the pole instead of gliding on it, as she assumed he meant to do. “Motherf*cking pole! So slippery. Just like your mother.”

Oooookay. Bobbi’d heard some pretty bad potty jokes in class, but this didn’t even come close. What was Robert even talking about, anyways? She had to get him down from the pole. “Daddy, come on --”

“I came to have fun, and I’m gonna have fun!” Robert got to his feet and stumbled towards Bobbi, trying to pick her up. “C’mon, ‘m gonna teach ya to pole dance.” It was only out of fear that she didn’t react the first time, freezing instead. “Get all the boys t’ look at ya, huh?” The pole smashed against her sternum. “Hold the pole, Barbara. Hold it.”

It wasn’t her fault it was raining. When Robert let her go, the water dissolved Bobbi’s grip, sending her sliding down with a shriek. Ew, now there were definitely woodchips in her raincoat. “C’mon, Barbara!” Robert yanked her up again and pushed her into the pole. “Hold’n tighter.” She knew she was going to slip as soon as she put her hands on the pole. “Ya weak,” he snarled. “Just like your mother.” Two hands covered hers in an iron grip. “Hold on like f*cking this.”

Bobbi’s grip went slack, and soon, the only thing holding her to the pole were her father’s hand, clasped in hers. It was beginning to hurt her wrists. Stay strong, she reminded herself. Don’t do anything that would make it worse. She’d long given up trying to tell herself that there’d one day be star-shaped pancakes again.

“There!” Robert seemed pleased with himself. “Now ya gonna flip.” Bobbi’s world was turned upside down as she was forcibly turned on her head. Her wrists screamed in pain when they were wrenched the wrong way, fresh rain soaking her clothes. “Flip...over...you stupid..sack of sh*t...”

“Stop!” She couldn’t help it. Her wrists felt like someone was tightening a bolt and she was the wrench. “You’re hurting me, daddy, please!” Not once in a year in a half had she begged her father for anything. (Not once in a year and a half had she referred to him as her father.) “Let me go!”

“You can do what you want once you flip!”

“No!” Would someone hear her if she yelled loud enough? It was raining, and the people that were on the streets were just trying to get from point A to point B. She’d be lucky. “Daddy, stop it! Please!”

Feet tumbled over head, and Bobbi’s knee met the pole in a spectacular collision. At the same time, Robert dropped her. Bobbi dangled for a minute before crumpling on the ground to the sound of laughter.

“Ya dropped over like a flapjack!” Robert hollered. Bobbi sat there for a half second, ears filled with rain and laughter, trying to catch her breath. Would he make her do it again? What should she do to prepare for it? Ow, her knee. “Les try it one more time. Ya flipped. Ya can do it again.”

“No,” Bobbi scrambled to her feet. “Please, Daddy, no. Please.” Robert lurched towards her, trying to pick her up again. It was only quick thinking that sent her a few feet back. If she hadn’t been so focused on not being pushed flush against the pole, she would’ve laughed: here was a grown man, soaked in the rain, obviously drunk, reaching ahead of him and mumbling about trying again. “I can’t do it again.”

“Ya can, and ya will.” Robert took another couple steps forward, breaking into a fast stumble. “C’mon, princess. Don’t you like playing with Daddy?” Bobbi’s own stumble backwards soon broke into a light jog, and her head grew fuzzy with each step she took. What was she supposed to do? She didn’t want to get hurt by the pole again. “Barbara, get back here, you piece ‘o sh*t!”

Going on the pole would make her daddy happy. She knew that. But she knew she couldn’t hold the pole properly. Not in the rain. And he would just keep trying and failing and hurting her. Maybe if she just started running back home, he would follow her? And then she’d be able to get him into a warm bath and maybe he would calm down a little until her momma came home. Yes. That was it.

“Catch me if you can!” she said as cheerily as she could, and took off in a run. Bobbi heard Robert let out a laugh before following her, his footsteps echoing just as loudly as the raindrops hitting the pavement. Her plan was working! All she had to do was cross the street and --

Wait a minute. Which crosswalk was it? Bobbi stared in confusion at the four crosswalks lining the long avenue, all of them leading to different streets. She had to keep moving, or else her daddy would catch her. Pick a number, Bobbi, she said to herself. One to four. One, two, three...

“Three!” One quick glance behind her confirmed Robert was still following, although gaining ground fast. Bobbi took off as fast as her little yellow rain boots would let her, skidding to a stop at the third crosswalk and hitting the walk button as hard as she could. She couldn’t let Robert catch up to her, she couldn’t, she couldn’t, she couldn’t...

“WAIT.”

“Come on!” Why did traffic lights have to be so long, anyways? If she ever met the person in charge of running traffic lights, she’d ask them to make it shorter. “Please? My daddy’s gonna catch up any minute now!”

“Are you okay, honey?” a lady next to her asked kindly. “What did you mean your daddy’s gonna catch up with you?”

That was a funny question. And not one random people should be asking. Bobbi opened her mouth to answer as such when the crosswalk turned to walk, and instead of giving the lady a few seconds, Bobbi dashed across the street and kept running up the avenue. She didn’t stop to see if Robert was behind her -- he’d catch up eventually, and she couldn’t let that happen. Up and up the avenue she ran, her breath and the rain echoing in her ears.

It was only when she realized she couldn’t hear the sounds of Robert’s belligerent yelling that she stopped and looked around, sucking in a breath at the sight of all of the unfamiliar buildings. This was most definitely not where her home was. That was most definitely not her apartment building.

She’d most definitely lost her father. (Oddly enough, the last one didn’t bother Bobbi as much as she thought it would.)

“Okay, Bobbi,” she said to herself. A tall man with an umbrella bumped into her, causing him to look down at the little girl clad in a bright yellow jacket and boots before snorting and moving on with his stride. She could swear she heard him muttering some funny words as he walked away. “Just stay here and someone will find you. Momma will find you. It makes it harder to find me if I keep moving. Find somewhere and stay there until Momma finds you.”

Resolve stiffened her shoulders, and she looked around to try and take stock of her surroundings. Awnings of every shape and size loomed over her head, all of them with funny things she didn’t understand and some she did. She could easily make out the word ‘fish’ and ‘hair’. Those were easy words. She was somewhere where there was fish and hair. Good.

Bobbi sniffed. Yep. There was something, alright. And it wasn’t too pretty.

She looked up at the awning she’d stopped under. It was a bright red, with more weird shapes and three words printed on a lit sign. “May,” Bobbi read. “LIke the month. G - g - gol...golden. Dr - dragon?”

(She was cold. Her brain couldn’t be helped.)

“May’s Golden Dragon,” she said finally. “Okay. Now I just need somewhere to sit.” Bobbi highly doubted that there would be room in May’s Golden Dragon for a soaked little girl escaping her drunken father. Plus, there would be more awkward people asking more awkward questions, and she didn’t need that. Momma had always said to never tell people anything. “Where do I sit?”

Bobbi turned in a full circle before she spotted the alley just a little up ahead, half toddling to it and peering down the dark corridor. It wasn’t her bed, but it would have to do. The ground looked pretty dry, anyways, and would hopefully stay so until her momma came. Putting both hands out in front of her -- for some reason, it felt right -- Bobbi ventured into the alley. The further she went in, the worse the fish smell got until she was close to dry heaving her own lunch.

Soon, she emerged into a small back square, where a large and relatively dry cardboard box sat next to a gray, battered metal door. Bobbi all but rushed towards the box, her legs crying out in relief when she sat down. “Okay, momma’s gonna find me,” she said. “Now I just gotta wait.” As withdrawn as she was, Ann Morse had to notice her husband and daughter were missing, didn’t she?

“Momma’s gonna find me. She will.”

She didn’t know how much time had passed, but she knew it’d been enough that the sky had grown blacker than the crayon in her school sets. Bobbi shivered; the rain had just broken, and while the cardboard box had helped initially, it had soon grown to be as soaked as she, providing little to no help.

She just wanted to go home, where there was her bed and her momma and (to some extent) her daddy. At least it would be better than staring at the building across from her.

“Momma will find me,” Bobbi repeated to herself, although the idea was weakening every time she said it to herself. “Momma will find me.”

Her stomach rumbled, and she tried to remember the last thing she’d eaten. It’d been at school. Lunch. A ham and cheese sandwich, an apple, and a carton of milk. It all seemed so long ago. Now, she’d give anything for even a crumb of bread.

“Momma will find me,” At this point, there wasn’t any meaning in her words. They were just what got her through the day. “Momma will find me.”

The back door creaked open, and a small figure emerged holding a giant Tupperware container of...something. Bobbi couldn’t exactly tell. “Alrighty, birdies, come on out!” As if on cue, several birds flocked to her feet, and the figure bent down to extend a small bit of the stuff in her hands to them. A rich, salty smell wafted towards Bobbi, her stomach growling unhelpfully. It wasn’t her fault she hadn’t eaten in goodness knows how long.

“‘Xcuse me?” The figure jumped and turned towards her, half of the food in the container almost falling out. Bobbi could hear the disappointment in the birds’ chirping. “Um...I’m...” Bobbi cast her eyes down when her stomach growled again. “C’n I have some, please?” Use her words and always look down, her momma had said. It made the other person think they were better.

(Truthfully, all Bobbi wanted was some goddamn food.)

“Who’re you?” At that, Bobbi’s head snapped up. For the first time, she got a good look at the other person -- girl, she corrected herself. Long, wavy brown hair that framed an oval face and housed suspicious brown eyes. Which, given the circ*mstances, Bobbi figured were appropriate. “‘N why are you in th’ back o’ May’s?”

“I got lost,” Bobbi fibbed, not wanting to tell this small girl her entire story. “‘N I’m waitin’ for my momma to come find me.” She left out the part about her disbelief -- the other girl didn’t have to hear that, either. “‘M just really hungry. Can I -- c’n I please have some of that?”

“How do I know you’re not just tryin’ to take our stuff?”

Bobbi was silent for a minute. Her? Take things? “‘M not,” she said again. “‘M just hungry, please!” Her stomach growled once more, tears springing to her eyes. “Please! I don’t wanna take your things, ‘m just hungry ‘n I want my momma!” The stress of the day was getting to her, and Bobbi wiped her eyes with her already-wet raincoat sleeve. “‘M hungry! ”

“Oh, no, please don’t cry,” The other girl was already ambling towards Bobbi, a large piece of food of food in her hand. “Mama says it’s not nice to make other people cry. I didn’t mean to. Here.” The food was waved in her face. “It’s mama’s scallion pancakes. She makes them a lot in the restaurant, and I always give the rest to the birdies. But you’re hungry, so I guess you can have some. Lotsa people probably feed the birdies anyways.”

“‘M Skye,” she continued to chirp as Bobbi took a bite of the scallion pancake, her eyes going wide. She’d never eaten anything like this before! “‘M seven years old, I got adopted from the sisters by my mama -- her name is Melinda. Melinda May -- and my favorite food is scallion pancakes.” Bobbi was looking at her expectantly with greasy fingers and red eyes. “What’s your name? Then I’ll give you another piece.”

“‘M Bobbi,” the small blonde said, and held out her hand. True to her word, Skye handed her another piece. “‘M nine years old, my momma’s named Ann, and my favorite food is star shaped pancakes.” Not that she’d had them in a while. She doubted she’d ever have them again.

“Bobbi,” Skye mused, handing Bobbi another piece and smiling widely when the nine-year-old scarfed it down. “That’s a pretty name. Like your hair. It looks like sunshine.” The frown dropped. “Bobbi, you’re all wet!”

Bobbi looked sheepishly down at herself. She’d stopped noticing the squish her socks made about an hour ago. “Oh. I, um...I don’t know how long I’ve been out here..”

“I gotta get you dry!” Skye exclaimed, thrusting the container into Bobbi’s arms and hoisting the door wide. “My teacher Miss Hand says that if you’re wet too long, you could get really sick! C’mon!” When Bobbi stayed rooted to the spot (minus two bulging cheeks full of scallion pancake), Skye tutted. “Whaddya waiting for?!”

“I...” How was Bobbi supposed to tell her she needed to wait for her momma? To cling to her last fiber of hope until it was lost among the bits of scallion pancake? And what if there was an adult in the house that found about her daddy? “What if somebody sees me?”

Skye scoffed. “No one’s gonna see you,” she told Bobbi confidently. “It’s dinnertime, and everyone’s in the dining room. We’ll get you up there lickety-split!” That sent her up the back stairs, Bobbi bobbling behind her with a water trail dripping from her coat. As she’d predicted, neither girl ran into a single adult until they were in Skye’s room. The smaller girl was already scrambling for clothes and a towel while Bobbi just stood there, picking at the last of the crumbs in the container.

“Here’s some pants, a shirt, and a sweatshirt ‘cause you’re probably cold, and a towel.” Skye handed the items over with a blush. “I didn’t know if you wanted to keep your underwear. I can probably dry it with the hair dryer if you want.”

Bobbi took the clothes numbly. Who was this girl, unashamedly offering her hospitality? More importantly, how was she supposed to repay it? “T - t - thanks,” she stuttered out, before realizing that she was indeed shivering up a storm. “Where’s...bathroom?”

“I’ll take you,” Skye declared, gently taking hold of Bobbi’s shoulders and steering her to the bathroom. At the touch, Bobbi flinched hard.

“Don’t touch me!”

“‘M sorry!” Skye yanked her hands back. “Uh...I’ll point?” Bobbi nodded, clutching the clothes tightly. “Go straight,” she began, and Bobbi cautiously stepped forward. “See that blue door at the end of the hallway? Go to it, and there’s a door on your right. That’s the bathroom. I use the pink soap ‘cause it smells like cotton candy.” Another step forward. She wasn’t sure yet if she was still dreaming. “Oh. Um. Bobbi?”

“Yeah?”

“D’you...d’you want more scallion pancakes?”

Bobbi’s stomach answered instead.

“Okay!” Skye beamed, and Bobbi had to marvel again at the sheer amount of trust this girl was placing in her. “My door’s the one with all of the stars when you’re done, and we can have some more pancakes and figure out how to talk to your momma, okay?” She was halfway down the hallway when Bobbi spoke shakily.

“Skye? Um, that’s your name, right?”

“That’s my name,” Skye quipped jokingly. “Mama always says that’s where my energy level is.”

“I...I don’t wanna talk to my momma,” Bobbi had figured that if her momma had really cared, she would’ve found her by now. And if they hadn’t found her by now, they most likely never would. “Or my daddy.” All she really wanted were more pancakes. They were really growing on her. “Do you mind...would it be okay...I mean, I can just go back outside to the box...”

“You’re not going back to the box,” Skye said, all traces of joking gone from her tone. “I already said I’m not letting you get sick, and you’ll get sick if you go back into the box. We can both fit in the bed.”

“But what happens tomorrow?” What happened when Skye had to go to school (she assumed she did)? What happened when she overstayed her hospitality? Where would she go? Bobbi didn’t even know how to get home -- and if she did go home, the question remained: would she want to?

In the last fifteen minutes, she’d gotten more love and caring from a seven-year-old than she had from either of her parents in the last year and a half. She may have only been nine, but even then she’d already known which was the superior situation.

Skye grinned. “Tomorrow’s Saturday! Mama has to work the dim sum shift, but we can watch cartoons all morning and have Lucky Charms! But you have to go back into my room when Mama gets back upstairs, though. I don’t think she’ll be really happy to find out that someone’s hiding in my room.” A small ‘shoo’ motion. “Now take a shower. A hot one!”

Whenever she told the story, Skye liked to exaggerate that it was a week before May discovered that her foster daughter was doing some fostering of her own.

In reality, however, the small girl only made it the weekend before May discovered Bobbi sleeping in Skye’s bed Monday morning prior to waking Skye up for school. (May was fond of adding that Bobbi slept in constant downward dog, butt straight up in the air.)

“Skye,” May said sharply, causing the small girl to jerk awake. “What’s this?”

“Wha?” Skye asked fuzzily. May pointed sharply at Bobbi, who was drooling just a little onto Skye’s pillowcase. “Oh. Tha’s Bobbi.” She was still a little too sleepy to comprehend just exactly was going on, “I foun’ her.”

“You found her?” May asked, and this time, her tone woke Bobbi, who immediately squeaked in fear and pulled the covers to her chin. “What do you mean, you found her ?”

“I’m sorry!” Bobbi burst out, her eyes filling with tears. “I was -- I was hungry ‘n I was lost ‘n Skye was givin’ pancakes to the birds ‘n I was hungry ‘n I was waiting for my momma to find me ‘n Skye said I was gonna get sick and brought me up ‘n I’m really sorry, Miss!” In her hurry to get out of the bed, Bobbi tripped, landing flat on her face. “I’m really sorry, please don’t call the police on me!”

“Okay, honey, breathe for me?” The girl’s odd behavior had been enough to let May know that this hadn’t been a spur-of-the-moment Skye decision (as she was so often prone to), and she bent down. “Breathe. We’re not gonna get anywhere if you don’t breathe.” When the sobs quieted to hiccups, May gently ran a hand over the blonde curls, her frown deepening when the small girl flinched. “What exactly happened? I can’t help you unless you tell me what happened?”

Bobbi hadn’t intended to tell her the entire story. It ended up just sort of slipping out.

“‘N I don’t wanna go back there, please don’t make me go back there,” Bobbi sniffled. “I’ll. I’ll do anything so I don’t have to go back there.” She didn’t want to slam herself into more objects, be on the receiving end of more slaps and clean more bathrooms. She wanted star shaped pancakes and her lollipop wand.

Most of all, she yearned to control the sun again. To reclaim the small part of her childhood she’d had to leave behind too soon.

“And what happened after that?” Phil asked. They’d abandoned the lobster some time ago, Davis having brought over a box of tissues and a plate of scallion pancakes at some point in the story. Bobbi smiled a little ruefully and wiped her eyes once more. “I mean, I know May adopted you eventually -- you’re standing here is all -- but what happened between then and there?”

Bobbi reached for a lobster tail, cracking it open loudly. “Well,” she said. “I stayed with May for close to a week before the cops knocked on the door, asking about me. Apparently my dad -- yeah, don’t worry, I was surprised too -- made the biggest stink about me going missing, and when the cops told him I was here, he showed up at the restaurant babbling all sorts of apologies. Even held up a seven days sober AA chip. Not that I knew those didn’t actually exist at the time.”

“Anyways, they took May to court for my custody. I almost went back, didn’t want May to get caught up in all of the legal drama. But she took me aside one night and told me in the scariest voice that I was, and I quote, ‘damn well not going anywhere with that dysfunctional family. You’re staying right here with Skye and I’. She won. Probably helped that neither of my biological parents could answer a single question about me.”

Phil was silent for a moment, finger twiddling with a lobster leg. He wasn’t sure what he’d signed up for when he’d agreed to interview Bobbi, but it’d definitely been a lot more than he’d bargained for. “I, uh...forgive me for being speechless,” he said honestly. “You’re far braver than many people I’ve known, Bobbi. I don’t think I could’ve stood for a day to do what you did.”

Bobbi blushed but broke another lobster tail in half. “Like I said to Fitzo, it’s been eight years. I don’t mind sharing what happened to me. It’s why I want to go to law school. I don’t want to see another kid like me ever again. Not shivering in a cardboard box behind a Chinese restaurant, not hiding under the bridge in Central Park, not anywhere . Not if I can help it.”

“Really and truly, Bobbi. Thank you for your story.” Both of them turned to see Fitz choking on a tiny piece of lobster shell that seemed to have been stuck in his claw meat. “Fitz, man, you good?”

Fitz wheezed loudly when Bobbi whacked him hard on the back. “I’m good, Phil. Thanks for asking.”

“I trust you’ll do her well,” came a voice, and all three of them looked up to see May. “Fitz, I need you in the kitchen to see how well this new chef cooks. Bobbi, you’re on tonight with Piper, go change and clock in.”

“Aye aye, matey,” Both Bobbi and Fitz did a fake salute before high-fiving each other. “Phil?” The aforementioned man turned and looked. “Thanks,” Bobbi said sincerely. “I’m...I’m not great with emotions, but I’m glad it was you. I think you’ll do a good job with it."

Phil watched her go with a new pressure settling on his shoulders. Oh, boy. Deadlines and expectations. How did people accomplish both at the same time? “Don’t look at me,” May said with a coy smile when he turned to her. “There aren’t that many people that know. I think it’s Skye, Fitz, me, and now you.”

“Do me proud, Phil,” she said, and oh, did the words warm him. “Do me proud.”

Chapter 13: Fried Shrimp, Mayo, and Candied Walnuts

Chapter Text

If asked, Jade Wong would, under no circ*mstance, admit that she was full-on sprinting down the sidewalk towards May’s Golden Dragon. She would not admit that she’d accidentally knocked into three elderly women, would not admit she’d tripped over a couple of cracks in the sidewalk, and most certainly not admit she’d missed the entrance to the restaurant while going headlong down the avenue.

Not at all.

So she was late. Sue her for wanting to make a good impression on her club partner. They’d only met twice. And the second time didn’t even count, as they’d both been scarfing down death personified into peppers.

“OW!”

“Hey, watch it, that’s a -- oh! Jade, right?” Mack, right ? Jade thought woozily as she tried to make the world stay still. Last she’d checked, there hadn’t been three streetlamps within a three foot radius of each other. “Hey, uh, you’re looking a little woozy. Come on in. We’ll sit you down.” Jade just blinked hazily as the larger security guard led her into a photoshoot setup that seemed to be worthy of Vogue , rather than the dining room of a small (yet somehow infamous) restaurant.

She watched two of a short-ish man hurry by, followed by two of a very pregnant lady with a camera strung around her neck. Blink. Ah. There it was. Now there was one pregnant lady. There were still two short-ish men, though. “What...” Damn right she was confused. And not just because she’d run into a (yet to be determined) object, either. “Ow...”

“You hit your head pretty hard there,” came a bemused voice, and Jade looked up to Bobbi, who was holding out an ice pack with a raised eyebrow. “Any particular reason you were rushing, Wong?” She had to admit, the blonde had some bite to her. Back in her boarding school days, maybe she would’ve been someone she had a little fun with. One of those straight-laced cheerleaders that experimented before going back to their boyfriends. Hm. Jade took the ice pack and held it to her head. f*ck, there was a bump already?

“Homecoming dress shopping,” she answered, shooting Bobbi her most dazzling grin. To her credit, the older May stepped back a hot second in surprise before recovering. “Some GSA big/little bonding activity. Gotta get it in somehow. I’m a little more partial to a pantsuit myself, but hey, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

Bobbi just managed to bite back a sound of surprise. GSA? What was her little sister doing at GSA? What was her little sister doing with Jade Wong at GSA? And why hadn't Skye asked her to go homecoming dress shopping? Had their little tiff extended so far that she would eschew tradition? What the hell ?

Maybe she could get Jade to take Skye to homecoming instead. At least it'd be better than Grant Ward by a long shot.

In the doorway of the kitchen, May stopped and watched the conversation unfold with curiosity. What was Jade Wong doing here? Why was she talking to Bobbi?

And most importantly -- was she ready to come back and help her make some fried shrimp? The restaurant had gotten awfully lonely without her. “Miss Wong,” she called, causing the two girls to jump and look towards the kitchen. “Didn’t think I’d see your face for a while,”

“Miss May,” Jade grinned, standing up and striding towards her. “A long time no see, indeed. I hope you’ve got some fried shrimp for me.” If there’d been anything Jade’d missed about living in New York, it was Melinda May’s fried shrimp. Nothing held a candle to it out there in Colorado. “Tell me I didn’t spend two years out in Denver for nothing.”

“Only if you tell me what you’re doing here,” May gave her a saucy wink. “Just so you know, no one dates Fitz without taking the spice exam first,” Somewhere in the back of the kitchen, Fitz gave a loud squawk that had both women bursting into laughter. “Oh, the poor thing. Still seizes up whenever I try to set him up with someone. You think he’d learn.”

“Trust me, I’m not here for your chef,” The unsaid I'm not here for men sizzled in the room. Bobbi, who'd heard the rumors, raised an eyebrow and looked between the women. This would either get really good or really bad. “Little bit too bland for my taste, if you know what I mean.” Wow. Jade’d managed to make it somehow good and bad. “I’m actually here for Skye. Is she around?”

May raised another eyebrow and held it. When had Jade Wong met her daughter? Where had Jade Wong met her daughter? And most importantly, why had Jade Wong met her daughter? She had so many questions. “Skye’s upstairs, last time I checked. Just a second.” Good. No sign of curiosity or anything. Melinda May was anything but a nosy mother. It also kept her in the neutral zone, just in case Jade was here for a date. “SKYE!!!!!”

A startled THUMP came from behind the door leading up to the May’s apartment, and it swung open to see a wide-eyed Skye, scrambling to recover from having had her ear pressed against the wood. “Oh, hey, hi Mom! Bobbi,” she added with much less enthusiasm. (Bobbi winced.) “Jade! You’re early!”

“Early?” Mack echoed from the door. “She ran into me on the way here! Early, my ass!” When Skye gave Jade an incredulous look, the taller girl shrugged in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner.

“I didn’t want to be late!”

“Piping hot dim sum, coming through!” Piper yelled as she guided a cart through the pile of photography equipment set up in the middle of the room. “And yes, I got the pun,” she said to Skye, who’d opened her mouth. “I am not a part of the dim sum, May.” Food was speedily moved from the cart to the table and tea poured without a single drop to the pristine white tablecloth.

“Excellent,” called a voice from the other corner of the room, and they turned to see Phil framing the scene between his thumb and index fingers with a woman at his side. Jade noted it was the one she’d seen two of earlier, casually wondering where she shopped. “Okay, where are my subjects?” Mack could be heard opening the door to the restaurant and greeting the regulars in flawless Mandarin, most of whom were astounded by the change in decor.

May had to stifle a laugh when she caught the occasional curse about white people taking everything over. It wasn’t entirely false, after all.

Skye turned to Jade apologetically. “I was hoping to get out before this,” she admitted sheepishly. “Would you mind staying for lunch?” Jade hesitated. “I swear it’s not a date!” Skye blurted out. “It’s just lunch. Phil’s boss is paying. Hell, you can even pay if you want. And it’s dim sum! Not anything fancy, but of course, you already knew that, seeing as you come here a lot and all. Wait. Why’d I say it was a date? I’m not gay. Well, I mean, I don’t think I’m completely straight ...did I just say that out loud?” She trailed off into a sheepish blush, holding her left arm awkwardly while Jade stared at her amusedly. “Heh. So. Would you...like to stay for lunch?”

“WOULD YOU LIKE TO STAY FOREVER?!” May and Piper yelled from the kitchen in perfect unison. Bobbi facepalmed behind them. Jade really had walked right into that one. (They’d ignore Skye’s small confession for now. That was something to unpack later.)

A giant plate of fried shrimp, cashews and mayo was set into the center of one of the tables. Jade took that as a sign. “Lunch would be great,” she grinned, and May and Piper high-fived in the background. “On one condition.”

“Anything” tumbled out of Skye’s mouth a little too fast.

Jade pointed to the table with the shrimp. “We’re sittin’ over there, and you’re gonna tell me about your homecoming date so we can knock him dead.”

“Piper, Bobbi, you’re with me,” May called as soon as the last of the special tablecloths were put away. Phil was in the corner discussing details with Mrs. Davis while taking last-minute photos of the restaurant. They’d gotten a couple of chances to interact during the photoshoot, but they’d all been about who not to photograph (the Li family was downright dangerous when they started arguing about their mother’s house) and the order of lifeforces.

In all honesty, she’d been hoping to get a little bit of advice from Phil after Skye’s mini confession. Had it counted as a full one? Was Skye saying it to wash herself of potential hom*osexuality? Had she accidentally raised a hom*ophobe?

And what was Jade Wong doing there? Why had Bobbi gone on the defensive on seeing her? May sighed. She hadn’t been this complicated when she’d been a teenager, had she? Note to self: call her mother and find out.

Plus, Phil was looking pretty spiffy in his gray suit today. Not that that was the main thing she wanted to tell him. He’d bustled around with so much energy today she’d wasn’t sure if she was scared of his force or mildly aroused. (And she didn’t think about Phil like that, no sirree...)

“Oh my god, the walnuts,” he'd moaned upon taking his first bite of their featured dish: honey-mayo shrimp with candied walnuts and broccoli. “Why the hell are these walnuts so good? Mel, tell Fitz he's holding out on me!”Phil licked his lips and reached for more shrimp. “sh*t, I need some of those to go. I gotta take some to Roz.”

Right. Exactly why she didn't make a move. She wouldn't get in the way of that.

“Where we going?” Bobbi asked, shrugging on a jacket. “We’re not tailing Skye on her trip to the mall, are we? ‘Cause Hope’s with them, and I’m pretty sure she’ll just tell us anything we ask her.” She wouldn’t put it past her mother, either -- once, she’d tailed Piper on one of her blind dates all the way to Long Island just because she hadn’t met the man.

“No, not this time,” May answered, and the entire dining staff hid a snigg*r. “We’ve got to go down to Pell. I ran out of lifeforce during the lunch service, and the Kings are supposed to come in tonight.” Bobbi groaned. She hated dealing with the mafia, especially the Kings. For some reason, they went above fake handbags and specialized in human trafficking instead. Why May let them in, she’d never know. “Don’t make that face. It’ll be in and out, especially if I bring you. For some reason that always gets them to agree to things.”

“Uh, I don’t know,” Davis piped up jokingly from the other end of the restaurant. “Is it because she looks like the beguiling American they can swindle all of their money out of?”

“Please, we all know that’s why we hired you,” Bobbi shot back, and Phil, Piper and Mrs. Davis let out a loud ‘ oh!’ before putting a finger in the air and adding, ‘ tssss ’. May just shook her head. Children, the lot of them. It really was too bad she couldn’t bring Skye. Bobbi was good, but Skye usually meant things would go ten times quicker.

Speaking of Skye -- “Bobbi, what do you know about Jade Wong?”

She didn’t expect her daughter to talk for a whole three blocks. (She didn’t expect the rumors about being kicked out of boarding school, either, but she really hadn’t expected Bobbi to talk for three blocks straight. And they’d been long blocks.)

“So yeah. That’s it. I’m worried that he’s gonna take advantage of her and that she’ll only get with Jade as a rebound because Mom, I’m pretty sure Jade’s been one of the first friends Skye’s made by herself. All of her friends are my friends, and while I love her, she needs her own friends . Is there any way you can scare Grant Ward into pissing his pants when he picks her up for homecoming?”

May never thought she’d be so relieved to end up at a mafia headquarters. Even if they were on a shady street exceeding Chinatown shady standards. “I swear I’m not against Skye being gay,” Bobbi was still babbling. “It doesn’t matter if she’s gay or straight or bi or pan or ace or aro or anything in between, she’s still my sister and I love her just the same, but Grant Ward is a real f*cking --”

“Bobbi, honey, I love you, but shut up. We’re here.” Now she remembered why she preferred bringing Skye. All she did was complain about the number of cigarette butts on the sidewalk and continual smell of fish. “Piper, you’re carrying?”

“Locked and loaded. By the way, you think we can look into a shotgun axe?”

“I’m not even going to ask why you need one.”

“Because it lets you shoot first and axe to finish the job, so it’s doubly effective -- you know what, I’ll just show you when we get back to the restaurant. Bobbi, take a knife, will ya?”

May just rolled her eyes and opened the door.

Almost immediately, they were toppled over by a figure sprinting out the door, followed by three more burly Chinese men. A round of bullets flying over their heads accompanied it, and May tackled Bobbi on instinct to cover her. “What the hell?!” Piper yelled, pulling out her gun. “This isn’t how it happened the last time!”

“Nope, most definitely can agree!” Bobbi yelled back. “I think we walked into the middle of something!” She covered her ears when Piper let loose a few shots. “When did you learn how to shoot, Pipes? Can you teach me?”

“NO!” May yelled from on top of her at the same time Piper yelled, “YES!” All three women took advantage of a lull in the gunfire to scramble off of the ground and down half the block. Bobbi recognized the Kings’ members as soon as she saw them -- she tended to remember the people that ogled her day and in and day out.

Two members were backing a slim, Latina woman against a graffitied wall, rapid Spanish whizzing between them. One of the men took out a gun. “Realmente no deberías haber corrido,” he told her, and all three of them had to stop and tilt their heads for a minute. How was his Spanish better than his English?

The woman spat in their faces. That’s it. Piper was impressed. “Can I shoot them yet?” she whined to May. “They’re so douchebaggy! They always talk about how my hair doesn’t look like a woman’s.” Pouting, she ran a hand through her short, cropped hair. “There’s nothing wrong with it. Right?”

"No soy tuyo para ser vendido, maldito!!”

May looked to Bobbi for translation. Bobbi looked back with an deadpan expression that screamed equal confusion. “I took six years of Spanish, Mom. People need to speak more slowly if they want me to understand them.”

“Zhǐ xū pāishè biǎo zi bìng jiāng tā wánchéng. Tā bù zhíqián.”

“Oh, sh*t. That much I know,” Bobbi muttered as Piper let out a loud war cry and charged the small group, firing completely blind. “GET DOWN!” she yelled at the woman, and tackled her to the sidewalk while the normally calm waitress unloaded her magazine with a speed normally reserved for dim sum derby.

May wandered into the fray as well. “Gàosù nǐ de lǎobǎn wǒmen jīntiān guānménle. Méiyǒu shíwù,” she yelled at one of the goons before stabbing him with a knife she’d produced from seemingly nowhere. “And stop perving on my daughter,” she tacked on. “She knows, Gao. She knows. You’re not being particularly subtle when you’re rubbing your pants, you know.” When both men were on the ground, she turned to Bobbi, who was still on top of the escapee. “You good, honey?”

“Just peachy -- OW!” Bobbi yelped when the woman elbowed her in the stomach. “What the hell, I’m trying to help you!” She scrambled off of the escapee while the other woman scrambled to her feet, warily pointing a knife at them.

“¿Quién eres tú? ¿Dónde estoy? ¿Para quién trabajas?” When none of them answered, the knife was pointing a tad more threateningly. “¿Dónde estoy??”

More looks towards Bobbi.

“Nueva...Nueva York,” she managed to get out, still holding her stomach. “Estados Unidos.”

The look of suspicion lessened somewhat. The knife didn’t. “¿Quién eres tú?”

“Mi nombre es Bobbi May,” Well, at least she could do this part. Bobbi exhaled a little. Practiced this in class millions of times. “Tengo 17 años, me gusta leer y tengo una hermana llamada Skye --”

“I didn’t ask for an interview.” The English was rough, but there -- and it still startled Bobbi silent. What good was taking a foreign language class if that wasn’t how the conversation started every time? “Your accent is terrible. Who do you work for?”

Bobbi dumbfoundedly jerked a thumb at May. The knife swivelled. “¿Quién te puso a esto?” May looked towards Bobbi. “Stan? Kevin? Or Ivan?”

“Who’re --” Piper began to ask, but was cut off by the knife being swung.

“¿Quién fue??!”

“No one!” Bobbi blurted out. The knife swung towards her again, and she gulped. It looked a lot less threatening when it wasn’t being pointed towards her. “Ella es, eh ... ella es mi madre,” she began. “Ella posee un restaurante a dos calles. Soy, eh...una camarera. ” She would definitely be paying attention in Spanish from now on.

“Ella no se parece a tu madre.”

Bobbi winced. Even when there was a language barrier, it still came up. “Soy adoptado. Mom, Pipes, hold up the most restauraunt-y thing you have on you.” Piper held up her order pad and a pen. May held up a bottle of Sriracha and some chopsticks. (Bobbi didn't question either of those.)

Both women assumed the neutral face of polite interest they used when being hit on. It was a pretty big hit on Friday nights.

“Ven a nuestro restaurante. Lo probaremos.” Bobbi looked to May for silent approval. Her mother nodded in agreement; hopefully she hadn't promised anything too extravagant. “Y, uh ... si necesitas un lugar donde quedarte, podemos ayudarte con eso también.”

The woman sighed. “I wanted to come to New York for more opportunities.” May nodded -- she'd seen this story too many times to count. “Instead I got thrown around like nothing!”

“Then come with us,” May answered. “I can give you a job, a place to stay. Until you get back on your feet and can get back home.” She held out her hand. “Melinda May.”

Taken and shaken. “Elena. Rodriguez.”

Chapter 14: Dan Taat

Chapter Text

“So you’ve never been to a public school homecoming,” Skye remarked with relish as she and Jade scuffed the tiles of the mall. “Never.” They’d somehow made it through an entire meal without any of the Mays (or Mackenzies. Or Phil, for that matter) questioning Jade’s presence. Piper had kept piling on the dim sum, Phil had taken constant photos, and even Mrs. Davis had taken up their time, telling them to move every which way.

Of course, it hadn’t stopped Bobbi from giving her sister the wounded hippo look. Skye knew that not asking her to go homecoming dress shopping with her was a bit of a Bitch Move, but in her defense, Bobbi had been pulling some of her own lately. Implying that Skye was anything but flagrantly straight? Pffft.

(It’d also been why she’d gone with Jade -- she’d be a solid control test. If Skye could agree with the things Jade said about girls they passed at the mall, maybe there’d be some thinking to do. But until then, there was nothing to change.)

“Never been,” Jade agreed, grabbing a water bottle out of her bag and chugging it straight down. Skye watched as a drop spilled out of the side of her mouth and down her neck before shaking her head. Focus. “Is it as bad as they say it is in the movies? Where everyone makes a spectacle of who the homecoming queen is and the mean girl tries to sleep with her stepbrother?”

Skye looked down at Hope, who’d begged to come along at the last minute. Being the overly gracious babysitter she was, she’d relented. It also took a little bit of the ‘date’ feeling out of the whole thing, too. She wasn’t sure she was quite ready for that. “You didn’t hear any of that, kiddo.”

Hope just rolled her eyes. “Heard what, Skye?”

“Atta kiddo. We’ll buy you some dan taat on the way out.”

“Yes!” Hope fist-pumped and scampered a bit ahead to look at a nearby display window. Skye turned her attention back to Jade.

“To answer your question, yeah and no, honestly. It’s not Not Another Teen Movie -- Chris Evans doesn’t kiss Chyler Leigh, also, that’s super weird to me! He’s...Captain America, and she’s...Lexie Grey! Ugh, I love them both --” Jade raised her eyebrows, and Skye wanted to sink into the floor a little. Just a little. “But there is a spectacle about the homecoming royalty. Every f*cking year without fail. You can probably guess who’s on the shortlist.

Judging by the hierarchy of her first few days, Jade could harbor a guess. “Grant Ward, probably. Your sister?” She winked at Hope. “You?”

Skye choked. Jade, think she was good enough to be homecoming royalty? Jade thought she was pretty enough to win a crown?? Jade thought she was pretty? There wasn't any recovering from that. None whatsoever. Maybe Bobbi was right. But only a little.

“Pffft,” she finally stuttered out. “Me? Get homecoming? Please. The only thing I get are Bobbi's sloppy seconds.” The other girl hummed and nodded, and for a minute or two, both of them fell into step.

Honestly, Jade wasn’t surprised Bobbi had been the focus of many a male gaze. She wouldn’t be surprised, either, if she’d been the focus of some female gazes. Hers included, really. What was not to like? Bobbi was tall, blonde, blue eyes that could drown if she wasn’t careful enough. (She’d noticed them when they’d first met, but there was a difference between noticing a girl’s eyes as a Straight and noticing them as a full-stop lesbian. There really was.)

But Bobbi...if Jade really stopped to think about it, the more she found she couldn’t entertain the thought. Not just because Bobbi was straighter than the lines of cocaine she’d seen Veronica Sinclair snort back in boarding school, but because she’d always seemed to be at a point in time somewhere in the distant future. Skye had even confirmed it -- her sister compared law schools like girls compared their boyfriends, and now that she apparently had her heart set on going to NYU, everything before it was almost meaningless.

Jade, on the meanwhile, wasn’t even sure what she’d eat for dinner.

“And it’s just like, I want a boy for myself, y’know?” Skye’s ranting brought Jade out of her head and back to the conversation. “I just think Bobbi’s jealous Grant Ward didn’t ask her to homecoming first before me. And then she had the audacity to tell me to stay off him, because he’s bad news? Like, yeah, I know Bobbi’s f*cking gorgeous with that whole blue eyes blonde hair thing, but it’s not everyone’s type.” She caught Jade’s eye and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. I mean, unless she’s your type.” Jade could date her sister. Totally could. It was fine .

“Trust me, I wouldn’t date your sister,” The notion made Jade chuckle a little. “Blonde’s not really my type.” She could swear Skye perked up a little at the mention, and decided to push it a bit further. “More of a brunette, if y’know what I mean.” Skye’s face flamed, and Jade mentally high-fived herself.

Skye was...different, for lack of a better word. She hadn’t believed the rumors, to begin with. And there’d been a spark in the shorter brunette the first time they’d spoken that had impressed Jade -- she hadn’t expected that. Skye was passionate about everything and everyone: she saw it in the way she’d handed Bobbi the prize money, the pride in which she’d spoken about who she was, even in the way she interacted with Hope.

It really was a shame she was straight -- Jade had to take a hard beating to the voice in the back of her head that whined otherwise. This was her friend. Until she came out of the closet (or didn’t at all, in which case she’d have to really think about what she was doing), Skye May was just as straight as her sister.

“What do you think Grant likes?” Skye threw out as they wandered into the first store. “I want to get something he’d like, y’know? I mean, he’s on the football team. I have to look good.” She frowned and rifled through a few racks. “Jade? Hope?”

“Lesbian,” Jade echoed at the same time Hope said, “ You know,”

“Okay, one, I don’t even want to know where you’re getting that knowledge, Hope,” Skye answered from behind the rack, “and two, Jade, doesn’t that technically make you qualified? What do you want to see in a girl?” Jade held back a snort. She knew the kind of boy Grant Ward was, if the hom*ophobic slurs he’d yelled at her was any indication. Still, a big promise was a big promise -- she was gay, not petty. And trying to work past her genetic penchant of holding grudges.

“Red,” she admitted finally, and in her mind’s eye, flashed upon her friend in a classy red dress, heels and all -- sneakers, probably, Jade laughed to herself -- and she had to shake her head again. This was supposed to be for Grant, not her. “Chinese color and all, right? Plus, you’re killing your top right now.” Skye made a beeline for the rack of red dresses while Jade and Hope took the other, the sounds of hangers scraping the rack the only soundtrack to their search.

It wasn’t long before the three of them emerged with a suitable number of dresses and plodded to the changing room. Hope dutifully took a seat. “Jade?”

“What’s up, Hope?”

“Are you gonna do this too?” When Jade nodded, Hope swooned dramatically across the seat. “You mean I have to go through this again?”

“You’re the one who asked to come, kiddo,” Skye laughed through the curtain. “Tell you what. If you let Jade and I do this, we can do it for you too. Then you can take pictures with us on homecoming, how’s that?” Hope perked up, and Jade smiled inwardly. It was becoming of Skye, it seemed, to make sure that no one would get left out of things. Hope had had much more opinion of the day than she’d expected.

It was very... maternal, in a way. Jade had to take a minute to beat down the voice in the back of her head again. This really needed to stop.

“First dress -- Hope, drumroll please!” Hope rolled her eyes affectionately before drumming on the hard bench outside Skye’s changing stall as the curtain opened and the girl in question stepped out.

The dress in question was split into two pieces, a small sliver of Skye’s midriff showing between a tight, sleeveless berry red top and floral-patterned skirt. Red and blue flowers (were they orchids? Peonies? Jade made a note to visit the local flower shop when she returned) were spread out in no particular order against a white background, some with stem and leaves still attached.

Hope and Jade studied the dress with critical eyes. The former even poked Skye in the stomach. “Isn’t a dress supposed to be in one piece? And it’s kinda bright. But it looks good with your hair! Wait.” She pointed to her babysitter’s hair. “Take your hair down.”

Bemused, Skye took her hair out of its loose ponytail, letting it tumble around her shoulders. The overall effect made her look slightly more feminine, Jade mused, but it was still a little too...delicate for a high school homecoming. Maybe a fancy luncheon on Central Park or something. “Kinda casual for homecoming, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” Skye answered, already examining herself in the mirror. “But I think I’m gonna get it anyways. The mafia busted up the place last week and we just got the money.” She danced back into the dressing room, and Hope could be heard sighing loudly. “Next!”

“Ooh, hey, this matches my sneakers!”

Skye peeked out of the curtain sheepishly, and Jade and Hope looked up from where they were reading the Golden Dragon group chat regarding the first dress. (Mack had lent his daughter his phone before leaving, playfully warning her not to play Pokemon Go in the streets. “Dad...you know what year it is, right?”) So far, there’d been disgust at the dress’ brightness from Bobbi, polite distaste at the flowers from May, and a neutral comment from Mack.

Hope wrinkled her nose. “Skye, did you lose half of the dress?” While darkened to a nice shade of maroon, only the bottom half of the current dress was solid. The top instead morphed into a striped pattern, strips of mesh cutting between the cloth. One mesh stripe was conveniently placed right above Skye’s chest, showing more skin than was probably deemed appropriate for a high school dress code.

Jade had a feeling their wizened principal would have a heart attack. “Were you planning to give Grant a show?” she teased instead. “If so, I’m telling Bobbi, and she’s going to murder him at the dance. You’ll win homecoming queen for sure .”

“What? No!” Skye examined herself in the mirror, picking at the strip above her chest. Hope slyly took a picture for the restaurant group chat. “...can you really see that much?”

Grant Ward probably would think he wasn’t seeing enough, Jade mused. “ Yes, May. The only good solid piece is like those boob censors on Maury .”

Skye leveled her a long, hard look. “...the hell d’you watch Maury for?”

“Check it out, Fitz is being an awkward klutz about the last dress,” Hope leaned over and showed Jade the group chat, laughing when she saw the poor boy’s apparent keyboard smashes and attempts to explain himself out of his apparent ogling.

Leo Fitz: She’s got, uh...uh, those things

Melinda May: What *things*, Fitz? Spit it out

Bobbi May: Yeah, Fitz. What things does my little sister have?

Melinda May: Just remember your job’s on the line. Is all.

Leo Fitz: fhdsfhaskfhdskjfhoz;dhfkjshfkjsdhfalf

Leo Fitz: her

Leo Fitz: her equipment

Bobbi May: Wait, my sister’s packing? I’ve lived with the bitch for eight years, you’d think I’d have known

Melinda May: Not sure she tells you everything, hon

Leo Fitz: boobs

Leo Fitz: her boobs

Melinda May: How dare you talk about my daughter that way

Melinda May: She is a paragon of innocence and virtue

Bobbi May: Dunno I caught her watching p*rn once

Melinda May: She’s grounded as soon as she gets home

Piper: oh damn

Davis: OH damn

Jade snatched the phone. “Uh, okay, not sure this conversation’s for you, kiddo.” She was doing the right thing by keeping Hope from lewd conversations, right? And the less she saw, the less she could tell Skye. Which meant explaining the less they’d corrupted the eight-year-old.

“What’s not for Hope? Is the restaurant sh*tting on me in the group chat again?” Skye stepped out, frowning. “This really doesn’t match my sneakers.” The dress in question this time was now a blood red and more reminiscent of something one would see on an episode of The Bachelor, not wear to high school homecoming. Almost as if made of silk, the spaghetti-strapped neckline dipped dangerously low before cinching out into a flowy skirt.

Jade had a feeling that if Skye wore this dress, Melinda and Bobbi would be fighting each other to get the privilege to kill Grant Ward. She raised an eyebrow, nodding to the exposed neckline. “Hey May, I think your neckline’s a little high.”

Two spots of color appeared high on Skye’s cheekbones. “f*ck off, Wong.”

“I’m just saying -!”

“This is the last one, right, Jade?” Hope was now fully sprawled out across the bench, jacket bunched up under her head in an attempt to take a nap. The both of them were watching the drama play out in the group chat, this time between Melinda and Bobbi threatening each other over who would get to kill Grant Ward first. So far, both of them had to agree -- the May matriarch had the upper hand. “We’ve been here for half an hour. I think the lady outside is giving us evil looks.”

“This is the last one,” Jade agreed tiredly. “Don’t worry, kid.” She still had her dress to get through, given, but at least she didn’t have anyone to impress. To be honest, she didn’t really know why she was going, other than the fact that it would be her first public school homecoming. “This is probably the one. If not, I’m leaving Skye to the sharks and we’ll go get mine, yeah?”

“I really think this is the one!” Skye called, having heard their commentary. “I really do!” She stepped out of the curtain, and Hope raised her head in a feeble attempt to look awake. Her jaw dropped.

“ Dang, Skye!” The dress stood somewhere between plum and maroon, opting for a sleeveless halter neckline and cutting at an angle down her body, where it flared out into a classic skirt. Skye did a small twirl to reveal a small patch of skin at the small of her back. “Pick this one! And I’m not saying it just because I’m tired!”

“You really think so, Hope?” Skye turned in the mirror a little more than usual, grabbing her phone to take some selfies. “I really think this is it, too. Grant’ll love it.” Hope turned to Jade to get her own opinion, only to find the taller girl staring at Skye with an awed look on her face.

That was the kind of girl Jade wanted to take to prom. Already, she could imagine the small patch of back being warm against her palm as she put an arm around Skye’s waist. How her shoulders just cut a line due to the halter top. And the girl had legs for days. Somewhere, the softness that she’d known as Skye had disappeared and had been replaced with this whole other girl that Jade didn’t know but appreciated nonetheless.

Not enough to forget Skye was straight, of course. Jade sighed and blinked away the fantasy. She needed to work harder to keep her gay out of their friendship.

Hope poked her. “Why don’t you just ask her out?” she asked in a whisper. After making sure Skye was appropriately occupied with taking selfies and sending them to everyone she knew, Jade bent down to Hope’s level, her expression serious.

“To be honest, I’d love to,” she admitted. The truth hung heavily in her throat once she let it into the air -- this new knowledge that yeah, she liked Skye, and no matter how many times you got a crush on someone, the strength of the realization never got any weaker -- and she swallowed it down. There’d be time to mope about it later. “But, Hope...” How did you explain that you couldn’t just like whoever you wanted to an eight year-old? “I don’t know if Skye likes me that way. I don’t know if she likes people that way.”

“What do you mean?” Bless Mack for teaching his daughter an open mind.

“Well, some girls like boys.” Skye, for one. “And some girls like girls.” That was her. “I just don’t know who Skye likes yet, and I don’t want to ruin what we have if it turns out she doesn’t like girls. Or me. Like that. Like, um...you know -- you know how Mr. Phil clearly likes Miss May?”

Hope nodded sagely. “I still think he should ask her out. If not, someone else will. Miss May likes him, but she’s not gonna wait around forever.”

“Right. Like that. But, uh, Miss May doesn’t know Mr. Phil likes her. And Mr. Phil doesn’t know Miss May likes him. And neither of them want to ask each other out in case it goes wrong, cause they’re scared they won’t talk to each other ever again.”

The younger girl was silent for a moment. “Adults are dumb, Jade. Really dumb.”

Jade chuckled. “Yeah. So that’s sort of how me and Skye are, except Skye might not even like girls, just boys. If she doesn’t like girls like that, why would she like me?”

Hope’s answering look suggested that Jade was even dumber than Phil and Melinda. “I’m pretty sure she likes you.”

Chapter 15: Dan Taat, pt. 2

Chapter Text

Jade watched as Skye chatted animatedly with the bakery boy at the counter of the food court, ignoring how Hope pointedly sipped her soda. “Stop staring, Jade,” she said finally, when her slurps were beginning to annoy the family a table over. “It’s getting kinda obvious.”

The older girl whipped her head around, a blush filling her cheeks. “M-m-me? Blushing?” She wasn’t staring at Skye. Not by a long shot. She was admiring the pastries in the case. Yeah. That was it. Pastries in the case. They all looked scrumptious, and had Skye just laughed at the dude’s joke? Had it even been funny? What was taking so long for the damn --

“Jade!”

Jade whipped her head back around. Skye had left the counter and returned to their table, sliding a freshly made dan taat in front of the each of them. “You good?” she asked. “Sorry I took so long. That was Tony Huang. We used to go to Chinese school together, until he punched some kid’s two front teeth out.”

“We’re okay,” Hope chirped, as Jade had opened her mouth without any sound emanating from it. “Jade was just looking at the pastries in the case. Weren’t you, Jade?” At that, Jade snapped her mouth shut and nodded. She’d never thought an eight-year-old would be her wingwoman, but apparently anything was possible.

“Looked like a lot of good stuff there,” she finally managed to get out. “You’ll have to show me all of it sometime.” Somehow, her facial muscles came together to manage a wink and a half-smirk, cause Skye to stop halfway to sitting down. Hm. “That is, if you don’t mind.”

“I, uh. Nah, of course not!” The wrapper to the dan taat slipped to the floor, and Skye hurriedly took the opportunity to hide her own blush. “I can make all of those, actually. My mom taught me when I was younger. We don’t serve ‘em at the restaurant ‘cause they take too much time to make and we don’t have a window display to put them in, plus if we did we’d have to open early and you know how my mom hates opening early --”

“Skye!” Hope’s look was more than pointed, and Skye snapped her mouth shut to find Jade holding back a snort. “Are you done telling Jade about all of the things you’ve made? I think she wants to go get a dress today , you know.”

“I think it’s cute.” Skye choked on her first bite of tart. “My mom never really taught me how to make any of the foods she made for dinner.” The other girl actually looked offended at that, and Jade shrugged. “I guess she always assumed that I’d meet a nice Chinese boy who would teach me.” Of course, that plan had been ditched the moment she’d gotten kicked out of boarding school.

Hope looked between the two of them, hoping she wouldn’t have to fill in the blanks. No such luck. Did she have to do everything around here? “Okay, so, Skye, when do you want to teach Jade how to make pastries? You want to teach Jade how to make pastries, right?” She took another bite out of her dan taat to make her point.

“Oh. Right.” Skye shot Jade a nervous grin. “What do you say, Wong? An actual big and little activity?” She pulled out her phone, pretending to squint at it. “See, I’ve only got a couple of openings every week, it’ll be kind of hard to squeeze you in between recovering from Fitz’s tastings and slaving over Thoreau.”

“She means to say she’s wide open ,” Hope deadpanned when Jade looked to reconsider her offer. “Trust me, you coming to hang out at least once a week at May’s would be so much better than watching Skye do her homework and eat scallion pancakes.” Jade still looked unsure, so Hope sighed. “How about Wednesday, Jade?”

“Wednesday sounds fine,” Skye and Jade said in unison. Hope shot her babysitter a look -- which one of them was supposed to be setting the dates again? “Wednesday sounds great,” Jade continued, shooting Skye her own grin. “Think you can start with teaching me how to make the dan taat ?”

Skye nodded, still unsure as to how she’d gotten to this point. It was probably best to just keep nodding.

“Good.” Hope put down her soda can with a tiny clang . “Can we go now? You guys said I could pick something, too!”

“Okay, so first, I want to try green,” Jade said as they trooped back into the store. “For some reason, I didn’t inherit the Asian gene where you look good in red. And it’s gotta be dark green. None of that neon green stuff. You think you’re up to the challenge, kiddos?” Skye raised an eyebrow at the categorization but nodded nonetheless. “Good. Break!”

The three of them scattered off to look through the rack. Hope stuck to Skye’s side this time, the both of them starting at opposite ends. “Hey, Hope?”

“Yeah, Skye? Can you help me get this dress?”

Skye lifted the aforementioned garment off with relative ease. “Thanks. For earlier. But, uh...you know I don’t like Jade that way, right? She’s just a friend. You can stop setting us up.” She appreciated the gesture. She really did. Hope had given her the opportunity to spend at least one afternoon a week hanging out with Jade, making food and getting hit with quips. But she didn’t like her like that. Skye could even say she appreciated the amount of attention Jade gave her -- for one, it wasn’t sleazy and egotistical, and second, it didn’t come off of Bobbi. It...it was nice.

It kind of made her feel like a fresh dan taat herself -- warm, bright, and generally like a child all over again. She’d be a fool not to like that feeling. But Jade? Like Jade ? She couldn’t imagine it. And it wasn’t like reciprocation would be fair game, anyhow. As far as leagues went, Skye was pretty sure Jade Wong was a couple ahead of her, as mesmerizing and mysterious as she was.

“Well, why not?” Hope was already trying to pull off another dress on a hanger by the time Skye made her way through her mental gymnastics. “She’s nice and funny! And she’s really pretty. And you let make fun of you. You only let Bobbi, Miss May and Dad make fun of you, and even then you threaten to try and kill Bobbi.”

“You’re right,” Skye hummed. “Jade’s pretty, funny, and nice, kiddo. And I do let her make fun of me. But I just don’t like her like that, you get me? Some girls like girls, and that’s okay with me. I’m more than okay with that. I love it! But I’m not one of those girls, is all.” She held up a dress. “What do you think of this for Jade?”

Hope looked around, trying to find the taller girl. “I think she’s disappeared.”

“It’s easy to find her. Just yell something mildly insulting and she’ll come out of nowhere ready to fight you. Give it a shot.”

“What would I even yell?”

“Watch and learn, young Padawan.” When Hope didn’t look amused, Skye just sighed. “I got this. JADE WONG IS A FAKE CHINESE AND THINKS FRIED RICE IS PRIME CHINESE FOOD!”

“ExCUSE ME, I’M FULL CHINESE AND I CAN DAMN WELL WHACK YOU WITH MY FAMILY TREE TO PROVE IT -- oh, come on!” Jade had emerged half-dressed from the fitting room, hopping in a pair of tailored pants, to deliver her tirade. “I fell for this last week!”

“The funniest thing is that you fell for it a second time, Wong,” Skye giggled. “Anyways, Hope and I found you some dresses. Go try them on in all of your fake Chinese glory,” Jade just shot her a sharp glare before snatching up the dresses and marching to the fitting room. “I still can’t believe you think fried rice is prime Chinese food!”

“And so it begins,” Hope announced dramatically when the curtain shifted. “Jade Wong’s homecoming dress, take one.” She shot Skye a meaningful look. “Hopefully not one of fifteen million.”

“I feel like I can’t breathe, so I don’t think it’s going to be a total hole in one, Hope,” Jade stepped gingerly out of the changing stall, the top half of her dress clinging tightly to her body. Golden threading ran down her sleeves and through the majority of the dress, including two wide gold bands at the bodice and waist before snaking their way through a flowing skirt. “I also think my back sweat’s developed its own back sweat.”

Skye and Hope could only goggle. “Hey, dragon lady,” Skye said at last. “Where’s your cane? You leave it with your mythical steed?”

Jade shot her a withering look in return. “You only wish you knew where my cane was, Wong.”

“Jade’s homecoming dress, take two!” Hope clapped loudly before checking the group chat once more. “Jade, Miss May says that she wants that dress to wear during Asian St. Patrick’s day. She wears a seven, whatever that means.”

“It means that Miss May has a rockin’ bod, and I’d probably kill to be in her shape at her age.” Jade stepped out in her next dress, and both girls were stunned into a silence even worse than before. “This is bad, isn’t it? It makes me feel like a f*ckin’ old Irish lady. Had enough of those when I went to boarding school.” She did an exaggerated curtsey. “Top o’ the mornin’ to ya!”

There were a couple more seconds of stony silence before Skye finally lost it, bursting into laughter. “There’s a bow !” she guffawed, slapping her leg not unlike that of an old country bumpkin. “There’s a f*cking bow ! I can’t believe it, a bow ...” Her laughter brought her to the nearest bench, and she collapsed on it, still holding her stomach. “Hope, take a picture for the...for the group chat, I’m sorry, Jade, it’s just -- there’s a bow !”

She’d never met someone over the age of eleven that still wore bows. Seeing the almighty Jade Wong wear one was a jarring image she’d never thought she’d get to see. (And now that she was seeing it, it was f*cking hilarious.)

Jade stared at herself in the mirror for a long while, seemingly contemplating her life decisions. Hope just stared at Skye as if she’d declared aliens existed and had somehow taken over Piper and Davis’ bodies.

Finally, Jade snorted. “Goddamn. I’m going to find something black.”

“Why are the angles of this dress so sharp ?”

Skye and Hope exchanged equal looks of confusion before the latter went back to playing Candy Crush. The former turned back to her conversation with Kaya.

Clouds: i invited her to make pastries at may’s every week kay what do i do h e l p

Kay: wow smol may’s got game who woulda thought

Clouds: i am NOT trying to game her! why haven’t i invited grant ward to come make pastries at may’s yet!

Kay: ...why don’t you ask him then

Clouds: what if he thinks it’s weird? you don’t just ask the boy you like to come make PASTRIES. let alone CHINESE pastries

Kay: and you ask the girl you like to do it?

Clouds: i do NOT like jade

Clouds: we’re friends

Clouds: /just/ friends

Clouds: idk why people keep asking me if i like jade

Clouds: first hope and now you

Kay: wait lil hope asked you if you liked jade?

Kay: smol hope

Kay: who’s like, eight

Kay: and she can sense the gay

Clouds: there is no gay. not for me

Clouds: i have already said this

Kay: aight

Kay: but you’re dress shopping with her

Kay: and you can’t tell me you haven’t seen her serve some Looks

“I hate it,” Jade stepped out of the stall, picking at her shoulder. “I feel like the modern version of Breaking Dawn and Christina Perri.” The dress in question this time had a soft black mesh top, extending down long sleeves embroidered with similarly-colored flowers. It cut all the way down towards Jade's waist, where a white skirt flared sharply out, more black flowers lining the hem.

“I think your emo phase called,” Skye snarked. “News flash: it wants its clothing back.” Jade pretended to hiss at her in true vampire fashion, causing Hope to look up and roll her eyes before turning back once more to her game.

“You guys are losers.”

“Just remember which one of us is buying you things later, kid.”

“Skye?”

“What's up, Hope? You need another soda or something?”

“Can you tell my daddy I love him? I don't think I'm gonna make it. But another soda would be nice.” Skye rolled her eyes and handed Hope a five-dollar bill. “Thanks, Skye!” The smaller Mackenzie skipped out of the changing room, leaving Skye alone with Jade.

“Okay, how's this?”

Skye's mouth went dry when Jade stepped out of the stall. The most recent dress in question was made entirely of sparkles and was set in deep a cut down to her stomach, a small mesh triangle attempting to preserve some modesty. Jade did a small twirl, the plain black skirt lifting a little, and it was only then that Skye caught the wide expanse of skin the dress was leaving in the back.

Why were her cheeks burning...?

“I'm gonna take that as a sign you like it,” Jade teased. “I've never stunned a girl into silence. This is good.”

“It...I...” God, the temperature was hot in there. This wasn't fair. Jade was too pretty. Skye's eyes involuntarily dipped down the cut of the dress before zooming back up and down the sharp line of Jade's shoulders. This wasn't fair. There was so much skin. And it was probably warm and soft and wow, did she want to touch it. But mainly, Jade was just pretty.

Where had that come from?

“Skye?”

“I think your neckline's a little too high, Wong,” Skye finally croaked out when her brain was able to formulate words once more. Jade snorted loudly.

“You're lucky I don't put a pride flag up your ass. Now, I'm gonna change into this cute suit I bought, and you're gonna change into the dress you bought, okay?”

Following commands wasn't really Skye's forte at the moment. She'd just been accosted by a pretty girl, okay? “...wha?” Jade sighed and handed Skye the bag sitting next to her.

“Change.” A few minutes later, Skye was shaking her hair out of her ponytail to see Jade shrugging on a suit jacket that cinched in at her waist. If Skye’s mouth had gone dry at the sight of Jade in the dress, the suit silently stole the breath out of her lungs. How did anyone make a suit look so good? Well, she amended silently, her mom could do it. You didn’t become a feared figure of the Chinese mafia without rocking a suit or two.

“Remind me why I’m in this dress again?” she asked, if only to take the attention off of the fact that they’d been staring at each other in absolute silence. “I know you’ve never been to homecoming, Wong, but typically we take the photos the night of , not in the dressing room.”

Jade just fiddled with her phone. “When was the last time you danced with a dude?” She hoped she wasn’t reaching, asking Skye to dance with her. The whole purpose of the shopping trip had been to establish their boundaries as a big and little, not to blur them with her feelings. Jade hated feeling like she was walking on eggshells and not knowing how her every move would be reciprocated. She hadn’t felt this taut in a long time -- almost not ever, dare she say.

For her sake, she hoped Skye figured herself out soon. She couldn’t take much more of getting too close to the girl.

“I can dance,” Skye said in a half strangled voice. “I...I mean, I haven’t danced with anyone since like, seventh grade, but I can dance with a boy.” Still, she stepped closer to Jade when the other girl started up a slow song, setting her phone on the bench speaker up. “Asking me to dance, Wong?”

“Can’t hurt, can it?” Jade braced herself as the opening chords began to play, waiting for Skye to step back with the same panicked look in her eyes she’d seen in so many other girls. Waited for the look, you’re sweet and all, but I just...you know that... It would be rejection, plain and simple, regardless if Skye was straight or not. “I mean. If it’s not too awkward, I mean. You don’t have to, we can just pretend this never happened --”

“Teach me to slow dance, Wong,” And just like that, Jade had a hand on Skye’s shoulder and another around her waist. Her skin was every bit as soft as she thought it’d be, she noted. And a tiny bit warmer. It already seemed like her fingers had set up a home there, though, and had no intention of leaving.

You’re in my arms

And all the world is gone

The music playing on for only two

So close together

And when I’m with you

So close to feeling alive

Skye stepped back, bringing Jade with her; Jade stepped sideways. A couple of repetitions had them dancing in a small circle around the dressing room. Lights dimmed in their heads, the carpet turned to shiny hardwood, and the music seemed to echo around their ears instead of out of a single source point.

So close to reaching

That famous happy ending

Almost believing

This one’s not pretend

And now you’re beside me

“And look how far we’ve come...” The words slipped past Jade’s lips like water. Almost instantly, she wanted to snatch them back and stuff them into her mouth. She and Skye hadn’t gotten anywhere. They barely knew each other, much less enough to marvel on the progress on their friendship. And here she was, putting herself out on the line for what? An ever-decreasing chance? Thanks, but no thanks.

Skye just grinned. “So close, yet so far.” The two of them were pressed a little too closely together, Jade with her eyes closed and Skye trying to diagnose the odd warm feeling in her stomach. “Guess you were an Enchanted girl when you were younger.”

“Idina Menzel was pretty,” Jade answered with a small scoff, but smiled and twirled Skye anyways.

Oh how could I face the faceless days

If I should lose you now?

Hope, soda in hand, peeked back into the dressing room to see Skye and Jade slowly swaying in the middle of the dressing room, pops of color in the otherwise bland atmosphere. She couldn’t understand why Skye was so intent on not admitting she liked Jade. Especially when she was looking at the taller girl like she had the ability to produce scallion pancakes on command.

And with Jade looking at Skye, stoically remaining in the friendzone? What was up with these two?

She gave them the benefit of the doubt until the end of the song before stepping into the room, cracking the tab of her soda loudly. Skye and Jade jumped apart, both of them with burning cheeks.

“I’m just gonna -- yeah, I’m gonna -- change,” Skye said lamely, all but dashing into the stall. Jade did the same, and the comfortable silence that had been in the room before had suddenly turned heavy and awkward. Both girls emerged from the stall, purchases in hand, determined not to look at each other.

“Let’s go pay,” Jade said. “And, uh....Hope, it’ll be your turn, and we can all go get ice cream, yeah?”

“Come on, let’s see it!” Jade called some time later. “You can’t hide in there forever, kiddo. We’ll break down the door eventually.”

Hope poked her head out of the door, her hair done in a messy bun and eyes alight. “Guys. I love it!” A white lace ruffle spread over her shoulders and lead to a black-and-white polka dotted boy wrapped around the waist before going into a similar skirt. “I LOVE THIS BOW.”

The excitement was slowly sliding off of Skye and Jade’s faces, turning them into grimaces instead. Hope, uncaring of their reactions, danced back into the dressing room to take pictures. “We gotta call child protective services,” Jade whispered to Skye, breaking the silence that had been hanging between them ever since they’d left the previous dressing room. “I don’t think Mack’s raising his kid right.”

Skye turned and looked at her. Their last encounter was still weighing on her mind, and she’d spent the whole walk (and search) over trying to figure out what the dance had meant. She’d liked it. That was no question. But had she liked it because someone’d chosen to lavish attention on her (which was what was more likely) or had it been because...because...

Because...

“Skye?”

This wasn’t the time. “Amen,” she echoed, drained. “Who the f*ck loves bows on their waists?”

The second dress was simpler -- a straight, plum-colored shift dress with a lace button-back and a small leather belt around the middle. Skye’d picked it out because it’d been the best compromise she could get with Hope over some sort of cinched waist.

“Wow, Hope, lookin’ classy!” Jade called. “You look like you’re about to go to a wedding.”

“Thanks, Jade! Guess what?”

“What’s up?”

Hope excitedly stuck her hands in her dress with a manic grin. “It has pockets! ”

Bobbi May: mom wants to know if jade’s staying for dinner

Bobbi May: skye i know you’re not f*cking talking to me for some stupid reason but mom wants to know if jade’s staying for dinner

Bobbi May: skye come on

Melinda May: skye, is jade staying for dinner?

Skye May: hang on, mom

“Hey,” Skye nudged Jade, who was scrolling through her phone. “You wanna come for dinner?” Jade had to stare at her for a long time, trying to force her brain from the idea that Skye was asking her for a dinner date. “Mom’s making...well, I’m not sure what she’ll make, but it’ll probably be something you like, since apparently y’all know each other.”

Jade forced herself to nod. “Yeah. Yeah. I’ll, uh...I’ll be there. I love your mom’s cooking. Any chance she can make the shrimp? It’s been forever and a half.”

Skye May: jade says she’s coming for dinner and she wants to know if you’ll make the shrimp mom

Melinda May: tell her i’ll make the shrimp

Melinda May: skye mack wants to know why you put her in a romper

Melinda May: skye my daughter is EIGHT she should NOT be in a romper that is meant for thirteen year olds

Melinda May: please don’t buy that for her i know you’re her babysitter but you’re supposed to do things behind my back like taking her to see rated r movies and to get ice cream not buying her rompers

Alphonso Mackenzie: but dad it has POCKETS!!!!

Melinda May: hopeno you’re not getting the romper

“I think I finally understand Hope when she was being dramatic earlier,” Jade groaned, standing. There was a loud crack . “My lower back is killing me.” Skye kept back her grin as the other girl hobbled around the dressing room, clutching said part. “I must confess, so are my knees.”

A gasp sounded within the dressing room. “It’s PERFECT!” Skye and Jade exchanged looks. What would await them this time? A series of bows? A multitude of pockets? More rompers? (They’d let Hope do her own shopping. It was a decision they were regretting right about then.) Hope ran out of the dressing room. “Can I get this one? Pleeeeeease?”

Hope’s dress was very similar to one of the dresses Skye had tried on before: red, yellow and blue flowers bloomed over the top and skirt, set against a white background and flowing oh-so-innocently. A violet belt cinched the waist, and while there was a bow, both of them decided that they could forgive it. The colors sat perfectly against Hope’s skin and were the narrow to her bushy hair, which she’d pulled into a messy ponytail.

“You know, I don’t think your dad will kill me for this one,” Skye hummed. “Yeah. Let’s get it. I think it’s even good enough for you to come take pictures with us on homecoming night.” Hope fist-pumped the air. Of course, Skye had planned on letting Hope take pictures with them anyways -- but at least now, she’d be decked out to the tens.

“Can we be flower girls together?”

Skye snorted. “Heckin’ yeah, Hope. If we both wear those dresses I’ll make your dad take us out to tea . And not that stuff in the dining room, either,” she laughs, ruffling Hope’s hair. “Real darn tea.” Hope deserved to know her experiences, she believed. To see and understand the world like her mom had done for her when she was little.

Not that she was faulting Mack for his parenting. Not at all. She was pretty sure Mack was a better parent than Skye and...whoever she chose to end up with combined.

“Can Bobbi come, too? And Miss May and Mister Phil?”

Skye looked at her, swallowing. “I’m sure none of them would miss it for the world, kiddo.” She and Bobbi would just have to slide through the fact that they still hadn’t spoken to each other, was all. No biggie.

And whether Phil and May would manage to survive a high tea date? She’d have to make sure Piper and Davis brought popcorn.

Chapter 16: cheong fun

Chapter Text

"Oh my god, Phil. You look exhausted."

Skye'd seen her fair share of tired people -- she was a high school student, after all, and one simply didn't make it through a public school career without learning how to combat exhaustion. But this was a whole new level of being tired.

Phil was leaning heavily on the doorway, dark shadows framing his already drooping eyelids. A Starbucks cup was clutched in his right hand, in the left a small briefcase. The closer Skye got to him, the more concerned she got. Was that a five-o-clock shadow he was sporting...?

Her mom did not date men with scruff. It had to go. But first, she had to get Phil out of the damn doorway before he started clogging up the dim sum crowd. "Phil. You gotta get up, buddy. Come on, Phil. Let's go." An attempt to heave him off of the doorway resulted in the coffee sloshing dangerously over her work shirt. "Coooomme on. Mack, a little help here?"

"When was the last time he slept?" Mack easily picked Phil up and carried him over to his usual. Skye trailed behind him with the briefcase. "Definitely looks like he hasn't slept in a week." Piper arrived quickly with a pot of tea and a set of dishes, but didn't comment on Phil's state of consciousness.

Skye shrugged. "I'll go get Mom."

As it was, the fact that Phil Coulson was passed out on her dining table brought forth one of Melinda's famous eyebrow raises, but she gravitated towards the table all the same. Piper was on the other end, gently dabbing up the mess Phil's coffee had made spilling on the table. "Phil," Melinda said, shaking him a little. "Phil, are you here for something?"

"Mrrrrrrrrrrmph."

"Phil, come on," Melinda drawled. "You fell asleep at my dining table. Come on. Time to get up."

"Five more minutes, Mellie." Piper exchanged panicked looks with Mack. No one'd ever dared to call Melinda by a nickname before, least of all a man she'd just barely met. She really hoped Phil didn't end up with a restraining order at the end of all this -- but 'Mellie' was cutting it a little thin.

"...Did you just call me 'Mellie'?"

Alright. "Let me have a shot." Melinda backed away, the makings of a murder plot etched on her face -- damn it, she was going to have to make sure Phil grovelled his way out of that later -- and leaned into his ear. "Phil," Skye said, enunciating every syllable. "Your hair is on fire."

"WHAT?!" If it hadn't been for Piper's foresight to move the teapot far, far away from Phil's arm, the tablecloth would've been covered in liquid. As it was, Phil's hands were automatically patting his hair, presumably to check for any remaining flames. "I told Pam not to smoke inside, Kara uses hairspray in her cubicle and that thing's flammable as hell --"

Piper, Skye and Mack were all doubled down with laughter by the time he noticed he had an audience. Melinda just stood there with a raised eyebrow. "...my hair isn't on fire, is it?" How had he even gotten here, actually? The last thing he remembered was getting that quad espresso from the coffee shop across the street six hours ago. "Wha' time izzit?"

Melinda checked her watch, her face still impassive. A corner of her mouth was quirked up into a smile, though, Phil thought. He wondered if that counted towards his smile tally. "It's 12:30, Phil. When was the last time you slept?"

"Slept?" Phil jogged in place for a few seconds, the quad espresso finally beginning to jitter through his veins. Ah, there it was. The well-known presence of caffeine rushing through his veins. Wait, that wasn't right. He distinctly remembered his last quad espresso kicking in sometime around three this morning, as he'd managed to vomit out a fair 800 words in less than half an hour. Had he picked up another quad sometime between then and now?

He didn't know. Although whenever he'd had it, it was sure kicking in. Maybe a little too much. Phil was ready to sprint a couple of blocks. Or run the New York City Marathon. His head whipped over to the door. A squirrel!

"Oh my god, he's worse than when Bobbi pulled that all-nighter last month," Skye's laughter was the only clue he'd said that out loud. Phil's cheeks grew red. Oh, god. Had he really just said that?

Another movement caught his eye. Squirrel?

Melinda gently bopped his head, and Phil swung his head back over at the touch. "Hi, Mel. How're you today? I'm dandy. Getting all of the photoshoot things approved. Have your release forms. Spread looks great. Definitely going to meet my deadline at least a day or two early. Might've not slept for a couple of days. Might be surviving on my fifth quad espresso. Ooh, squirrel!"

"Skye, how long until a quad espresso wears off?"

Skye eyed Phil, who was staring at the teapot in front of him like it was capable of holding a lively conversation. "I'm not convinced his quad had just espresso, to be honest," she said slowly. "Kinda looks like he laced it with Red Bull or something. Uh..." She picked up the discarded Starbucks cup and took a heavy whiff. "Ugh." Her face resembled that of someone who'd smelt manure for the first time. "That's a quad with a 5-hour energy. Pretty sure I saw Anne Weaver make one of those once to get through AP Gov last year. I give it at least another seven hours."

"Seven hours?" A couple of hours Melinda could spare. But seven hours? They'd be well into dinner service by then, and Melinda did not have the time. Not even for Phil. "At least?"

"What do you want me to do with him?" Mack asked. While he genuinely liked Phil, his loyalty had always been (and always would be) to Melinda. All she had to do was say the word and he'd be (comfortably, he wasn't a savage) sleeping in the gutter. "Want me to take him upstairs?"

"Upstairs?" Phil caught the singular word and held onto it like a stubborn puppy a beloved chew toy. "What's upstairs? Is there an interview I can knock out there? What about someone to sign my release forms? Or a photo spread? Although we'd have to get Mrs. Davis again and it sounded like she wasn't that available short notice the last time I talked to her --"

"I could just knock him out," Mack joked under his breath. Melinda shot him a look that suggested she was actually considering it. "And put him where , Melinda?"

"Just take him upstairs." Melinda exhaled sharply, trying to push down the niggling worry pushing up into her throat. Had Phil been different lately? She tried to remember the last couple of days, searching her memories for any sign he'd been more tired than usual. He had had a tendency to forget things more in days recent. Dropped a piece of food from his chopsticks more than once. Now that she thought about it, the bags around his eyes had been a little more prominent, too. How hadn't she noticed all of these things?

Melinda bit her lip. All of the advice Phil had given her and she couldn't manage to notice something as simple as his lethargy.

"Mom," Skye tugged on her elbow. "I see you out there. It's not your fault." When her mother didn't answer, Skye sighed and hugged her with her left arm. "We all love Phil, but he's a full-grown adult, not one of us. He can take care of himself." As if to disprove that particular point, Phil tried to pour himself a cup of tea and promptly poured the entire pot into his lap, the result of his severely shaking hand.

She winced, watching Piper and Mack try to clean up the mess. "Okay, maybe this isn't the greatest moment to demonstrate it. But you shouldn't feel bad about it, Mom. It's not like you two are dating or anything. You're not responsible for him."

"I know, honey." Melinda reached around and hugged Skye back. "Been a long time since I've had a friend to look out for, though." Neither of them brought up the fact that the older May had easily admitted as such. "Think I'm out of practice."

"And what are we, huh?" Skye asked, pretending to be shocked. "Chopped liver?"

Melinda laughed and kissed her daughter's head. "Good for me? Of course, honey. Now come on, let's go help Mack. I have a feeling he's going to need all the help he can get wearing Phil out."

Dear God, why did his head hurt so much...?

It took all of Phil’s strength just to open his eyes a fraction of an inch, and even then, they crashed right back downwards. He counted to ten before trying again, managing to actually hold them open for a full second before letting them shut again. What had he just done...?

“Oh good, you’re awake,”

“Buh...Bob...” Someone was gently prodding at his eyelids, and Phil was finally able to open his eyes all the way. He was greeted by the sight of Bobbi with her blonde hair piled high in a messy bun, thick-rimmed glasses, a lilac-colored t-shirt and gray sweatpants. “Bobbi?”

“One and only,” Bobbi answered. “How ya feeling, Phil?”

Phil moved his head an inch to the left. Everything he had protested against the action, and he felt that he was being run over by a steamroller. “Like I had a slushie in a Big Gulp.” Why couldn’t he move his arm? Or any of his limbs, as a matter of fact? “Where am I?”

“The May couch,” Bobbi, unperturbed, handed him a bottle of water before picking her biology textbook back up off of the coffee table. “What’s the last thing you remember?” Phil took several hearty quaffs of the water, his throat singing at the presence of liquid before he was able to continue.

“Quad espresso, at, uh...” He frowned, wincing a little. Even that hurt. “9PM...Friday? Saturday? I don’t remember.” More water. “I don’t think I’ve slept since Wednesday.” Deadlines were nothing to joke about at SHIELD -- Rosalind was notorious for punishing the journalists that didn’t hand in their articles on time. Speaking of which -- “Bobbi, what time is it?” Hopefully his brief blackout spell hadn’t lost him too much time. “And, uh...” He scratched his head apologetically. “What day is it?”

The look of horror on Bobbi’s face could’ve rivaled a Texas high school football fan losing the state championship. “Phil, it’s Sunday. You’re telling me you haven’t slept since Wednesday ?!” If Phil hadn’t slept since Wednesday, she reasoned, he’d gotten up that morning and had survived on quad espressos for... “NINETY-ONE AND A HALF HOURS?!”

“I what now?” Phil lunged for his phone, only to let out a yell when he saw the time. 7:30??? “Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?” His deadline was at midnight! And there was still so much he hadn’t done! “I haven’t talked to Skye, or Melinda, or gotten Skye’s form signed, or yours, or hers, or written my overview about the restaurant yet, or done the countdown on the ten best dishes to get during dim sum hour --”

“Phil.”

“--or done the expose on the mafia yet, or done the countdown on the ten best dishes to get during the dinner service, if I’m going to be honest, or arranged the photos for the spread --”

“ Phil .”

“--or done the background article about Fitz does in the kitchen, or done the piece on the xiaolong bao contest, my research on the different spices Fitz uses, oh god I have to track down Chan Ho and ask him about his work on the xiaolong bao contest and not get killed in the process, speaking of which, do you know where I can find him? I’d rather not ask Mel --”

“PHIL!” Bobbi was in front of him, gently shaking his shoulders. “Breathe.” Phil tried to, and found for some reason his windpipe had closed. Eyes wide, Phil tried to suck in more air only to sound like a duck on helium. “ Relax.” Bobbi dug her thumbs into his shoulder blades and rubbed hard. “Are you trying to tell me you haven’t slept because you’re trying to meet your deadline?”

Phil let out a large sigh. “There was a lot more to the spread than Roz let on,” he said finally, and this time it was Bobbi that tensed, not him. “Now that I think about it, she was setting me up for failure, wasn’t she?” It didn’t explain why he’d agreed in the first place.

Right. The possible date with Roz. Phil hummed. With a solid twelve hours of sleep in him, it didn’t seem all that appealing anymore. Taking her to May’s seemed like a violation of some sort of sanctity -- like he was infiltrating a community that hadn’t been meant for him. And that seemed a little too similar to their country’s history, so he was just going to leave that one be.

“You’re not going to fail.” Bobbi had never met Rosalind Price, but if she was having her mother’s possible future husband (dammit, Skye) pass out on their couch after ninety hours of not sleeping, she’d damn do whatever it took to make sure Phil Coulson would rub his success in her face. “I’m going to make sure you don’t. We’re going to make sure you don’t, okay?”

“But before we do that, why don’t we make sure you don’t pass out again?” came a stern voice from the door, and both reporter and daughter alike turned to see Melinda standing in the doorway to the living room, a styrofoam takeout box in her hand and lips pursed so thinly they almost disappeared. “ Wednesday night, Phil?”

Bobbi whistled nervously and checked a nonexistent watch. “Well, I’d love to stay and chill with ya, Phil, but would you look at that? Time for my shift on the floor!” Her exit was punctuated with only an additional ‘Bye, Mom!’ before leaving Phil with Melinda, the takeout, and the heavy stench of his own regret.

(It might have been acid reflux from the 5 Hour Energy. Phil hoped to God he wouldn’t find out anytime soon.)

“Look, Melinda, I...” What would he even start with? Sorry for showing up at her restaurant on a caffeine high? Sorry for passing out who knew how long ago? Sorry for promising a spread that he wouldn’t able to deliver on now that his deadline was in five hours? Yeah, that last one sounded like a good place. “I know May’s was looking forward to the magazine spread, but I don’t think I’ll be able to --”

“Say another word and I won’t hesitate to cover you in soy sauce.”

Phil cringed instinctively. “It’s my last good suit.”

“Then you might want to choose your next words carefully, Coulson .” The grip Melinda had on the takeout box was white-knuckled, and she came close to punching in the styrofoam box in places. “Why the hell did you think going five days without sleep was a good idea?”

“It wasn’t like I thought it was a good idea!” Phil exclaimed. “Look, Roz has got me on the deadline for the spread at midnight, and I’ve still got so much to do, so do you think we could just table this discussion until later?”

“You were passed out on my table, Phil,” Melinda hissed, stepping forward. “You were running on a quad espresso with 5 Hour Energy. You could’ve died .” And she hadn’t noticed at all -- missed all of the signs of fatigue, waved off his yawns and tired smiles. What kind of person did that make her?

“But I didn’t?” was all Phil could muster. It was technically true, even though he couldn’t necessarily remember when he’d taken the shots. “I survived! I think?” He peered questioningly at Melinda. “I’m still on Earth, right?”

“I --” Even when he was being stupid, the man was being charmingly infuriating. Melinda didn’t have time to think about what that meant. Phil had almost died . Not only would it mean May’s would’ve had its first restaurant death, but it wouldn’t even have been because of the mafia. It would’ve been a goofy reporter with way too much emotional investment in her restaurant. Why was he so emotionally invested, anyways?

“Just eat the cheong fun ,” Melinda huffed, shoving the container at him. When Phil eyed it warily, she sighed. “It’s rice noodles with either beef or shrimp inside. One of the dim sum regulars. And soy sauce.” Did she want to make sure Phil was okay? Of course. Was she bringing him food to assuage her conscience? Maybe.

Had Fitz kicked her out of the kitchen because she’d been spacing out too often?

...possibly.

“Just take this,” Fitz had told her matter-of-factly. The take-out container was greasy and hot, almost causing Melinda to drop it on the floor. “You’ve been in an’ out of it for hours. I know you’re concerned about him.”

“Fitz, I can finish the --” Who was this sixteen-year-old to tell her how to do her job? She could do it just fine as it was. Cute passed-out reporter on her couch or not. (She really needed to stop referring to him as cute. Charming was a safe one. Phil was charming, in a cute way. Dammit.) “I can finish the service.”

“I let you finish the service, we’ll have people walking out of here before service is even over,” Fitz answered. “Take the container and make sure he eats. We’re all rootin’ for him, yeah?” The two of them engaged in a long stare-off before Melinda snatched the container out of Fitz’s hands and stalked out of the kitchen somewhat affrontedly. Had she really been wearing her emotions on her sleeve?

Phil’s stomach growled fiercely, and his vision wavered for a minute before doubling back with a painful stab in his gut. Melinda didn’t miss a beat with her glare. “Eat.”

Skye poked her head in, ponytail slightly askew and small oil spatters over her pressed white shirt. “Hey, Phil. Mom,” she nodded to Melinda, “your assistant manager says take the rest of the evening off.”

“Assistant manager?” Phil and May echoed at the same time. “Who’s the assistant --” “I don’t have an assistant --”

“That’s because I just made up the position,” Skye grinned cheekily. “And as your assistant manager, I’m forcing you to take the rest of the night off and sit on our crappy couch to eat cheong fun with Phil. Okay? Okay. See you at the end of the service. And Phil, make sure you eat at least half of it, or I’ll send Mack to break you limb by limb. Later, gators!” She danced back downstairs before Phil or May could even comment on the remark, leaving them with an awkward silence in addition to the other things.

That was, of course, until May chucked a pair of wooden chopsticks at him. “You heard the girl. Eat.”

“Does this mean you’re not mad --”

“Do you want to find out?”

Phil guiltily reached for a piece of food.

Chapter 17: char siu bao

Chapter Text

Harlem was interesting, Melinda decided.

Every time she visited, there seemed to be a new storefront popping up that’d pushed out the old one, weathered souls gradually being replaced by the fresh and clean. A once-in-a-while change she could understand -- after all, what was neighborhood development without any change -- but at the rate this was going, everything she’d become familiar with would disappear within the next year or two.

It was a frightening development she saw mirrored in the Chinatown streets, the restaurants of her childhood slowly but surely being replaced with endless boba tea shops and trendy cafes in the area’s attempt to draw in a younger clientele. The big restaurants were hanging on -- but just barely, and Melinda knew she’d have to make a pivot eventually to bring in the next generation of customers; generational loyalty only went so far.

She sighed, footsteps stopping so she could crane her neck at the towering skyscraper in front of her. A quick Google search had told her that the SHIELD office was located within the bowels of West 128th, and sure as the sun, a cheeky little directory in the building’s lobby directed her to a long bank of elevators. Around her, people dressed in various degrees of formality scurried around her, ears or eyes glued to their phones, and Melinda took a moment to dust off an imaginary speck of dust on her dress pants.

The lack of a next generation was exactly why she’d dug her business clothes out of the closet and taken the train uptown -- Phil Coulson was their best shot at bringing in a new swath of customers. Try as he might, Phil couldn’t bring in new customers when he was surviving on quad espressos and Red Bull. And if putting on her long-lost college attire meant May’s would make it at least another five years, Melinda figured it was a reasonable sacrifice to be able to put both of her daughters through college.

Ding. Melinda startled as she emerged directly into a whirlpool of hubbub, frazzled office workers dashing seemingly back and forth carrying stacks of paper. Everywhere she looked, olive-colored office cubicles seemed to be filled with a ringing phone and rapidly babbling employee to answer it. Her stillness suddenly felt very awkward, and as she tried to edge out of the way of one swiftly-walking assistant she no sooner had to move back in the opposite direction to avoid colliding with another.

Damn. She’d seen dim sum derby on Chinese New Year Sundays, and the carts’ paths then had been more organized than the flow of the current office. “Excuse me,” she said, leaning over to the secretary (at least, she hoped it was the secretary). “Can you tell me where I can find Rosalind Price’s office?”

“Do you have an appointment?” Ah, yes. And there was the reason Melinda’d left the business world in the first place. Everything always had to be so structured -- appointments, business meetings, phone calls -- and the secretaries managing them were always so snooty . “Miss Price is a very busy woman,”

“I don’t,” Melinda allowed, but pressed on before the secretary could continue. “But it’s really important that I speak with her if she’s free. It’s got to do with the upcoming spread she’s got planned -- the one on May’s Golden Dragon?”

“Right,” The secretary fixed her with a disbelieving eye. “And who should I say is here to see her?”

“My name’s Melinda May, I’m the owner of the establishment --”

“Look, Miss May, I’m going to be blunt with you.” A drop of sweat slid down Melinda’s neck and settled into the fibers of her button-down. “If you’ve got any issues with the way Roz is handling the spread, take them up with the writer-in-charge. His name’s Phil Coulson, and I’d be happy to give you his card so you can give him a call --”

“But that’s just it,” Melinda cut in, internally relishing how the secretary recoiled back slightly in response. “I’m here to talk to Miss Price about Phil Coulson.” When the other woman said nothing, she kept going. “The deadline’s she’s setting for him are running him ragged, and at the rate he’s going, there’s no way he’s going to be able to produce a quality piece. Surely Miss Price cares about a writer’s debut spread doing well.” A flashback to a very soy-sauced out Phil sleeping on her couch popped into her head, and judging by the fact that he’d still been snoring by the time she’d gotten dressed to come here, Rosalind Price seemed only to care about whether her spreads did well, not the writers behind them. “I’d really like to speak to her about the pace she’s setting for her writers.”

“The pace I’m setting for my writers, hm?” It was only then that she noticed that the entire office had gone silent, every head in the room turning to the corner office by the window. There, Rosalind Price stood in all of her regal glory, her chin-skimming bob and crisp white pencil dress holding attention with its geometry alone.

It automatically put Melinda’s suit to shame. Maybe she could ask Bobbi or Skye for advice on how to modernize her wardrobe.

“She says she’s the owner of May’s Golden Dragon, Miss Price, ma’am,” the secretary practically bleated, and Melinda could see the collective breath the office took. “I tried to tell her you weren’t available, but she insisted on talking to you --”

“As she should,” Roz answered demurely, her tone just flat enough that the secretary sunk into her seat. “I imagine Miss May would have some expertise in managing a team of workers, given that she owns and manages a restaurant, does she not?” She shot the still-embarrassed woman a withering look. “It quite seems like you can’t even manage to manage the incoming visitors, Kara .” The woman in question squeaked, and a faint bell in the back of Melinda’s mind reminded her that Kara had been the person Phil’d yelled about using flammable products in the office. “Sign Miss May in. Then send her to my office.” With that, Roz turned back into her office in a single motion, action in the office resuming as if resuming after a freeze-frame.

Kara sheepishly handed Melinda a visitor’s pass and a tote bag, the latter which Melinda took with a puzzled look on her face. “It’s required for every visitor,” Kara explained, her cheeks still splotched with red. “As you can tell, Miss Price’s office is at the end of the hallway. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thanks, Kara.” At the end of the day, Melinda couldn’t fault the woman for doing her job. “You’re doing just fine.” Straightening her back, she left Kara stuttering at her desk and made her way towards Roz’s office, her past internships and earlier jobs forcing themselves back into her posture.

(Who was she kidding? She dealt with the mafia on a weekly basis. This was nothing compared to negotiating reimbursem*nts for broken furniture. Her facial expressions had men quaking in their boots. She would be fine.

Still, another voice reminded her, this was another world. Melinda May may have been a feared presence in the restaurant world, but in the realm of publishing, she might as well have been an intern.)

She was doing this for Phil. All she had to do was remember that and she would be fine. “Miss May,” Roz greeted her as she stepped in, and Melinda noticed her tone was considerably warmer. “I apologize for Kara out there. She’s not exactly the brightest of the bunch.”

Melinda’d suspected as much when she’d made the connection between Phil’s fear of Kara and Roz snapping out her name, but she bit down on the retort in favor of a blank expression. "She's doing the best she can."

Roz snorted. "If by her best you mean filling the office with the nauseating smell of dry shampoo every other day, then so be it. As incompetent as she is, it'll be even harder to find a permanent replacement." Now that the tirade was out of her system, she seemed to calm, taking a sip of her coffee. "Now, to what you're really here for -- you have some concerns about Coulson?"

"I do, actually." Roz raised an eyebrow. "Ph -- Mr. Coulson's behavior's been erratic lately. He's been jumpy in all of his interactions with my staff, he's not working with any of the material we're providing him, and he keeps falling asleep in my dining room." Melinda let the last comment settle into the silence between them. "You can imagine how that looks to my customers."

"I see." Apparently, Roz was just as good at playing the silence game. "And what is it you'd like me to do about the situation, Miss May? You know as well as I do that I don't control how Mr. Coulson completes the assignment."

Oh, so she was going to assume Melinda didn't know how to play. Game on. "No, but I'm quite aware that you control when he completes his assignments." She reached into her bag and pulled out a manila envelope, nonchalantly flipping it open onto Roz's desk. "From what I understand of these documents, you're tasking Coulson to produce what's essentially a whole spread in the span of two weeks. An entire spread not only takes an entire team of people to pull off -- all of them in different creative departments -- but it also takes all of them an entire month. Double the time and a countless increase in manpower."

"You still haven't answered the question," Roz said, unruffled, and Melinda wanted to smack her upside the head with the folder. (It was pretty thick, after all...) "What exactly do you want me to do about the situation?"

"Change the deadline," May answered succinctly. "Give him as long as he thinks he needs. I have the utmost faith Mr. Coulson will get the job done to the best of his ability. But I think it's within both of our best interests to ensure that he's given the reign to do so, don't you think?"

"I believe it's more suited to your best interests, Miss May." Roz picked up a pen, twirling it between her fingers. "Chinese restaurants come and go. Who's to say I won't just fire Mr. Coulson and put another writer on a different story?"

Well, when she put it that way, there really was nothing stopping her from denying Melinda the biggest publicity boost of her life. But on the other hand... "Fair play, Miss Price," she said, and raised an eyebrow to look Roz straight in the eye; just like she'd been taught in business school. "But who's to say I won't just turn around and help Phil go public with the way you've treated him at the company? I'm sure others would be prepared to go public if he did."

"Phil?"

Oh, sh*t . "I've seen the man have a nervous breakdown or two about deadlines. I think it's enough to warrant calling him by his first name." There, Melinda reasoned. That was casual enough, and didn't speak a word of a caffiene-and-MSG-filled lump currently on her couch. "Unless you want to run out of establishments to work with by the end of the year, I suggest you consider changing the deadlines to the spread." Both women were staring each other in the eyes now, refusing to blink. "And be warned: I reach far ."

There was another intense thirty seconds of half stares, Roz's glare only growing more desperate in her attempt to continue holding superiority. Melinda just regarded it all with a flat stare; she'd had plenty of contests with people who hadn't paid their bill over the years.

"Fine," Roz half-spat, coating the exclamation in as much pompousness as she could. She was in the company of one of her spreads, after all. "I'll give Coulson as long as he needs on the assignment."

"Good to hear." A smug smile stretched over Melinda's face, and she slid over some paper and a pen. "But you know as well as I do that agreements are best preserved in writing." Scowling, Roz scrawled off her signature on both copies before handing one back to her. "Thank you for your time, Miss Price. I do hope you'll thinking about visiting May's soon." And with that, she was out the door, faint whispers already floating around the office rumor mill of her boldness.

She wondered if Phil had woken up yet.

“So apparently, Roz decided to give me an unlimited extension on the spread,” Phil told her later that afternoon. The two of them were nestled as usual into their corner table, the chatter of the restaurant muted for 3PM on a weekday. A platter of freshly-steamed char siu bao sat on the surface, Phil’s eyes having lit up immediately once Melinda’d described them to him. (“They sound like fluffy white pillows of pork, Mel, how would they not taste good?”) “She said she didn’t realize how hard she’d been running me on the spread, and wanted me to take my time so I could produce a good issue.”

“Mhmm,” Melinda just nodded along, more occupied with peeling all of the paper off of the bottom of her bun. She looked up just in time to see Phil shove an entire bun into his mouth, chuckling softly when the hot pork hit both the roof of his mouth and his tongue simultaneously. “Drink the water. And that’s good, isn’t it?” she asked while he gasped and tried to return his taste buds to normal. “Now you don’t have to drink seven quad espressos with a can of Red Bull. Three times.”

Pouting, Phil just reached for another bun, peeling it apart this time. “It is, don’t get me wrong,” he said, his forehead crunching into a few wrinkles. Melinda had to reach for a bun just to prevent herself from reaching out to Phil’s forehead instead and smoothing them out. “It’s just...not what I expected from Roz. She’s usually really harsh about her deadlines.”

Well, she’d been harsher with her blackmail. “It’s a gift horse, Phil,” Melinda suggested breezily. “Don’t look it in the mouth and don’t think too hard about it, yeah?” When he nodded enthusiastically, she just patted his hand. “You know this means I’m going to expect the best issue of SHIELD the magazine’s ever seen.”

His answering grin made her stomach flop a little. “You’re going to be on the cover, Mel. You’re damn right it’s going to be the best issue that’s ever been produced.”

Chapter 18: ginger scallion sauce

Chapter Text

Knock, knock. “Hello?” Knock, knock. “Anybody home?”

Mack frowned, turning towards the door. May’s wasn’t scheduled to open for another hour – and as far as he knew, Melinda didn’t have any meetings until at least the afternoon. Neither one explained the woman currently peering through their glass front, dark brown hair tumbling over a loose t-shirt and jeans.

“We’re actually closed, ma’am,” he called, motioning to the sign he knew was onthe door (had he forgotten to turn it last night? That would explain things, surely), frowning when she didn’t make a move to depart. “If you come back in an hour,we’ll be open then...”

The rest of his sentence was cut off as a blur of blonde hair and bunched cotton rushed past him, unlocking the door to let the woman in. “Sorry, Mack, that’s onme,” Bobbi apologized while attempting to tame her curls into a ponytail. “I forgot to tell you – this is Elena. She’s new with us,”

Elena snorted. “If by new you mean rescued from an ambush with the Chinesemafia, sure.”

Bobbi just gave her a long stare. “When I was ‘new’, I’d just come from an abusive home,” she said flatly, and Elena’s gaze dropped to the floor in embarrassment.“You could’ve said no back when we helped you out. No one’s forcing you to be here.”

The other woman seemed to struggle for a minute, mouth opening and closingseveral times before arriving at her answer. “I’m sorry,” she said finally. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s not something I make a habit of telling people.”

“Maybe we all started off on the wrong foot,” Mack offered quickly, holding his hand out for Elena to shake. “I’m Alphonso Mackenzie, but everyone around here calls me Mack. I run security for May’s.” She took the hand, the force of her shake surprising the both of them. His mother had always said a strong handshake meant a strong spirit – if everything went well, she was going to make an excellent addition to the team. “And you?”

“Elena. Elena Rodriguez. It’s nice to meet you, Mack.” Her voice was low and rough, as if it’d been slightly scarred around the edges. Still, as Elena followedBobbi through the immaculately-set dining room, Mack couldn’t help but watch. They hadn’t had someone new at May’s in a while, and while he couldn’t quite put his finger on it just yet, there was something about her that intrigued him in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“...and that’s pretty much all you need to know for the lunch rush,” Bobbi finished, capping her whiteboard marker and stepping back to check her work. “We’re going to keep it easy on you today, you can stay in the back and reload the carts. Mainly so you can learn the dish names in a sort of brute force manner – Elena? Elena, youin there?” She cast a worried look at Elena, who was staring at the board with a sort of dazed look on her face.

“That’s for the lunch rush ?” was all Elena managed to get out. Bobbi’d talked for ten minutes straight, and all of these foods were just for the lunch rush ? “I have to learn another service’s worth of menus after this?” The more she thought about it,the more she considered the idea that the May’s staff was superhuman.

After all, on the way to the back room, she’d seen massive dents in the dim sum carts, a single Scottish chef switching effortlessly between Mandarin and Englishwhile somehow maintaining his brogue, one of the wait staff on FaceTime with his very pregnant wife and Melinda May herself, presumably cursing someone out inMandarin.

When she’d imagined restaurant work, she’d imagined awful customers and sh*ttier tips. Not...not whatever this was shaping up to be. Still, as she noddedthrough Bobbi’s final explanation of how a dim sum card worked, it wasn’t like she minded.

There was, of course, also the matter of the enigma in the front. When he’d firstrebuffed her from the front door, Elena’d taken Mack to be of the wholly unyielding kind, the last to make a joke in any situation and the first to shut down joy. But he’d looked her in the eyes when they’d shaken, appraised her handshake with a curious one of his own. There was a levity behind the man that was at the very least uncommon among most. And even if the whole of May’s turned out to be a bust, she could at the very least figure him out.

“Don’t worry,” Bobbi gently patted her shoulder as if reading her mind. “I askedMack to help you out for the first couple of weeks, just to help you get your footing. Cantonese is a hard language to learn on your own.” Sure enough, Mack was wandering towards the kitchen, styrofoam box in hand. “He knows the dim sum menu inside and out. And honestly, between you and me.” She leaned in close. “He needs company. He’s been single since I got here. And that was when I was nine.”

Huh. Bobbi was out the kitchen door with a final ‘good luck!’, leaving the two ofthem with an awkward silence that had somehow developed between that morning and now.“So...” At least she could say she was always willing to take a risk. “Does everyonealways forget the entire menu on their first day?”

Mack chuckled and cracked open the box, light tendrils of steam wafting upwards from the wad of rice plodded inside of it. “I don’t think I got the whole dim sum menu until I’d been here for three months,” he said. “But don’t worry, there’s a reason we started you on the lunch rush – it’s the same foods week after week.Plus, it’s pretty tame.”

Elena would never not be surprised by the constant ‘we’ usage. “Then what happens during the dinner service?”

“The vegetables change, we get giant banquets, the seafood comes into play,” Her face must’ve morphed into some sort of horror, for Mack let out a laugh. “Yeah, I know, me too. You should’ve seen the first time I had to handle a lobster.”

“You spent time in the kitchen?”

“Everyone spends time in the kitchen,” Mack leaned forward as Piper passed by with a pile of place settings in her arms, snagging a fork and knife before offering them to Elena. “May runs a tight ship, and because of that, everyone knows how to do a little bit of everything. Hell, I’m pretty sure Davis could pull off May’s expense reports if she was in a bind.”

“Hell of a tight ship.”

“Yeah, well, it kind of has to be, especially when it comes to the mafia.” Elena paused in the middle of scooping herself some rice, a few grains dropping onto her brand-new apron. “That’s also during our dinner service sometimes, actually, andit...it can get a little intense.”

“What do you mean, a little intense?” Really, all she wanted to ask was what the hell May’s was doing with the mafia. Hadn’t they been the ones to fight them off for her? And yet, there they were taking up space in the establishment of the ones they’d fought. “I don’t get it – I thought May’s was against the mafia.”

Mack crunched a chicken bone loudly, causing Elena to wince. “Morally, yes,” he pointed out. “May’s three things at heart: a businesswoman, a restauranteur and a mother. If doing business with the different factions of the Chinese mafia will bringher profit and protection, it doesn’t really matter that there’s a broken chair or two every now and again.”

Suddenly, his role in the restaurant made sense. “Is that what you do?”

“For all intents and purposes, yes,” Mack slid her a container of oily-looking sauce, motioning for her to try it. “It’s oil, garlic and scallions; put the chicken in it. I provide an extra bit of physical incentive when May’s intellectual threats don’twork.” There was the sound of metal clashing against metal, followed by cheers and an excessive amount of cursing. “Ah, looks like lunch rush’s started. Did Bobbiexplain dim sum karting to you?”

Dim sum go karting? What had she walked into? “No?”

Mack’s face lit up, and he pushed the box aside, seizing some paper and pen. “We have a little time before they need refills, so let me explain it to you. Obviously,there’s four sides to a cart, but each side is worth a different amount of points...”

“How’s Rodriguez doing?” Melinda murmured to Bobbi. The two of them had snatched a brief moment of reprieve between the early and late dim sum rushes, their cleaning routine so ingrained they did it almost unconsciously. “I heard itwent a little rough this morning.”

“That was on me,” Bobbi apologized sheepishly, flushing out a clean tablecloth with a flourish. “I woke up late and forgot to tell Mack that she was coming early.”She cast a long look towards the kitchen, where said security was animatedly chatting with Elena as the two of them refilled food carts. “Think she and Mack are getting along just fine, though.”

The hint of a smile graced Melinda’s face. “Good,” she said simply. “I’ve always said he hasn’t deserved to be alone this long.”

“And you?” Bobbi asked, pausing with a stack of plates in her hands. “Don’t youthink you deserve to not be alone too, Mom?” She’d seen how her adoptive mother had been lifted in the days since Phil’s introduction into their lives, his clumsiness and honesty softening her tough exterior. “Skye and I are getting older, y’know. You don’t have to take care of us all the time anymore.” Of course, she and Skye getting older brought its own set of problems, but at least they didn’t require constant maternal attention. “I want you to be able to put your happiness first.Just at least once.”

The smile grew into a light smirk. “If you’re trying to say Phil Coulson’s meant for me, I’m afraid to tell you that you’re very, very wrong.” Maybe Melinda’d let herself entertain the idea, once or twice. But there were always bills to pay, deals to negotiate, customers to woo – there just simply wasn’t any time for romance.“Besides, didn’t anyone ever tell you that we Chinese mothers are happiest when we get grandchildren?”

Bobbi flushed. “Mom!”

Melinda kept setting the table, lips pressed tight to contain her mirth. “And it’d better not be a tiny dog, either, honey. You can get the dog, but you’d also better get me the grandchild.”

Bobbi groaned. How did she manage to always get stuck with these conversations? “Yeah, well, you’re going to have to wait until I’m well out of law school for that one,” she said. “Law school. Apartment. Boyfriend. Marriage. Then ask me about kids.”

The tinkling of plates stopped, and the blonde turned to see Melinda paused with a stack of cloth napkins. “I’m not dating anyone,” she said hurriedly. “I swear. And Ipromise that anyone I bring home’ll get vetted by Mack and Piper.” When she still didn’t rise to her promises, Bobbi ceased her movement as well. “What is it,Mom?”

“Is that what I’ve raised you to believe?”

“Huh?” As far as she was concerned, it was common sense: first came the academics, then the significant other, then the abode, then the children. People were allowed to do it out of order, of course, but logically, it was what was best for her. “I mean, yeah? No man should come before my own well-being or my education. You taught me that.”

“No, I...” Melinda sighed, putting the napkins down. Her shoulders seemed heavy. “Did I raise you to believe that you had to bring a man home in order to be successful?”

So this was about Skye. If it wasn’t, they were going to have to have a whole new set of conversations as a family. “Not really, no,” Bobbi answered, being careful not to mince her words. “You never really put an emphasis on who we broughthome.” It’d never really been about who they brought home as opposed to when they brought someone back. “Is this –”

“I just want to make sure that I’ve never made it feel like you or your sister were restricted in who you chose to be in relationships with,” Melinda said quickly, the napkins already twisting in her arms. “You two mean the world to me, and who youchoose to love doesn’t matter a bit.” When Bobbi didn’t answer, she sighed again. “I’m worried about Skye. If there’s something holding her back from who she trulywants to be, and if...if I’m part of the reason she’s holding herself back.”

Honestly, it was a question Bobbi herself grappled with every now and again. And not just with Skye – had her behavior in any way ever been an unintentional deterrent to her friends being able to be their true selves? And if so, how many times had she done it? Knowing she’d perpetuated and reinforced someone’s internal hom*ophobia, even unintentionally...

Still, there was no use sitting in guilt she’d already mired, and she told Melinda as much. “There’s nothing you can do to change what you did in the past, or might have done,” she said instead to her mother, who looked at her confusedly. “The best thing you can do, regardless of what happens, is to make sure that there’s space for her going forward.”

Melinda half sniffled, wiping her eyes discreetly on a napkin. “When did you get so wise?”

“When you weren’t looking,” Bobbi quipped back, and gave her mother a quick squeeze on the shoulder. “But it isn’t like I got there without messing up. That’s important to remember, too.”

CLANG. “Hey, who let the newbie out into the field?” Fitz yelled, and both May women turned to see Mack and Elena huddled together on a cart that’d crashed into his. “Two people on a cart! That’s a party foul, May!”

The wan smile was back on Melinda’s face, every remnant of their heavy conversation vanished. “The grind never stops, does it?” she mused to Bobbi before turning back to Fitz. “Party foul on the counts of reckless carting, minus seven to Mackenzie!”

Outraged mutters echoed through the restaurant as Elena threw her hands up in the air confusedly; Mack just looked chagrined. “Hang on, that wasn’t in the rules!”

Melinda just laughed. “One of the rules is that as the owner, I get to make the calls when I see fit,” she explained at Elena’s mock-outraged face. “Welcome to May’s,Rodriguez. I really hope you’ll stay awhile.”

Chapter 19: foo qua

Chapter Text

“So.” A single elbow was planted onto the lunch table dangerously close to Skye’s lunch. “Word on the street is you’ve been hanging out with Jade Wong.”

The brunette looked up to see Joey and Kaya, both of whom were watching her intently. “And what about it?” She really hoped the latter hadn’t made her friendship with Jade to be some torrid romance. The last thing she (and Jade,actually) needed was a score of rumors floating around the student body. “We’re just hanging out. As friends,” she added before either of them could answer.

“Nothing more, nothing less.”

“She helped you choose your homecoming dress,” Kaya pointed out, and Joey nodded along enthusiastically. “She helped you choose your homecoming dress with Hope, entered the xiaolongbao eating contest, sat through lunch with your family and y’all have a sitting appointment every Wednesday to make Chinese pastries together. Have you even hung out with Grant since he asked you to the dance?”

“I have!” She had, hadn’t she? Just last week, when she’d gone to the jazz festival over in Tribeca...oh, no, wait, he’d cancelled last minute and she’d asked Jade...“Okay, so maybe I haven’t hung out with him in a while,” Skye acquiesced. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t think him asking me to the dance was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Besides, those are all friendly things! I do all of those things with my friends.”

Joey raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never let me join the xiaolongbao eating contest.”

“We’ve been friends for five years and I just sat through lunch with your family for the first time last month.” Kaya folded her arms, daring Skye to make her continue. “And you’ve never asked me if I wanted to make Chinese pastries with you.”

“Family secret?” Skye tried.

“And you’re gonna let Jade Wong in on it before me?”

“I –” When faced with all of the evidence, it was hard not for her to admit something was going on. “It’s alliance,” she said instead. “Bonding activity, y’know?”

Joey snorted. “That’s not the kind of activities I do with my big and little.” Kaya smacked his shoulder. “What? We literally sit around do stupid sh*t like rank the premiere episodes of Worst Cooks of America . Not whatever the hell you were thinking, Kay.”

“Look, the way I see our friendship is entirely between me and Jade,” Skye defended. “And...and look, I’m trying to figure it out, okay?” Her friends’ expressions softened, a silent invitation to continue. “It’s...it’s taking a lot of thinking on my part. A lot of looking at my past, lot of examining past relationships. I don’t even know if I’ll ever know what I am, let alone be able to put a label on it.”Eyes downcast, she played idly with the label on her own smoothie before speaking once more. “And when I do – if I do – who’s to say Jade’s gonna like whoI am at the end of it? Who’s gonna say anyone will? Who’s gonna say I will?”

“It’s okay if you don’t get there,” Joey said, reaching to squeeze her hand, and Skye looked up to reveal spikes of panic in her cider-colored eyes. “Some people never figure it out, and that’s okay. And I promise you you’ll have a home with Kaya and I at the end of it no matter what.”

“We’ve seen who you are,” Kaya added with a shrug, though the set of her chin was delicately deliberate. “Nothing is going to change the way we see you, and anyone that thinks differently of you because of this can meet me at the intersection ofthese and hands. And that doesn’t exclude you, May. I will fight you if it makes you see that you’re worth it.”

Skye shot her a terrified look. “It means we’ve got you,” Joey repeated gently. “We had you before, we’ve got you now, and we’ve got you in the future. No matter what.”

Internally, Skye knew that there’d been some unspoken agreement between thethree of them that no labels were going to change the course of their friendship – one, that hadn’t been how they were raised, two, it would just be completedumbassery to dissolve a friendship because of sexuality – but to have Joey and Kara right in the moment affirming their loyalty regardless of her identity was an entirely different matter entirely. Even if she hadn’t quite figured out what her identity meant yet.

It was good, at least, to have two people in her corner. She just hoped she would have everyone else she wanted in it when she got to the end of the journey.

For the fourth time, Jade blew a strand of charcoal-colored hair out of her eyes as she waited for Skye to descend the school steps. Her fingertips drummed a beat against the leather cover of the journal in her hands, freshly purchased from a local bookstore – she’d seen the golden sunset framing itself against the dark rainclouds and known Skye needed to have it.

(She may or may not have also ordered a custom pen with a sky pattern on it. May or may not.)

Platonically, she hoped it would be a place Skye would be able to sort herself out – she’d mentioned a few times during the last few GSA meetings that she’d opened Pandora’s box of possibilities just a little bit, and now she was reconsidering every encounter she’d ever had in her life.

“It’s like new evidence just surfaced in a court case, and now the judge has to examine everything else in the context of it,” Skye explained in a quiet voice, hands flailing to accentuate her story. The two of them were ensconced in the back of the classroom as per usual, the chatter of the club surrounding them like comfortable blankets. “Except the evidence is circ*mstantial at best, and there’s no guarantee that the jury’s gonna find it favorable.”

Jade raised an eyebrow, meeting Skye’s flailing with a wry smile. “How much SVU have you been watching with Bobbi?”

Skye blushed, looking away. “None.” No one had to know that she still wasn’t talking to her sister. Or that she’d picked up the habit of watching her sister’s favorite show to fill the gap in her life. “I just thought it was interesting, was all.”

“Well, court references or not, it sounds like there’s a lot bouncing around in your head,” Jade offered, to which Skye nodded rapidly. “I can tell you from experience that having it bounce around constantly in your head 24/7 can get exhausting – every time you start examining one lead, another one pops up and you’re off chasing that one, too, until you’re chasing five different things at once while there’s still everything else to manage in your life.” Her friend was still nodding, so Jade went on. “Same thing happened to me when I first had to consider the fact that I might’ve been a lesbian.”

“All of the...” Skye motioned to her head. “All of the thoughts bouncing around?”

“All of the thoughts,” Jade confirmed. “I spent a couple of months thinking I could organize it, parse through it on my own. But in the end, it really helped when I was able to put them down on paper, not only so that they would get out of my head, but so I could also physically mark my thought processes and pick them up again when I wanted to. So I bought a journal, an ink pen and a headlight and spent a couple of nights every week writing in the observatory after curfew.”

Hopefully, the journal would help straighten out some of the thought processes Skye’d told her about. And if they helped her straighten out her thought process on being straight, even better – no matter the conclusion.

Speaking of conclusions, there should’ve been more than enough time for Skye to grab stuff from her locker and daintily dance out the front door. Not that Skye’s time solely belonged to her, but she’d thought at the very least the other girl would be on her way home already – maybe she’d missed her?

A loud laugh caught her attention, and Jade turned to see Skye herself exiting the double doors of the school, her left arm wrapped around none other than Grant Ward. It was almost convenient how Jade’d forgotten that he’d asked Skye to homecoming, that she and Skye’d gone dress shopping simply for the hell of it. But there was no better reminder than the sight that was in front of her, cheeks red from presumably laughing so hard at the supposed jokes Grant was making.

In any other situation, Jade would’ve been the first to say Skye looked beautiful. Almost breathtaking. But this was one of her newest, closest friends she was talking about, and despite her brain screaming at her not to, she forced herself to appreciate the fact that Skye was finally getting what she wanted – the attention of one of the most popular boys in the class.

So why did it still feel like she’d eaten a whole dish of bittermelon?

“Jade,” Melinda called when the tall teen swept through the door. The restauranteur was sitting in her regular corner table with Phil, the two of them staring down a plate of shockingly green bittermelon. “Skye’s not home yet, but ifyou’d like, I’m about to introduce Phil to foo qua.”

Jade had to chuckle when she saw the dish – hilarious, really, that the pungent bitterness of her jealousy matched the food on the table. “I’m afraid I can’t stick around long, Miss May, I was really only here to drop this off for Skye.” The journal was waved in one hand, the speciality pen in the other. “Could you make sure she gets this, please?”

“Of course,” Melinda nodded. “Leave it with Mack, he’ll make sure she gets it. You sure you don’t want to stick around and watch?”

“Why’re you making this sound like it’ll be entertaining?” Phil asked nervously. “It’s just a melon, right?”

Why not, Jade decided; it’s not like Skye’ll be home anytime soon, anyways . She shot the traitorous part of her brain that’d uttered the second part a nasty look, earning a curious eyebrow from Melinda. “Sorry about that. Any chance I could grab some myself?”

“Suit yourself,” Melinda said, and like clockwork, a takeout box flew through the air from the kitchen, Jade reaching up to catch it with one hand. “Thanks, Fitz!”

“So how’ve you been, Mister Coulson?” she asked politely, scooping a few spoonfuls of bittermelon into the box. “I’ve been hearing a lot about the upcoming spread in SHIELD.”

Phil waved her off, blushing. “Phil, Jade, please. And it’s been going pretty well,thanks. Mel – Miss May’s been gracious enough to run me through all of the different menu items. I gotta say, I’m having a hell of a time.” He picked up a piece of bittermelon, examining it with suspicious eyes. “I’m suspecting now is going to be one of those times.”

“Down the hatch,” Melinda said lightly, and the two of them popped the bittermelon into her mouths. The reaction was immediate – Phil’s face looked like someone had kicked his dog and fed him a sip of rancid milk at the same time, while Melinda simply chewed and visually searched for a piece of salted hard-boiled egg to follow it. “I take it it’s not your favorite.”

“No, it’s great,” Phil wheezed, his facial expression at complete war with his words. “It’s, uh...flavorful! Really unique flavor profile. Not what I would’ve expected from a melon at all, really not at all.” To prove his point (or to worsen his taste buds, Jade wasn’t sure), he popped another piece into his mouth, his face twisting into an even worse version of what it’d looked like on his first bite. “Youknow what, never mind, I can’t even...” Finally, he swallowed, tongue hanging out like an overheated dog’s. “It’s horrible. I’m sorry. You guys eat this stuff?”

Melinda, meanwhile, merely smiled. “Bittermelon’s an acquired taste,” she told him, and she could hear the gears squeak to a stop at the word ‘bitter’. “Some people love it from the moment they’re born, some people are opposed to it for their entire lives. A dividing food, if you will. Sort of like stinky tofu.”

“You’re not gonna make me try –”

“Not today, no,” Phil let out a sigh of relief when Piper arrived to replace the platter with one of fried rice. “But now I know that you’ll react strongly to it, I’d prepare to see it in the future.”

“But Mel !”

“Isn’t it your job to be an open reporter, Phil?” Still smiling, Melinda ladled a few spoonfuls of rice into Jade’s open container of bittermelon. “Don’t even think about it, Wong,” she said when Jade opened her mouth to protest. “Your mother came in the other day and subjected me to a half-hour of wondering where she’d gone wrong as a parent if she’d managed to raise a lesbian. Fitz has an order of stinky tofu ready for you in the kitchen.”

“Miss May, I can’t...”

But Melinda just waved a hand. “Go, before I have him make you an entire order of goo loo yook .” At the prospect of more food, Jade scampered, only stopping to leave the journal and pen with Mack before her bike was roaring down the street.

“Your girlfriend was here today.”

Skye’s head snapped up to Hope, who was nonchalantly cutting shapes out from a worksheet. “Wha – I don’t have – who??”

“Your girlfriend ,” Hope deadpanned, popping open a glue stick. “You know, went dress shopping with us, hangs out with you every week and weekend, probably taller than Bobbi but I haven’t checked yet? That girlfriend?”

Skye sighed. “For the last time, Hope, Jade’s not my girlfriend. I know you want to see us together, but that’s just not how we’re going to be.” Part of her wondered why Jade had come to May’s on her own, especially since both of them had been in school earlier that day. “Why was she here?”

Scissors in hand, Hope pointed to the small bag that was sitting on the Mackenzie’s dining room table. “She left it with Dad. I think it’s for you.” Standing, Skye went to retrieve it, all of the breath in her leaving her mouth in a whoosh when she pulled out the sky-patterned journal and matching pen. “Whoa. That’s pretty.”

“It’s a journal,” Skye said, voice cracking around the last word. “She got me a journal.” She flipped through the pages, gasping a little at the faint gray lines and golden ribboned bookmark. “It’s beautiful, Hope.”

But the eight-year-old was wrinkling her nose at the plainness of the gift. “A journal ?” she asked. As far as she was concerned, all journals did were hold grocery lists and something her dad called transactions. “What’d she get you a journal for?”

“Sometimes, people write in journals so they can get all of the thoughts of their heads,” Skye explained, still reverently flipping through the book. “I said to Jade awhile ago that I was having trouble with all of the thoughts in my head, so she must’ve gotten me a journal to help.” The only question, though, was why she hadn’t just given it to her at school.Had she not wanted to give Skye the gift herself? If so, why not? Had she hurt Jade somehow without knowing? Was she embarrassed to be seen with Skye outside ofGSA? Had the journal actually been her subtle way of saying she hated hearing Skye talk about her personal life?

Well. At least she knew what she’d be putting in as the first entry.

Chapter 20: wo gnau

Chapter Text

“Either you’re going to drink two cups of coffee, or you’re about to make a big mistake. Actually, no, either way, I think you’re going to make a big mistake.”

Phil looked up to see an amused Skye with an elbow on the coffee shop counter next to him, taking a slow sip from her drink now and again with a slow smile. “Skye,” he said. “Are you on today?”

“Every week ’till I get my karting honor back, baby,” she confirmed. “I’m PrinceZuko and the go-karting trophy is my Avatar.” When it resulted in nothing more than a confused look, Skye shook her head. “Whew, okay, I’m young. I haven’t won the go-karting championship since maybe January or so. And that’s a lot of losses. So, back to the question.” She motioned to the tray of coffees Phil had in his hand.“Who’s the coffee for?”

“One for me?” he tried, and the dramatic frown on her face told him that was the wrong answer. “Two for your mom?”

“Like I said, you’re still making a big mistake either way,” Skye said. “If mom catches you drinking coffee, she’ll lecture you about the last time you drank coffee until the dinner rush starts. If you try to give her coffee...well, put nicely, she’s not a fan of people who give her coffee.”

Phil frowned. “What happened to the last person who gave her coffee?”

Skye just gave him a wry smile. “No one knows. But take it from me: mom has contacts that know where to hide a body.”

Well, that wasn’t foreboding at all . Phil swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to ascertain if what Skye was telling him was true. Instead, he turned his gaze to the small journal she had next to her. It was the same one he’d seen Jade hand off to Mack the other day, the taller girl noncommittal on her reasoning behind the gift. “Nice journal,” he offered. “Where’d you get it?”

The wry smile widened. “Very fatherly of you to say, Phil. Careful, or Mack’ll thinkyou’re trying to replace him.”

“Wha – I could never ,” Phil spluttered, half-choking on his coffee to try and renege his remark. “What Mack and your mother do after business hours is none of my business,” he said finally, reaching for a napkin. “I’d never try to replace him!”

It was then that he noticed Skye had started laughing. “Oh, man, you should’ve seen your face,” she chuckled. “And for the record, ew. It’d be like if my mommarried my uncle.” The sophom*ore suddenly went quiet. “The journal’s from Jade. She, uh...she got it for me to write out my thoughts.” When he didn’t comment, she went on. “There’s just, uh...there’s just a lot bouncing around in my head, and sometimes, it’s really hard to keep straight.”

Phil nodded, knowing exactly what that was like – sometimes there was no taming the brain. “Is it helping?”

Skye shrugged. “I mean, it helps in that I start questioning why I think a lot of things about myself instead of just affirming them to be true. And sometimes I write about whether I have changed the way I’ve thought about myself, but Ihaven’t gotten to that part yet.”

“I write about the things I feel, and why I might feel that way about them. Whether I might...feel certain ways about things and people. It’s emotionally exhausting,most of the time,” she admitted, turning to stare out the window. “But it’s a hell of a lot better than feeling helpless because I’m feeling everything at the same timewith nowhere to put it.”

“It’s growth.” Suprised, Skye turned her gaze to him. “Feeling everything at once can paralyze you because you don’t know what to deal with first or where to put it.It’s like when you’ve got a full mug of hot coffee and a coffee table of already-full mugs. Where do you put the mug? How do you not spill any of the coffee on any of them? And god , who’s gonna drink all of the coffee?” She chuckled at that, and he smiled. “Writing it down means you’re sorting those cups of coffee while drinking them. And maybe that’s leaving you room for more cups, or maybe it’s just leaving you room, but either way, you’re growing because you’re not just staring at thesame mugs.”

There was a comfortable silence for a minute in which Skye took a large swig of the previously proffered coffee. “Thanks, Phil,” she said quietly. “I think I neededthat.”

“Have you been writing here?” he offered kindly after its passing. “I know some people work better when they’re in a noisy environment.”

She shook her head. “No, I’ve been going over to Collect.” A hand was waved in the general direction of east. “I kind of just sit near the reflecting pool and write with my headphones in for an hour or two. It’s like getting up for school. But for mysanity.”

“I’m glad it’s working, then.” He was, truly – Phil knew Melinda had been worried beside herself over Skye’s behavior as of late, from showing up late the night of the xiaolongbao eating contest to the sudden bout of moodiness that had led to the longest-ever silence between Bobbi and her sister. “You deserve to do whatever it is you need to do to take care of yourself.”

“You’re a real one, Phil.” Just like that, the chipper Skye he’d first met was back, the brunette tucking her journal and pen into a small bag before rising. If it hadn’t been for the soft smile that remained on her face, he would’ve been slightly concerned. “I’m glad I decided to find out your name that first day. And uh, you didn’t hear it from me, but if you want to woo my mom, she likes the matcha latte here. With almond milk.”

Phil was already sputtering and working his way up to another round of denials, but she just gave him another sunny smile before turning to leave. “See ya in a bit!”

“That had better be your first coffee.” True to Skye’s word, Melinda’s first words to him as soon as he’d walked in the door had been about his drink. “I’m not dealingwith what happened last time.”

“First coffee, Mel, I promise.” He extended the second cup he was holding towards her with a hopeful smile. “Matcha latte with almond milk from Think?”

“Wha – how –” Melinda pursed her lips and shot daggers around the dining room,trying to find out who’d had a case of loose lips. Finally, she settled for pulling out a five from her wallet and handing it to Phil. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

Phil simply let the five sit in her hand. “And you don’t have to do that,”

“Phil, I insist,” she said again, repeating the motion of handing the bill to him. “Youdidn’t have to buy me a drink.”

He just shook his head. “You’ve already helped me so much, Mel. Least I can do is buy a friend a drink, yeah?”

Melinda sighed, narrowing her eyes at him before pocketing the five once more.“Fine. I’ll take off the price of two of the small platters we’re having today.” The kitchen staff looked at each other in shock. Melinda May, compromising? They’d better hope the mafia never got wind of this. “The rest of you, stop gawking. Sunday rush starts in an hour.” A hurried chorus of ’yes ma’am’s and ’yes May’s filled the room, leaving the two of them to take a seat at their regular table. “So, Phil,” she began once the two of them were seated. “You ready for the dim sumspread today?”

Phil lifted the bag of photography equipment he’d managed to nab from the SHIELD office the night before, a few loose parts jangling dangerously within it.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” He’d spent some time last night researching menu after menu of restaurants, hoping he’d be able to get a sense of what he’d be in for.

“Just to be sure, though, there’s no toad in this, right? Or like, jellyfish or something I’ve never had?”

She laughed then, a short, hearty chuckle that warmed his heart. “I promise you you’ve had everything on this menu at its basic ingredients.” Which in itself was true – but the parts of the chicken and cow, however...was he in for a fun time. “First, however, dim sum tradition always dictates that you have to order atea before you start.”

As if on cue, Piper appeared at their table. “What kind of tea can I get for you both today?”

“You don’t happen to have a white tea, do you?” Phil asked, and Melinda looked at him in surprise. “Food critic tip: if you’re going to be eating a bunch of food, get something clean that’ll cut through your palate and refresh it. Hence, white tea.” Phil Coulson was turning out to be more and more surprising every day, she mused. She wondered what she’d learn about him next.

Piper nodded. “I know just the one,” she said, putting down two cards and giving them both her waitress-approved smile. “Here’s the card for your foods, and here’s the card for the go-karting tournament. Current standings are Davis and I have won for seven weeks this year, Fitz for eight, Skye for four, and Bobbi and Mack with five each. Oh, and we’ve got a new recruit, but we haven’t updated the paperwork yet – her name’s Elena, and she’s been training under Mack if that helps your bets at all. The derby starts at about 11:30, but is there anything I can get you before that?”

“Can you ask Fitz if he’s got an order of wo gnau ?” Melinda asked, and Piper’s eyebrows raised. “It’s a requirement of dim sum and you know it, Piper.”

“Seems a little deep end to me,” Piper remarked. “You sure you want to do that to him the first time?”

“I saw the man eat a whole plate of level tens in one go,” Melinda reminded her archly. “So did you. I think he can handle it.” In response, Piper co*cked her head in recognizance before hopping off to the kitchen. “So, Phil, how you been?”

As he launched into his account of the week and of an experience he’d had where he’d had to eat his meal on a repurposed shovel and hard hat, she let herself watch him get lost in his story. She’d found herself missing his presence more and more lately, whether it be thinking of the worst corny joke during dinner service or simply wishing she had someone to pass a comfortable silence with during lunchtime.

Phil Coulson was both of those at a minimum – he somehow understood the unspoken balance of wanting company but not wanting to be distracted doing work but also knew of the right moments to bleed all of the tension out of her body with a well-timed joke.It was nice to have, especially since such a balance was so hard to find these days.

(Didn’t help that he was quite easy on the eyes, either, although she would never admit that to anyone but Mack.) She wondered if Phil would stick around following the spread. It hadn’t been like he hadn’t simply dropped by just for the company, but Melinda knew the majority of Phil’s visits had to do with work. Of course, there would probably be other restaurants he’d be required to visit – what kind of food critic would he be if he only occupied one? A part of Melinda knew it would hurt when the level of Phil’s visits dropped, but somehow, she couldn’t find it in herself to draw herself away to the point where they wouldn’t hurt as much when he left.

Clank. Piper watched as the both of them turned to the bowl of periwinkles now on the table, Melinda’s expression victorious and Phil’s slightly horrified. “An order of wo gnau : periwinkles. Enjoy!”

“You said I wasn’t going to have anything I hadn’t had before.” Phil’s pout made him look like a disappointed puppy, and she had to resist the urge to reach over and pat him on the head. “You got me snails, Mel. Snails!”

“Oh, come on, Phil.” Screw it. She was going to do it anyway. Pap pap. “You’ve had escargot before, right?”

“...fine.” Of course he’d had escargot before! He was a food critic, for heaven’s sake. What kind of fancy French restaurant wouldn’t have had escargot for him? “I’m assuming I don’t eat this like escargot.”

Melinda chuckled. “You’ll have to tell me. But the way you eat a periwinkle –” In one smooth move, she loudly slurped at the opening, picked a small black disk out of her teeth and let the shell clink against the plate. “Any questions?”

“Uh...” This wasn’t going to end well, was it? “Any chance you can do that again,but like...slowly?” Mainly the part where she’d gotten the meat out of the shell. He’d been too busy marvelling at...well, he’d been too busy marvelling, period.

Luckily, though, she was ready to humor him. “Here.” Melinda planted an elbow on the table, the periwinkle encased between her thumb and middle finger. “You see the opening here?” Phil leaned close – so close she could feel his slight exhale – to peer at the small shellfish in her hand. “The reason you can’t see the meat of the periwinkle is this tiny thing here, called the foot.”

“What does it do?”

“Well, essentially, the foot keeps the seawater out when the periwinkle’s stickingto rocks and such.” Sort of like how she approached her love life. “If you suck on the shell, the foot detaches the little suction it’s made with the walls of the shell,and then you can get out the meat. You can also do it with the toothpick, but I find sucking on it a lot faster.”

Phil opted to use the toothpick anyways, and she watched him endearingly as he squinted at the small shell, carefully leveraging the point to pry the small disk from the rest of the periwinkle. A small smile tugged at Melinda’s face during the observation, the afternoon sun slanting across his silhouette. Had his eyes always been this blue? Or had they simply been highlighted by the New York autumn sun?

Most men she knew would’ve gone straight for trying to suck the snail out of the shell, even perhaps tried to break the shell before even considering the toothpick. But with a little dumb humor and constant company – er, patience and time –Melinda still found herself in a moment of exposed vulnerability, her own foot carefully peeled away.

Phil Coulson, despite all of her walls, was the toothpick. And if he managed to bring her out of her shell completely, there was no telling what would happen.

Was that something she was ready to face?

Chapter 21: red for good luck

Chapter Text

"And don’t forget, your ballots for homecoming king and queen are due by the end of the day. Don’t miss your chance to be a part of Seahawks history! " Skye didn’t miss the eye roll Grant did at the peppy announcement but shrugged it off as he slipped a casual arm around her shoulder. “You don’t really believe in that sh*t, do you?” he asked, and she shook her head, pushing aside visions of the homecoming crown and sash. “Good. Everyone knows you only win homecoming by sleeping with the student council president, anyways.”

She pushed down the unease rising in her throat, wanting to remind him that Bobbi, her sister and once the target of his affections, had been homecoming royalty last year. Somehow, though, she didn’t think he’d take well to his past rejections being thrown into his face. Quiet it was. “So, are we still on for my place at 5?” she asked, hoping to change the subject. “My mom said she could get a photographer to take our pictures.”

Grant’s eye roll was less perceptible this time, and when asked about it later, its subtlety was probably why she’d decided to pass it off as a trick of the light. “Do we have to do it at your place?” he asked exasperatedly. “It’s so...” A few seconds passed as he struggled to find words that fit. “My place looks so much cleaner,” he offered instead, the it’s not a dingy Chinese restaurant left floating in the air. “It’d make for better photos there, don’t you think?”

“Look, it means a lot to my mom,” Skye said as they stopped, leaning against the adjoining one as Grant opened his and began to rifle through it. “I didn’t go to homecoming with anyone last year, and she’s excited to see me with someone.” After Trip, Skye had sort of just...stopped bringing boys home, something that she thought had silently devastated the matriarchal May. She hadn’t had to say anything, it was just that Skye just...knew.

(It would probably be more insulting to bring home a girl, she mused. After all, she’d seen Mrs Wong deliver a blistering tangent to her mother about Jade’s sexuality without Melinda so much as speaking a word in defense. It was probably best if she just didn’t bring home anyone.)

“Five’ll be fine, then,” Grant answered, slamming his locker shut. “But we have to be out by 5:30. Baron wants to get pictures on the Brooklyn, and you know how hard it is to get parking over by City Hall.” She didn’t, but it was what it was. As long as she got the pictures with the May’s crew, everything was going to be fine. And surely he wouldn’t mind if she asked Jade to be there...right?

“You want me to what ?”

“Come for pictures, c’mon, Jade, it’ll be so much fun!” Skye put on her most petulant pout towards the other girl, who simply groaned. She’d waited until the GSA meeting after school to bring it up, figuring Jade had less of a chance to run without causing a scene. “You don’t even have to go to the bridge with us – just come take pictures with us at May’s? Pretty please?” When Jade still didn’t relent, she figured it was time for the big guns. “Hope’ll be really sad if you don’t.”

Jade gaped. “Low blow, May. Hope? Really? You’re gonna use Mack’s kid as a guilt trip for me to come to take homecoming pics?” She settled back into her chair across from Skye, blowing a strand of hair out from her face. “I didn’t think you could stoop that low.” It wasn’t that she couldn’t handle seeing Skye and Grant together, per se – she was more worried about what she’d do if even given a moment alone with the other girl. (And maybe that went hand in hand with the jealousy. Just a bit.) Skye deserved better; she deserved to feel herself out without Jade’s feelings getting in the way. The last thing she needed was someone going out with her out of pity.

“It’ll be a half-hour at best,” Skye pleaded, turning up the wattage of desperation in her eyes. “Just – it would mean a lot to me if you were there,” she said quietly. “You’ve already done so much for me. The least I can do is make sure you get some bomb-ass homecoming photos.”

Jade wanted to point out that it was literally just sophom*ore homecoming, they would have plenty of other opportunities to take pictures together, but as soon as she opened her mouth to, the late bell rang. “See you all next week!” their advisor called, and both girls got up to leave with the rest of the chattering students. “And for those of you going to homecoming, have a great time!”

“You want a ride?” Jade asked as they emerged into the hallway, partly out of habit. More often than not, the bike rides home with Skye were a highlight of her week, the shorter girl hanging onto her for dear life as she leaned into turns and weaved through traffic. “I have to pick up an order from your mom before I get home,”

Skye looked apologetic. “I said I’d meet Grant after practice,” she said, shrugging. “I gotta get over to East Village, and you know how long it takes to get over there. Plus, rush hour traffic’s going to be sh*t.”

Jade sighed, hoping she wasn’t about to regret her offer. “At least let me get you over there,” she said softly. “Save you some fare and half the time it would normally take.” She didn’t know why Skye’s initial refusal hurt more this time around – it wasn’t like the first time she’d chosen to reject Jade’s offer. “It’s no problem, really.”

Skye bit her lip, unsure. “I wouldn’t want to be a burden, and you’d basically have to turn around to get to May’s, there’s no point in going further than you actually need to go –”

“Skye May.” The smaller girl unconsciously straightened under the authority of Jade’s tone. “Listen to me. You are not, nor will you ever be, a burden. You understand?” Jade’s hand twitched at her side, as if questioning her next movement, before reaching to tip Skye’s chin up to meet her eyes. “I don’t ever want to hear you say you’re a burden to me, because that is the last thing you are.” If anything, she was the burden. “What are you not?”

“A burden?”

“That’s right. What are you not, Skye May?”

“I’m not a burden.”

“To who?”

“To you. To anybody.” Skye blinked, tears beginning to well in her eyes. She’d needed this – after the guidance counselors’ suggestions she move out of her advanced honors classes, after another attempt by Bobbi to figure out why Skye was mad at her, after Grant’s dismissal of her wanting to take pictures at May’s, after facing head-on the idea that she would probably never be able to bring home a girl, if that was what she wanted to do when she was older, if that’s who she really was – she didn’t know how Jade knew she did, but here she was. “I’m not a burden,” she tried again, and her breath was shaky as she tried to look Jade in the eyes. “I’m not a burden to you, or to anyone.”

“You’re not, and damn anyone who says you are,” The words came out in a brief whisper, and Jade had to close her eyes briefly, lest she do anything she’d regret. When she opened them again, the heart she’d previously let herself wear on her sleeve (regardless of whether Skye noticed it or not) was packed away, back in its box in the recesses of her mind. “Now, come on, if we go now we won’t get stuck in the cross-town rush hour.”

The lack of warmth that presented itself when Jade pulled away immediately unsettled Skye, and it took a minute of hugging herself before she was able to follow after the taller girl, the two of them exiting the school to the parking lot.

“Skye?” The soft knock at the door prompted her to turn to see Melinda standing in the doorway, camera in hand. “Grant’s here.” At least, she presumed it was Grant – unless Skye was seeing multiple boys with arrogant smirks and outrageous corsages, there was only one matching the disgusted description Bobbi’d given her the night before.

“Thanks, mom. I’ll be out in a minute,” Stifling a yawn, she went back to tugging at the hooks fastening the halter top of her dress – who’d decided they fastened like this, anyway? – startling when she felt a soft touch gently tugging them together.

“You’ve been tired lately,” Melinda remarked, careful to keep her tone noncommittal. She’d seen Skye sneaking out of the apartment when she woke up to do morning prep, journal and schoolbag in hand. “Something on your mind?”

Skye shook her head. “Just an assignment we have to do for English,” she lied, the fib coming easily off of her tongue. “Ms Fortier wants us to journal for a month, and I’m experimenting with my thought processes at different times of the day.” Damn. That sounded plausible even to her .

“Well, maybe you could give journaling during the dinner rush a shot,” Melinda joked, taking a bobby pin her daughter handed her and sliding it into her already elegantly-done hairdo. “See what your thought process is like when the chefs and Fitz are screaming at each other at the top of their lungs.”

“I already know what that’s like,” Skye said, “that happened last week while I was trying to analyze The Great Gatsby .” She and Melinda shared a chuckle in remembrance of the shouting match that had occurred. “Hey, mom?” She wasn’t sure what possessed her to ask right at this moment, but the question tumbled forward nonetheless.

“What’s up, Skye?” Mother’s eyes met daughter’s in the mirror, the former pausing halfway through putting in another bobby pin.

“You remember when Mrs Wong came in last week, right?”

Melinda snorted, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Skye stiffen. sh*t. “You mean when she came in and complained about Jade for a half-hour?” How could she not ? “Hard to forget, unfortunately, but I remember.”

“What do you...what did you think?”

“What did I think?” That was vague if she’d ever seen it. “What do you mean?” Skye knew she’d thought the sentiments had been full of sh*t...right?

“Do you think she’s right? About LGBTQ+ people?” There it was. The question sat heavily out in the open, neither of them daring to breathe. “Would you be upset if I or Bobbi came out like Jade did?”

Melinda exhaled. She had to tread carefully here, more so than she’d ever had to in her entire life. “I think...I think I’d be upset if I’d gotten a call at one in the morning from a boarding school headmaster telling me I had to catch a six-hour flight out west immediately because my daughter was getting expelled,” she began, which did nothing to reduce the rigidness of Skye’s shoulders. “I think I’d be upset that they were expelling her because of her sexuality, and that the girl she was with was getting off scot-free because of her wealth.”

“But to be upset that my daughter had come out?” Carefully, Melinda placed her hands on Skye’s shoulders, willing them to relax. “I could never be upset that she did it. Not if it meant that she was finally able to live as her truest self.” Her daughter sniffled, and she decided it was time to bite the bullet. “Is there something you want to talk about, xiǎo yún ?”

She hadn’t called Skye her little cloud since she’d been ten and decided to discard the nickname, but the girl she was currently facing in the mirror might as well have offered her emotions up on a platter such as ten-year-old her would have.

“Not...not yet,” Skye said after several moments of silence. “At least, I don’t think so. I’m still trying to figure it out, I think.”

Melinda nodded. She could respect that. It was better than Skye vehemently denying that there was nothing to talk about at all. “I"ll be here if there is,” she offered. “Whenever you want to do that.”

“You wouldn’t send me back, would you?”

“Would I –” Somewhere, there was the sound of glass shattering, and honestly, it was a good metaphor for how her heart had just been thrown from Skye’s eighth story window. “ Skye .” Did she really think Melinda would send her back? Had she not been enough of a mother? And how had she not known?

“The best thing you can do, regardless of what happens, is to make sure that there’s space for her going forward.”

Bobbi was right – nothing would come of speculating on what she’d done in the past. Obviously, she hadn’t done enough to make sure Skye’d felt safe in her life as a May, and that had to change. “Your last name is May for as long as you want it,” she murmured, swallowing hard. “And nothing you do is going to change that. Nothing. ”

Suddenly, a pair of arms was around her shoulders, and Melinda was supporting the full weight of a sixteen-year-old on homecoming night who was sniffling into her. “I love you, mom,” Skye said, and the proclamation caused Melinda to clutch her tighter. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Melinda patted her back, suddenly saddened at how much her daughter had grown up. “We’ll see about that when you’re finally able to get a dog,” she half- joked, rubbing circles into Skye’s back. “I’m not so sure you’ll be saying that then.”

“Okay, you’re right,” Skye laughed, and with that, she pulled back, wiping at tears that were still gathering in the corners of her eyes. “The day I get a dog is the day my love for you moves into second place.” Sighing, she examined her makeup in the mirror. “God, this is gonna take forever to fix.”

“I’m sorry,” Melinda blurted out, her stomach twisting for having brought up the topic. It was supposed to be homecoming, for heaven’s sake – instead of praise for her dress, she’d gotten a heart-to-heart that’d ended up with Skye crying into her shoulder.

(Not that she was complaining – every conversation she had with her daughter gave her a better glimpse of what was going on in her life. And given what’d just transpired, she needed to be in it more.)

“Don’t be,” Skye answered, giving Melinda a quiet grin. “Can you tell Grant I’ll be down a little late, though? Just so he knows.” He was probably going to give her sh*t about running late and missing the bridge photos, but sometimes, certain conversations couldn’t wait.

“Yeah.” Melinda turned towards the door, only to be stopped by Skye’s voice once more.

“Thanks, mom.”

Chapter 22: fruit punch

Chapter Text

When mother and daughter emerged into the living room, the temperature in the room had dropped so low Melinda was almost tempted to check that someone hadn't left the freezer open.

Grant barely sat on one end of the May's well-worn leather couch, his back ramrod straight. It was a comical comparison to Jade (who must've shown up at some point during their heart-to-heart) who, despite having shown up in a crisply-pressed suit, was practically sprawled over the other end of it, one leg crossed over the other and hair tossed over one shoulder. Mack stood stiffly in the doorway to the kitchen, fists clenched at his sides. Hope was beside him, eyes slightly blotchy but otherwise dry.

It was a lot of emotions for a small room -- so Skye decided to tackle the most obvious one first. "Sorry I'm late, honey," she said to Grant, her voice dropping low. "Couldn't get my dress closed. You know how they are sometimes."

"Oh, I do." How could a grin be smarmy and somehow unsettlingly sincere at the same time? "But don't worry, I'll be sure to close it for you the next time." He had the audacity to wink -- to wink ! -- before lacing his arm through hers. "Unfortunately, I don't think we'll have time for photos, traffic looks like it's getting bad already --"

"Can't we just take a few?" Skye pleaded, shooting him a look. "I already told you this was important to my mom, and I asked Jade to be here, plus I asked Hope to dress up -- you met Hope, she's the best kid in the entire world --!"

Grant sighed sharply, barely managing to school his impatience. He just had to remember Skye was a May. He was going to be the first person to get with a May sister, and his reputation would be cemented for the rest of his high school career. If the cost was a few measly photos with the restaurant staff and a disgraced lesbian, so be it. "We can take a few," he said through gritted teeth, and Skye's eyes lit up. "But we do have to go soon."

"Okay, okay, photos!" Skye chirped, and the rest of the room sighed silently. "Where's Mrs Davis?"

"Labor, she thinks," Jade supplied, looping the camera Mack'd helpfully supplied around her neck. "So you get me for photography." She levelled a look at the both of them, its frostiness more for Grant than Skye. "I'm no photojournalist, but we had some pretty good photo classes at boarding school. Hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," Grant said, levelling the same look back, only his promised to make her life a living hell. As long as he didn't hurt Skye, whatever he was prepared to bring upon her was fine.

"All right, let's get Grant and Skye." She motioned them over to the window, where Skye'd spent the afternoon decorating to have some semblance of a framed backdrop. Lifting the camera to her eye, she waited for both of them to settle before snapping off a series of shots. "Turn right just a little, Grant," she ordered as the flash clicked away. "Skye, to the left."

Though Grant's smile was faker than American cheese, Skye's was true, bright and genuine; she was finally being desired for who she was and being desired first , rather than as an afterthought following Bobbi. Satisfaction and validation were a nice feeling, she found.

After their initial photos, Skye posed with Melinda, Mack and Hope respectively, the latter two attempting to put on smiles despite the unspoken elephant in the room that had been present when they'd first entered.

"Relax, May," Jade murmured when their turn came. "Just pretend I'm Grant and put your hand around my waist. Only difference is I'm taller than him, yeah?" To demonstrate, she slipped an easy arm around Skye's waist, pulling her close and pasting on a smile she hoped wouldn't demonstrate her inner monologue.

(Not that it would've made much sense anyway. It probably would've been a lot of attempting to reboot and exclamations of 'GAY', followed by some audible stomping as a mental boot worked to quash the exclamations down.)

When Skye's arm did the same, it was like her arm had specifically been made to fit there, and Jade barely had time to register that before Mack was snapping away, Grant moving to reclaim his girlfriend so the two of them could disappear to their next destination.

It left the rest of them standing awkwardly in the living room, trying to process what had just happened. "He’s awful,” Hope said finally, her normally innocent features scrunched into that of disgust. “Is it bad to hope I never have to see him again?”

“It is not,” Mack answered, his expression mirroring hers. “He’d better hope I never see him again, otherwise there might be some property damage to the restaurant. Sorry in advance, by the way.”

"What happened?" Melinda asked. If Grant Ward had even so much as implied something...

"He told me he didn’t realize Skye was such good friends with ‘the help’,” Mack scoffed, crossing his arms. “And then he asked if I could take his jacket and hang it up.”

"I'm gonna kill him," Melinda seethed after a taut second. No one got away with speaking to or about her employees like that. "I'll ask someone at dinner service if they know someone that'll do the job, it shouldn't be too hard to make it look like an accident --"

"Melinda," Mack said wearily.

"I could have him poisoned, or have someone hack into the school and ruin his transcript, or have someone ruin the stocks his parents are investing in, I'm sure they're doing that --"

" Melinda ," Mack said again, causing the shorter woman to fall silent. "Do not try to kill Grant Ward."

Melinda sighed just as heavily. "Fine. I won't."

"And no asking Jade to, either." Both women looked disappointed at that one. "At least, not this time. I highly doubt Grant Ward is going to make a return, but if he does, we can discuss then."

"You'll have to make sure I haven't kicked his ass to f*cking Texas by then," Jade muttered, wincing when Mack shot her a look. "Sorry. To fudging Texas. Anyways." She bent down to Hope, offering her a gentle smile. "I think you look great, kiddo. Wish I could take you to homecoming, but alas. Wanna take some pictures?"

Hope answered Jade's proffered high-five, causing the other girl to smile. "I hope you and Skye never stop being friends, but I hope she dates you instead," she said, and the bluntness of it brought a smile to the adults' faces. "You'd make a much better girlfriend."

"Stay for some food," Melinda offered, and Jade looked up in surprise. "Unless you've got somewhere to be besides the dance," she said quickly. "Then by all means, I wouldn't want to be the one to hold you back."

Jade paused, considering. It'd been a long time since she'd been in any sort of a family dinner, most of her recent meals taken either in record silence around the dinner table or in the form of a takeout box from May's in front of her door. What if she'd forgotten how to socialize? "I don't have any other plans," she found herself saying, granting a small 'yes!' from Hope and a bemused smile from Mack. "If you'll have me, I'd love to stay for some dinner."

Maybe -- just maybe -- May's could be her family.

Going places with men sucked.

After they’d left May’s, Grant had hustled Skye over to where his friends were meeting on the Brooklyn Bridge, she holding on for dear life while he wove in between lanes and flipped people off on the regular – all while maintaining a hand on her knee.

“I normally wouldn’t drive so quick,” he explained as yet another car honked at them, “but we spent so long at your place and I don’t want to be late.” You spent so long taking pictures with everyone that you made me late for my friends.

“Sorry,” Skye had murmured, watching the skyscrapers zip by her window. “I wanted to make sure everyone got their pictures in.” Jade and Hope especially – the former because she’d never been to a public school homecoming before, the latter because she’d promised.

This was Jade’s first homecoming. After she’d taken Skye dress shopping and taught her to dance and biked her across town more than once, this was how Skye repaid her? By making her travel to her apartment only to pose for some halfhearted pictures before dashing off to a hoity-toity photoshoot with her date? Some friend she was.

But Jade would’ve said something if she’d been averse to it, right? Even though Skye had practically begged her to come, she could’ve said no if she wanted to.

Skye sighed. Hopefully, she’d be able to find Jade at the dance and apologize for being such a sh*tty friend. It was the least she could do for her after all she’d done.

“Come on, we might miss it!” Grant was already five steps past the car by the time she’d blinked back into the present, and together, they dashed across the highway to arrive panting onto the bridge, all of Grant’s friends greeting him with various shouts.

She could feel the other girls’ stares practically burning into her as they lined up for a pose, the material of her dress suddenly feeling crude and cheap. All of them were practically dressed to the nines, and here she was, pretending she could do the same in a mall-bought dress and family jewelry.

I’m here ‘cause Grant asked me to be. We took pictures at my apartment, and it’s only fair we take pictures with his friends, too. It’s only fair. It’s really only fair.

To make matters worse, Grant’s awful driving didn’t stop on their way to the school, and as soon as the two of them entered into the gym under the balloon arch, he was swept up into a conversation with a horde of blondes while Skye dangled uselessly at his side.

“Could you get us some punch?” he asked her, and the tone was so haughty, so reminiscent of which the snootier patrons of May’s would sometimes give her, that Skye almost walked away right then and there. But walking away would mean walking away from her only chance at being seen, so if it was a cup of punch, it was a cup of punch. She could always make him get the next one.

One cup of punch turned into three, then five, then the seventh time Grant sent her to get punch, the look in his eye was positively dismissive before she was whirling off to the concessions table. Her hands were sticky, they hadn’t even danced together once, and she was hungry. (The hunger she could’ve solved herself, but between getting Grant punch and trying to reinsert herself into the conversation each time, she hadn’t been able to dole out money for a slice of pizza.)

“Having fun?”

“Jade.” Skye nearly dropped her cup when she saw Jade behind her, the taller girl still every bit as flawless as she had been earlier that evening. “How’s, uh, how’s the dance going for you?”

“Not terrible,” She’d seen two couples break up and a third get together over said breakup, which always made for a fun viewing experience. “I’m thinking next year I’ll probably ask someone, though. It’s pretty lonely when you’re by yourself.”

Or when your friends ditch you for a guy that just sends you to get punch. “Look, I’m sorry I ran off with Grant,” Skye began, the implications of what she’d done keeping her from looking Jade in the eyes. “I should’ve stayed with you, it’s your first homecoming and all that. You deserved better than –” She swept an arm out to the mass of teenagers thrashing wildly to a trap mix. “Well, all homecomings are like this. But you deserved better than what I did to you before it.”

Jade sighed, pursing her lips. It was true she’d been a little annoyed at the brush-off, but it’d resulted in one of the closest family dinners she’d had in a while. And as long as Skye was happy, Jade could forgive her for some of the steps she’d taken to get there. “Are you happy, May?”

“I…” Skye looked back over to Grant, who was currently chatting up the eighth girl of the night, doing nothing to shrug off the hands that were landing on his shoulders and face. “He came here with me because he wanted me,” she said, steeling her posture. “Guess I’m not doing enough to remind him of that.”

Jade wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to remind people that she was with them, that it was the norm for people to remember, but Skye was already sauntering off back to Grant, the most saccharine smile on her face as she offered him the punch cup. She could see her doing her best to retain a part in the conversation, a small smile stretching onto her cheeks when Grant finally slid a possessive arm around her waist.

She snorted. Men. Always trying stake a claim even though they were the ones running away.

Just then, the beat of the music dropped into a low and sultry song, the screaming din lowering to a soft chatter while students everywhere paired up. Much to her delight, Grant waved off the conversation he was having and turned to Skye, whose head had just caught up to the topic of private school scandals. “Dance with me?” he asked, and she nodded, the seven cups of punch forgiven.

Now this was everything she’d dreamed of in a homecoming dance – saxes crooning in the background, everyone swaying around them in the soft lighting, her hands around his neck with his around her waist. Skye quietly thanked past Jade for giving her an impromptu dance lesson at the mall, though this felt more like a performance than an exchange of souls.

“I’m glad we danced tonight,” she murmured, grinning up at Grant. “I was beginning to think you weren’t planning on dancing with me at all.”

“Of course I wanted to dance with you,” he said, spreading a hand at the small of her back. “And I’m sorry about earlier, with the girls. They just don’t stop coming, you know?”

“I get it,” Skye reassured him, because she did – it’d been years of boys upon boys fawning over Bobbi, she working to use every trick in the book to gain a reprieve with no success. “Happens to my sister all the time.” At the mention of Bobbi, Grant’s lips seemed to tighten exponentially. “Did I say something wrong, babe?”

“What? No, no.” Still, it took a few seconds before his demeanor returned to normal. “It’s just. It’s getting kind of boring in here, don’t you think?” Even as he said it, the hand on her back spread to curl around her hip.

"He's bad news, okay, Skye? Trust, me, please. Just this once."

She couldn’t believe it – wouldn’t believe Bobbi was right, not after the lengths she’d gone to prove her wrong. For Bobbi to have been right would mean naive little Skye had gone and messed up again, unable to make the simplest of decisions without consulting her family. Bobbi couldn’t be right.

“What do you mean?” she asked, smiling against the mounting anxiety that threatened to swallow her whole. Despite not having eaten, Skye’s stomach churned. Bobbi couldn’t be right. Grant had been nothing but courteous to her the entire time – if not slightly curt, but courteous enough. It was just that he’d been accosted by so many girls, and talking to them had made him thirsty. And of course the shoot on the bridge had been important, it’d been his friends and the location had been beautiful, better than her dingy apartment and few people that actually cared about her, not that she deserved –

“I don’t ever want to hear you say you’re a burden to me, because that is the last thing you are.” Jade was right. Grant’s requests had been a lot, but asking for her own hadn’t made her a burden. She knew that much, at least.

“I just think it’s getting a little boring in here, is all,” Grant repeated, voice low in her ear, and now both of his hands were starting to rove past her hips. “I know a better place we could go, if you know what I mean.”

“Uh, don’t you think it’s a little soon for you to...for us to…” Did he really expect her to agree, just like that? After she’d been raised by a whole dining staff that dealt with the Chinese mafia on the daily? “I don’t think that’s something I’m comfortable with,” she finished, and suddenly, the hands on her hips were tight, the grip greasy and oozing of a man who’d had privilege on his side his entire life.

“You’ll have fun, Skye,” Grant promised, soulful-looking eyes flickering over her. She didn’t need to talk to Bobbi to know what he meant by that , at the very least. “Do it for me, please?”

Already, the shame was dripping down her in waves, her mortification at having been duped welling fresh tears in her eyes. But she couldn’t let them show just yet. Not until she got out of there. “I already said no once, Grant,” Skye said forcefully, stepping out of his grip. The motion caused her to bump into another slow-dancing couple, who glared at her but otherwise went on. “I’m not having sex with you.” Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever if this was the way he acted. God, she’d been so wrong. “I don’t know what made you think I would, honestly.”

The hard look was back, Grant’s lip tightening fully and eyes turning cold. She couldn’t believe this had been the face she’d fallen for, that she’d slipped on rose-tinted glasses and an entire face of clown makeup for. “Well, then, I guess we know what kind of person you are,” he drawled slowly, and several people were looking at them now, their lack of movement drawing a crowd. “Uptight prude just like your sister. I really thought you’d be easier.”

Her fist was out before she could even register it, swiping across Grant’s face with a loud crack and evoking a large gasp from the crowd. In an instant, Grant was holding his nose in pain, blood dripping to the gym floor. Oh, sh*t. sh*t sh*t sh*tsh*tsh*tsh*tsh*tsh*t. sh*t. Mom’s going to kill me. “You little –!” Grant yelled, and lunged towards her.

Skye’s step backward could really only described as involuntary, and really, Grant had overcompensated with his weight, so it wasn’t her fault that he ended up sprawled on the ground...right? Still, as she stood over a bleeding mess of a man with what felt like the entirety of the school staring at her, only one of her neurons managed to fire a message: run.

Jade was halfway through the crowd towards the door when it registered that she should probably find the other person most attached to Skye at the homecoming dance. “Bobbi!” she yelled, but her call was lost to the hubbub; it wasn’t until she made it to the front doors of the school that she ran into the blonde. “Thank god, we have to –”

“Art drove me,” Bobbi said breathlessly, as if she’d just realized the magnitude of the situation for the first time. “I don’t have a way to get home.” Their eyes met as the realization of what was going to be necessary dawned on them. “Jade, you know I’d never ask, but –”

“Let’s go.” Jade was already holding the door open for her. “And don’t worry, I keep barf bags next to my spare helmet.”

Chapter 23: scallion pancakes, part 1

Chapter Text

Stupid.

All of the clues and signs in front of her, all of the warnings Bobbi’d given, all of the reckless driving and pointed remarks and those damn seven cups of punch… how could she have been so stupid? And to think that Grant Ward, of all people, would take an interest in her. He’d had his pick of the entire school, and out of every single girl there, every single gorgeous dress and perfectly made face, her? Maybe being in Bobbi’s shadow had been a blessing after all. It would, at the very least, have meant that she would never have to realize the true extent of her naivete.

Skye snorted to herself, finally allowing the tears from the dance to fall down her cheeks. What had her newfound confidence gotten her, anyways? The broken (if not, at least very severely bruised) nose of one of the most popular guys in school? A spot in the rumor mill for months to come? Complete ostracization? Charges of civil assault?

f*ck. She hadn’t even thought about the possible repercussions of what would occur if Grant decided to press charges. She was no one, an unwanted orphan with the world’s longest streak of luck – one that was probably over once her mother ( May, she corrected herself, because face it, she was already heading towards that formality anyways) heard that she’d assaulted someone with all of the power of the law on his side.

She’d really f*cked up, hadn’t she? And to think she’d been so good. “f*ck,” Skye whispered, her soft sobs quickly turning into bitter chuckles, sour cackles of laughter that rang across the expanse of their roof. “f*ck,” she said again, and for some reason the word was absolutely hilarious . “God f*ck, ” she wheezed before bursting into laughter again. Were the tears running down her face because reality was setting in or because of the absurdity of the situation?

Oh, the shock it would be when she showed up back at the orphanage, eight years older and thirty years more mature. She could just see the looks on the wards’ faces – those who would have the blood from their face drain completely because they’d really thought they’d gotten rid of the dreaded Mary Sue Poots eight years ago, those who would relish verbally beating her down again and taking away every scrap of self-esteem she’d ever come to own. It would be a f*cking ball .

Her time at May’s had been too good to last forever. Sure, it would be a bitch to pack up her room and squeeze her most valued possessions into a single suitcase (should she even bother? They would just remind her of what she’d lost, anyways), but Skye’d always known that such a day would come. The day where the consequences of her actions would finally catch up with her, where she would finally be too much and need to be returned. Honestly, she really just couldn’t believe she’d made it this far.

At least she would only have two years with the next family. That was, if she got picked at all. She knew from experience that kids who were still there at sixteen were usually there until they aged out. Then she’d be off to fend for herself, cold and shivering in the streets like she’d found Bobbi in the cardboard box all those years ago.

Bobbi.

The fresh tears that came to Skye’s eyes were now most definitely ones of regret now, but at what , she wasn’t even exactly sure. At losing her only sister, maybe. Losing a confidante, a roommate, that tangible thing that she had with Bobbi that she wasn’t even sure about. Would Bobbi make the effort to visit her? Would anyone from her past life want to even remain in it after she was no longer a forcible present in their lives?

(Oh, and figuring out her sexuality in an orphanage would be fun, too, she was sure – re-confrontations with the idea that only men and women should get married would do wonders for her psyche.)

Wow , her life was a clusterf*ck. And all it’d taken was punching some frat boy in the making in the face. She didn’t regret it – he’d been a solicitous dick during their slow dance and would most certainly have tried for more had she said no (or, god forbid she’d said yes in the heady rush of being accepted). But depending on how bad the fallout was, there was a very good chance she would, somewhere down the line, wish she’d said yes.

Why did trying to simply be in life have to be so hard?

She sighed. She’d miss May’s – the silly dim sum outfit she was forced to wear on weekends, the place and its patrons. Always giving everything she had, weekend after weekend, saving while discreetly contributing to Bobbi’s college fund so Melinda couldn’t say she was dead weight. (She couldn’t be if she was helping the eldest May daughter – the better May daughter, really, the only May daughter now – achieve her dreams, could she?) She’d miss babysitting Hope, arguing with Fitz over go-kart mechanics, joking around with Piper and Davis. She’d miss Mack advising her in the way only a father would yet at the same time acknowledging that that’s exactly what he wasn’t. And Phil – oh, she’d miss Phil, and his dorky penchant for the weirdest Chinese foods and his too-visible crush on Melinda May. She would never get to see how that played out. Hell, give her enough time and she might even miss the mafia by the end of the year.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

SLAM. “Skye?”

Twenty minutes ago

“—and that’s how I ended up participating in an adopt-a-thon,” Phil finished, pouting at the fresh spout of laughter it seemed to invoke in Melinda. (Internally, however, his stomach was considering becoming an Olympic-level gymnast.) “There were so many cats, Mel. You wouldn’t believe. ”

“Take Mack the next time you go anywhere that requires you to speak a language that isn’t English,” Melinda chortled, still coming down from the high that was her previous laughing fit. “That way, you’ll probably get across the point you want and not end up telling the restaurant owners you were there to rescue all of the cats.”

“Look, at the end of the day, all of the cats got adopted, which is what we’d wanted in the first place –” His rebuttal is cut off by the loud tinkling of the May’s bell, the door practically slamming open to reveal a teary-eyed Skye rushing through the mostly-empty restaurant and going straight to the ‘Employees Only’ door that led straight to their apartment. It was a visual that was met with heavy, somewhat confused silence, during which all heads turned to Melinda.

Where were Grant and Bobbi? Had something happened which’d forced Skye to flee home on her own? But if it’d been a disaster of emergency proportions, Skye wouldn’t have holed up, she’d seen Melinda in the dining room – which only meant it was somewhat of a personal disaster.

Had Grant Ward done something to her? If that slimy, low-life good for nothing piece of sh*t had even laid a finger on her more than Skye’d contented to, he was going to figure out why no one ever messed with a May daughter. (Of course, she’d have to figure out how to get the legalities of it all past Mack first. Plausible deniability and all that.)

She had no doubt that Skye was more than capable of defending herself – after all, Melinda’d taken it upon herself to make sure all of her employees were trained in self-defense – but at sixteen, public display during the homecoming dance was not what you wanted to be remembered for. That much she could understand. And she would still consider homicide for it.

That still, of course, left the man sitting across from her. Who, she noted with a pang of fondness, looked just as concerned about Skye as she did, although not quite possibly as willing to beat up Grant Ward. “Phil, I’m so sorry to have to cut this short, but Skye –”

“Go.” His hand reached to cover hers, a single crinkle of concern forming on his forehead as he nodded. “She needs her mother right now,” he told her, squeezing it. “There’s no telling what just went on. She’s gonna need all the help she can get. And don’t focus on saying the right thing,” he finished as soon as Melinda opened her mouth. “Focus on being there for her. That’s what you do best. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Tell Skye I said hi, if she’s up to it.”

This man. It was at times like this Melinda kicked herself for not having stayed in touch with any friends from college, because now would have been a great time to process the emotions currently wreaking havoc in her system. “I will,” she promised, swallowing back the lump in her throat. “Thanks, Phil.”

“You’re a good mother, Mel,” he promised, getting up and shrugging his coat on. “You got this.” He waved Piper over to settle the bill just as Melinda was already pacing towards the kitchen. Her baby needed comfort. And if there was one way she knew how to provide it, it was with what she did best.

“Fitz!”

“Is Skye okay?” the chef asked almost immediately, and the worry present in his eyes added to the flurry in her stomach. “I heard her come in, she looked upset, and it didn’t look like there was anyone with her…”

“I don’t know, but I’ll let you know when I find out. Just. I need scallion pancakes. Five orders. ASAP.” She knew she should try to give at least a semblance of explanation as to why she was asking for such an order, especially near closing, but Skye was upstairs somewhere in emotional turmoil, and given the magnitude of the conversations they’d had lately, there was a solid chance that what’d upset her had something to do with one of those topics –

Had Skye been outed at the homecoming dance?

(She was going to murder Grant Ward. f*ck legality.)

Before she knew it, Fitz was pressing a container of still-greasy, burning hot scallion pancakes into her arms and pushing her towards the stairs with extra sauces, all of which she was able to barely register before she stumbled up the first step. “Jus’ call me if you need more,” Fitz told her seriously. “I...I hope she’s okay, May.”

“Me too, Fitz. Me too.” And then she was literally tripping up the stairs, breaths and thoughts and méiguānxì, xiǎo yún racing in her head as her feet took her past the level that was their apartment and straight to the roof (how? She had absolutely no idea), slamming the door open with her shoulder only for her heart to take a deep dive off of the side of the building when she saw the sobbing mass of red on the ground.

No – please don’t have let it – “Skye?”

“Skye?”

Had Skye’s head whipped up any faster, it was possible she would’ve gotten whiplash. “Mo – May,” she said, and she didn’t miss how Melinda’s face faltered in utter confusion; dare she say heartbreak? No. It couldn’t be: she’d probably misread it. “I, uh, sorry,” she said, because it was really the only word she could think of to encompass all of the apologies and regrets she’d never have time to give. “I didn’t think you’d notice me up here, I’ll be down in a minute.” Granted, that minute would be to pack her things, but it was what it was.

“No, that’s – you don’t have to go anywhere,” Cautiously, Melinda took a step towards her, making a show of cracking open the box of scallion pancakes. Its scent wafted across the roof, and it was suddenly like Skye was eight years old again, stubbornly hiding from the one woman she was certain would send her back to the orphanage. “I brought you pancakes, xiǎo yún, ” she murmured, sliding the container across the rough surface of the roof as best she could. “We don’t have to talk about anything if you don’t want to right now.” She was just here to be there. “I just want to let you know that I’m here.”

“I punched him in the nose,” Despite her best attempts, the words tumbled out anyways; just as they would whenever Melinda offered her scallion pancakes as a child. “He wanted to have sex with me and I said no because there’s no way I would have sex with him and then he said he thought I’d be easier and called me an uptight prude and said that was just like Bobbi and I couldn’t help it, I punched him ‘cause Bobbi’s not an uptight prude he’s just a misogynistic asshole who’ll probably be a virgin ‘till the day he dies and then he tried to lunge for me and then I stepped back and he fell to the ground and everyone was staring at me and so I just ran but he’s probably gonna press charges that we probably can’t afford because of the lawyer retainer he’s got and now Bobbi won’t be able to go to NYU and I’m sorry, May, I’m so sorry...”

What had started out as a fearful ramble had broken into a full-tear breakdown by the end of it, and by the end, Skye was openly sobbing into her hands. She hadn’t even managed to make her apology properly without crying, goddammit. But how exactly did one go about giving a final apology to the only mother figure they would probably ever have?

“Méiyǒu shé me kě hòuhuǐ de, ” The soft, lilting Mandarin only served to send Skye into further tears, and it was all Melinda could do to rebel against every maternal bone in her body and gather Skye in her arms. “Méiyǒu shé me kě yíhàn de, yīqiè dōu bèi kuānshùle.”

“How can you say that?!” Skye cried, and if the air between them could ripple with vibrations, it would. “I punched a golden boy, I basically financially ruined the restaurant and your family, I ruined Bobbi’s reputation...I ruined everything. Everything.” All because she hadn’t been able to say yes. Three letters. One word. Still impossible. “How can you say everything’s forgiven ?”

“There’s nothing to apologize for when none of what happened was your fault, Skye.” Carefully, Melinda sat next to the still-untouched container of scallion pancakes – ouch, she was getting old – and leaned to carefully tilt up Skye’s chin with two fingers. Though her entire being was shaking, face dripping was tears, Skye was able to look up at Melinda, eyes blooming with raw fear. (Not for the first time, Melinda considered going back to the orphanage and beating up a few wards, if only to slightly lessen the terror in her daughter’s eyes.) “Do you hear me? None of it was your fault.”

“But I couldn’t say y-yes,” Skye pointed out, the cold air wracking her body with shivers. “If I’d said yes, none of this would’ve h-h-happened.” She might’ve felt rotten inside for the rest of her life, but there wouldn’t be anyone that shared the same fate.

“If you’d said yes, your life would’ve been much worse, I assure you,” Melinda told her gently. “You would’ve been in a situation you didn’t want to be in, and trust me when I say that is the worst kind of situation to have.”

“But I punched him .”

“You acted in self-defense. Just like I taught you to.” And Melinda was damn proud of it.

“He’s gonna press charges. Assault, probably.” That would be the kicker, Skye was sure. There was no way May’s would be able to fight a lawyer hired by the Wards, even if it was the best they could afford. If Melinda simply released her back into the custody of the orphanage, she wouldn’t have to be shouldered with the legal bills. “It’s gonna cost a lot. Probably a lot more than you can afford.” She hung her head. “If you just send me back to the orphanage, you won’t have to –”

“I’m sorry?”

“Send me back,” Skye said, confused as to what Melinda wasn’t getting. “You just have to send me back and then I’m not your financial responsibility anymore, and then no one’ll be gossiping about how it was your daughter that punched the son of a powerful family and financially ruined you.” It was basically Economics 101. Or, at the very least, a starter to what Piper’d taught her over the years. “I’m not a financial burden, the restaurant’s saved, everyone’s happy.”

It was Melinda’s turn to bury her head in her hands, her failings as a mother truly beginning to stare her in the face. She’d failed that badly at making sure Skye knew she was here to stay? At making sure that the young girl who’d been accustomed to making room for everyone knew she wasn’t burdening her for asking for things?

“There’s nothing you can do to change what you did in the past, or might have done. The best thing you can do, regardless of what happens, is to make sure that there’s space for her going forward.”

“I meant what I said earlier tonight, xiǎo yún,” she began instead, raising her head to turn towards Skye. “Your last name is May for as long as you want it, and there will always be a place for you here as long as you need it. You’re my daughter in everything but blood.” Melinda made sure to brush a tear off of her cheek before continuing. “I’m not sending you anywhere. ”

“I’m sorry,” Skye sniffled again, and this time, Melinda felt it was safe to pull the bawling, shivering teenager into her arms. “I’m sorry I’m this way, I’m sorry I screw up everything I come near –” Each word was a new shiv to Melinda’s heart, splintering it piece by piece. “I’m sorry I was the one you picked to take home,” Skye whispered finally. “You deserve better than this.”

“I’m not.” Gently, she took what was left of the simple updo she and Skye had masterminded earlier than evening – had it really only been a few hours ago? – and gathered it into a bun, twisting it securely atop her daughter’s head. “Because none of those other kids would’ve been able to replicate what May’s is today.”

Skye shrugged. “I mean, I was the worst behaved of the whole bunch, you saw my file. The wards said they’d never seen such a belligerent child.” A wry smile touched the corners of her mouth at the memory of when she’d finally found out what belligerent had meant. “You probably would’ve done better with any of them, honestly.”

“That’s not what I meant, xiǎo yún, and you know it.” Tears began to well up in Skye’s eyes again at the mention of the nickname; Melinda pretended not to notice and instead shrugged off the jacket she’d grabbed from the dining room, gently draping it across Skye’s shoulders. “You know as well as I do that the spirit of May’s wouldn’t be the same. No one would be able to replicate that, Skye. No one could. ”

Skye, she was convinced, had been the one to break past Mack’s walls all those years ago with her cheery demeanor and childlike curiosity, in all essence being the driving force that had brought him downstairs and into her employment. She’d been the one to discover Bobbi out back one fateful afternoon, smuggling the young girl into her bedroom and caring for her despite not knowing a thing about her. She’d instituted the go-kart competitions, been the source of almost all of their new regulars, popularized their xiaolongbao contest to unknown heights… She’d even been the one to serve Phil. “None of the other kids at the orphanage could accomplish half of what you’ve done at May’s, Skye,” Melinda whispered, hugging her close. “And that’s what I knew the moment I saw you there – not the belligerent kid, not the kid with an inch-thick file -- I saw a kid so extraordinary that she was practically otherworldly.”

Before she could register it, Skye had thrown her arms around her neck, nearly tackling her to the ground. “I love you,” she whispered; Melinda merely tightened her grip, hoping that it conveyed everything she couldn’t quite find the words for. Skye had said the words numerous times before, even gone out of her way to make a scene of them, but there was something about this time around that simply made her want to do nothing but hold her daughter tight and shelter her from all of the world.

They sat on the roof for a while longer, the lights of the city beginning to flicker out for the night when Melinda kissed Skye’s head softly. “Let’s go inside, okay?” she asked, making sure to keep her voice low so not to disturb the quiet atmosphere they’d created. “It’s getting cold.” Skye nodded, and together, the two of them stepped quietly back into the stairwell and to their apartment.

Bobbi was sitting in the living room in her homecoming dress when the two of them made it inside, her eyes red and lip well-worried. As Skye and Melinda passed, mother and daughter shared a long look, one that spoke of long conversations and lessons to come.

She needed to know the best way to take Grant Ward down, and she needed to know it ASAP.

But that was not for tonight – no, tonight was for patiently waiting as Skye took a cathartic shower (if she heard Skye break down in tears once more in the bathroom, she sure wasn’t going to let her daughter know) before floating behind her as the younger May drifted to bed. “I’m going to have to get you an actual bed, aren’t I?” she joked softly.

“It’s just for another year,” Skye shrugged, and her eyes were wide as she peered down at Melinda from the top bunk. “I, um. Mom?”

Sweet, sweet relief swept through Melinda at Skye’s renewed usage of the name, but she managed to keep her face cordial. “What is it, honey?”

“Would you have said the same things if I’d said yes? The things you said to me on the roof.”

“You are my daughter no matter what goes down,” Melinda repeated, and she wondered how many times she would have to say it before she could convince Skye. “If you’d said yes, if you’d said no, if you’d said anything in between – I trust your reasoning for any decisions you make.”

“And if they turn out to be mistakes?”

“Then you come to me, and we figure it out from there. I am always in your corner, Skye May. That’s what being your mother means.” Whether it meant navigating the consequences of having said no (something that she was positive was coming), picking her back up from the end of a breakup, dealing with a table wrong… coming out , Melinda realized with a jolt.

If – and only if – Skye planned to come out, Melinda needed to make sure that Skye felt secure in every aspect of the process. “I will always do my best to make sure you have everything you need, Skye,” she promised, making sure to look her daughter firmly in the eye when she said it. “In anything you decide to do.”

“I love you,” Skye said again, sniffling, and Melinda had to fight the urge to climb into the bunk beside her. “G’night, mom.”

“Goodnight, xiǎo yún, ” Melinda whispered back, standing on her tiptoes to kiss Skye on the forehead. “I love you, too.”

She found Bobbi in the living room again, sitting beside her with a heavy sigh. “What I’m about to say stays between you and me,” she said heavily, and it was a testament to Bobbi’s exhaustion that the blonde simply nodded. “I mean it, Barbara. Not a word to anyone.”

Bobbi turned to her, expression set into one of cold fury Melinda knew she only used on her worst of tables. “Are you going to wreck the Ward family?”

Melinda raised an eyebrow at Bobbi’s eagerness but nodded; Bobbi was more eager to see retribution than she was, it seemed. “I am. And I need to know the best ways to get it done.”

Chapter 24: pay dan sau yuk jook

Chapter Text

“You’re off today,” Melinda said immediately as soon as she spotted Skye walk into the kitchen. Despite the early hour, much of the Golden Dragon was already in motion, the kitchen staff moving in swift cohesion to prep for that Sunday dim sum rush. “I should’ve told you last night, I’m sorry.”

Skye yawned, the automatic tears of exhaustion prickling briefly at the corners of her eyes as they scrunched shut briefly. “You sure I can’t work today?” she asked, shoulders set in spite of her exhaustion. She needed something to scrub away the pain and humiliation that had been the night before – a shift ramming dim sum carts with Mack, Piper and Fitz would do just the trick, she was sure. “Please, Mom?” she asked again when Melinda fixed her with a long stare. “I just – if things were normal, I…”

“No,” Melinda told her firmly, stepping away from where she was currently steaming char siu bao and pulling Skye into the small alcove between the staircase and kitchens. “You can’t just forget yesterday happened, Skye, as much as any of us would like for it to have not happened at all. Shoving things down is not the way to do it.” The woman in front of her might not have been her biological daughter, but the wells of stubbornness in Skye might as well have been inherited.

Teenagers were resilient, but not even the hardiest could work off a trauma so quickly, that much she knew. Skye hadn’t even seen the worst of it, Melinda feared – she dreaded the fallout that would become her daughter’s arrival home from school Monday afternoon. Because if there was one thing teenagers were, it was mockingly cruel to those that broke their status quo, and Skye had smashed that with a ball-peen hammer.

Not for the first time, she wondered how many free meals she would have to give the mafia in order for them to take down the Ward family. “Skye, I…” Melinda sighed, wanting to phrase her words correctly. “This had an effect on you, and I don’t want you to pretend it didn’t for the sake of everyone else,” she said finally, and Skye’s lip quivered slightly. “Traumas are not something to be ignored, xiǎo yún, and, well, while I know that it’s somewhat Chinese to ignore ours, acknowledging weaknesses doesn’t make you any less strong.”

She pulled Skye into a tight hug, swallowing back the lump in her throat when she felt tears leak into the sleeve of her shirt. “And while I know right now isn’t the place to talk about it, and I might not necessarily be the right person to talk to you about it, I want you to talk to someone, okay?”

Skye sniffled. “Okay.” Melinda pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, and she sniffled again. “Um, is there any chance I could get some pay dan sau yuk jook ? ” It was Bobbi’s favorite, both of them knew, and she hoped it would be enough to spark a long-needed conversation between the both of them. The stony silence had been her fault, after all – it was only right that she be the one to break it.

Melinda smiled knowingly. “Make sure you tell Bobbi’s she’s off today, too. Do you want some extra youtiao ?”

“...please?”

Two containers of jook and a couple bags of youtiao later, Skye was perched gingerly on the edge of Bobbi’s bunk, twisting her hands over whether to wake her sister up or let nature take its course. Luckily, technology decided for her, Bobbi’s phone deciding to emit a series of loud shrills that had the taller girl reaching out blindly to turn it off.

Skye reached over to do instead. “Bobbi,” she said gently when her sister shifted to go back to sleep. “Bobbi, can we talk, please?”

Sleepy yet suspicious blue eyes peered at her from the depths of a tight blanket burrito. “...Skye?”

“Yeah,” Skye said softly, fiddling with her hands. “Um, can we...can we talk?” Her chances were slim, she knew, given that Bobbi had just waken up and that Skye’d made a considerable effort to avoid her for the last two weeks, but if there was any Hail Mary thrown that she hoped would make it, it was this one.

Bobbi’s exhale was long, an expulsion of all of the frustrations she’d built up since the beginning of their argument and then some. “I should be telling you to f*ck right off and never speak to me again,” she said, voice tight, and a pit in Skye’s stomach opened . She’d known it was coming, but still. “God forbid you tell me what’s wrong in the first place, Skye, god f*cking forbid –”

“Please,” Skye said again, hating how easily her voice gave her emotions away. She’d always prided herself on being someone who never let their problems show, never let their emotions get in the way of what needed to be done lest they make her a liability. Yet here she was, cutting herself open for the third time in 24 hours.

Another long sigh. “Are you gonna tell me why you haven’t said a goddamn word to me in the last two weeks?”

“I...I, uh…” Bobbi finally peered up, softening upon seeing the tear tracks that were silently racing down her sister’s cheeks. Skye couldn’t remember the last time she’d truly cried – she’d held it in when she’d been mercilessly teased about being adopted, at Trip’s accident, even when she’d once watched a fight go down in the dining room. But in that moment, now that she was possibly facing the concept of losing her sister forever, it seemed all emotions were out the window. “Please?” she whispered, and as soon as Bobbi opened her arms, she collapsed into them like a rag doll, holding onto her sister as if she were the last sane thing left on the planet.

Warmth and citrus enveloped Skye as she lost it for the second time that weekend in Bobbi’s arms, more tears surging from her eyes every time she thought she’d had a handle on them. Bobbi, for her part, simply held her close, rubbing soft circles on Skye’s back and letting the tears flow.

Every touch was a life preserver, a small but concrete force against the endless waves of panic threatening to consume her. She’s going to leave – but she’s here, she can’t leave – but she’s going to – she can’t, she’s right here – but she could leave, she’s gonna leave she’s gonna leave she’s gonna leave –

“I’m right here,” Bobbi murmured, and Skye seized onto the three words with all of her might, loud gasping sounds punctuating the air while she tried to catch her breath. “I am right here, Skye. Right. Here.”

“Okay,” Skye gasped out, the edges of her scalp prickling with all of her oxygen intake. It was all she could manage, the she’s not leaving waging an all-out war with the she could leave. “Okay.” Bobbi’d said she wasn’t leaving, but lies were all too common, and who was to say her sister wouldn’t lie to her face, especially after what Skye’d done to her, despite what Melinda had said on the roof last night –

“Hey, hey,” Bobbi gently tipped her sister’s chin towards her, leaning to grab a tissue to delicately dab at the tears on Skye’s cheeks. “In.” She inhaled dramatically, motioning for Skye to do the same. “Out. In.” Slowly, their breathing began to match paces, though Skye’s wasn’t without loud sniffles. “Out. Good,” she said, handing Skye another tissue. “Repeat after me – I’m right here.”

“You’re right here,” Skye echoed timidly, words shaking in the room.

“I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re right here and you’re – hic – not going anywhere.”

“I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere, and,” Bobbi made sure their eyes were locked when she emphasized the third part. “I will always be here for you, no matter what happens.”

“You’re right here, you’re not going anywhere, and you’ll always be here for me no matter what happens.” Skye let out a shaky breath, drawing in on herself for stability before closing her eyes. While the tears had stopped, the panic hadn’t entirely. “I’m sorry.”

Bobbi handed her another tissue with a wry smile. “Only thing you should be sorry for is the fact that you didn’t aim for the balls.”

“I’m serious,” Skye protested. “You were right, Bobbi, and I should’ve listened to you when you said Grant Ward was bad news, and all I did was make you feel sh*tty and dig myself further in.” She sighed, blowing her nose. Her delight at being accepted had overshadowed every ounce of common f*cking sense she’d had; even the hints from the universe via her family hadn’t been enough. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.”

(She would have to ask her sister on another night just how she’d known Grant Ward was bad news to begin with, but that was another mission entirely.)

Bobbi sighed. “I know, Skye. I know. I wish I hadn’t been right, you know?” She shrugged, leaning back against the headboard as Skye scooted to lean against her shoulder. “You’re my baby sister. You deserve all the good in the world.”

“’N you do too,” Skye mumbled, the blooming warmth in her stomach familiar now that she was back on steady ground. It was the one that occurred whenever Bobbi validated her without prompt, one that, had things been normal, she would let dissolve into her system and floated on for the rest of the day, such was the high it provided her.

But this time, the validation seeped into her and weighed her down, its label bearing that of an honest validation of sisterhood rather than of the potential crumbs of interest she’d been scrapping for the last few years or so. Skye couldn’t necessarily put her finger on why this time had been different: perhaps it was because she allowing herself the compliments, or perhaps it was because it wasn’t interest she was seeking, but rather a solid ground.

It was probably something she’d have to address in the future, but for the current moment, she had her sister back. That would be enough. It had to be enough. “Bobbi?”

“Yeah, Skye?”

“I…” It was Skye’s turn to sigh. There seemed to be a lot of sighing this morning, apparently. “I’m sorry I stopped talking to you. I didn’t do it out of calculation or anything, I was just...I was scared.” Scared of a very real possibility, scared of her sister’s reaction to that very real possibility, the possibility that said possibility wasn’t even a possibility and was instead her emotions acting up for some attention. (There’d been a lot of possibilities.)

“When you said that I...that I could be bi, I froze.” Froze had been an understatement. “I didn’t want to think about it because I didn’t want to think about what it meant, or what it could mean, and I was scared that if I talked about it or talked to you about it, it would be one step closer to coming true. And that was the last thing I wanted, because I didn’t know how anyone close to me would handle the news. How I would handle the news. So I blew up instead.” Better to push out and away than to have the ones closest to you be the source of your biggest betrayal. “If I didn’t talk to you, I didn’t have to address it.”

Not to mention the fact that Bobbi touching on the subject had brought too close to home the idea that Skye’d had feelings for her – which, in retrospect, had been true, just not in the way that she’d thought, she was figuring out – but it hadn’t been something that she’d wanted to acknowledge. It still wasn’t something she wanted to acknowledge, and if she could get away with taking the subject to her grave, it was a victory for all concerned.

“And have you now?” Each word was gentle, a hesitant move in an ever-evolving game of chess. “Addressed it, I mean,” Bobbi said, backtracking slightly. “It’s not something you have to figure out – you can leave it in limbo for the rest of your life, if you want. But I wouldn’t hate you if it were something you wanted to consider.”

“I did,” Skye let the ghost of a grin quirk up the right side of her mouth. “I’ve been doing a lot of journaling in the mornings before school – Jade recommended it to me – and I, uh...I’ve been going to GSA. That’s where I was the night of the xiaolongbao contest,” she admitted, gaze falling to her lap. “I asked Joey to bring me.”

“Yeah? How’s that been?”

“It’s been good.” For the first time, Skye let a full smile grace her face. “I don’t think I’ve come to a definite decision yet, and I’m really still trying to figure it out, but, um…” The smile turned shy, and she brushed a few locks of hair behind her ears. “I think there’s something there.”

“Well, whatever you decide, thank you for trusting me enough to tell me,” Bobbi made sure to throw every ounce of her being behind the words. Support was important, and no one needed it – no one deserved it – more than her baby sister did. (Even though she was far from a baby.) “And if you ever want to talk about it...I may not be able to relate directly to your experiences, but I’m a damn good wall to throw things at.” She winked, reveling in the blush creeping up Skye’s cheeks. “ Especially if you develop feelings for someone.”

“ Bobbi, ”

“I’m just saying, it’s my duty as older sister to deliver the primary, less threatening shovel talk to whoever you decide to date!” Bobbi gathered Skye into her arms again, ruffling her hair slightly despite her protests and insistent attempts to get free. “No, but seriously, I’m proud of you whatever happens,” she said, making sure her grip was as tight as her reassurances. “And I’m always gonna be your sister, yeah?”

“I love you,” Skye mumbled, then sniffled. “f*ck, I’m crying again.” She really hoped the constant tears wouldn’t be a side effect of her new attempted vulnerability.

“Love you too, kid.” A scent caught her nose, and Bobbi shifted her gaze over to the dresser, where the jook and youtiao sat cooling. “...did you get me pay dan sau yuk jook ?”

Chapter 25: da bin lou

Chapter Text

No matter how many times Phil walked into May’s, he would always be struck by the efficiency in which Melinda May ran her restaurant. Noon on a Wednesday would not be a time he expected for the establishment to be crowded, yet as he waited patiently to be seated, the atmosphere of the restaurant was that of a gathering for old friends rather than new impressions or family gatherings.

“Hey, Mack,” he greeted easily when he reached the front, the taller man giving him a jovial grin upon seeing him. “Called ahead for a mystery box?” As much as he wished he could’ve taken all of his lunch breaks at May’s, a legal snafu had come up – something involving litigation from the Morse family and the upcoming May’s spread – and he needed to be back at SHIELD as soon as possible.

On second thought, perhaps it would be judicious to at least see if Melinda was busy. She was Bobbi’s legal guardian, after all, and if the Morse family was going to wage legal war, she more than deserved to know. “Actually, you know what, I might just stay, I have to consult with Melinda on something.” He cast a sideways look at Mack, who simply raised an eyebrow. “Do you, ah, d’you know if she’s busy?”

“Is this business or personal?”

“Personal.” Wait, no, that wasn’t right. “Business. Business, actually,” Phil stammered out when Mack’s expression didn’t change. Damn, the man was scary when he was on duty. If he hadn’t seen him around the May family off-duty, he never would’ve believed Mack actually possessed all of the softness of a plush couch. “It’s personal and business?” he tried. The eyebrow went higher. “Business, but of a personal matter.”

“Stop while you’re ahead. Please.” Mack looked two steps away from combusting in embarrassment, waving Davis over to cover while he stepped away from the podium. “Really. What are you here for?”

Phil sighed. “You can’t tell anyone.”

Mack mimed zipping his lips with all of the seriousness of a nun. “I have an eight-year-old. I keep secrets like nobody’s business.”

“I’m serious,” Phil insisted. “Like, ‘I’m-about-to-go-into-a-legal-meeting’ serious. Like, ‘I-signed-an-NDA’ serious.” God knows why the Morses had insisted on an NDA, but from what he’d heard from Bobbi, he wouldn’t put it above them. “Think a script to a future Marvel movie serious.”

“Damn, you are serious,” Mack said, but shrugged nonetheless. “Still. Can’t be any worse than the things I see go down here.” He’s not wrong, I guess, Phil mused. There’s probably a couple of NDAs sitting in Mel’s office.

He sighed again. “Somehow, the Morses – you know,” he said, and Mack’s lips tightened into a thin line. “Yeah. The very same. Don’t know how they’re still together all these years, don’t know how they heard about the spread, don’t really care to find out – but they’re threatening to sue if I release Bobbi’s story. Something about them trying to sell the rights to TLC or something, I wasn’t really paying attention.”

Mack’s eyes flashed. “TLC?”

“Yeah, I don’t really get it either,” Phil shook his head. “Lawyer said they have no legal ground, especially considering that Mel’s had legal custody of Bobbi for...what’s it, eight years now?” Both of them were silent for a minute while Mack squinted at an imaginary mental calendar; finally, he nodded. “Eight years. Guess they wanted to get their last fifteen minutes of fame or something.”

“As if they already hadn’t had enough,” Mack muttered darkly. “You should tell Melinda, but if it doesn’t come to anything, don’t tell Bobbi. She’s been through enough recently.”

Right. Homecoming. “How are they?” Phil asked. “Skye, I mean. And Bobbi. I can’t imagine that what happened was easy to walk away from.” He hadn’t seen much of either May daughter since Skye had run in that fateful Saturday night – they were taking some time, Melinda had explained, time that she probably should’ve allotted them a long time ago.

It was Mack’s turn to shake his head. “It’s the kind of thing I don’t think either of them’ll be able to walk away from for a long time,” he said, somber. “Skye...because, well, she’s the one it happened to, but Bobbi because she’s determined to stay beside her.” Sisterhood if he ever knew it. “And here’s the woman of the hour.” He nodded in Melinda’s direction as the woman in question strode towards them, her pace quick as she spoke into a Bluetooth headset.

“Okay...so I just need to make sure those bases are covered? Sounds good, I’ll keep you updated. No, I won’t do anything without consulting you for legal advice first. Yup. Promise. Thanks, Foggy.” Pressing a hand to her ear, Melinda took a moment to try and sigh out the tension in her forehead before giving Phil a practiced smile. “What brings you ‘round here today, Phil?”

Phil studied her for a long moment, wondering when the woman he’d come to regard as one of his closest friends had become so tired. She still looked every bit as beautiful, don’t get him wrong – today, she was dressed in gray slacks and a navy button-down patterned with tiny stars – but the exhaustions she usually kept so well inside seemed to be written on her sleeve as of late. “Are you busy this afternoon?” he found himself asking, and both Melinda and Mack looked at him in surprise. “I mean, I guess it’s more like later tonight,” he amended; after all, he still had to go to the legal meeting. “Roz has got me on this new hotpot place on the Upper West, and Kara told me I really shouldn’t go alone.”

(If he didn’t know better, he would’ve sworn his co-worker was trying to get the two of them together.)

Melinda’s smile turned regretful. Still somewhat practiced, but he could tell there was a touch of genuine regret in it all the same. “I wish I could,” she said, bowing her head slightly, “but I’ve got an important meeting tonight with some customers that I can’t miss.”

“Melinda,” Mack said, warning in his tone when the meaning of it all suddenly slipped into place. She shot him a sharp look and he sighed, holding his hands up. “You’d better be interviewing for extra security when you do, is all I’m saying.”

“I was just finished interviewing someone when Foggy called,” she said placidly, expression emotionless. “Said he’s willing to work afternoon hours and weekends when he’s not in school. I think you two’ll get along well. You were on shift when he came in, right?”

A lightbulb seemed to go off in Mack’s head, and the caution turned to exasperation. “You mean the British kid who complained for fifteen minutes straight about how we didn’t show Manchester United matches? Melinda, you can’t be serious –”

“Oh, but I am.” The ghost of a smile reappeared, and it made Phil smile himself despite the confusion rapidly expanding in his train of thought. What did Mack mean by needing to hire extra security? What was Melinda doing that would warrant it?

...would he need to write about it for SHIELD?

“Anyways, Phil, I really am sorry I can’t go,” Melinda continued, reaching out to put a reassuring hand on his arm. The warmth of it was grounding, and when teak met azure, Phil swore he’d never felt more understood in his life. “Rain check?”

(He’d take a hundred rain checks if it meant he could make her smile every once in a while, but he didn’t want to think too deeply into what that meant. Maybe after the spread was published.)

“Raincheck,” he agreed, and she smiled briefly again before giving Mack one last look before sailing back into the dining room. “So...I really don’t want to eat alone,” he said sheepishly when Mack continued to stand there. “Any chance you and Hope want to come tonight?”

He’d tell her about the lawsuit another day. After all, it wasn’t like it was anything serious...yet.

“Excuse me? Have you seen my dad?”

Elena blinked down at the eight-year-old girl in front of her in confusion, partly in that she was being addressed by a child and that said child was looking up at her with the same amount of confusion. No one said anything about how to talk to children. “Hi,” she said cautiously, squatting down to meet her. “Um, tell me a little bit about what your dad looks like? Maybe we can find him somewhere around here.” Suspiciously, she cast an eye around the dining room, wondering who would be so foolish as to leave their child unattended. At a restaurant, of all places.

“He’s kind of hard to miss,” the girl said matter-of-factly, and Elena had to hide a smile at her frankness. Had she been eight years old, she probably would’ve been the same way. “Really big, really tall, really bald ...hey, hold on.” She squinted. “I don’t know you.”

“I promise I’m not trying to hurt you,” Elena reassured her, pointing to her brand-new name tag to demonstrate. “I work here, see? I promise I won’t hurt you.” She could understand how the opposite could be implied, even if it’d been the girl who’d asked her for help in the first place. “If you want, I can take you to someone else –”

“No, it’s not that,” the girl said, her squint still present. “Piper and Davis are arguing in the dish room, Fitz is cooking tonight, Skye and Bobbi aren’t on and I just saw Miss May talking to Mister Phil. Who’re you?”

Elena frowned. Who was this smart aleck? And how did she know the names of everyone who worked at May’s? (Granted, they all wore name tags, but what family came here often enough that they knew all of the staff by name?) “I’m Elena,” she said carefully, tensing. She needed to be able to make a run for it in case the encounter went sideways. “Who’re you ?”

The girl stuck her hand out with a serious expression. “Hope Mackenzie,” she told her, and Elena wanted to facepalm at her own idiocy. Of course this was Mack’s daughter – he’d mentioned her several times throughout their conversations since she’d been hired. It was quite a stroke of luck, really, that they hadn’t met before now. “You’ve met my dad, right?”

Elena shook her hand, raising an eyebrow. Firm handshake. Must’ve learned that from her father. “I have,” she said easily, relaxing now that she no longer had to worry about bolting. “Hard to forget the Turtleman.”

“No way ,” Hope whispered, all curiosities about Mack’s location forgotten. “You call him the Turtleman? ”

Elena bit back a grin. “Of course,” she chuckled. “My first shift during dim sum go-karting, Fitz told me your dad hadn’t won in months, and I thought maybe everyone else was just that good. But no,” At that, Hope shook her head, seemingly knowing what was coming. “Your father races dim sum karts slower than the time it took me to learn the dim sum menu.”

“You should see Mister Phil and Miss May,” Hope informed her with a seriousness reserved for adults. “You haven’t seen slow until you’ve seen them talk to each other. I swear some of the kids that come here regularly will have grandkids by the time they figure out they like each other. It makes my dad look like the Flash.”

“Exposing me again, aren’t we?” All of a sudden, a third face joined their little squatting party, both of them greeted by Mack’s large frame squashed into the minuscule space that was a triangle between tables. “Hope she didn’t tell you anything too incriminating, Yo-Yo.”

Hope gave Elena an incredulous look; it was her turn to blush. “Yo-Yo ?”

“Oh yeah,” Mack said conspiratorially. “I’m guessing she didn’t tell you the first couple rounds of karting on her own, she collided so hard with some of the karts she ended up ricocheting back to where she’d started.”

“That’s like, a plus eleven,” Hope whispered in awe. “I like her,” she declared to Mack. “She’s cool.”

“Glad to see someone does,” Elena murmured. When Mack’d initially told her the May’s family was almost like an actual family, she was skeptical – after all, how much time would there be for bonding if at least half of them were running around on the restaurant floor? But then she’d seen the depths of their bonds in the simple gestures: how they’d pooled their tips to help out Davis when his wife had gone into labor, how they could seamlessly rearrange their shifts for when either Skye or Bobbi had academic obligations – or, she was realizing, when Hope was short a babysitter – even in the glances they were able to exchange across the dining room, messages and codes transmitted in even the simplest of expressions.

It was the kind of language that could only be perfected in the well-oiled movements of a close-knit family, and Elena got the sense that while she was physically a part of it, it would take some adjusting for her to truly become a part of the moving parts that made up May’s. Hopefully, Hope (no pun intended) approving of her would be a good first step.

“Trust me, if we didn’t like you, you would know by now,” Mack informed her. “Skye and Bobbi are...tough nuts to crack. And if it helps, the minute you ricocheted into Fitz’s cart, Skye did a fist pump in the kitchen and said to me ‘She’s good. I hope we keep her.’ So you see?” He smiled, and Elena felt her stomach warm. “I’m not the only one who thinks you should stick around.”

Hope groaned, drawing a laugh from both of them. “Smooth, Dad. Really smooth.”

“Well, maybe you can teach him to have a little more game,” Elena winked, causing Mack to blush and Hope to laugh. “It was nice meeting you, Hope, but unfortunately, I’ve got to get back to work.” She grimaced for effect; truly, if she could spend all of the dinner service chatting with Mack and Hope, she would. “I’ll see you around, though?”

“For sure,” Hope agreed cheerily as the three of them stood. “In fact, I’m pretty sure you’ll be seeing so much of me around it’ll be like I work for Miss May.”

Elena watched as the father and daughter duo, still exchanging gentle ribbing, made their way over to a sharply-dressed man at the door ( Phil , she’d learned from Skye one afternoon; Phil who had started out as working on a spread for the restaurant and somehow wormed his way into all of their lives one by one) before exiting. She’d never imagined Alphonso Mackenzie having a daughter, much less one that’d cracked her up right off the bat; yet, now that they’d met, she couldn’t imagine anything else.

It was just so fitting that Mack had such a bright personality in his life, something to balance out the facade of seriousness she’d come to know over the last few weeks. Although the presence of a child also meant that there was most likely the presence of a mother, and as much as she wanted to know everything there was to know about Mack, it didn’t feel right to do so in the presence of someone so young. Especially if there still existed a relationship between mother and daughter. (Bobbi had said Mack had been single for as long as she’d known him.)

Still, as she resumed sweeping plates into the dish cart trailing behind her, her eyes met Melinda’s across the room, dark eyes studying Elena with just a hint of steel. After a long moment, her boss gave her a small nod in…was that approval? before continuing to move in the direction of the kitchen.

Huh.

Chapter 26: nai wong bao

Chapter Text

“Yo, May, word in the dining room is there’s fresh meat,”

“Fresh meat?” Frowning, Skye slipped off of her perch in the kitchen, setting down her copy of The Great Gatsby before peering out the porthole in the double doors. There’s the Guos, the Laus, the Tais, the Huangs...oh, looks like Tiffany’s due any day now, better make sure they talk to mom about the baby’s 100-day banquet… “Good man, Fitz,” she murmured, watching as Fitz and Elena collided dim sum carts in a spectacular bang that had half of the dining room applauding before adjusting their betting cards.

True to Piper’s word, there was indeed a nervous-looking family standing in the waiting area of May’s. Skye watched as Mack and Davis raced past them with abandon and turned sharply in one corner of the dining room, chuckling when she could see them inhale at the frightful rattle of the dim sum dishes. It was always fun scaring new people that walked into May’s – and judging by the frightened looks on their faces, this group had had absolutely no idea what they’d walked into.

They didn’t quite look like they were from New York, either – at least, not from the various college catalogs the teenage daughter was clutching in her hands – if Skye had to place her, she’d wager Bobbi’s age, or a senior at most. College catalogs meant college tours, and this girl looked like she was going to fit right in.

Still, it was somewhat of a mystery as to how this seemingly all-American family had walked into May’s, of all places. And as the unofficial welcome wagon to all newcomers, it was Skye’s job to welcome them into the fold, whether they were here for one time or the first of many. Good thing she’d unintentionally dressed in work uniform this morning.

“Hi, welcome to May’s Golden Dragon! I’m Skye,” She offered them the same winning smile she offered to all new customers, a perfectly balanced show of teeth that contained just enough genuine emotion without sapping the life out of her. From the podium, Melinda shot her a curious look; she simply gave her mother a pleading smile. (She hadn’t been on shift all week, it was making her a little antsy. Sue her.) “Why don’t we get you three to a table, and I can catch you up on how it works here. It’s a little more than your standard dim sum restaurant, if you let it be.”

She led the three of them through the dining room, waving past carts and servers like dodging their unpredictable paths was second nature. Which she supposed it was – Skye’d been dodging carts since she’d been allowed to step into the dining room on weekends. “NYU and Colombia, huh?” she asked once all three were seated, identical looks of relief on their faces. “My sister’s looking at NYU. Pre-law. I’ve got a little bit more time, but I’m thinking comp sci.”

“It’s preliminary for now, but I’m thinking I’m going to major in biochemistry,” the daughter offered, and Skye had to steady herself so as not to startle at the British accent coloring her words. Yup, definitely not from here. “ NYU has an impressive program, but Colombia seems to have a better environment.”

“Yeah, the NYU campus is…” Skye wrinkled her nose a little, drawing a laugh from the family. “It’s a lot, for sure. Although Washington Square Park is nice.” Spotting Piper, she raised her hand and gestured for tea. “So what brings you here to May’s?” she asked, letting curiosity flood into her tone. “I can’t say we get new customers all that often.”

“Oh, we were just here to explore, and a lovely woman down the street recommended you to us,” the mother chimed in, and Skye had to wonder just who’d been generous enough to recommend May’s out of the blue to some random tourists they’d passed on the street. It was certainly a very specific situation, May’s being an even more specific restaurant, so it had to be one of the regulars. But most of them as she knew it she’d already seen today, and not many people had left… “Quite tall, dark hair, very green eyes? She spoke very highly of your food.”

Jade. Even the mention of the other girl’s named tightened something in Skye’s stomach – she hadn’t seen Jade since homecoming, not since their stilted conversation at the punch bowl. It’d been like she’d vanished after the incident – Skye hadn’t seen her in the hallways, nor at GSA; she hadn’t even seen the other girl with her occasional pop-ins to the restaurant. The disappearance was disappointing, to be honest, even more so after she’d begun mending her relationship with Bobbi – all of the little steps forward, and the one person she wanted to tell hadn’t been around.

It’d only been a week, and perhaps everything could be chalked up to a grandiose set of coincidences, but Jade’s absence in Skye’s life was already a gaping hole that she felt acutely even in the most minute of moments. She’d never missed anyone like this; the last person had even come close to achieving this level of unease in her had been Trip. (At least she could take the small comfort that wasn’t Jade. If Jade had been the girl they’d passed on the street.)

But there was no time for that. “That was awfully kind of her,” Skye offered as Piper finally swept by, setting a piping hot teapot and both dim sum cards onto the table. “I’ll have to thank her the next time I see her. But yeah, here at May’s we’re about more than food – as you can tell, we’re very about the atmosphere.” A loud crash drew their attention, the four of them idly watching Fitz and Mack argue about superglue and semantics before the family turned back to Skye.

“So every Sunday, we have dim sum derby here at the restaurant,” she explained, gesturing to the carts rattling around them. “We have regular dim sum service going on – I can explain that for you, if you’d like – but the staff and the regulars like to make service a little more interesting by making it into a combination of Mario Kart and destruction derby.” As if to prove her point, a bottle of superglue went flying over their heads before Elena snatched it out of the air. “Hence, the two cards my coworker Piper just put down.”

“What happens during a regular dim sum service?” the father asked, looking enthused. “What do we do?”

Skye smiled. “So on the regular part of dim sum service, all of the carts you see around you are going to go around with food, and you can order them by platter – each little platter has about three or four pieces, depending, and the price depends on the size of the platter. Once you order from that cart, give them your card, and they’ll stamp it for you. Like a check in real time. And don’t worry, if you’re not sure what a food is, just ask – anyone’ll be happy to explain their dish to you.”

“And the destruction derby part?” the daughter asked, eyes flickering over to Fitz’s cart. Interesting. She’d have to send Fitz over to do the mid-meal check-in. “Is that what the second card’s for?”

“Righty-o,” Skye answered, wincing internally when all three of them raised eyebrows at the expression. “The second card is for your bets – typically, people make the time to wait stay until the end of service, so they fill out the brackets on the card to determine who’ll win the derby. It’s based on a number of points, all of which can change at any time based on the ref’s and owners whims, but most of them are pretty standard. Here, I’ll point some of them out for you. That crash over there –” She pointed to where Elena had practically t-boned Piper and served three trays of har gau in one smooth move. “That’s a side hit, and that’s five points. If you do a head-on –” The entire restaurant let out a collective ‘ooh’ when Davis collided with Mack. “That’s seven points. Rear-ending is four because it’s considered cowardly, and if you clip someone, it’s two. The ref can dock points for things like reckless carting and spilling food, and – oop, I think we’re about to get one.” She pointed to Melinda, who’d picked up the megaphone beside her with a bemused expression on her face.

“Food spill by Mackenzie, minus four,” she called. “Mài kěn qí shípǐn xièlòu shìgù, fù sì fēn.”

“Things like that,” Skye continued when grumbling erupted among the patrons. “Winner at the end of it all usually wins something stupid, like a crown made of takeout boxes or a sword of chopsticks. It’s all in good fun, really, and even if you’re new, you get favorites pretty quickly.”

“Har gau, siu mai,” Elena called, skidding to a stop in front of the table. “Hey, Skye. Didn’t expect to...be giving the spiel to new customers,” she said smoothly when Skye shot her a panicked look. “Which they are, right? Hi, I’m Elena, I’m also new,” she explained a little sheepishly to the family. “Would you like to hear about what har gau and siu mai are?”

Once Elena’d explained the dishes (quite expertly, Skye would add; she’d have to bring that up to Melinda), stamped their card and zoomed off, Skye gave the family another reassuring grin. They looked slightly more comfortable now that they’d been inducted via their first dim sum order – and even if they didn’t come back, she was confident their visit to May’s would be one to remember. “So I think you’ve got the basics down, and don’t be afraid to ask questions of anyone, we’re all a pretty friendly bunch. I’ve got to head off now, but –” She stuck out her hand to the father first. “It was nice to meet you, Mr…?”

“Simmons,” the father offered, shaking her hand with a jovial grin. “Thank you for the warm welcome, Skye.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Simmons, Mrs. Simmons.” Her tone was all genuine now; Phil had been a fun new customer, but there was truly nothing like inducting a new family into the traditions of May’s. “Miss Simmons?” she asked tentatively, moving from shaking Mrs. Simmons’ hand to shaking the daughter’s.

To her credit, the daughter just laughed before shaking Skye’s hand. “Jemma. Jemma Simmons,” she said, and Skye grinned. “It was nice to meet you, Skye. Truly.”

She seemed to be two for two on good decisions today, it seemed.

The first, of course, had been the one to show the Simmons to their table. While it was likely they would only be in for a singular visit, Skye liked to think they would be telling the story of their experience at dim sum derby for years to come.

Her second had been sending Fitz over to perform the mid-meal check in. Because not only had the Simmons regaled him with questions as soon as he’d walked over, he seemed to be holding a very spirited conversation with the one and only Jemma Simmons, much to the amusem*nt of the Simmons family and the entirety of May’s.

(He’d actually sat down to better engage in conversation with them, and the rest of the karters were taking advantage of his sedentary to both rear-end and clip the corners of his cart in as many go-rounds as possible. It was quite a scene: if one of them wasn’t approaching Fitz’s cart for more points, someone else was approaching it for his assigned nai wong bao , stamping it with the stamp he’d left on the side of the cart and taking a platter.)

“Were you the one who told Fitz to perform the mid-meal check?”

Skye jumped at Melinda’s amused voice behind her, clutching a hand to her heart when she turned around from where she’d been watching at the kitchen porthole. “Mom!”

“You really expect me to believe I scared you that badly?” Melinda asked, lips quirked upward. “I know I raised my daughters better than that.”

“Okay, so maybe I wasn’t that scared,” Skye admitted, heart fluttering at the mention of Melinda calling her her daughter. Sure, Melinda’d been doing it for a while now, but after their conversation post-homecoming, every mention was a new whisper of warmth in her veins. “But yes, I did,” she said when Melinda joined her at the porthole. “Jemma – that’s the daughter’s name – was looking at his cart the whole time I was explaining dim sum to them.”

Melinda shook her head fondly. “Always the matchmaker, aren’t you?”

“But it worked, didn’t it?” Skye teased, waggling her eyebrows. “Fitzy gets a new friend, you get a new...more than friends?” She wasn’t blind – she’d seen how close Phil and Melinda were during meals. A couple more nudges and they’d be on the dating train, she was sure of it.

“ Skye,” Melinda chastised again, her cheeks burning, and Skye had to stifle a laugh. “Phil and I are just friends. He’s busy with his career, and so am I. There’s no time in either of our lives to date, no matter how many times you or Bobbi ‘accidentally’ leave us with one plate of fried rice.” Dammit, she’d thought that was working. She and Bobbi would have to reconsider – maybe they could get Piper in on the act. “Anyways, as much as I’d love to watch this riveting disruption in service all...well, service, I actually need a favor.” She turned to Skye, eyes regretful. “I wouldn’t ask unless I really needed to, honey, and I know I promised you the time off –”

Skye wrapped her mother into a hug before she could continue, Melinda letting out a surprised ‘oof’ at the sudden contact. “I love you,” she murmured, and Melinda sighed. “and I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“You took Bobbi and I off of shifts,” Skye chuckled. “Obviously, someone’s sniffing around and you’ve realized you’ve actually put us into child labor conditions.” Even when buried into her shoulder, she could still feel Melinda rolling her eyes. “No, but really, I appreciate it.”

“I just don’t want you to have to bottle it up,” Melinda muttered, wondering just when she’d stopped being the constantly comforting figure. “You deserve the world, and it’s high time I started giving it to you.”

“Mom,” Skye’s tone was soft, and she pulled back so she could hold Melinda by the shoulders. “You gave me the world when you took me out of that hell.” It was her turn to smirk a little. “Even though I wasn’t the most...cooperative about it at first.”

Melinda raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so now you admit it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Skye waved a hand. “But really, I’ve got this. Miss Sawyer, my history teacher, was chaperoning at homecoming, and she...well, she’s great,” she said, shrugging a little. “She, uh...she gave me a list of counselors recommended by the school and told me her room was an open space whenever I needed it to be.” Granted, the list had been of LGBTQ+ therapists, but she figured that would be a conversation for later. “Things are working out, I promise. Now, what was the favor?”

Melinda gestured towards the back of the kitchen, where despite the dim sum service, woks were still being fired at a regular rate. “I need you to do a delivery. Just a couple orders of lo mein .”

“Uh huh.” Skye squinted at her mother, wondering why she’d been so hesitant if it’d been a simple lo mein . “Why do I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me?”

Melinda sighed. “It’s to the Wongs.”

Chapter 27: lo mein

Chapter Text

Skye’d known the Wongs were of decent money before she’d even gotten close to the vicinity of their apartment – after all, there was a reason they’d been able to afford sending their daughter to boarding school across the country. Why they continued to get takeout from their little restaurant stumped her, though, when they could’ve easily gotten it from any of the upscale restaurants just up the street.

Still, she couldn’t quite shake the sense of discomfort even as she rang the buzzer, her scuffed Converse and fleece jean jacket the only pops of color in the pristine, marbled lobby. “Uh...Skye May?” she asked of the buzzer when it demanded her name. “I have a delivery for the Wongs from May’s Golden Dragon?”

It was a far cry from the homeliness that was the May’s apartment, that was for sure. Skye highly doubted Jade had to worry about filling her closet, let along constantly fight for it with an older sibling that also happened to steal her clothes on occasion. Rap, rap, rap. “Mrs. Wong,” she greeted brightly, her smile oozing of sickly sweet insincerity. “How are you? My mom tells me you put in a few orders of lo mein ?”

Mrs. Wong was a sharp vulture of a woman, the same long black hair drawn into a sleek ponytail that hung like a waterfall down her back. Her resemblance to Jade was uncanny, both women possessing the same piercing green eyes, tall build and upturned smile. Only while Jade’s was constantly upturned in fond teasing, her mother’s seemed to be waiting for the right moment to strike.

“Ah, Skye, honey, it’s so good to see you. Come in, come in!” Unnerved by the declaration, Skye stepped into the apartment, her earlier discomfort increasing to the point where she felt she needed to give herself a good scrub-down just to exist in the Wong apartment. Everywhere she looked, there seemed to be white – whether it was the marbled kitchen counters, the white vase that sat at the breakfast bar, even the white shaggy rug that sat on their cork-colored wood paneled floors.

Everything was so clean, Skye mused. So purposely put-together, arranged just so, not a single stain or item out of place. It was like she’d stepped into the showing of an apartment rather than one that three people occupied on a full-time basis. (That was, assuming the Wongs didn’t have a vacation house stashed away on Cape Cod or something.) “Your house is beautiful,” she said instead, pushing down the instinct telling her to run before she spoiled the sanctity of the apartment’s cleanliness. “Very, um...very polished.” Polished didn’t even begin to cover it.

“Oh, that’s so kind of you to say,” Mrs. Wong waved a hand, sliding a woven placemat towards Skye so she could put the paper bag onto it. “We redecorate every few years, and of course, modernism was very in when we did it, all light tones and subtle shading. I’d love to give you a look around, if you’ve got time – but if you could, could you bring Robert his lo mein ? Man’s locked himself in his office again , honestly…”

“Sure,” Skye said, hands already reaching to deftly unpackage the containers. Those were familiar. She could handle those. Better than unwittingly breaking something valuable or smudging the countertop. “Should I...did you want me to give Jade her food, too?”

Another wave of the hand. Skye got the distinct feeling Mrs. Wong was used to waving people around. “Only if you feel like it, Jade knows we ordered from May’s.” An exasperated sigh. “I was talking to your mother a few weeks ago, actually, telling her about the fuss we’ve had trying to get Jade reinstated over at Belleview Prep over that ridiculous scandal –”

“Scandal?” Skye asked innocently, fixing upon Mrs. Wong the most demure expression she could manage. Never let it be said Skye May wasn’t good at acting. “What do you mean, there was a scandal? All I’ve heard is that Jade got kicked out.”

“Kicked out? That’s putting it lightly. No, Jade was expelled from Belleview because it was found out that she was with a girl .” The disgust in Mrs. Wong’s voice could have poisoned a squirrel, and for once, Skye understood what it was like to be Melinda listening to some of their more vapid patrons drone on. “And instead of denying it like any sensible person would have, like anyone who’d realized how much her father and I had invested into her education, Jade chooses that moment to tell us, no, she’s decided she likes girls, and there was nothing we could do to change that. Ungrateful of her, really. She’s lucky kicking her out would cause more trouble than it’s worth.” As if remembering Skye was standing in the kitchen, she whipper around, the narrowed look in her eyes matching the sharply creased slacks she was wearing. “You’re not... you know , are you?”

Skye’s innocent expression widened. “Not Chinese?” she asked, relishing how Mrs. Wong’s face puckered. If she was going to scorn her daughter, she was going to damn well make sure she understood exactly what she was saying. “I am, actually. My mom took me as soon as I started asking her about where I came from.”

“No, no, not that,” Mrs. Wong shook her head with the same puckered expression before whispering, “ You know... a lesbian .” The words hit the pristine kitchen floor like they were slop, and Skye purposely let them sit in the silence. She figured the longer she waited, the longer the other woman would become uncomfortable with the subject being addressed. “You’re not one of those people, are you?”

She knew Mrs. Wong was of the minority, and that Melinda would be of nothing but an open mind should she come out, but if this was the hostility Skye would face the rest of her life for not being straight, was there a point in coming out at all? She knew how to play parts; that would be easy. What would be harder would be callous and cold words aimed at her for the rest of her life.

Was that something she was ready to face?

“I can assure you I’m not, Mrs. Wong,” Skye chose to answer instead, the slightest note of steel slipping into her tone. She might not be sure, but Jade sure as hell was, and no one deserved to slander her like that, blood relative or not. “I was actually wondering if I could talk to Jade about a guy.”

“Oh, excellent,” It was like Skye’d said the magic words, because suddenly, Mrs. Wong was ushering Skye up the stairs with food and whatnot in her arms. “I’ll take Robert’s food for him, and feel free to stay as long as you’d like. See if you can’t talk her out of that phase she’s having; god knows we’ve tried. Maybe a friend like you might change her mind. Bless you, Skye!”

Out of everything in the house, Jade’s door was the one thing she didn’t fear knocking on. While the Wongs’ touch was surely present in the monogrammed ‘J’ that hung on the door, the various splatters of art, name tags and stickers accompanying it couldn’t have been anything but pure Jade. “J –” Skye stopped, her heart catching in her throat and only forcing a croak out of her mouth when a million questions hit her with the speed of a Mack-driven dim sum cart.

What if Jade’s disappearance this week had been intentional? Had she purposely been avoiding Skye because of the incident at homecoming? Had Jade found a better group of friends at homecoming and joined with them instead? Had Skye done something so unspeakably horrible that it’d caused Jade to drop off of her radar for the rest of time?

(Had Grant gotten to Jade? If so, friends or not, Skye would make sure he paid . They had a contract with the mafia, right? It had to be good for something. Maybe she would ask Piper to get her a copy, see if it had any clauses about retribution for free food.)

“Skye?”

Some days, Jade was a clown, but other days she was the entire circus; this entire week, she’d practically been a host of court jesters. The entire morning, she’d been working up the courage to walk over to May’s, either to apologize or grovel or forgiveness or something – but just as she’d made the decision to get dressed, the knock on her door had upturned all of those plans.

The universe had a funny way of dropping opportunities into Jade’s lap sometimes. “Jade,” Skye said, and Jade pressed her lips together, forcing herself to keep from apologizing right then and there. Not when her mother was probably listening in the kitchen, and certainly not when a single wrong word could reignite the tension strewn around the apartment like dynamite. “I, uh... lo mein ,” Skye said quickly, holding up the bag. “Your mom ordered lo mein and asked me to bring it to you.”

Jade’s eyes narrowed. “Asked you to bring it to me or asked you to bring it to me?” One meant her mother was simply a control freak who didn’t know how to leave her managerial persona at the office; the other had far more sinister undertones. She hoped to god it was the former – her mother could bring anyone in the family she wanted into her little games of manipulation, but Skye was where she drew the line. No one laid a hand on Skye.

“Wha...oh, no no no no no no,” The look on Skye’s face strongly suggested it was indeed the former, and Jade allowed herself to relax a little. But only a little. “My mom sent me, actually? I was ready to just leave when your mom asked me to bring it upstairs to you. Um.” She scuffed a toe against the flooring, holding out the bag. “And I did, so uh, here you go.” The bag was placed softly by Jade’s feet.

“Sorry to bother you,” she muttered. “Um, we have your family’s card on file, so there’s...but you already knew that…”

“Yeah,” Jade croaked, and Skye turned to leave, visible distress playing out on her face. Jade wished she could say more, wished to everything that was well and good that she could just find the words to apologize, to explain, to beg Skye to understand her side of the story. But the air was fraught, and with the sharp ears of her mother downstairs, the last thing Jade wanted to do was fight a battle on two fronts.

“I’m sorry,” Skye said finally on her last turn before descending. “You and Bobbi were right, Grant was trash. And I’m sorry for treating you so badly before homecoming.” No, Jade wanted to scream, can’t you see that it’s not you? “ You deserved better. You deserve better –” Can’t you see that you’re the one that deserves better than me? “ – and I hope you get that with whoever you’re with.”

I don’t want it to be with anyone else, I want it to be with – “Skye.” Just let me explain. “Stay. Please,” she said, voice wavering and wrapping around the stair railings; if Skye disappeared down those stairs, Jade didn’t know what she would do. “You don’t have to stay for long. Just…” Green searched for brown, flinching internally when Skye briefly met her eyes before tearing her gaze away. “I know I hurt you,” she said finally, dipping her head. “If you could just let me explain. Then I’ll let you walk away, I promise.” Her begging must’ve struck a chord somewhere, for after a moment, Skye turned, and both girls ventured into Jade’s room, the door shutting behind them with an imperceptible click.

Jade hadn’t seriously redecorated her room since she was about twelve – the rule had always been that she could embark on a redecorating spree at the beginning of each new schooling unit. Since the beginning of her high school years had been marked by boarding school, her bedroom walls were still plastered with a Criminal Minds poster, several competition medals and even some old-ish photos of the friends she’d kept back in the day.

(She wondered how they were some days, whether they would recognize the Jade standing before them today. As far as she could remember, they’d tried their best to keep in touch even as their paths had diverged, but eventually, the strain had become too much, their friendships falling away like pieces of frayed rope.)

Skye was taking in the majority of the room’s decorations, she noticed, eyes flitting over the medals and academic achievements before zeroing in on a photo of the two of them just tacked over Jade’s headboard, coupled with the ticket stub from when they’d attended the Tribeca jazz festival. They’d been awash in their own bubble that day, lost in the music and in the stories the other had to tell. Sometimes, it was one of the first things Jade saw every morning – and it tended to be one of the last things she saw every night. “Jade?”

Well. There’s no beating around the bush, is there? “I’m sure you have questions.” Maybe there is a little.

“Are you okay?”

Bitterness seeped through Jade at the question, trailing into her lips and practically radiating itself in the smile she gave to Skye. “‘Okay’ is relative,” she deadpanned. “Is anyone really ever okay?”

Skye offered her the same smile in return, and for a moment, they stood in the middle of the room, two pops of color straining against a world of black and white. “I suppose not,” she said, and Jade nodded in acknowledgement. “Are you...are you physically okay?”

“I am,” Jade confirmed, though the question itself had been surprising. She’d expected Skye to get defensive at her first evasive answer, the maneuver more reflex than anything. Skye’s true question laid like a hot coal in the air, and the longer she could avoid touching it, the less likely it would be that she would get burnt.

“Are you physically okay in the context of school?”

“I am.”

“Are you emotionally okay in that context?”

“Only thing straight about me are the As.” You dumbass. She’s taking the time to make sure you’re okay, like really make sure you’re okay after you went and ghosted her for a whole week and here you are f*cking cracking jokes –

“Are you socially okay?” Jade pressed her lips together. What was she supposed to say to that? That she’d practically been socially isolated for a week because she hadn’t dared approach Skye’s lunch table? That she’d gone from the end of class to the nearest Starbucks every day because she’d wanted to delay her return home as long as possible? That standing here looking at Skye was pulling forward waves upon waves of guilt for her behavior this past week? Because truthfully, no, Jade wasn’t socially okay – she was tired and hopeless and really just f*cking wanted to be held. “Jade, listen, if this is about homecoming, I’m really sorry--”

“It is and it isn’t, okay?” The words were sharp, accidental barbs that buried themselves in Skye’s skin. Jade seemed to catch that, for she sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Only a sentence in, and she was messing up already. “When you punched Grant Ward at homecoming, I was over the moon,” she confessed. “And then I felt guilty, because you’d just punched the guy you were over the moon for.” This had been the man who’d restored the parts of Skye’s esteem she hadn’t been able to without revealing her intentions, the true one who’d been able to put light into her eyes.

Why had she been happy the whole thing had turned out to be a sham?

“He turned out to be a misogynistic dick anyways,” Skye offered with a nonchalant shrug, and Jade barely stopped herself from interjecting yeah, but -- . “No harm done.”

“He meant something to you, Skye. He meant acceptance and self-worth and so much that you deserve to see in yourself, so much that you deserve to know –” Jade let out a frustrated sound, burying her head in her hands for a brief moment. Why couldn’t she get the words out when she needed them most? “And even though he turned out to be a dick that just wanted to sleep with you, he was the one that made you see that in yourself. I hated him for that. And I’m sure you hate that, too, but I...I really f*cking hated that.”

“But...why?”

Because I wanted it to be me. “Because he hadn’t meant a single goddamn word of it, and yet there you were, taking photos with him and making trips across the goddamn city just to be able to see him at the end of football practice,” Jade huffed. “Because he – because I – because you’re my best friend, Skye,” she said, holding out her hands in exasperation. “Because I was selfish enough to have wanted to be the one that made you see you were worth it, and that prize went to some prick that never deserved to have your attention in the first place.” Because I would’ve told you those words every single goddamned day and meant them.

The air was still, neither of them daring to move a muscle lest they disturb the half-confessions that had just been manifested into the room. Finally, Skye spoke: “This is why you avoided me for a week? Because you felt guilty ?”

“I –” I couldn’t be around to help you pick up the pieces. I’m afraid I’m too selfish to not take an opportunity when I see one. “I didn’t want to be too much,” Jade murmured, and Skye crossed her arms. “I wanted you just to heal without having to deal with me.”

She hadn’t wanted to be too much – being too much led to rebukes and ‘Jade, don’t do that. Don’t be like that’ and pitying looks towards the girl who couldn’t control herself. So it was being calm and composed that was the name of the game, a mental eagle eye on her every move so as to not appear overly stifling. And if that meant concealing herself completely as so to not overwhelm Skye with her presence, then hiding it would be.

“You didn’t ever stop to think that maybe I wanted you there while I was healing?” Skye asked incredulously. “That maybe, just maybe, you were part of the reason I started healing in the first place?”

Jade opened her mouth to speak, but one fiery eyebrow raise from Skye and she was quiet once more. “I needed you, Jade,” she hissed. “I needed someone to tell me Grant Ward was an asshole and that I would find someone who loved me someday. I needed someone who would tell me that everyone staring at me in the halls was just jealous that I’d socked him in the jaw and that I should’ve gone for the balls. I needed you –” Throughout her rant, Skye had inched imperceptibly closer, thunderous fury concentrated in the etched lines of her forehead until the two of them were practically touching noses.

“I needed you,” she said again, voice splintered in several areas, “and when I needed you the most, you ran away because you thought that going away would make me heal better .” Neither of them said anything, Skye’s anger crackling around her and Jade’s anxiety threatening to spill out of her chest. “I needed you and you left me.”

“You always tell me I’m worth it and that I deserve the world,” Skye croaked, her anger deflating to hurt that seeped through her words and diffused into the air. “How does that equate to a part of my world falling apart?”

“Because it’s not what you deserve,” Jade whispered almost automatically, and took a deep breath to find that she was sniffly. “You deserve better than the people who celebrate the losses of the people validating you. And that’s so much better, Skye.” A loud sniffle. “You deserve so much better.”

How Skye hadn’t yet seen the monumental force of destruction that was Jade and run away, she didn’t know. Was hiding a ploy to protect Skye from all of the self-made demons? Absolutely. But it was also Jade’s last-ditch attempt to save herself, a final scrabble against the cliff before she tumbled into the wild rivers that were her emotions.

Two fingers landed on her chin and tipped upward, their soft touch sending warmth zipping across the surface of Jade’s skin. This was why she’d hid. Healing required comfort, which required physical touch – copious amounts in this case, as she’d been blessed and cursed with physical touch as her primary love language – which, with every contact, ran the risk of spilling every single pent-up word until she was bled dry, broken and withered in the throes of unrequited solitude.

Now that she knew what a more-than-brief touch from Skye felt like, there was no choice but for the memory to haunt Jade for days on end, invading her dreams and every waking moment.

“You don’t get to decide the specifics of what I deserve, Jade.” From someone who’d been inches away from breaking just a minute ago, Skye’s words were surprisingly stony. (She couldn’t say she’d expected anything else from the daughter of Melinda May, though. That woman had a way with tone.) “You can tell me I deserve the world, and that’s fine. But do not –” A thumb stroked gently over Jade’s cheek, and she inhaled sharply. “ Do not tell me what is in the world that I do and don’t deserve.”

You deserve peace. You deserve choices and respect and celebration. You deserve an untainted attraction, one without the capacity to unwillingly destroy all you know.

The touch turned into a full hand curving around Jade’s cheek, and before she knew it, Skye was sitting beside her on the bed, pulling Jade’s upper body so that she was effectively leaning into her. “I deserve you,” she murmured, and every cell in Jade’s soul rebelled at the notion, long-ingrained standards crying out against the very premonition that she could even possess a shred of desirability. “And before you say anything, I’m sure I do.” Skye reached to idly play with one of Jade’s hands. “I’m not too sure about a lot of other things, but I figure if there’s a girl telling me I deserve the world, then I at least deserve a world where she’s in it telling me these things, you know?”

“It’s more than that.” The heat was spreading, searing itself into the places where they were touching and marking its memory for later nights when she was cold and alone. “You know the kind of person I am.” Selfish. Reckless. Overly flippant and callous about the feelings of others’.

“I do know the kind of person you are,” Skye agreed easily, scooting against the wall and taking Jade with her. “And I think that the kind of person I’m finding you to be is very different from the kind of person you’re finding yourself to be. I’m still mad that you left,” she said when Jade turned to her, “and don’t think for a goddamn second I’m believing that you left because you felt bad that you celebrated me punching Grant Ward.” Jade winced. “But you’re my best friend, Jade, and you matter to me. How you see yourself matters to me. Because he might have given me the validation, but you saw me.” She paused to adjust Jade, securing an arm around her waist. “And no one’s ever really done that before.”

“You deserve to be seen,” Jade pointed out, defeatedly giving in to Skye’s warmth. She’d deal with the consequences of that later. “You deserve to have your wants and needs validated.”

Skye gave her a pointed look. “And you don’t?”

“I –”

“You deserve to have your wants and needs validated. And you deserve to be seen for who you are, too,” Skye said, and Jade’s demons were in full force flight now, tamping down the embers of reassurance being seeded by her friend’s words. ( Friends. Jade sighed internally. f*ck, this was going to be a long process.) “What do you deserve?”

“To have my wants and needs validated,” Jade echoed. Skye raised an eyebrow at her. “And to be seen for who I am.” The words were hollow, ringing eerily in the whipping winds of her mental protests. Internally, she knew it would take time for them to take root – after all, had that not been what she’d said to Skye? – but a smaller part yelped that no, she wasn’t deserving of either of those, who was she kidding to think she did? And how long would it be before Skye ran from her destruction? “ I deserve to be seen for who I am.”

“You do,” Skye murmured, snuggling Jade close. The scent of cucumber melon wafted into Jade’s nose, her heart squeezing at yet another connection she would never be able to disassociate for as long as she lived. “And damn anyone who says you don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Jade blurted, and it was only when the other girl turned to her that she realized she’d never actually apologized for her behavior. ( Stubborn. Frustrating. Never the kind to say sorry, even when she should.) “I’m sorry for running away,” she said again, putting her other hand over Skye’s to stop her from playing with it. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You running away hurt me more than anything you could ever say.” Skye gently tapped Jade’s forehead before shifting a lock behind her ears with the gentlest of touches. “Just don’t leave me again, okay? I love you too much to withstand something like that twice.”

The words sank into the deepest recesses of Jade’s stomach and did a full knife twist, her vulnerable position rendering her utterly powerless to fight against them with her usual logic and reasoning.

Skye truly was a human being she did not deserve, no matter how many times she uttered the words out loud. When she’d shown up at her door earlier, she’d fully expected Skye to demand her answers and leave Jade in the devastation she’d caused – after all, no one hurt Skye and got away with it, not even Jade herself. Yet despite all logic, despite everything Jade’d done to drive her back, she’d stayed.

When she’d said she was sorry for running away, she’d meant it. She hadn’t realized the effect it would have, that it would worry her friend beyond belief. But she was even more sorry that she’d been weak enough to stay, Skye’s validation touching upon a node of deep gratitude that bordered on crippling codependency. Jade was poisonous in that regard, that much she knew, and she could only regret that she hadn’t been strong enough to keep Skye out of its clutches. It wasn’t what she deserved. What anyone deserved.

Maybe it would be better for everyone involved if she could get transferred back to Belleview.

Chapter 28: zha fah sung

Chapter Text

“Okay, so let me get this straight.” The papers stacked around Melinda made a little fwoosh sound as Piper sat down next to them, a just-as-heavy stack of papers sat in her arms. “We need to somehow singlehandedly destroy the Ward family empire, and we’re asking Yang to help us out so we don’t get implicated.”

Melinda nodded, pointing to a tall stack that sat in the shadows at the far end of her desk. “Everything that would be feasible would be in that pile.” Some of her personal favorites were in that pile: mass assassination, placement onto the FBI watchlist, leakage of business documents, even straight-up arson. (In a lawless nation, there probably would’ve already been a Molotov co*cktail thrown into the Wards’ window. But alas.)

Piper gave her a long look. “...and everything that’s financially feasible?”

Melinda sighed, pointing towards a much smaller stack that sat next to the feasible one. “In that stack.” It turned out that once you remembered there were consequences for your actions, a lot of options went out the window. And as much as she wanted revenge for Skye, there had to be a line between calculated retribution and burning everything she’d worked for to the ground. “None of the fun stuff is in that stack.”

“Well, let’s see,” Piper said evenly, pulling the pile towards her and leafing through it. “...yeah, this is all just corporate takedowns.” She closed the folder, placing it aside. “Yang give us any additional options?”

“He was surprisingly concerned about Skye,” Melinda mused; if anything, that was at least one amusing facet about the whole situation. “I had to talk him out of sending men over to beat Grant up at the high school. But a lot of it’s in the feasible pile – their asking prices are just a little too high, even if we let them run with the free meals and damages.”

Piper leaned over Melinda’s shoulder to peer at the computer. “Yeah, that’s a little steep,” she winced. “Especially because you just took on Hunter and Elena, and I think Elena’s benefits are about to kick in.”

“Yeah.” Melinda sighed, putting her face in her hands. How had her parents done this when they were owners? Granted, she hadn’t had any major altercations in high school warranting revenge, but even without it, balancing the books was tricky most days. “Even if I furlough myself for however long this takes, it’s still not taking into account emergency expenses.”

Piper clicked over to the spreadsheet containing wages, eyes flickering over names until she found hers. “What if you furloughed me for as long as this took?”

Melinda gave her an alarmed look. “Piper, I couldn’t –” But even as she said it, the numbers whizzed about in her head; if both of them furloughed themselves, there would possibly be enough money in the budget to support even a mediocre amount of revenge… “I’m not going to ask you to give up your income for a family matter.”

“Okay, maybe you wouldn’t have to furlough me, but you budgeted for all of my sick days, right?” A nod. “What if I cashed that in and gave you that money?”

Piper, Melinda knew, had barely taken a sick day since she’d started working at the Golden Dragon – something about her superior immune system, or so she claimed. Six years’ worth of sick days wasn’t an endless lifeline, but it would certainly be something. “I still can’t ask you to do that for us,” she said, and Piper fondly rolled her eyes. “I’m serious, Piper. If there aren’t legal ramifications for that, then it’s still a matter of mixing family and business.”

“You know damn well that stopped when you made this a family business,” Piper retorted. “And you know that May’s is the only place where I think that the whole ‘we’re like a family’ spiel is true. I watched Skye and Bobbi grow up beside you, Melinda. Mack, Davis and I all have; I just happen to be the only unattached one.” She tapped the ‘feasible’ pile of papers. “So trust me when I say that I want this son of a bitch taken down as much as you do.”

Melinda sighed and switched over to a new sheet, punching in some numbers before frowning. “Three years,” she said finally, and Piper was about to open her mouth to protest before she continued. “I only need three years of your sick time if I furlough myself and run them for what I presume’ll be about nine months’ worth of damage. We’ll probably also have to limit the number of donations we make this season, too, and we’ll probably also have to slightly raise the price of the xiaolongbao contest next year. Not by much, but enough.”

Piper squinted. “Hmm. What about if you keep the xiaolongbao contest prices the same, but we hold off on replacing the dim sum karts until July? I know you wanted to do that now, but if we hold off for another seven months, it’ll be more than if you raised the prices and we could probably get them for a decent price still. We could probably ask Fitz to haggle for us, that boy drives a hard bargain.” Melinda raised an eyebrow at her, and she shrugged. “We played Monopoly last month, and I swear by the end of it we were handing properties over just to make him shut up.”

“Melinda?” Piper and Melinda turned to see Elena, who’d just poked her head into the office. “Yang’s asking if you’re ready for him yet.”

“Give us another five minutes. Oh, and Elena,” Melinda called when Elena turned to leave. “Yang’s not – he’s not giving you any problems, is he?” It wasn’t that she didn’t think Elena couldn’t handle herself, she’d certainly proved that when they’d initially met – but if Yang had been unsavory towards her, it gave Melinda an opportunity to raise her rates in addition to a dressing down. And the shorter a tab they had, the better.

Elena shook her head. “Honestly, I think he’s a little scared of what you’ll do if he does.” Melinda smiled; good, that was exactly what she wanted. Never hurt to have the illusion of power on her side.

“As he should be.” She checked over the spreadsheet one last time (she would most certainly never live it down if she took a faulty spreadsheet to a high-stakes meeting) before giving Piper a nod and following Elena out to the dining room.

Yang and his accompaniment were seated around their most central table, the lot of them dressed in crisply-pressed dress shirts and dress pants. He tilted his head at the sight of the three women, even more so when Melinda and Piper both took a seat. “ Wǒ yǐwéi wǒmen méiyǒu bāngxiōng,” he murmured, eyes barely flicking over at Piper.

“Shì a nàme, zhè shì shénme suíháng rényuán ne?” Piper snorted, and all of the men looked at her in surprise. “I’ve been here for six years, you guys really didn’t think I knew how to speak Chinese? sh*t, Melinda,” she muttered, and Melinda had to stifle a laugh. “You sure we made alignments with the right mafia circle?”

“Piper,” she murmured instead, though she was glad for the tension breaker. “Be nice.” Elena set a bowl of salted peanuts onto the table, and she pushed them towards the men before sliding Yang a copy of the financially feasible suggestions she’d cobbled together. “Zhè shì qīngdān. Nǐ de nánrén kěyǐ zuò shénme?”

Of all the reactions she’d expected from Yang, outright laughter had not been one of them. “ Zhège lièbiǎo tài wúliáole. Nín quèdìng bùxiǎng chuàngyì ma?” he asked, and Melinda flushed. She’d just been trying to be reasonable. But if Yang and co. were willing to get crafty for a reasonable price…

“Nà nǐ huì zěnme zuò?”

Yang popped a few peanuts into his mouth before laying the packet down and taking out a pen. “ Nín zài zhè li yǒu yīxiē hǎo de jiànyì-érqiě hěn jiǎndān,” he told the women, circling a few of Melinda’s suggestions. “ Wǒmen kěyǐ jiāng tāmen rēng jìnqù, bù shōuqǔ rènhé fèiyòng.” Piper and Melinda exchanged looks. Had Yang just suggested that getting a member of the Ward family on the FBI watchlist was easy?

Perhaps they were in slightly over their heads. “Nǐ lǐmiàn yǒurén ma?”

“Bù wánquán de.” That was all she needed to know: if they could get the job done, it was what it was. “Nǐ shuō érzi shānghàile sī kǎi, duì ma? Nǐ xiǎng ràng tā shòushāng ma?” It was like he’d read her feasible list and was offering it for free. Or she’d end up losing more than she’d planned; one never knew with the Chinese mafia. She’d have to be cautious.

“Rúguǒ wǒmen shānghàile tā, tāmen huì zhùyì dào de,” she answered, and did the men look...disappointed? That was a question for Future Melinda.

“Nǐ de yùsuàn shì duōshǎo? Wǒmen jiāng shǐyòng tā.” Piper slid over another piece of paper, and both of them watched as hushed debate rose from the huddle of men, their whispers filling the dimmed dining room. Discreetly, Melinda cast an eye at the clock they kept above the kitchen doors – it was getting late, and she still needed to close before Bobbi and Skye went to bed. Why had she chosen to have this meeting at night, anyways?

Finally, the paper was slid back over, Yang’s mens’ faces perfectly blank expression until Yang himself spoke. “Wǒmen kěyǐ zuò jǐ gè xiǎo shǒushù, yě kěyǐ zuò liǎng gè dà shǒushù. Nǐ de xuǎnzé.”

“Honestly, that’s more than we initially planned to bargain for,” Piper whispered, looking over the paper they’d been slid. “Look, Melinda. They even threw in an offer to hack Grant’s permanent record.”

She’d had no idea Yang’s men were so tech-savvy. Interesting. (Maybe she could get them to re-do her point-of-sale system; anything would be better then the damn thing breaking down every week.) “If we take the bigger options, it leaves us open to the chance that they could figure us out and financially recover from them. But if we take the smaller ones…”

“Then it’ll be a bunch of little fires that could burn the whole thing down,” Piper finished, already nodding before turning back to Yang. “Wǒmen jiāng cǎiqǔ yīxiē xiǎo xuǎnzé.”

Yang and his men nodded. “Hǎo de xuǎnzé. Xiànzài, guānyú fùkuǎn?”

Melinda straightened, sliding a few pieces of paper out of a legal folder she’d brought. This was her wheelhouse; negotiations and contracts were what she’d been born to do. “Wǒmen xiàng nín zhīfù shuāngchóng fèiyòng:2,000 Měiyuán xiànjīn, 8,000 měiyuán shípǐn hé záfèi,” she told them, barely flinching when he lifted an eyebrow. “Nǐ dǎpòle hěnduō zhuōzi. Wǒmen yǒu jiāoyì ma?”

It was a few moments before Yang nodded, neither of them breaking eye contact when his pen flew across the page, sliding it back to Melinda. “Nǐ tǎojiàhuánjià. Tā màofànle cuòwù de jiātíng.”

She shook her head, finally offering her hand across the table. They shook, the deal formalizing the air around them. “ Méiyǒu ,” she murmured, her smile chilly, and no one missed the threat in her next words.

“Wǒ zhǐshì yīgè yuànyì wèi nǚ'ér zuò rènhé shìqíng de nǚrén.”

The Simmons family was visible from a mile away, Skye mused as as the family of three trooped into May’s for the second time, their expressions slightly harried but right at home by the fact that they’d been absolutely drenched by the surprise storm that’d appeared. “Mrs. Simmons, Mr. Simmons, Jemma,” she called, a smile already forming on her face as she darted over to the reservation station with Mack.

At the mention of being recognized by name, the entire family’s faces lit up. “Skye, right?” Mrs. Simmons asked, smiling herself when Skye nodded in response. “I was hoping we’d see you again. We never did get to thank you for your impeccable service the last time we were here.”

“That’s just the May’s standard, ma’am,” Skye grinned back, taking a small bow. “Everyone that comes through our doors gets treated like family.” That, and she’d clocked them on being repeaters as soon as she’d spotted Jemma and Fitz gabbering away like old friends. It seemed she hadn’t been wrong, either, for she could see Jemma already peering around Skye to see if Fitz was puttering around the dining room.

Well. If any one of them was going to find love in the next decade or so, Fitz was more than deserving of it.

“Fitz is in the kitchen,” Mack told Jemma, and all of them chuckled when Jemma’s cheeks heated so rapidly she looked like she would spontaneously combust. “You’re just in time for the derby to start, too, so I’m sure you’ll see him around at some point during service.”

Mr. Simmons patted his daughter on the back, eyes kind but amused. “Jemma was absoutely insistent we come back here,” he told Mack, and Jemma’s cheeks grew even redder. “Don’t get me wrong, the food and the atmosphere are fantastic, but I do believe it was a certain server that caught her eye.”

“I’m sure the owner will love to hear that,” Mack agreed, all of them silently amused at Jemma’s embarrassment. “Why doesn’t Skye get you a table, and we can settle you in and see about Fitz?”

“Right this way,” Skye gestured to the right side of the dining room, the four of them drifting through wayward diners and sedentary dim sum carts to a small table in the middle of the section. “ I’ve got both of your cards, and here’s Davis with some tea –” Davis gave Skye a surprised look upon seeing the Simmons’ – it was odd to see repeats that weren’t regulars of the Chinatown community. She just gave him a sly grin in reponse. “–and I’ll see what I can do about Fitz.”

She cast a look around the dining room before leaning in to Jemma. “If I were you, I wouldn’t worry about it too much.” Jemma flushed, and Skye gave the other girl a bright wink. “He hasn’t stopped talking about you since you two met. Good luck!” Oh, what it was like to experience new love.

She left both parents laughing at the poor girl’s flushed face and departed towards the kitchen, bursting through the doors with every ounce of experience her theater camp lessons had given her. (Melinda’d thought it’d be a good idea to help younger Skye exercise her more...dramatic tendencies. They’d only honed them.) “Oi, Fitzy,” she called, and Fitz looked up from where he was in the middle of preparing a large batch of salty peanuts. “You’re wanted out in the dining room. Special request.”

“Special request?” Suddenly, the kitchen was practically silent as everyone in it turned to stare at him. A special request for one of their staff from a customer? A special request for Fitz? Something had to be up. “Someone out there’s askin’ for me? ”

“Yup.” Skye popped the ‘p’, hopping onto the counter and using a tasting spoon to scoop some peanuts out of the large bucket. “ More salt,” she told him; Fitz was still staring at her with a flabbergasted look on his face. “Oh, come on, Fitz. There’s only one British family we would’ve gotten in here recently, and it’s not the goddamn Queen. You know exactly who’s asking for you by name.”

At that, the kitchen staff let out a series of good-natured grumbles before work resumed in the kitchen. Apparently, Fitz had already long bored them with talk about Jemma. “They’re back ???” Fitz asked, all of the blood draining from his face. “What do you mean, they’re back?”

“The Simmons family,” Skye said, her own doubt rising when Fitz’s face only served to pale even more. “Fitz, I promised Jemma you would go out there and talk to her –” She’d read the room right when she’d spotted the two of them together last week, she was sure of it; Fitz himself hadn’t shut up about Jemma. Had something gone wrong in the time that she’d last heard him talk about her? “You do want to go out there and talk to her, right?” Please tell me you do.

“Are you mad? I can’t go out there!” Fitz’s eyes were wide now, and oh, had she f*cked up, apparently. She’d really f*cked up. “You saw me the last time Jemma and I talked, I looked like a complete idiot! I’m gonna make another fool of myself if I go out there again!”

Oh. Oh. The adrenaline in Skye’s system began to recede rapidly, and she was pretty sure she was going to pass out if she didn’t steady herself. Oh. “So it’s Jemma, huh?” she asked, waggling her eyebrows to mask the fact that her heart was currently running the Kentucky Derby. “Well, if it’s Jemma, then obviously she remembered you pretty well, Fitz-o. I’d get out there before she gets too disappointed. And Fitz?” she added as the already-red chef prepared to charge out with his dim sum cart.

He stopped and turned to her, limbs practically vibrating with nervousness. “She’s here asking for you by name. Whatever you did last time worked. Don’t change who you are. If she doesn’t like you for you…” The ghost of a shadow passed across Skye’s face. “Then she’s not worth it.”

“Hey.” Briefly, Fitz put a hand on her arm. “You’ll find someone someday. We all will.” Then he was off, and for a few minutes, the sound of carts clanking was considerably louder. Skye sighed and scooped up another bowlful of peanuts, popping a few more into her mouth to confirm their need for salt.

Maybe she would find love some day. Melinda liked to tell her that she was young, she had all the time in the world, and it seemed Jade’s favorite pastime was telling Skye that the guys at school were idiots for not tripping over themselves to date her. (Were the girls? Possibly, and Jade would probably also tell her the same if it were true.) But encouragement or not, it still didn’t change the fact that her reputation was wrecked across the five boroughs – even if she did want to date, there wasn’t a chance in hell her punching Grant Ward at homecoming wouldn’t follow her.

So she did for others what she wanted for herself – and if that meant sneakily taking over Fitz’s cart while he was in the midst of a spirited conversation with Jemma about the laws of thermodynamics, then that was just fine. Everything was completely fine.

“So I’m sure you’re all wondering why I’ve called you here.”

“Oh, come on, Bobbi, we’re not in an elevator,” Piper called, and the rest of the dining room made noises of agreement. “It’s the Golden Dragon dining room after closing. This is about as public a space as we’re gonna get. Just tell us why we’re here before your mom gets mad that she’s paying us too much overtime.”

“I neither confirm nor deny that I’m paying you overtime for this,” Melinda reminded her from the back of the table, and Bobbi stuck her tongue out at Piper from her spot on the stage. “But if you could make it quick, honey, I’m sure they’d appreciate it.” She jerked a thumb over to Davis, who looked halfway to drooling onto the tablecloth. “Davis especially.”

Bobbi waved her off, instead pulling down the large projector screen they normally used for banquets and weddings. “As most of you know, homecoming last month was a sh*tshow for Skye,” she began, and the tension in the room immediately racheted up a few notches. “Grant Ward was an asshole. She decked him. None of that went well. So I propose we do a re-do for her, because she deserves a good homecoming.” The projector clicked on, and despite the intensity of the situation, a light groan rippled around the room when they saw the number of slides at the bottom of the screen.

“Twenty slides? For this?” Mack whispered to Melinda as Bobbi began her speech. “The rate she’s going, Bobbi should be in the sciences.”

“Law school needs just as many slides, I’m sure,” she whispered back, and the two of them snickered to themselves. “Wonder how many cases were won by one side boring the other to death.”

“And if Mack and Mom could pay attention, please,” Bobbi deadpanned, pulling an ‘ooh’ from the audience. “As I was saying, I want to pull this together before Thanksgiving, so I’m going to need all hands on deck to get this done.”

The presentation clicked over. “Mom, Fitz, I need you on food. That’s self-explanatory. Mack, you and I will be on decorations. I was thinking we could do a sort of ‘night out’ theme, so lots of silver streamers, fairy lights, etc. Piper, drinks. Kara, prizes and categories; I’ll be emailing you the specifics of that. Joey, Kaya, music. Davis, Elena, I need you two to assist Mom and Fitz, I’m putting both of you on there because trying to keep Fitz from sneaking ghost peppers into anything is a full-person job. Don’t even try to deny it, dude, you did it last year,” she said when Fitz opened his mouth to protest.

Jade raised her hand. “Jade, I need you to keep Skye distracted day of,” Bobbi finished. “Swear to god, my sister knows about every surprise that goes on within a mile radius of the restaurant. I’m counting on you the most.” It would be the ruse least likely to fail, especially since Jade and Skye were practically joined at the hip nowadays. “Questions, anyone else? Piper.”

“Can I –”

“Yes, you can wear a suit,” Piper pulled a quick fist-pump into the air before leaning over and exchanging a loud high-five with Jade. “Actually, I’d go for it. Be you. We could all wear suits if we wanted to.” Idly, Bobbi wondered what would it would be like if she wore a suit. Hmm. Maybe she’d try it out.

Fitz raised his hand. “Do we get plus ones?”

“Bring Jemma,” Bobbi answered immediately, the whole dining room letting out a shared chuckle when Fitz’s cheeks burned red. “I’m sure Skye’ll get a kick out of seeing the two of you together, anyways.” She’d met Jemma the second time the British woman had visited the diner, and upon meeting her Bobbi immediately understood how she and Fitz belonged together. “Oh, and speaking of couples, Mom, I need you to call Phil and ask if he can come.”

Melinda gave her a long look that suggested her daughter strongly consider her next words. “What do you mean, you need me to ask Phil if he can come?”

Bobbi’s eyes went wide. This is how I’m getting tasered into the carpet, isn’t it? “Oh, god, no,” she blurted, and the rest of the restaurant grimaced in pity. “No. Not like that. Unless you want to. But I need you to call Phil to ask him if he’ll play the part of the cranky chaperone that tells people to leave room for Jesus.” Nothing screamed high school dance like the chaperone who’d been forced to give up their night for a bunch of rambunctious teenagers.

Melinda continued to squint, and in the corner of her eye, Bobbi could see Piper dramatically lift the mainline to her ear and prepare to dial an ambulance. “He’ll be there,” she finally said evenly, and the phone clanked down with a just-as-dramatic sigh. “But if you don’t think he and I are going to play the most strict chaperones you’ve ever seen, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“That adjourns us then, thanks for coming,” Bobbi called, and everyone began to scrape their chairs as if it were the end of a college class. “Oh, but before you go, I just wanted to thank everyone.” Heads turned, the silence hushed. “Um, thanks, you guys. Thanks for agreeing to be there for Skye on something like this. I know it can seem a little paltry, and not like something that actually matters, but I just want her to have the homecoming she never got to have. No one deserves to get publicly humiliated on what’s supposed to be a magical high school night. So thanks again, um, even though I made you all sit through a Powerpoint presentation. Thanks,” she said a last time, voice quiet. “It means a lot.”

“She means a lot to us, too,” Kaya echoed, and nods ricocheted around the dining room in agreement. “I don’t think any of us would be here if Skye wasn’t a significant presence in our lives,”

“Yeah,” Jade said, swallowing back a lump in her throat. She and Bobbi shared a long look, blue holding green in solidarity. “Skye deserves the goddamned world. So let’s f*cking do this.”

Chapter 29: dow fu fah

Chapter Text

Alphonso Mackenzie: Got a reservation for Prince Tea House on Bowery. Eleven people under my name.

Melinda May: I close at 2, we leave at 2:30. Formal dress.

Piper Vasquez: Can I wear a suit?

“Yes, you can wear a suit,” Melinda called across the dining room; Piper shot her a thumbs up from where she was loading up dim sum carts for the day. Always with suits, Piper was. Sometimes she wondered if the woman owned anything other than her work uniform and suits. She’d find out – someday. “And check with Elena to see if she has anything to wear, will you?”

Elena Rodriguez: What’s considered “formal”?

Piper Vasquez: I got you. Meet me after shift.

Skye May: Wait, hang on. Eleven people. That’s me, Bobbi, Mom, Mack, Hope, Piper, Davis, Elena, Fitz...who am I missing?

Bobbi May: Did no one tell you? I thought Mom told you.

Bobbi May: Jade and Phil are coming.

“And everyone says Fitz’s dramatic,” Melinda muttered to Bobbi as they heard a loud “sh*t” from the kitchen. “You think she even registered that Phil was coming?” It hadn’t been hard to convince Phil to come – not after Hope had practically cornered him into coming when he’d been in yesterday. Still, this would be the first time they were all socializing outside of a restaurant environment, and in a way, it was like he’d be meeting the family. That in itself was nerve-wracking.

Bobbi snorted. “Oh, absolutely not. She’s going to get wrecked this week by everyone because she can’t focus. Have you seen how often Jade’s been here lately?” Melinda had, as a matter of fact – it was getting to the point where wherever Skye could be found, there was a good chance Jade was right beside her.

She’d started putting an extra plate out at the dinner table, for heaven’s sake. All Skye had to do at this point was hand the girl a spare apartment key.

Skye May: No one told me Jade was coming!

Skye May: And no one told me Phil was coming, either!

Piper Vasquez: Well, you know now. At least you didn’t find out when we got there.

“God, that girl’s a disaster,” Piper called to May and Bobbi. “Ten bucks says she drops something in front of Jade when we’re at tea today.”

Formal dress. Formal dress.

Jade tugged at the sleeves of her jumpsuit, grimacing when the black cloth refused to budge from its deep v-neck cut. Formal dress. Maybe she should’ve listened to her mother’s snide voice when she’d suggested Jade wear a dress – at least it was suggested in the attire. But of course, wearing the dress would’ve meant succumbing to her mother’s idea of femininity, and if there was anything Jade dreamed of doing, it was disobeying everything her mother said.

Hence, the jumpsuit. She just hoped Miss May wouldn’t stare at her in disapproval. Maybe she could wear a dress next time…? “Nah,” Jade snorted to herself, earning a weird look from a family passing by the door of May’s. “Now or never, Wong. You can own this, or you can run another six blocks and tell your mother you were right.”

Bobbi May: You look really, really dumb standing out there.

Bobbi May: Hope’s words, not mine.

Not going back six blocks, then. Laughing to herself, Jade pushed open the door into May’s, nearly dodging Fitz as he barreled past her with a cart. “Sorry, Jade!” he yelped, hand aloft in the air even as he continued on. “Y’look nice, by the way!” Well, at least someone did – she could only hope Skye had at least a reaction akin to his. (Or, you know, that she had a reaction at all.)

“Yay, someone to save me from boredom,” Hope joked when Jade reached the back of the restaurant. The eight-year-old was lounging behind the counter, eyebrows furrowed while she stared at the large pile of takeout boxes, presumably for that week’s dim sum derby trophy. “Can you pass me the glue? Skye said that this week’s trophy has to be extra big. Dunno why, but it’s s’posed to be extra tall.”

“Probably because your dad looks like he’s going to win this week,” Jade mused, handing Hope a bottle of glue; together, the two of them managed to secure a final box onto the pile. “This thing looks like it’s going to hit the ceiling.”

A loud crash sounded from the front of the restaurant, and both girls looked to see Mack and Elena staring at each other dumbfoundedly, Mack’s cart with a sizeable dent in the side. “They’re cute,” Hope remarked when the initial shock subsided, Mack and Elena dissolving into good-natured bickering. “And Elena’s really funny.”

Jade hadn’t been around Elena enough to know as well as she should, but if Hope liked her, that at least fared well for how she fit into the restaurant. She’d seen the two of them at a table during slow nights, murmuring over plates of rice and choy; from what she could gather, Elena’s lightning-quick banter was a perfect foil to Mack’s solid thinking. It was nice to see, honestly, and she hoped Elena would be around for a lot longer. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I think she’ll be around for a while.”

“Hope, honey, you all changed – perfect,” Melinda poked her head out from the employees’ door, nodding quickly. “Oh, good, Jade, you’re here.” She gave Jade a quiet, fond smile. “Your jumpsuit looks nice on you; I’m sure Piper’ll be excited to see she’s not the only one not wearing a dress.”

Even as Melinda turned back into the kitchen, words snapping into the air, Jade’s cheeks flushed. Her? Look nice? For a jumpsuit she’d pulled out of the back of her closet at the last minute out of spite? Her mother hadn’t said she’d looked nice in years – even today, her only remarks had been said disparaging ones about her daughter’s lack of a dress choice.

To be complimented was...nice. New, and would probably take some getting used to, but nice nonetheless.

“Holy sh*t.” She and Hope turned to see Skye standing in the doorway of the employees’ door, jaw so far dropped Jade feared it would touch the ground. For the first time, she wished she hadn’t tied her hair up into a high ponytail – its length would’ve done wonders for keeping her from feeling so exposed as she was now.

Because honestly, the look Skye was giving her should’ve been one reserved for herself. Though it was simple, Skye’s sleeveless white dress fitting on top before cinching at the waist to flow just about the knee; on top of it all, she’d donned a jean jacket, its casualness both upgrading and grounding the outfit as a whole to the earth.

It was the kind of outfit that practically screamed Skye, all sweet with spunk, and oh, how Jade wanted to sprint back six blocks and grab a leather jacket for her. (Just to see how it looked, okay? It was certainly not about seeing what her friend – best friend, no, couldn’t be, the voice in the back of Jade’s head warned – looked like in her jacket. It wasn’t about that at all .)

f*ck. She should probably say something before her gay staring got too obvious. “Your hair,” Jade finally stuttered out, making Skye glance at herself in confusion. “It’s down.” This, thankfully, was also true – in the short time they’d known each other, she’d really only seen Skye with her hair up, minus homecoming – and she was having a little trouble comprehending how soft the tumbling waves made her friend look. “You, um. You look good.”

She and Skye gave each other compliments all the time, even more so with copious amounts of physical affection complementing it. So why was this of all things so damn hard?

“You – um, you too?” It was comical, almost, how wide Skye’s eyes were drinking in Jade’s outfit. “I – I’ll say it again, honestly, because holy sh*t, Jade.” Ignoring Hope’s splutters in the background, she cautiously stepped forward and tucked a stray strand of hair behind the taller girl’s ear, eyes still round. “I’ve never regretted not asking you to homecoming more.”

Jade’s heart lurched at the words, and it took everything in her power not to let her body follow their motion. She doesn’t mean it. At least, not in that way. She doesn’t. Mean it. “Yeah, well, it would’ve meant you were associated with the new lesbian,” she offered casually instead. “Doesn’t really do you any favors when you’re trying to figure yourself out.”

Skye shrugged, eyes less round but still just as soft. “Maybe it would’ve helped me figure things out sooner.” Jade tilted her head, the follow-up question heavy on her tongue, but just as it was about to roll, the bell signaling the end of the derby rang, a loud cheer going up as Fitz ran into Mack in a final act of revenge.

Jade had never thought she would curse a dim sum derby in her life, yet here she was.

If Mack could go back in time, he would have absolutely made sure Elena and Hope would not have met.

Not because Elena was terrible, oh no – on the contrary, in the short time he’d known her, Mack had never seen anyone pick up the dining menus with such speed, nor had he ever seen anyone pick Mandarin up faster. (Granted, it was the swear words Elena was picking up the fastest, but learning was learning.) She’d been nothing but cordial with customers, always willing to learn, and whip-smart in a conversation to boot. None of that was why Mack wished they hadn’t met, though.

No, rather, it was the effortlessness in which Elena and Hope got along that was setting Mack on edge. If he wasn’t careful, he would have a ragtag double team on his hands, and heaven knew Hope was skillful enough of a prankster on a good day. He could only imagine what it would be like if she had the power of Elena on her side. Actually, maybe not. Wouldn’t want to manifest it.

“Wait, you did what ?” Hope asked incredulously, and Mack tuned back into the conversation just in time to hear his daughter burst into incredulous giggles at whatever feat Elena had just relived. “There’s no way you got away with that!”

“Oh, but I did,” Elena reassured her, reaching for the fresh pot of tea that’d just arrived on the table. “Tea, Hope?”

“Yes, please” came the chirpy reply, and Hope practically vibrated in her seat for all of five seconds before her curiosity got the better of her. (It’d been one of the several traits Nicole had left to her daughter, the curiosity of a cat mixed with the impishness of an elf. On better days, Mack swore Hope was the spitting image of her mother.) “You threw an egg at your teacher because he told you you didn’t belong in physics?”

Elena chuckled, sliding the now-full cup of tea back to Hope before pulling Mack’s towards her despite his protests. “Tomatoes and eggs,” she answered, nimbly flipping the lid between her fingers and sliding the teapot towards the end of the table. “Did I mention the tomatoes were rotten?”

“Cool,” Hope breathed, and yep, Mack was about to have ten times more trouble on his hands. He made a note to have May keep Hope away from any of the produce. “I wish I could’ve done that to my teachers!”

Time to reenter the conversation before Hope spent dinner service trying to snag eggs from Fitz. “I don’t think Miss Diaz would appreciate you throwing tomatoes at her, honey,” he said quickly, and Hope deflated slightly. “Besides, I thought you liked Miss Diaz.” He hoped he hadn’t missed something – with Elena’s arrival and the increased work they’d had with the SHIELD spread, he’d been stretched a little thin – but hopefully not to the point where he’d missed something major about Hope. “Did something change?”

Hope shook her head. That was a relief, at least. “Miss Diaz is nice, but honestly, I wish I could’ve thrown an egg at at Mr. Talbot.” Her shudder was grossly exaggerated. “ He was awful.” Well, that at least wasn’t news – Mack’d spent the whole of first grade in and out of parent-teacher conferences with Talbot, who’d probably been better suited to running a military unit than a group of six-year-olds. If Hope wanted to throw food at him, Mack probably would’ve bought them matching hockey masks. “Ooh, dow fu fah! ”

“Nice pronunciation, Hope,” Melinda gave Hope an encouraging grin from where she was conversing with Phil two tables over, and Hope shot her two thumbs up before turning to a very confused Elena.

“Have you ever had dow fu fah, Miss Elena?”

Elena gave her a grin. “You can just call me Elena, Hope,” she told her, and Hope’s jaw dropped. “Even Miss Elena makes me feel old. And no, I don’t think I’ve ever had it before, so I think you might have to explain it to me.”

As Hope launched into a passionate response, Elena nodding along to her every word, Mack couldn’t help but watch the both of them. So many people had made the mistake of treating Hope lesser than she was, their tones going up octaves and making sure to monitor his daughter’s every move. And every time, without fail, Hope had a distinct dislike for them by the end of the month. It was almost a predictable formula, really – the higher the octave adopted, the faster Hope would declare her disgust.

But here was Elena, conversing with Hope as if she was her equal, octaves and monitoring be damned. It amazed him, honestly, with how levelly Elena was treating her, pushing and pulling like (he presumed) she would do with any of her friends. (Perhaps with a touch less profanity, which was appreciated, but all the same.) And when the two of them exchanged a complicated handshake that had his head spinning, something settled in him, nestling into the corners of his heart and pulling a flutter from his stomach that had been dormant for the last eight years.

He was the Turtleman and she was the yo-yo, but could they ever co-exist at the same speeds?

“You look nice.”

The stream of tea that had been steadily pouring out of the teapot slowly came to an abrupt halt, and it was only then did Phil realize what exactly he’d said. “I mean, not that you don’t look nice every day,” he hurried to correct, his embarrassment missing the amused eyebrow Melinda gave him by a mile. “I just think that you look particularly nice today, while we’re outside of the restaurant, and of course women are worth more than just their looks – and I’m embarrassing myself again,” he muttered when she could no longer restrain her mirth.

He wondered when he would stop making a fool of himself in front of Melinda May. If he would ever stop making a fool of himself, if he was being honest.

“Thanks, Phil,” Melinda answered, and a small spark inside of him rejoiced at the slight tinge of pink in her cheeks. “It’s nice to dress up every now and again, though, you’re right.” She tugged at her dress, a whirlwind of zigzagging stripes ranging in different shades of red, pink, white and blue, and wrinkled her nose. “Still not sure how Bobbi talked me into this, though.”

Personally, he wasn’t complaining – the brighter stripes brought pops of color to her visage, bringing out the softer sides of her eyes whenever they fell upon the members of the impromptu family she’d surrounded herself with. Melinda’d also chosen to leave her hair down, veritable curls that tumbled past her shoulders when all he’d normally seen was a tightly-pulled ponytail. Whatever train of thought Bobbi had gone with, he’d have to thank her for later. “She made a good choice,” he reassured her, hand reaching to cover hers only to freeze halfway through. Phil. No. “She learned from the best.” He detoured to reaching for the teapot instead, picking it up by its delicate handle and pouring himself a cup. “Milk?”

“Don’t let them hear you say that, you’d get kicked out faster than if you were spotted by the mafia.” A corner of Melinda’s mouth twitched up. “How was your week?”

“It was good,” Phil smiled and took a sip of his tea – boldly muted, if such a description was possible, thank goodness Melinda had told him not to put milk in – and tried not to get lost in the micro-expression she made at tasting her own. “Roz sent me to a seafood boil place and I swear I had to change shirts like, three times during the review.”

“Thought someone as experienced as you would know how to peel seafood,” she teased, nodding at the waiter when he presented them with two steaming bowls of silken tofu and a bowl of honey-colored liquid. “You’re telling me you didn’t know shrimp could take revenge even after they died?”

“Trust me, I learned that one the hard way.” Thank goodness there was no shrimp to be peeled here. He’d probably be laughed out of the teahouse. Although the fact that he had no idea what he was looking at was probably shaping up to be an equally good contender, he mused, trying to frown discreetly at the bowl. “Um, Mel, you know I hate to ask, but…”

“ Dow fu fah,” she answered, already taking the bowl of liquid and pouring a liberal amount of it into hers. “It’s basically tofu with liquid sugar. Dessert, usually, and very, very sweet.” She looked up at him. “It’s usually a bitch to have during derby because it’s so delicate, so it’s probably why you haven’t seen it being carted around.”

“Oh, wait, is this what Mrs. Guo always orders when she’s done?” Phil asked, and Melinda almost dropped the bowl in surprise to stare at him. “ Wow , that sounded creepier than I thought it would.” I really am batting 0 for 2 today, aren’t I? Maybe I should just keep my interactions inside of the restaurant.

“Just a little,” Melinda answered, her unreadable expression a far cry from the smile she’d been giving him earlier. Maybe this would be his taser moment, although to be honest, someone should’ve tasered him the moment he’d agreed to Bobbi’s enthusiastic invitation a week earlier. What kind of idiot agrees to go to an impractical family outing two months after meeting someone? And it wasn’t even as if they were together! “If I might ask – how do you know?”

He’d better choose his words carefully, Phil mused, else the next time he would probably see any of the May family would probably be when they were digging his grave. “I think she’s trying to take an interest in your love life,” he hedged, flinching when the stone in her expression grew. “Because every time she orders it, she turns to me and says ‘This one Qiaolian’s favorite. Get this one when you go out with her.’ So, uh…” He shrugged, hoping these weren’t his last moments on Earth. “I think she’s trying to set us up.”

“Oh my god.” If they hadn’t been outside, he was sure Melinda would’ve faceplanted straight into her bowl of tofu. “I mean, I can’t say I’m surprised,” she said after a few moments, expression now rife with mortification. “Mrs. Guo’s been trying to set me up since I adopted Skye.”

“It’s true,” Skye called two tables down, and Melinda shot her daughter a withering look. “You should’ve seen the first man Mrs. Guo tried to set her up with.”

“Skye…” Melinda warned.

“I’m pretty sure Mom drop-kicked him in the alley behind the back door.”

“Skye, I swear if you keep telling this story, I will tell your sister to tell Jade about the time you threw up after we went to the CiCi’s pizza.” All of the color drained from Skye’s face at that, and the curiosity mirrored on Jade’s was enough to make Phil snicker. “Anyways,” Threat solidly made, she turned back to Phil, her expression much more relaxed. “Glad that’s how you found out. I was worried I was going to have to put a hit on you.”

“I’m...glad you don’t have to?”

“I’m joking. Mostly.” Internally, he knew that her wink meant she was joking, but Phil was fairly sure Melinda’d probably called in a hit for less. “None of the men were good enough anyways, but it makes her happy and keeps her coming in every week, so I kind of just let it be.” She held out the bowl of sugar to him, their fingers centimeters apart in the midst of simultaneously reaching for it. “Interesting that she chose you, though.”

What was that supposed to mean? Was Phil outside of the normal range of men Mrs. Guo usually chose? Or was he simply the only one that kept coming back? (Granted, he was sort of required to come back, but that was neither here nor there.) Or – and he could practically feel himself wincing in embarrassment as he considered entertaining the thought – was it because, against literally every single odd, it was because he was the first man Melinda’d ever shown interest in back ?

It had to be the second one. It had to be. That, and if he even gave another inch to the third, his brain would explode. There was no way his little crush was reciprocated; as a matter of fact, it was practically on its way to being unsustainable, both for their working relationship and friendship.

Could he spend all of his time with Melinda learning about all of the things that made her smile? Sure. Would she want to be with him in that capacity? Probably not, and she probably never would. The way he saw it, Melinda May was simply too much of what made her great – her passion for her food and family, her willingness to unflinchingly stare down anyone in the eye, her banter whenever they were together – all of it put her into a league that was light years ahead of his own. And the sooner he accepted that, the sooner he’d be able to move on.

“Definitely interesting.” Maybe he’d finally bite the bullet and ask Roz out for a dinner at the Golden Dragon. She’d been asking what made May’s so magical, after all – dinner would let her find that out and give him closure.

And if it went smashingly? He could be friends with Melinda without nary a worry for the rest of his life.

Chapter 30: ngau mei

Chapter Text

“So you’re saying that we have to wait until February to see Grant Ward Sr. make the FBI watchlist?” Piper squinted at the preliminary calendar they’d been sent before heaving out a sigh. “I was kind of hoping for an early Christmas present, honestly.”

Melinda rolled her eyes fondly at the server before clicking back through to the previous months. “Look, Yang’s planning on planting the scandal for Thanksgiving, the gradebook is getting changed at the end of the term, the hit-and-runs are happening every couple of weeks, and he’s already promised me that a solid chunk of change just got donated to Planned Parenthood.” She pointed at her second screen, which displayed a digital receipt. “Plus, when the scandal drops that Grant’s father is associated with a white supremacy terrorist organization, there won’t be a college in hell that accepts him.”

“And I still get to throw the Molotov co*cktail in March, right?”

Maybe she should’ve asked Davis to be her right-hand man, honestly. “Yes, Yang said you can still throw the Molotov co*cktail in March,” she said, and Piper let out a small squeak of glee. “Talk to him and I’m sure he’ll let you do one of the hit-and-runs next month, if you’re looking for a little joy in your life.”

“Trust me, this is my biggest joy in life,” Piper snorted, both women looking up from the computer when a knock sounded on the doorway to Melinda’s office. “Oh, hey, Jade. If you’re looking for Skye, I think she’s working on a project with Joey, if you want me to go get her –”

“No, that’s – that’s okay, Piper, thanks.” Already, nerves were present on Jade’s face, and Melinda fought the urge to shoo Piper out of her office. “I – I was actually wondering if I could speak to you, Miss – Melinda?” A lip bite; this was definitely not going to turn out well. Was she going to have to call CPS? “About – about what you’re doing to get back at the Ward family.”

Piper and Melinda exchanged looks – how had Jade heard about their plans for retribution? “Say less,” Piper said instead, and gave May a solemn nod before hopping off of her boss’ desk and heading to the dining room. “See ya later, Wong!”

“What can I do for you, Jade?” Curse whoever had given this girl such a good poker face, she would absolutely wipe the table during poker night – but it also meant that her normally stellar interpersonal skills were about to fail her. Must’ve been the result of being birthed by an actual cyclops. “Is everything okay with you at home?” Am I going to need to withhold service to your mother?

“Wha – oh, yeah, everything’s okay at home. Well, as okay as they can be,” Jade amended, and Melinda noticed she was twisting something small and shiny around her fingers. “You know my mother’s the way she is. But I really was hoping to ask you if I could help out with Yang’s plan.” Jade’s gaze shifted away, refusing to meet Melinda’s eyes. “I want to do something for it.”

“Jade, I don’t think it’s such –” There were so many things that could go wrong – as only a friend of the restaurant, there was no guarantee Melinda’d be able to protect Jade should the whole thing go sideways; if something were to happen to her, Skye’s grief would most likely haunt her into an early grave. And Jade was a child – far too young to be involved in such petty games.

She didn’t even want to consider the ramifications of what would happen should the Wongs find out Jade was involved – Melinda knew Jade’s relationship with her parents was tenuous as it was, and if they found out she was actively engaged in conspiring with the Chinese mafia, she had a feeling there would be no boarding school isolated enough for them to send her to.

“Please, Ms. May.” Jade’s expression was stony; the formality just as intentional. “I want – no, I need to do this. I can help offset some costs, I can get supplies, I’ll run messages...I’ll do whatever. I just –” She stopped, hands halfway through gesturing, and the expression on her face struck Melinda with the full force of a Mack-powered dim-sum kart.

She’d never seen someone’s eyes scream of pain so far beyond her years, of a hurt that not even the worst of evildoers were worthy of experiencing. It was the look of someone that knew the pain of breaking every chain, every assurance of safety they had in their lives to willingly fling themselves back into hell to save themselves the hurt of the one they could not have; the look of someone who’d willingly put their heart into the hands of someone who had utterly destroyed it with an unknowing touch and a sunny smile on their face.

Sixteen was too young to be destroyed by unrequited love, and yet, here she was, watching Jade Wong stare it dead in the face without flinching. “You mean the world to Skye,” she offered gently (because who else would it have been?), and she watched the younger girl’s lips quirk up into a quick, disbelieving bitter smile at the remark. “I don’t think you need to do anything more for her than just exist.”

“That’s the thing, though.” If it was possible, the small object between Jade’s fingers twirled even faster. “I...I don’t think I’m going to be around in New York for much longer.”

Now Melinda was confused, if not more than slightly concerned. “What do you mean, you’re not going to be around for much longer?” she asked, trying to not let the alarm on her face show. “You’re not going anywhere, are you?” Skye would be a mess if Jade so much as even moved three blocks down, she knew – maybe it really was time to get on making that girl a spare key. And maybe consider turning their couch into a pull-out.

Jade grimaced, and Melinda saw the ragged edges of her emotional wounds as the object in her hand was finally revealed. “This isn’t how I wanted to tell you, but here I am.” Between her fingers was a small pin, the block letters ‘BC’ separated by a maroon-colored bear in the middle, and Melinda swore she felt her stomach drop 217 stories. This couldn’t be happening. “I’m transferring back to Belleview Prep in January.”

Skye was going to snap right in half from the hurricane-level force this blow was going to deal, she was sure of it. “Jade…” There were so many things she wanted to say – was Jade aware of the hole this would leave in her best friend? Of the damage her departure would do? That there were easier ways to repay for her sins (ironically) that didn’t involve resending herself back to hell? “Jade, don’t do this.”

“I have to.” She’d never seen someone so torn yet so resolute in the sanctity of their actions. It almost made her wonder what Jade would be like at 25, really."I...you know Skye would be better off without me. You do." A choked laugh. "Tainted, damaged soul splintering apart the kindest soul we both know." Jade shrugged, and it was like someone had laid her emotions bare for slaughter. "I just want to give her the chance to realize that before my staying makes me the one that's damagingly codependent."

Melinda sighed. Part of her wanted to turn tail and run to Skye, scoop her up in her arms until the storm that was Jade’s self-deprecation passed – but Skye was almost sixteen now, and she had to let her daughter fight her own battles sometimes – and a quieter part of her knew that Jade was processing her feelings the best way she knew how. Was it the healthiest? No. But to best detach yourself from someone you could supposedly never have meant cutting them out of your life entirely sometimes, and this was a concept Melinda understood. (It didn’t mean she had to approve – but it wasn’t like she was Jade’s mother, either.)

She couldn’t protect Skye fully, but she could do what she could to lessen the blow. “Then you’d better tell her before you go” was all she said finally, Jade’s eyes continually setting up shop to beg of her a favor until she added, “and I’ll see what I can do about letting you do something. But you need to know I might not be able to protect you if it goes sideways.”

Jade snorted, resentment and bitterness swirling in the dregs of her smile like the remains of a cup of green tea. “That’s alright. I don’t really have much to lose, anyways.”

When he’d initally thought about taking Melinda to Takashi for lunch, Phil hadn’t been too perturbed – it was a restaurant that advertised odd fusion combinations, nothing new – he’d even been able to recognize some of the parts that were being served, thanks to the multitude of foods Skye had ambushed him with in his secret boxes.

Just the other day at lunch, Melinda’d even talked about how the Golden Dragon was practically a no-waste restaurant – thanks to the fact that they were able to use almost every bit of what they got from the butcher each day. “So maybe Skye and Bobbi have had a few too many pig’s ears,” she’d laughed, waving down Piper for yet another serving of loh baht goh. “But it’s also meant that we’ve barely had to waste any food, and it’s saved us so much money.” (Good to know May’s had both stunning cuisine and environmental policies. Any more and he’d have to crack a joke about Melinda running for president.)

So when he’d invited her along to the review, he’d thought her presence would’ve been welcoming – she’d mock him a little, maybe, for his unfamiliarity with the dishes being served – but when the look on Melinda’s face turned from anticipated to slightly perturbed upon seeing the plates rolled out, he knew the both of them were about to be in for a dramatic ride.

“Phil,” Melinda whispered once the chef had left, her voice sliding easily into the background chatter of the restaurant. “Is this...are these... cow testicl*s? ”

Truth be told, he wasn’t too sure either, given that the greyish blobs of meat currently sitting on their plates looked startlingly like escargot. He could declare snails and hope for the best, but a) Phil was here for work, which meant he’d have to figure it out or die trying, and b) looking uncultured in front of Melinda wasn’t high on his list of priorities. Not to mention the fact that the chef had quite literally said ‘Testicargot’ when he’d presented the plate...

So, of course, there was only one thing left to do: pop a bit in his mouth and hope for the best. “Uh,” he managed elegantly after the first bite, the meat strangely chewy and oddly underseasoned. (Maybe he should’ve added the sauce.) “Do you happen to know what cow testicl*s actually taste like?”

Melinda shook her head, holding her chopsticks at length while she scooped up another piece. “Always did avoid Rocky Mountain Oysters in college,” she murmured, gritting her teeth as she too popped a bite into her mouth. At the taste, her nose crinkled, and Phil watched it crinkle with the fascination of a baby seeing a toy for the first time. (It was cute, okay?) “But the fact that it’s prepared like escargot is either the biggest crime against humanity or a genius move.”

“I think I’m leaning towards crime against humanity. Testicargot, my ass.” The next plate hit their table, and Phil had to actively fight his eyes from bugging out of his eye sockets. Sitting on the plate was a tube of some creamy unidentifiable substance, blinis and caviar accompanying it as if they would help root the dish’s ingredients in any way. “I’m never letting Roz pick out the menu choices again.”

To her credit, Melinda was peering inquisitively at the tube, flipping her chopsticks around to give it a questioning poke. “I think it’s calf’s brain,” she murmured, drawing a surprised look from Phil. “Come on, Phil, you telling me you didn’t do the brain dissection while you were in school?”

Phil’s cheeks pinked. “I accidentally poked myself with the scalpel and passed out at the sight of the blood.” The memory had followed him around for the rest of his public school career to the point where his family had taken out an ad in the graduation ceremony booklets to mention it. “So, uh...yeah. Definitely haven’t seen the brain before.”

“Glad I could be your first time.” His cheeks reddened even more while she simply slid a bit of brain between her lips with a twinkle in her eye. “Not bad. Definitely needs the help from the caviar, though. And I don’t think serving it in the tube helps much.” Neither had her innuendo – but he wasn’t about to tell her that. Especially not when the grin she was giving him was practically begging for an opening to exploit.

He focused his eyes instead on the cart of meats that were instead being wheeled to the table, the chef accompanying it reminding him viscerally of the first time he’d visited May’s. So naive he’d been then, to think that his visit would be an in-and-out, one-review situation. And yet, here he was, reviewing the most unusual restaurant to date with said owner of May’s, trading innuendos and childhood stories while in the back of his mind preparing for a legal meeting involving the estranged parents of one of the restaurant’s waitresses. Wait, I should probably –

“ There’s something I need to tell you,” he blurted, and both Melinda and the chef looked on in caution, the latter subtly moving the foods away from either of their reaches but still spreading oil onto the grill in front of them. “Not – not anything life-ruining about me, or anything detrimental – well, I mean, I hope it’s not detrimental to our friendship, I’d really hate for it to go down the drain like this –”

“Phil.” Melinda tilted her head at him as the first slices of meat hit the grill with a sharp hiss. “Spit it out. I promise I’ve heard everything there is to hear in the restaurant business.” Phil hesitated – this was an open area with curious ears, and he had signed the NDA, surely he shouldn’t –

“I’m...I’m not great with emotions, but I’m glad it was you.” The words echoed in the forefront of his brain, a wintry sunshine having given way for a brief moment into spring, and Phil remembered the vulnerability Bobbi had entrusted him with in telling him her story. Eavesdroppers or not, NDA be damned, he’d made the older May a promise; Bobbi deserved to have ultimate control over how the events of her life were perceived.

“I have a legal meeting,” Phil began, and, upon seeing the immediate lack of drama, the chef went back to flipping their meats on the grill. “And it’s with the Morses.”

Melinda’s chopsticks paused in the middle of reaching for another testicargot. “The Morses ?”

“The Morses.” He hadn’t even met them yet, but already the surname was leaving a nasty taste in his mouth. “They want to sue SHIELD for the legal rights to Bobbi’s story.”

Meat was piling up onto Melinda’s plate, but she gave it no attention, her expressions instead going through the seven stages of grief before settling on barely-concealed rage. “They want the legal rights to Bobbi’s story,” she said through gritted teeth, the spatters of fat hitting the oil seemingly an apt match to the ignition of her anger. “And to try and get the legal rights to Bobbi’s story, they decided to sue the publication set on publishing it instead of Bobbi’s actual legal guardian? ”

“I think they were thinking they would be able to slide it under the radar, honestly,” He figured they’d probably rationalized that the less Bobbi actually knew, the easier it would be to get the case through. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to tell you earlier, Mel, I –” Honestly, he wasn’t even sure why he was telling her now, what with his job and future as a writer on the line. ( You know why, a voice echoed in his brain; it sounded suspiciously like Skye’s for some reason, so he elected to ignore it.)

But Melinda already seemed to be mentally planning in her head, stuffing a random piece of meat into her mouth with ferocity. “It’s fine,” she said finally, and while Phil got the sense that everything was not fine, he didn’t want to leave this restaurant review with grill marks on his face. “But I need you to do two things for me, okay?”

“Anything.”

“Don’t tell Bobbi unless this actually comes to something,” she warned, and Phil had to smile at the fact that she’d practically echoed Mack word for word, “and I need you to get me into that meeting.”

“Fitz-o, for the last time, you’re going to be fine.” Fitz looked up at Bobbi, who was clearing the table next to him with a bemused look on her face. “The more questions you keep asking, the more confusing I promise it’s going to get, okay?”

He supposed that in her defense, he’d opened his mouth to ask a question about five times now – but in his defense, he hadn’t asked anyone out since Jenna Peabody had soundly rejected him in front of the entire cafeteria in the seventh grade. And dating etiquette had most likely changed since his last attempt. Sue him for caring enough about wanting to ask Jemma Simmons to a faux-homecoming that he wanted to do it right.

Asking out Jemma Simmons. He was going to ask out Jemma Simmons, a girl he’d seen in-person twice (but had had multiple video calls with otherwise) to the May’s Golden Dragon faux-homecoming. The prospect was daunting, honestly, not that in that she would say no (he was fairly sure she would say yes, anyhow) but that in doing so, Jemma would be effectively brought into the May’s fold.

To bring her to the faux-homecoming would be announcing Jemma as more than his date – it would be announcing her as someone more significant and permanent, and honestly, he wasn’t sure he was ready for that, never mind where Jemma stood. As far as he was concerned, the two of them were still friends. Friends that had ridiculously long phone conversations at night and resulted in his mother asking why he had so many phone calls from a Queens area code, but friends nonetheless.

(But did she want to be more? Did he want to be more? Would they ever stand a chance at being more –?)

“Fitz, literally.” Bobbi swung into the seat across from him, tapping two fingers to the table so that he would meet her eyes. “I can hear you thinking, and trust me, I can smell the burning from the kitchen. Stop thinking so hard. ”

“But what if she says –”

“She’s not gonna.” The cutoff was swift, and he was surprised to see a tinge of protectiveness in her eyes. “She’s not gonna say no, because you are an intelligent human being who deserves to find love, okay, Fitz? She’s not gonna say no. ” Both of them looked towards the door when the opening bell jangled, Jemma appearing in the doorway with an expectant look on her face. “Moment’s up, my dude. See you on the other side of the war.”

“It’s not the other side of the –” Fitz wanted to protest, but his words died in his throat as Bobbi stood, waving energetically at Jemma to come occupy the table. She looked more cozy than the last time he’d seen her, bundled in a navy pea coat, knitted forest green beanie and pinked cheeks. Homecoming material , the back of his brain echoed, and you’d never seen the word faux used as a mental beating tool so handily. “Jemma,” he croaked instead, and somehow, he managed to make his arm rise in a waving motion.

If this was how he was upon seeing her, once they devolved into actual conversation, he was f*cked. What had happened to the Fitz that’d been so confident, so easy to converse with, so self-assured when they’d first met? Whatever mental vacation it’d decided to take, it would be all good and well if it came back in the next seven seconds, any time now –

“Before you start, I will absolutely have you know that your take on the existence of aliens on Neptune – on Neptune, of all places – is rubbish and I will not stand for it.”

It was like a switch had kicked on into his brain, the sentiment sending his intellectual fight-or-flight instinct into overdrive. “Now hold on, just because humans aren’t properly adapted to survive in major sub-zero temperatures doesn’t mean there aren’t other lifeforms who don’t, and as I’ve said, aliens have most likely had different evolutionary paths and have adapted individually to their own environmental catastrophes, so there’s no way we can compare it to the one the human race has taken!”

Jemma barely suppressed a fond grin as she sat down, co*cking an inviting eyebrow for Fitz to continue. “NASA has been monitoring the planets for years, Fitz, and Neptune’s been classified as a planet since 1846. Don’t you think they would’ve at least found some evidence of an alien society by now? Or at the very least, traces of life on its surface?”

“Alien races elsewhere in the galaxy – hell, elsewhere in the universe – could have experienced several sub-zero periods of time where survival was imminent. Thus, possible ability to inhabit arctic places such as Neptune.” That previous Fitz hadn’t gone anywhere, he realized; it’d just been rooted in what they were best about: conversations. And conversations he could do. “And maybe they’ve chosen to inhabit the underground. Like dwarves. Christopher Paolini proved it.”

Jemma opened her mouth, then closed it. “No,” she said finally, but she sounded on the verge of laughter. “I cannot get into a debate with you about the intricacies of the Inheritance cycle, Fitz. Not today. Not when you’re trying to use the works of an author creating a fictional world containing dragons to attempt to prove to me that aliens exist and live on Neptune.” She shook her head, eyes shining with mirth, and Fitz had to fight back his wide grin. How had he so serendipitously become friends with a nerd on his own level? “We’d be here past closing. Mack would have to drag us out by our ears.”

“Then what about next Saturday?” The words dropped out of his mouth faster than a bowling ball off a bridge, and even Fitz had to be surprised at himself when they had. Focus, man. Focus. “It’s uh...May’s is holding a faux-homecoming at the restaurant next Saturday,” he explained, and ah, here came the awkward part. “Um...the girls are going to skin me alive if I don’t bring a date –“ no, man, don’t say that, she’ll just think you’re desperate – “Not that you’d be a last choice by any means, that’s not what I meant – oh, this is awkward.” He peered at her nervously, a flush coloring the back of his neck. “Can I start again?”

Apparently, cool, calm and collected Fitz had only briefly returned to work. Damn it. But Jemma hadn’t looked at him in complete disgust yet, so at least there was a little bit of hope. Time to try again. “Next Saturday, May’s is holding a faux-homecoming at the restaurant,” he began, and her face remained carefully neutral. “If you’d like – and only if you’d like, no pressure at all – d’you want to come over to mine that day and yell obscenities at the Eragon movie, debate the books and be my date to the dance that night?” There. He’d said. He’d said it, the words were out, and the ball was entirely in Jemma’s court. (He wondered if it would be too stereotypical to squeeze his eyes shut in embarrassment. As it was, his cheeks were already flaming, he was sure.)

“Fitz.” Oh. He had closed his eyes. How embarrassing. Maybe it’d do him better to open them. Oh, no, now Jemma was looking at him with an unscrutable expression – “...and I’d love to go to the dance with you.”

He’d probably have to move to a deserted island to escape this embarrassment, maybe he could move to Staten Island? Surely there weren’t too many people there – “Wait, what?”

At this point, Jemma just looked amused, and Fitz couldn’t tell if that was a win or a loss in his book. “I said, I’ll be over bright and early with popcorn, and I’d love to go to the dance with you.” Her cheeks were also dusted red, aflush with...anticipation? Slight embarrassment? He would never know. “We’ll make it a date.”

“A date,” Fitz echoed, though somewhat strangledly. He’d really – he’d really made it through the whole monologue without embarrassing himself. He’d really done that. And she’d said yes . Jemma Simmons, the girl he’d met one afternoon in the May’s dining room, the girl that was the most entertaining part of his days most days...the girl that, as of next Saturday, was his date to the restaurant’s faux-homecoming. “It’s a date.”

He was going to need to consult someone about tux colors, wasn’t he?

Chapter 31: dim sum

Chapter Text

The door bell was a familiar cadence to Jade’s ears as she stepped into May’s, heels clacking slightly against the carpeted floor. It was a different dining room than she was used to, that was for sure: someone (Mack, she presumed) had moved all of the tables to the right side so that the left remained as a dance floor, the stage repurposed as an impromptu buffet. If she squinted, she could see Piper and Davis arguing in the back area over a makeshift DJ booth, Elena struggling to adjust a navy blue sash on the wall and Fitz in a dashing grey suit setting out tiny stuffed golden dragons on a table.

Jade had to hand it to her – when faced with a budget and a deadline, Bobbi had the power to pull some pretty creative ideas out of her ass. (She could’ve never done this, that was for sure.) And without direct supervision, too: thanks to the twenty-something slide Powerpoint the elder May had graced them all with a few weeks ago (as well as emailed to all of them with pointed bullet points), she and the restaurant staff all knew that in just a short hour, Bobbi would be leading her sister down the stairs from the May apartment into a party for the ages.

A party, her brain reminded her, that you probably shouldn’t spoil by dropping the news of your transfer back to Belleview. But she was running out of time – they were rapidly approaching Thanksgiving, and the ivory-colored letter she’d received in the mail the other day had smugly informed her of her need to move in early, just so there weren’t any… ‘incidents’. (Jade took that to mean that yes, apparently she had the power to turn people into lesbians simply by looking at them. Maybe she w ould look into witchcraft. Couldn’t hurt now, could it?)

To tell the girl, at least, she knew was the right thing to do; as much as Jade believed she could simply get up and vanish out of Skye’s life without repercussions, a self-preservative (or selfish, she’d yet to figure that out) part of her knew that the reaches of their friendship were far deeper than the acquaintance stage they should’ve been at. And the last thing she wanted to be was responsible for breaking Skye’s heart...again.

The only problem was, she was running out of time to avoid it.

You do it tonight and that’s a mistake you’ll regret for the rest of your life. She’d already had a hand in f*cking up Skye’s first homecoming; she wasn’t about to be the root cause of the second f*ckup. Not when Bobbi had put blood, sweat and tears into planning it. (Jade had a strong suspicion that Bobbi would try doubly hard to murder her if she broke Skye’s heart during the faux-homecoming.) Keeping her mouth shut it was – and hopefully, the truth wouldn’t come out regardless.

“You good, Jade?” Something on her face must’ve given her away, for the next thing she knew, Bobbi was in front of her, a chair hoisted into her arms. The other girl was already dressed , it seemed, her long blonde hair tumbling in curls over a deep blue sleeveless A-line dress that dropped into a tulle skirt ending just above her knees. Picture of a princess, Jade noted with a faint mental smirk, and still carrying a chair like no one’s business. Half the school being in love with this bitch makes sense. “Jade. I can smell the burning from three blocks down; what the hell are you thinking about?”

“I’m gonna miss this.” The words tumbled out of Jade’s mouth faster than she could save them; faster than she could re-stuff them back into her mouth and polish them to something palatable. But if anything, they were effective, for they caused Bobbi to put down the chair and give her a concerned look. Welp. There was no turning back now, was there?

“What do you mean?” Bobbi’s expression was careful, measured, icy blue eyes scrutinizing every nook and cranny of the other girl’s expression. It was the expression of someone who could apply interrogative pressures without a blink and knew it – the kind that made you squirm in your seat and confess sins you barely even remembered.

It was, if she wasn’t careful, an expression that could have Jade six feet underground without a trace by tomorrow morning. So caution it was. “I –” Jade exhaled, a puff of breath that barely cracked Bobbi’s stony facade. Just put it out, Wong. Just put it out. “I’m going to miss things like this,” she began, and already, the bittersweet finality of her decision was beginning to seep back into her veins. “Everyone pulling things together for people, the dedication this community has to each other, the dedication you guys have to each other.” f*ck, was she going to cry? She’d better not, she hadn’t even told Skye yet – “And you guys, I guess.” A shrug. “I’m going to miss you guys.”

“Wh –” Now Bobbi just looked confused, and while it was a step up from her earlier stoniness, Jade had a feeling it was about to morph into red-hot anger once she found out why Jade was going to miss everyone. “Okay. I missed something, clearly. Tell it to me like I’m five, and don’t leave out any details.” A balloon popped in the background, causing the both of them to startle. “And this better not be damaging, otherwise we’re never going to get this décor done.”

Not damaging? Not damaging? It’d already damaged her half a Moleskine’s worth of writing and hours of lying in her bed with her emotions rattling around the confines of her chest, not to mention the passive-aggressive simpering she’d gotten from her parents since she’d made the decision and grovelled her way back into Belleview – no, this was going to be plenty damaging. A sh*tty, sh*tty shame, honestly, that it’s the only thing I can do. The only thing I can do. “I’m transferring back to Belleview,” Jade said simply, and she watched as the realization settled itself into Bobbi’s bones. “I have to move back in about a month, so this might be one of the last things I get to do with you guys.”

Bobbi stared at her for a long moment, jaw visibly working itself to comprehend what Jade’d just said without unleashing a torrent of sharp remarks. Finally – “Please tell me it’s because your parents are forcing you back.”

“I – I mean, yeah, they did.” That, at least, was true – her mother had, in no uncertain terms, informed her that she would be reinstated at Belleview Prep no matter the cost – but Jade had been considering the possibility long before her mother’d even fathomed issuing the declaration. “But I pulled the strings to get back in myself.”

“What the absolute –” There was a pause, Bobbi seemingly needing to count down from ten before speaking again. Which she understood, honestly; from anyone’s perspective but her own, Jade’s decision seemed like nothing less than a cruel, undeserved severance. “Do you really hate it here that much?”

“I don’t –”

But Bobbi wasn’t done. “Look, I know we don’t know each other that well,” she began, finally putting the chair down, “but you’re a really good friend to Skye, and you and both know that you leaving would destroy her.” She crossed her arms, some of the earlier frostiness re-entering the game via her glare. “So why in the hell would you even think about doing it?”

“Because me leaving is better for the both of us.” In the back of her head, Jade wondered how many times she would have to rehash the truth – how many how many times would it take for her heart to finally accept the fact that she was toxic goods? That she’d benefit from quelling the irrational screaming in the back of her head compelling her to stay? “Look, I – I’m pretty f*cked up.” Understatement of the year. “And Skye – you know Skye.” Jade waved a hand, willing her voice not to break at the mention of Skye’s name. She couldn’t. Not like this. “Ray of sunshine, absolute comedic standup, pretty deserving of the world –”

“You like her.” Bobbi’s expression was inscrutable again. “You really like her.”

If only she knew how much, Jade mused bitterly, and sighed. “Hell of a lot more than I should,” she said instead, crossing her arms to match Bobbi’s posture. “I can’t tell you how many nights I’ve spent wishing I didn’t like her.” When Bobbi opened her mouth, presumably to protest, Jade hastened to explain. “It’s not that she doesn’t deserve someone having feelings for her,” she said, and Bobbi’s jaw closed once more, lips settling into a press of pity. “It’s just that it doesn’t deserve to be me.”

The laugh that escaped her was flat, a humorless burst of tears cried out and heartwrenching decisions made. “I don’t even know if she isn’t straight.” It was the pièce de resistance of it all – and also why she couldn’t stay. She’d support Skye in whatever ways she could, of course; but to become the stereotype of the lesbian falling in love with her straight best friend? No, it was definitely better for her to do this. Better to break one heart than two, regardless of the way it turned out.

“Jade --”

“It’s not like it matters, anyways.” Jade waved a hand, trying to move Bobbi off of the topic. “Belleview wanted me to go back into the closet to go back, so I’m pretty sure I’ll be spending the rest of my life in a loveless marriage.” If she thought about it hard enough, being straight had its familial advantages – her mother would have one less thing to hate about her, for one. And she’d never have to let someone in again. Not that she would ever let a man in, but still. Her point stood.

It was only an acting job that would last for the rest of her life. No big deal. Wasn’t like she needed to be loved, anyways – that she deserved to have anyone put as much faith and love into her as Skye May had in the last couple of months. No, that had been a fluke, one that she needed to fix before her need became addictively permanent. Before her addiction became destructive and her heart was on the line.

“Whatever you do, don’t tell her tonight.” Bobbi’s own sharp voice jolted Jade back into reality, and yup, there was the fearsome May expression that kept the mafia in check. (She now understood why boys and men everywhere feared ice queen Bobbi May; had she not known the kinder side of the blonde, there was a good chance she’d be running halfway uptown.) “You tell her tonight, and I will do everything to make sure the rest of your time at school is a living hell, Jade Wong. Are we clear?”

Jade gulped. Holy sh*t, Bobbi was scary. “Crystal.”

Bobbi’s stare relaxed into an effortless grin, leaving Jade’s brain sputtering in confusion at how such a shift had happened so quickly. “Good. Now come on, I think Mom needs some help with app prep. Mack’s on his way back with Skye, and we gotta be ready when he gets here.”

“Mack, why the hell –” The door to May’s swung shut behind her, and all of a sudden, Skye was plunged into darkness. It’d been a long day of running around the city with Mack, including (for some odd reason) her needing to don her homecoming dress for a photo shoot on the Upper East Side. Honestly, at this point, all she wanted was to filch a plate of scallion pancakes from Fitz and veg out on the couch – maybe call Jade, see if she wanted to come over – but relaxation was the name of the game nontheless.

Apparently, the cosmos had other things in store. She just hoped the cosmos weren’t planning to infringe on her plans for too long. “Mack?” she called again, squinting into the pure abyss that was the darkened dining room. “Mack, where did you even –”

“SURPRISE!”

It started out with a kiss, how did it end up like this

It was only a kiss (it was only a kiss)

“Whoops, looks like Joey and Kaya are dancing too close together, time to go break that up.” Melinda watched amusedly as Phil produced a ruler with the words “Leave Room For Jesus” imprinted onto it from his back pocket and meandered over to said pair, both of them pretending to sigh dramatically before moving the appropriated one foot apart and continuing to dance. Satisfied, Phil pocketed the ruler once more and meandered back to Melinda, who was still smiling.

“You know Joey’s –” she began.

“I do,” he answered, but he was smiling, “but come on, Melinda. The thing says Leave Room For Jesus. You really think I’m not going to use it whenever I can?”

When she’d first asked Phil to attend the faux-homecoming in the very specific role of grumpy chaperone – not as your date, Melinda, let’s not get too ahead of ourselves – she’d expected him to laugh, maybe crack a few jokes before agreeing to come. She certainly hadn’t expected him to show up in a full suit, of all things. And she certainly hadn’t expected him to lean into the grumpy chaperone role.

“Jade, Skye, no funny business,” Phil warned in a tone that could only be described as exhausted middle school principal, and both girls had to stifle laughter as he held out the ruler once more, exaggeratedly complying with the measurement before walking off again. “Kids these days,” he muttered jokingly, stowing the ruler back into his pocket. “Don’t they know they need to leave at least six inches for the Father, Son and the Holy Ghost?”

“Amen,” Melinda muttered in a deadpan, and there was only a moment of silence before both of them burst into snickers, the absurdity of the situation escalating it into laughs that could barely be heard over the thrumming of the music. “And if you want to have the ghosts of Christmases past, present and future with them, you’re going to need at least a foot and a half.”

“Oh no, that one’s three feet, I know that from experience,” Phil joked, and it sent them both into fresh waves of laughter that had Melinda wiping tears out of her eyes. “Seriously, though – they look happy together.” A wave of pride rolled through her at the statement, and she snuck a peek over at Jade and Skye, who seemed to be in their own fit of uproarious laughter over plates of scallion pancakes and various xiaolongbao. Much happier than her actual homecoming, if Bobbi and Jade’s stories were anything to go by. “You did good, Melinda.”

You did good, Melinda. Outwardly, Melinda knew she was no small success – a well-known restaurant on the Chinatown scene, usable connections with the mafia, two foster daughters raised into intelligent young women – but she couldn’t remember the last time someone had specifically told her she’d done good , and the thought made her cheeks warm.

“Yeah, well.” She watched still as Skye hugged Jade tightly, the taller girl seeming to hold her tighter and with purpose, almost as if she was trying to commit the warmth of Skye’s touch to memory. (As long as she lived, Jade Wong would never let herself be happy, Melinda mused, and the urge to call Yang to have a one-time hit put on Mrs. Wong resurfaced briefly.) “Jade’s transferring back to Belleview Prep in January,” she told Phil, and grimaced in sympathy when his expression dropped in shock. “Yeah. I know. I don’t know how to prepare for it, either.”

Phil sighed, lightly tapping his palm with one end of the ruler. “Sometimes, you just have to let things be,” he said quietly, and she almost had to ask him to repeat himself. “As much as we want things, there will be things that we can never have, and we can push all we want, but at the end of the day, it’s going to have to be something we just let be.”

She wanted to ask him just what had made him learn that lesson, what had broken his spirit so much that he’d learned to partially stop fighting for the things he wanted, even had gotten so far as to nearly lay a hand on his shoulder in comfort – when the music switched abruptly, an instrumental of ABBA’s “ Dancing Queen” coming on and Mack stepping up to take his place at the podium.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s one of the moments you’ve all been waiting for, The Dragon Awards! ” he called, and the entire dining room erupted into applause. “As everyone but Skye knows – sorry, Skye, we had to keep the secret from you – a select committee here at May’s has been working very diligently to create this awards ceremony for you, and at the end of the night, all of you will be going home with one of these –” He held up small, golden-colored stuffed dragon, and Skye’s ‘awww’ was the most prominent of all. “– for a category that has been specifically tailored to fit your characterization.”

“If you don’t like it, too bad!” Hope yelled from a table in the back, and a chuckle rippled around the room.

“And if you already haven’t guessed, Hope’s the one that made up the categories,” Mack joked, turning to read the category on the dragon. “Might as well get the ball rolling. Now remember, keep your acceptance speeches to thirty seconds or you will be played off with an embarrassing rendition of Davis singing ‘Don’t Stop Believing’. First category: Most Likely to Pull Anything Out of His Bag, Joey Guiterrez!”

Joey did an exaggerated swagger up to the stage, gently accepting the award with both hands. “I’d like to thank my family for teaching me to be so prepared,” he began, and Melinda tuned him out in favor for watching Skye closely.

There was no question that the celebration she’d put on was miles above what she’d endured at the homecoming dance – but it didn’t take a genius to see how much happier Skye was bundled next to Jade than she was that awful excuse for scum Grant Ward. The girl was practically glowing as she snuggled into Jade’s shoulder and had a suit jacket draped across her own, contentment laid across her features with the occasional laugh from the winners’ speeches.

Maybe Skye would be straight. Maybe Phil would be correct and she would turn out to be bisexual, or maybe she would even turn out to be a lesbian – but all Melinda wanted from whoever was destined to be the One for Skye was for them to make her as happy as Jade Wong was making her in this current moment. Anything less would be practically blasphemous.

“And now, last but not least, the last golden dragon goes to Most Likely To Get Sick Eating Scallion Pancakes, based off of an absolutely true story – I’m sure she’ll tell you in her speech – Skye May, everybody!” and Melinda swore the room shook from the level of noise that was being emitted.

Skye took the stage with the vestiges of a blush on her cheeks and Jade’s suit jacket still wrapped around her shoulders, the smile accompanying it threatening to split her face in two. “I’d like to thank my mom for getting me into scallion pancakes in the first place,” she joked, and Melinda shot her a thumbs up when the audience laughed. “And I mean, yeah, the story’s true – I threw up in the middle of Amish Country because I ate too many scallion pancakes while trying to read a book in the car.” She shrugged to a strong case of applause. “Never doing that again.”

“I love you, Skye!” Jade jokingly yelled from the audience, and Melinda smiled to herself when Skye stuck her tongue out at Jade in return. The two of them balanced each other out well, honestly. Even if they would never be together in any capacity, they would always be a force to reckon with.

“Love you too,” Skye joked back, slight color flaring up in her cheeks. “Anyways, I’d also like to thank Bobbi for laughing at me when I threw up, Mack for lending me Artemis Fowl and Piper for keeping the story quiet…until now.” She sent the waitress a deadpan sideeye, Piper simply sending her a cheeky middle finger and a grin. “Be kind to each other, make sure you try the scallion pancakes, and thank Bobbi for putting all of this together!”

With a dramatic flourish, Mack hit the music button, a loud fanfare serenading Skye as she swirled off of the stage to another loud round of applause. Slowly, it faded once more into ABBA’s Dancing Queen, the earlier spirit from earlier beginning to diffuse the crowd once more.

You can dance, you can jive

Having the time of your lives

Phil held out a hand with a grin, the one she’d become accustomed to seeing over lunch tables and cups of steaming hot tea, and for once, Melinda let her worries fall away with the jangles of the background. “Can I have this dance?”

Several hits later, including a voracious rendition of “Come On Eileen” and “Don’t Stop Believin’” that left the room hoarse, the atmosphere had mellowed out considerably, most of the dance’s attendees choosing to grab a plate and chair and socialize at the tables rather than leave it all out on the dance floor. “I gotta hand it to Bobbi, she knows how to throw a party,” Jade chuckled, handing Skye another scallion pancake as the younger girl leaned into her shoulder. “All of the emails really did work.”

“Yeah,” Skye echoed, and scratched the head of her stuffed golden dragon fondly. Part of her was still trying to process the whole dance – that they’d taken the time to recreate a homecoming dance just for her, devised a menu and decorated the dining room; hell, they’d even devised a whole ceremony just for her – all because of what’d happened at homecoming. It was a lot of attention to process at once, and as someone who generally tried to keep out of a spotlight, she’d sure as hell been highlighted on the spot.

And yes, maybe her processing was slightly hindered by the fact that Jade’s suit jacket was still on her shoulders. It should’ve been illegal to look that good out of a suit jacket, Skye mused, watching as Jade’s impeccably sharp jawline split into a soft smile. It should’ve been illegal to look that good and be soft at the same time. Such a duality would likely kill a man – or a woman . Holy hell, did she pity all of Jade’s future girlfriends.

At the thought, something in Skye’s stomach twisted slightly. Logically, it was only natural Jade would eventually get a girlfriend – such was the process of life. We’re born, we fall in love, we grow old and die. But she could hardly imagine a faceless girl at Jade’s side, one that laughed at her jokes and held her when her insecurities haunted her at night, one that wanted to engulf her emotionally and recognized why she tried to run away when she was.

Such a girl would replace everything Skye’d been for Jade and done with her since they’d met – such a girl would replace her . And the longer she thought about it, the longer it didn’t sit well – maybe it was time she admit to herself why .

“Alright, alright, if we could have everyone’s attention for the last event of the night,” Mack’s voice echoed over the microphone again, (sadly) cutting through BORN’s “Electric Love”. “It’s time to crown our homecoming royalty!”

Skye wanted to laugh – truly, Bobbi had gone all out to make this a replica, right down to the popularity contest that was homecoming king and queen. The dance might have been for her, but there was no doubt Bobbi herself would win: she’d been the one to orchestrate the whole thing, for heaven’s sake. She’d sent the emails, rounded up the staff, probably had even put the playlist together, if Skye considered it hard enough. If there was anyone that deserved a crown, it was her sister.

“We’ll start with our homecoming court; if your name’s called, step on up and receive your crowns. Hope Mackenzie.” Mack beamed as Hope skipped up to the stage, May handing her a crown and a scepter with a high-five. “Jemma Simmons and Leo Fitz. Joey Guiterrez and Kaya Wilson. Bobbi May.” Even though she knew there weren’t any actual stakes in being homecoming royalty, Skye still found herself on edge to see if her name would be called. “Skye May and Jade Wong.”

The soft smile found Jade’s mouth again, and Skye found herself being gently pulled to her feet, jacket still around her shoulders. “C’mon,” Jade told her, and it took everything Skye had to merely concentrate on the fact that her hand was in Jade’s. “Let’s go get you a crown.”

As soon as they were standing in place, Melinda took Mack’s place at the podium, her exaggerated posture emanating that of true royalty. “It’s my honor to crown this year’s homecoming queen,” she began, and honestly, had her mother been a princess in her past life? Either that, or she’d been some sort of secret agent, because her acting skills were on point – “to a young woman who’s been nothing but gracious, kind and understanding to every soul she’s come across, who’s pushed for others’ success to the point where sometimes, I have to remind her to remember that she deserves to have her own.”

Melinda’s eyes twinkled, and still despite her heavy stance against homecoming royalty, Skye found herself anticipatory once more. “It’s my honor to crown homecoming queen not only to the biggest heart in all of May’s Golden Dragon, but to the biggest heart I’ve had the fortune to know in my life – Skye, honey, come get your crown.”

Skye could barely hear everyone’s cheering over the thudding in her ears, her heartbeat was so loud. She wasn’t sure how, but somehow, her feet managed to guide her up to the podium, where a misty-eyed Melinda replaced her court crown with that of the queen’s.

“The greatest honor is having you for a daughter,” she whispered to Skye, holding her daughter’s eyes with her own. “You deserve this, Skye, and all of the good things life throws at you. You’re worthy of being seen and loved and everything you could ever ask for, and I mean that with everything I have.”

“Mom.” Skye had absolutely not planned for this – no one had told her earlier that day that crying would be on the agenda, otherwise she would’ve put on waterproof mascara, god – but still, her cheeks were wet when she gathered Melinda into a tight hug.

It was like a large exhale had left her body that she hadn’t even realized she was holding, such was the relief coursing through her body. She didn’t even know why there was relief, just that there was, and it’d come in the form of a crown and her mother’s validation. “I love you,” she finally managed to get out, sniffling, and Melinda only served to hug her tighter.

“I love you, too, xiǎo yún,” her mother whispered back, and pulled so that Skye was at arm’s length. “I’m so proud of the person you’ve become. And I hope you know I’ll be proud of you regardless of who you decide to be.”

Was that – did she just – But there was no time to dwell on those possible implications, for Melinda was only able to offer Skye a sly, soft smile before Skye was pulled aside by Bobbi, who was sweeping her up in a just-as-tearful hug. “You did all this for me?” she asked her sister, disbelief visible in her voice. (Sure, Bobbi’d been her sister for well over eight years, but she’d never done anything to warrant this . Not this...this mountain of affection that everyone seemed to think she was worthy of.) “Bobbi, I –”

“You’re a f*cking rockstar,” Bobbi interrupted fiercely, and Skye could see the beginnings of tears welling up in her eyes. “You’re a f*cking rockstar, and you deserve the f*cking world, and f*ck anyone that decides differently and treats you accordingly.” She shook her head. “f*ck Grant Ward, okay? You deserve so much better than his sleazy f*cking ass, and if you don’t believe that, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to convince you of it.”

There it was, the wave of warmth that washed through Skye whenever Bobbi made proclamations such as those – but this time, it was a soft blanket rather than a tidal wave, quelling any and all of Skye’s leftover anxieties instead of bowling her over with its intensity. It was the steady and unparalleled loyalty of an older sister, and for the first times, she was glad she was able to see it for what it was. “You too,” Skye echoed, and Bobbi’s lips quirked up slightly. “Thanks for being the best sister I could ever ask for.”

And just like that, Bobbi was gathering her into another hug, but this time shorter, as another song was apparently starting. “You deserved this,” she said simply before patting Skye’s shoulder. “Now, I’m pretty sure you remember from freshman year that the hoco king and queen have to do a dance together, right?”

sh*t. Amidst all of the crowning madness, Skye’d forgotten there would be a king to match her. “You’re not gonna make me dance with Fitz or something, are you?” (Not that she would complain if she had to, but for one, Fitz was here with Jemma, and from what she’d heard, they were having a great time. No need to mess that up.) “I don’t think Jemma would like that all that much.”

Bobbi snorted. “Please. Have you seen Jemma and Fitz? They haven’t stopped talking all night. No,” she said, and this time, her voice was quieter, more contemplative. “I think you and I both know who your royalty partner is.”

Skye turned just as Mack started another song, soft strings floating over an orchestra of guitar while the lights dimmed down low. Jade stood in the center of a soft spotlight, head tilted in the same wry expression Skye’d known her to have since the day they’d met – soft smile, piercing green eyes and all.

I was trying to fly but I couldn’t find my wings

But you came along and you changed everything

“You still know how to do this?” Skye teased her gently when she reached the taller girl, the remark almost lost to the music as she slid her hand into Jade’s outstretched one.

In response, Jade pulled her close, hands settling on Skye’s waist while Skye’s reached up to intertwine around her neck almost unconsciously. “I never forgot,” she answered, leaning so that their foreheads were touching even as they swayed. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re pretty hard to forget.”

You lift my feet off the ground, and spin me around

Feels like I’m fallin’ and I, I’m lost in your eyes

You make me crazier, crazier

“Yeah, well, I’m sure there’s no shortage of girls lining up the block for you,” Was she imagining it, or did the grip on her waist tighten infinitesimally? “You could have anyone you wanted.” Maybe you could have me.

Jade laughed lowly, a hushed current that warmed Skye from head to toe. “Trust me, the person I want is kind of out of reach at the moment.”

“Well, then, it’s absolutely her f*cking loss.” She couldn’t imagine who was dumb enough to not know Jade Wong, of all people, was crushing on her. It was Jade, for f*ck’s sake. “You deserve to have someone that knows you like them, you know?”

Gently, Jade reached to cradle Skye’s cheek before plucking an eyelash off of the cheekbone. Her touch was warm, gentle sparks thrumming along the surface of her skin, and every muscle had to fight closing her eyes at it. “And you deserve someone who likes you for you,” Jade whispered before gently blowing the eyelash off of her index finger. “Someone that can love you the way – someone that can love and appreciate you for everything you are.”

Baby, you showed me what living is for

I don’t wanna hide anymore

“Well, until then, I think you’re stuck with me,” Skye murmured; smiling when Jade snorted. “And unfortunately for you, I’m not looking to start looking for that person anytime soon.” She had a ton of sh*t to figure out, anyways – Phil and Melinda, Mack and Elena, her contributions to Bobbi’s college fund, Jemma and Fitz, simply graduating – there was barely any time to figure out who she liked, let alone act on it.

But maybe it might be because I’ve already got them right here.

Chapter 32: fahn kay dahn

Chapter Text

If asked, Bobbi could count on one hand the number of bad nights she’d had at May’s. Most of them had been earlier on in her server days, when her skin had been a little thinner and the razor-sharp Mandarin less so. But she hadn’t seen a bad day in a while – not since, she thought, she’d had to learn how to throw a punch during the Great Dim Sum Fight of 2015.

Today, though, had the power to throw all of that out the window, and Bobbi could sense the elements of the storm brewing all the way from the Hudson. It’d started with the semi-permanent presence of Yang’s men in one of the corners of the dining room: they hadn’t been outright threatening, per se, but they’d been there since she’d started her shift earlier that afternoon, and if Mack’s report was anything to go by, they’d walked in shortly after May’s had opened.

Even that hadn’t been too concerning; no, what had begun ringing the alarm bells had been the fact that shortly after Yang’s men had taken up a corner, another group of men had followed and taken up the corner directly opposite to them. They had, Bobbi realized quickly, been the second group they’d encountered when they’d first met Elena, and the pensive look on Piper’s face when they passed each other in the kitchen meant that the other waitress had figured out the exact same thing.

“You think they’re here for her?” Piper whispered sometime around three-thirty, her voice hushed amongst the clatter of pots in the kitchen. “You think they’re here to collect on...well, I mean, we did steal from them, technically…”

Bobbi shifted the plate of tomato and eggs she cradled in the palm of her hand. “Honestly, your guess is as good as mine,” she murmured, her internal concern outwardly reflected on Piper’s expression. “Best case scenario, this has nothing to do with us and they’re just here to civilly pick a fight with Yang’s men.”

Piper exhaled. “Let’s hope that’s all it is.” Bobbi nodded. “See if you can get Mack to check on Elena just in case.”

Had that been all, it still would’ve chalked itself up to one of the more eventful days on Bobbi’s list. But no, the drama had, unfortunately, continued, and would probably end up being one of the worst gaffes of her waitressing career to boot.

(In her defense, her mom hadn’t really kept her up-to-date on the new hires, and she’d been really busy planning Skye’s homecoming redo, and it was PSAT season...she’d been busy, okay?)

“Who’re you?”

The boy standing next to the check-in podium was a lot of things: slightly shorter than her, a little scruffy, could’ve passed for cute on any other day such as this. But today, he’d been standing next to the podium for hell knew how long, and if there was anything Bobbi knew about people standing in their lobby for a prolonged amount of time, it was that they were usually up to no good. And with two sets of gangs in the restaurant, something was guaranteed to go down, and she’d rather have minimal civilian interaction when it did. “I’m sorry?” the boy asked, and Bobbi blinked in surprise at the British accent that fell from his lips. Get it together, May. Just ‘cause you think the accent’s hot doesn’t mean his personality is.

“Yeah. You. Dude who’s been standing in our waiting area since I clocked in, and’s been here for literally the last three hours. Unless you see someone else who’s doing it?” When he didn’t reply, she crossed her arms, levelling her best May glare. (There was no sense of slight satisfaction at his wince, no, sir.) “Thought so. Who the f*ck are you?”

“Who the bloody hell are you?” he answered, and Bobbi had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from...well, she wasn’t sure what she would do, but it would probably be something she’d regret. “And who the hell do you think you are?”

The audacity. “Who I am is none of your goddamn business,” she hissed, stepping towards the podium. Still, he didn’t budge, and while she did have to give him props for it – most men would’ve been stumbling out the door by now – his returning glower was beginning to get annoying. “But you’re the one standing at the podium, and you’ve been here all afternoon, like I’ve said, and I can’t have that. We’re a restaurant, not some place for people to wait around hoping their hapless girlfriends will find them like in some damn rom-com.”

“Is that what you’re hoping for?” A corner of his mouth rose up into a smirk. “You hoping there’s some girl who won’t call me back so you can find out if I’m single or not?” Again, there was that urge; only this time, Bobbi was pretty sure it was going to be a full-blown slap. Mack would back her up. He always did.

Speaking of which, where was…?

Focus. “Again, I don’t really care if you’re single or not,” she huffed, muscle memory automatically turning her head to the door as the bell jangled. “I don’t care if you’re the f*cking King of England. I’m not finished,” she told him icily when he opened his mouth to speak. “But we don’t let people loiter here, and we especially don’t let people loiter here for as long as they want. And don’t think we can’t tell how long you’ve been here – the kitchen’s telling me you’ve been here since two. So either tell me why you’re here,” sh*t, there was a couple coming up to the podium – “or get the f*ck out and you’d better hope I never see your scruffy ass again.”

“Hi, how are you?” Was he – was he just ignoring her? Had he just completely ignored everything she’d said? Had he really just tuned out the entirety of her goddamned speech –

“What the f*ck are you doing?” she hissed, yanking the menus out of his hands. “You know what, no, I asked you to leave nicely, I asked you what the f*ck you were doing here, you can’t just go around greeting customers like you work here –”

“Table for two?” Seriously? Bobbi was going to strangle him. She was seriously going to strangle him. Where the hell was Mack, anyways? Wasn’t it his job to get rid of stragglers, especially ones that tried to impersonate restaurant employees? Was she going to need to call someone for him? “Let me see, it’s going to be about five minutes for your table, so if you won’t mind just taking a seat with us…”

Just then, Bobbi caught sight of the one man she’d been hoping to see. “Mack!” she called, waving him over; the boy at the podium simply gave her an amused grin. “Mack, thank god you’re here,” she said when he was within earshot, a confused look on his face. “ He –” One wild gesture at said podium boy later. “He’s been here since two, he won’t f*cking leave, and he just tried to check a couple in for their table.” By the end of her sentence, her words had tapered to a hiss, Podium Boy’s smirk only growing with each passing syllable. “He won’t leave,” she said, and Mack’s eyebrows rose. “I think we’ll have to call someone.”

Mack hummed, turning; then, much to her surprise, he stuck out his hand. “May told me to expect you,” he said, and exchanged a hearty handshake with Podium Boy. “You’re Hunter, right?”

It was like every neuron in her brain was misfiring, such was her incapability to speak. (And as someone who’d practically aced Bio freshman year, she would know.) “Wha –” Fingers were pointed wildly from Podium Boy –his name was Hunter now, ugh – to Mack and back to him again. “What the f*ck is going on?”

“Did May not tell you?” Mack asked, and Bobbi shook her head helplessly. This had to be some sort of prank, right? “She hired some new security – this is Hunter. He’ll be doing some nights and weekends, doubling sometimes if we need him.”

Still with the same smug smirk, Hunter stuck out his hand. Bobbi glared at it as if it were a piece of raw, oozing meat. “Aw, come on, love,” he cajoled, and the ‘ love’ made Bobbi’s hackles rise even higher. Damn smirk and damn British accent. Had this been anyone else, she would’ve kicked his ass all the way to the Upper East Side by now. Maybe even further. “You could at least shake my hand. Since we’re going to be working together and all.”

“Fine.” Bobbi stuck out her hand and tried to ignore the fact that his hand was ridiculously warm. “Bobbi. And I want you to know –” Hunter raised an eyebrow. “ –I’m only shaking your hand because I’m going to be stuck in close quarters with you for god knows how long. This doesn’t make us friends.”

She could see Hunter roll his eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it, love,” he deadpanned, and she snatched the menus with an icy fury while Mack simply watched amusedly. “Nice to meet you too, Bob!”

“Don’t call me –” Whatever epithets were due out of her mouth died instantly as soon as she turned to the couple that’d been waiting patiently to be seated ever since her and Hunter’s altercation. “ Phil?”

Phil grinned, holding out a hand to introduce the woman next to him. “Bobbi, hey,” he greeted, and the other woman inclined her head in acknowledgment. “This is Roz,” he said, and the disbelief had already started up in Bobbi’s head. Oh, no no no… “We’re here for dinner.”

And just when she thought the night couldn’t get any worse.

“I’ll spit in the food.”

“Fitz, that’s a fireable offense.” Melinda shot her youngest chef a look, but Fitz just shrugged and went back to stir-frying tomatoes. Seriously, had none of them read the employment handbook she’d given them? “I’m going to pretend I just didn’t hear that. Now, about table 17, we’re going to want to push all of our best dishes towards them, it’s a chance for us to get some good press -- ”

“Is a fireable offense if I spit in the food?”

Melinda sighed. These kids were going to be the death of her. Honestly, it was a wonder she hadn’t had to fish them out of any shouting matches in the dining room. “ Yes, it is a fireable offense if you spit in the food, Skye, what the hell would make you think it wouldn’t be?”

“But I’m not the chef –”

“You’re still an employee of my restaurant, and everything you do reflects on the restaurant’s reputation, Look,” Melinda’s lips were then even as she let out a loud exhale through her nose. Skye was truly her daughter in the worst times, sometimes. “While I appreciate all of you wanting to stick up for me –” Behind her, Piper mimed shaking a bottle of ghost pepper sauce into a pot of soup. “—we are still a restaurant. And we are a restaurant with customers in the dining room and a reputation to maintain. Yes, I know that’s Rosalind Price out there,” she said when Bobbi opened her mouth. “And yes, I know she’s here with Phil Coulson. But the fact they’re here together doesn’t change anything. She’s still SHIELD high brass, and we need to treat her accordingly.”

You’d never seen a sign emanate so in unison from a kitchen staff; so much so Melinda could swear she saw Davis conducting a countdown from out of the corner of her eye. “We’re going to give those two the best damn meal May’s has ever seen, yeah?” she asked, and they nodded. “ Can I trust you all to do that?”

“Yes, May,” they echoed, and it was with a swirling sense of trepidation Melinda let them go back to work, the chatter quiet as Fitz moved to sullenly crack eggs into a large mixing bowl.

Rosalind goddamned Price. Rosalind goddamned Price. It was as if Phil’d brought another woman into her home and expected her to wait Roz on hand and foot – except it was Rosalind Price, it was the editor-in-chief of SHIELD and someone damn well known to have captured Phil’s heart – and this time, Melinda didn’t even have the cover of her college pantsuit as armor. It would just be her, her food and her heart laid out across a plate, and in some way, that was ten times worse than simply sitting down and holding a conversation with the woman.

Except Phil would never be aware that they were her cards on the table, either, because she’d always assumed her hand was bleeding right through. Apparently she hadn’t been bleeding hard enough, because he’d still gone and brought her in. Desecrated the space that was there, tainted it with authority and deadlines and – and – she’d just thought he’d known not to do it, okay? She’d thought she’d made her point clear.

And she couldn’t even take it out on him because, again, this was Roz they were talking about. Roz, who Phil waxed poetry about three out of five days they met for lunch, Roz who he’d been attracted to since who knew how long, Roz he’d still admired even after she’d worked him to the bone without so much a single shred of apology for causing him to pass out on red-eyes and Red Bulls. To him, Roz was practically invincible. Royalty, if she dared think about it that hard.

She? She was quite literally the kitchen cook in this scenario. The only one lower was probably the court jester, and even then, he was seen as a figure of importance. You didn’t do your best to disdain the woman your...friend was holding out hopes for. The kitchen cook didn’t disdain the court jester. Even if the court jester was full of bad puns and dorky smiles and blue eyes that somehow managed to pull a smile out of her when even she didn’t think she had one in her.

So she’d be nice – play the part of the hostess so well Mack would think she’d been abducted by aliens. Serve Rosalind Price Chinese food on steroids and earn May’s Golden Dragon a precursor to the respect they’d be getting in the SHIELD December spread. She could be nice to Rosalind Price – hell, given the time, the two of them could probably become good friends.

But Phil? Phil could take the nearest chicken foot and shove it up his ass.

“Welcome to May’s Golden Dragon,” Bobbi greeted, her eyes meeting neither Phil’s nor Roz’s as she set menus down in front of them. “My name’s Bobbi, I’ll be your server today, yes, I speak Mandarin, and don’t drink the tea as soon as it gets set down on the table, you’ll burn your tongue.” She straightened up, smile of wintery sunshine at full force, and allowed just a bit of humanity to bleed through. (They were, after all, customers, not a few of Grant Ward’s cronies.)

Roz plucked up the menu with narrowed eyes, leafing through its pages with a careful air. “Do many people ask you that, or is that just something you volunteer freely?”

“You’d be surprised how many people ask that, actually,” sh*t, sh*t, too cold. Too cold. Bobbi added a few more degrees of warmth to her smile just to be safe; out of the corner of her eye, she saw Phil wince in recognition. Good. At least he was figuring out what she meant. “I was adopted when I was nine by the May family, and May took it upon herself to teach me Cantonese and Mandarin as soon as the ink dried.”

At that, Roz raised an eyebrow. “And the tea?”

Bobbi snorted. “You should see how many people drink the tea fresh off,” she added conspiratorially, fishing her writing pad out of her back pocket. “We have regulars that’ve been coming in here for years – before May owned the restaurant, even – and they still burn their tongues every time the teapot touches the table.” The crinkle of a page flipping sliced through the remnants of the table’s awkward silence. “Can I start you off with some tea?”

“Is there – is there any chance I can get a pot of white tea?” Phil asked, and two pairs of eyes turned to look at him. “The Golden Dragon has this excellent white tea they serve,” he explained to Roz, who simply continued her eyebrow raise. “It’s just a touch bitter, but it washes over your palate like nobody’s business. Melinda offered it as an option after we started going to the tea house, but I never really asked her for the blend...”

Said tea, Bobbi knew, was for a fact from her mother’s personal stash, reserved for hers and Skye’s achievement days, especially bad days in the restaurant, and whenever Mack became so proud of Hope tears welled up in his eyes. And Phil, as of recently; like hell she was going to let a vulture like...well, whoever the hell this woman was to Phil. She wasn’t going to let her sink her claws into anything more of Melinda’s than she already had.

It was bad enough she was at the restaurant. Invite this woman into their personal lives? They’d already made that mistake once; fool them twice, shame on them and their cow. “I’m sorry, but I think we’ve just run out,” she answered, cutting her eyes towards Phil to know that was exactly not the case. “We do, however, have this great oolong blend that I promise is just as good.” Silence reigned, Bobbi holding her pen aloft while she waited for an answer. “How’s that sound?”

Some more silence. “Well, you tell me, Phil,” Roz said, and it was clear Phil hadn’t expected to make any decisions that night. “Have you tried the oolong tea Bobbi’s recommending?”

“I –”

“I should hope you have, otherwise I would’ve rejected your request for additional spread funding weeks ago.” On some level, Bobbi had to admire her – Rosalind Price had been exactly as she’d imagined – took no sh*t, made snap decisions, didn’t break expression even as she was cutting a man to pieces. It was the type of woman she wanted to be when she grew up – minus the whole sort of ruining a relationship with her presence sort of thing. “We’ll try it,” she told Bobbi, and Bobbi nodded, scribbling the order down.

In a way, she almost felt bad for Roz. Had she been the woman working Phil practically to death so he could get this spread done? Absolutely. But it had in no way been Roz’s idea to walk the both of them into a metaphorical dragon’s lair – Phil had been the sole, bumbling culprit. And though fierce as she may be, Rosalind Price would ultimately have nothing on the cold fury Melinda May would have to unleash once she figured out she had the right to be.

“I’ll get that into the kitchen right away,” Bobbi promised. “My mother’s decided the menu for the both of you tonight, so for the most part, you two’ll have nothing to worry about; I’ll give you a few minutes to decide on some extra things, if you’d like, and I’ll be right back with your tea.”

She turned from the table, smiling when she heard their hushed discussion start up as soon as she was three steps away.

“Friendly staff they’ve got, Phil.”

“Y-yeah,” Phil answered, and there was a visible tremor in his voice. “They really do treat their staff like family, huh?”

“They do.” A beat of silence, then a light thump as someone set their menu down. “I see why you keep coming back.”

“They wanted the white tea,” she snorted to Skye as soon as the kitchen doors stopped swinging. “Can you believe Phil had the audacity to ask for the white tea?”

Skye shook her head, slopping a ladleful of tomatoes and eggs into several platters before hoisting them in her arms. “I can’t believe he had the audacity to bring her in here,” she snorted, ponytail still swinging. “I mean, like, I’m not crazy, right? I’m not crazy and Phil and Mom actually have something between them?”

“Trust me, kid, I’d tell you if you were,” Bobbi answered, picking up an order of goo loo yook that slid in front of her, courtesy of Fitz. “Oh, and after you take the second bowl of rice to Yang’s table, there’s some walnut shrimp and mayo with rice for the Wongs. Piper already said she’d cover Yang while you were gone.”

(Okay, so it’d maybe been more like she’d informed Piper of the situation and half-threatened her to cover Skye’s tables for half an hour, but a deal was a deal. In less than a month and a half, for better or for worse, Jade Wong would be taking her place among larger society at Belleview Prep once more. If the least Bobbi could do was give Skye all the time she needed with Jade, she would goddamn well do it.)

“I got the tables,” Piper confirmed as she practically whizzed by, stir-fried lobster in her arms. “Go be cozy with your girlfriend!”

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Skye called back, but there was a slight tinge of pink to her cheeks even as she picked up the bowl of rice. “She’s not my girlfriend,” she repeated to Bobbi, and the taller girl stoically kept her face neutral. “I – I’m probably not straight, but she’s not my girlfriend.”

Bobbi bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling too widely; such was the warmth and pride coursing through her. “Is this –?” she asked hesitantly, for Skye looked just as hesitant to cement said truth into the world, even if it was just to her sister. “If it’s not, that’s okay.” Skye looked up at her, eyes brimming with apprehension. “Skye. If it’s not, it’s okay. It’s okay . ” Bobbi reached to take the bowl of rice from her hands, setting it onto the stainless steel countertop and settling her hands on Skye’s shoulders. “Take all the time you need, okay?”

Instead, Skye launched herself into Bobbi’s arms, hugging her sister tightly with a strength Bobbi didn’t even know she possessed. “I love you,” Skye muttered quietly, and it was enough for Bobbi to wrap her arms around her in return. “You’re the best sister I’ve ever had, and I love you.”

“I think you mean to say, I’m the only sister you’ve ever had,” Bobbi retorted, and she could hear Skye snort into her shoulder. “I love you too, kid. And straight or not, that doesn’t change the fact that I love you, okay? I’ll say that as many times as you need me to.”

She’d say it for herself, she’d say it for her mother, for every single person that might end up turning against her – first and foremost, Skye was her sister. And for that, Bobbi would fight every single person that even considered letting a negative syllable drop from their lips.

“Order for the Wongs!” Fitz yelled, and Skye took it as her cue to disentangle herself from Bobbi, the apprehension in her eyes settling into something more...resolute? Whatever it was, it spoke of an inner peace of some sort, something that hadn’t been present three minutes ago when she’d practically thrown herself into Bobbi’s arms.

She hoped it was a step towards her sister’s happiness. “That’s me,” Skye murmured, snagging the paper bag with practiced ease and practically skipping towards the kitchen door. “Um. Bobbi?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

There was trouble brewing.

Melinda couldn’t smell it exactly, but it was woven somewhere in between the stinky tofu Fitz was prepping for the Wongs’ takeout order and the burnt scent of a clay pot being left on for too long. “You’ve got pots burning,” she yelled to no one in particular, peering out the portmanteau window at the scene currently unfolding in her dining room.

Two men from opposite sides of the dining room had finally broken free of their respective tables and were now striding towards the stage, identical set expressions set on their faces. If she pressed her nose to the surface, she could see that each group was watching the two men intently, almost as if they were waiting for something to unfold with bated breath.

“Word has it they might be here for Elena,” Piper murmured from next to her, and it was only through sheer talent that Melinda didn’t automatically jump fifteen feet into the air. “They’re the ones we ran into when we first ran into her.”

“But if they were here, Yang wouldn’t be here,” Melinda murmured back, eyes flickering back between the two men. As far as she could tell, the conversation was short, clipped – she was going to need to brush up on her lip-reading again. “And even if Yang was here on accident, the two of them wouldn’t be meeting like this.”

She hoped it wouldn’t devolve into a fight – that was the last thing she needed with Phil and Rosalind in the dining room. “Can you get Davis to print off a couple of NDAs?” she asked. “I’m hoping we won’t need them, but there’s a chance we might – and call Foggy, ask him if he’s got any corporate law experience. Should be small corporate law, but it’s better than nothing.”

“I’ll see what I can eavesdrop from the dining room,” Piper promised, and Melinda was left once more for her eyes to draw over to the table slightly off-center to the dining room, where Skye was currently serving Phil and Rosalind with the stiff-backed posture usually reserved for new customers and members of the mafia.

She smiled to herself. Skye’s heart on her sleeve had always been the one thing that had differed her from Melinda, her daughter choosing to wear it loudly and proudly while she...well, it was more likely that a fire would burn down the restaurant than she freely admit to any of her emotions to anyone other than her daughters, Piper or Mack. So when someone had her or someone in her life, Skye usually made very clear the extent to which they’d wronged her.

Once, Bobbi had accidentally dropped a jar of Skye’s folded stars and shattered it, and Skye hadn’t spoken to her for three days. A long time, three days – not as long as she’d taken when she and Bobbi had recently argued, but long nonetheless. If she had to hazard a guess, Phil bringing in Roz equalled the jar-dropping, maybe worse.

Phil Coulson was in for a long dinner service.

“That doesn’t change the fact that your man took the money and ran like a little bitch” suddenly rang out through the dining room, and every patron went silent to turn to the stage, where, somehow, the situation between both men had escalated several notches in the last few seconds. Even the kitchen staff stopped their movements, Fitz clattering a spoon into the pot of soup he was stirring.

This was going to go down either one of two ways: either things would de-escalate faster than she’d seen the Keonigs down a plate of level two xiaolongbao , or there was going to be serious destruction in her restaurant tonight. And judging by the way both sides were slowly standing, there was a good chance that they were heading towards the latter.

Melinda sighed. At least she’d had the near foresight to have Davis get the NDAs.

“May, I’m pretty sure Chung’s gonna –” Piper burst into the kitchen just as the first punch was thrown, the silence of the dining room dissolving into loud cries and chaos as the scene devolved into every man for himself. “—start a fight.”

At the front, Melinda could see Mack and Hunter furiously discussing a plan of attack, the former gesturing at the different men and the latter nodding in acknowledgment. Behind her, Piper was already retrieving several baseball bats and a box of slippers from a closet in the back of the kitchen, Fitz and the kitchen staff frantically working to secure the knives. (In all the years of fights, no one had thought to break into the kitchen, but just because it hadn’t happened didn’t mean it would – and she wouldn’t let tonight be the first.)

“Melinda, you want the foam or the hard foot?” Piper yelled.

“Give me the hard foot,” Melinda called back, and suddenly, Piper was beside her, pressing a baseball bat and slipper into her hands. “Quick, tell me something disappointing.”

“Uh…” Piper’s eyes darted back and forth. “I’m still texting the woman who ghosted me last week because we had a great time and I keep thinking she’ll text me back despite the fact she told me it was a one-night stand?”

“Wha – Piper! ” For that, Melinda did actually raise her slipper, slapping Piper lightly on the shoulder. “She said it was a one-night stand,” she scolded lightly, and Piper looked properly chagrined. “When we get out of this, delete her number. She’s not going to text you back.”

Piper sighed. “Fine. But only because you said so.”

Melinda rolled her shoulders before taking a healthy grip to her baseball bat. “Alright, let’s go.” The two of them waded into the dining room, bats swinging, and as Melinda swung into the first kneecap of the night, she watched Bobbi practically sock a man with enough force to send him across the dining room. Good girl.

(Bobbi was good – that wasn’t in doubt – but sometimes she forgot just how well she’d forgotten her daughter to punch. At least it would do her some good for self-defense at college. Speaking of which, she needed to find out if Bobbi wanted to tour out of state. Note to self: bother daughter on next shift.)

Out of the corner of her eye, Mack held up an arm, and Piper reared back, lobbed him a bat, and nearly everyone watched in awe as it sailed across the room in a smooth arc before practically sliding into Mack’s outstretched grip. Beside him, Hunter let out what could be considered to be a war cry before throwing himself bodily onto the nearest mafia member.

Also note to self: sign Hunter up for self-defense with Piper. Although she couldn’t fault him; no one could’ve expected a fight to break out on his very first day on the job.

“Nǐ wèishéme zài zhèlǐ?” Melinda hissed, grabbing a mafia member mid-swing and practically shoving him against a wall. “Shéi jì gěi nǐ de?” If this ended up being external mafia business, she was simply protecting her own. But if they were here for Elena…

Well, she’d still be protecting her own. But she’d probably start trying to crack skulls rather than kneecaps.

“Yáng tōu zǒule wǒmen,” the man hissed, and honestly, the fury in his eyes was a little terrifying. “Wǒmen fùle tā de fúwù fèi, tā nále qián jiù pǎole.” Oh. External mafia business, then. Sighing, Melinda smacked his head against the wall before turning away, making sure he’d begun sliding to the floor unconsciously before moving onto the next member. Well, at least she’d get a hefty amount of damage off of her current bill with Yang.

Finally, all of the men had been subdued, most of them sent roving out the door or nursing soda cans from the freezer, save for a final mafia member who’d been putting up a valiant fight against Bobbi. “Don’t,” she murmured to Hunter, who looked half a second from rugby tackling the man himself. “She’s got this.”

And got it she did – with a final huff, it was Bobbi’s left hook that caught the man in the jaw and sent him toppling to the ground, two of Yang’s men picking him up with an approving look before dragging him to the door. “What,” she said to Hunter, whose jaw had practically dropped to the floor. “You’ve never seen a girl throw a punch before?”

SLAM. “Wǒ shén zhì bùxiǎng tánlùn zhè duì wǒ de gùkè zàochéngle duōdà sǔnshī, gèng bùyòng shuō cáichǎnle-” SLAM.

“Oh, she’s mad ,” Skye whisper-winced to Bobbi, and the taller blonde agreed as they watched Melinda stack plates with considerable clangs. “I don’t think I’ve seen her this mad since...actually, since the last time Yang f*cked up the place. But she’s mad mad this time.”

She didn’t want to speculate as to why Melinda was so mad this time – chalk it up to Chung being tied to Elena, the fact that she and Piper had had to actually get out the bats, the fact that the fight had been so large-scale Melinda’d been forced to comp several meals, even those of the regulars – but there was a good chance that part of it stemmed from the two SHIELD reporters standing in the corner near the check-in podium.

Phil was even still holding a platter of eggs and tomatoes. Skye snorted. Well, at least the man had priorities.

“Yáng, wǒ xūyào jǐ tiān de shíjiān cáinéng nòng qīngchǔ nǐ qiàn wǒ duōshǎo,” Melinda hissed, and slowly, Bobbi and Skye tiptoed closer under the guise of sweeping up broken ceramic. “Wǒ jiāng bùdé bù guānbì zhìshǎo yīgè xīngqí, gèng bùyòng shuō wǒ jiāngyào gēnghuàn de suǒyǒu pánzile-”

Bobbi winced, checking her phone. “sh*t, and it’s almost Thanksgiving.”

“Zhè jīhū shì gǎn'ēn jié,” Melinda exclaimed, slamming a few forks onto a table where she’d picked them up from the floor; Bobbi and Skye looked at each other in alarm. If their mother wasn’t careful, there would probably be a murder in the restaurant tonight. “Yáng, nín zhīdào wǒ tōngcháng yǒu duōshǎo gǎn'ēn jié shēngyì ma?”

“Nín tōngcháng huì dédào xiāngtóng de jīn'é ma?” Yang asked hopefully, and everyone jumped when Melinda slammed a knife onto the table hard enough to make the remaining Lazy Susans rattle. Oh, there was definitely going to be a murder in the restaurant tonight. “Bù xiàng píngshí dédào dì nàyàng duō.”

How this man had survived this long as a mafia head, Skye had no idea. Even more so working with Melinda – this level of incompetence would’ve gotten him murdered years ago. He was pretty lucky he hadn’t been murdered tonight – that was, if Melinda didn’t murder him before the clock struck midnight.

“Rúguǒ wǒ néng shōu zhī pínghéng, wǒ huì hěn xìngyùn! Nín zhīdào wǒ yǐjīng diǎnle duōshǎo shíwù ma?”

“Okay, Melinda,” Mack gently took her shoulders and steered her away, the elder May still looking a half-inch from stabbing Yang with the knife she’d picked up from the table. “I’m going to have you deal with Phil and Roz before you stab Yang and cause more trouble for everyone,” he told her in a low voice, and with identical looks, Bobbi and Skye picked up their brooms and began inconspicuously scooting towards the corner where Phil and Roz stood. “Elena tells me Foggy called during the fight earlier, and he faxed you a couple of NDAs. They should be in your office.”

Melinda sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I almost forgot he was here, honestly.”

“Get them to sign the NDAs and send them back with a couple of takeout boxes, I’ll deal with Yang,” Mack said, and Melinda’s shoulders seemed to sag. “Then –” He shot Bobbi and Skye a significant look, and the both of them nodded. “I want you to go upstairs, eat a goddamn meal with your daughters, and go to bed early. We’ll deal with this.”

“I can’t ask you to –”

“I’m already getting the fahn kay dan. ” Bobbi interrupted, and strode off to the kitchen before Melinda could interject. “And I’m making sure you get a giant bowl of rice!” Both of them had seen their mother scarf down an entire bowl of tomato and eggs with rice when things got tough – comfort food, Melinda had told them. Sometimes, it wasn’t about the complexity of the food. Sometimes it just had to be warm and hearty.

Skye supposed the same had to go for Phil’s apology, now, and it was with a wince that she saw Piper emerge from the kitchen with a sheaf of papers and two ballpoint pens. Not warm, then. ”I am so sorry about the inconvenience I’ve caused you both tonight,” Melinda could be heard murmuring as Mack resumed negotiating with Yang in the background. “Obviously, fights aren’t common nature at the Golden Dragon, and I hope you won’t take it as such.”

“Of course not,” Roz answered, and Skye could hear the barely-checked deadpan in her voice. If she wasn’t Phil’s date, I’d deck her, too. Which left a lot to be desired about Phil’s taste in women – out of all people, how had he chosen a) his boss, and b) a venomous snake of a woman that lived to belittle people at every turn?

(But on a very slight level, she got it; Rosalind Price exuded a power that rendered her practically untouchable. In this case of want-her-or-be-her , Skye was definitely leaning towards a be-her.)

“I hate to do this, but I’m sure you understand.” Melinda handed them both the NDAs, her expression blank. “Standard non-disclosure agreement, should you have any questions, I’ve included the contact info of the restaurant’s legal advisor at the bottom of your copy of the document.”

“Foggy Nelson,” Roz mused coolly, while Phil simply scribbled his name without much thought, looking for all the xiaolongbao in the world like he wanted to get out of there. “Powerful legal counsel for such a small restaurant.”

“One of the best,” Melinda’s words were practically coming through gritted teeth, now, and Skye hoped to god the conversation finished before her mother decided to rip through the very thin wall between civility and full-out insults. “And the Golden Dragon has been around for generations, so at this point it’s like a family favor.”

“We should go,” Phil interrupted with a nervous laugh, and both women turned an approximation of their worst glares to him. (Skye’d expected him to at least wince. But she supposed once you’d been at the receiving end of both at least twice, there was accounting for experience.) “It’s getting late, Roz, and I’m sure Melinda wants to close up so she can have dinner –”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Roz’s steel gaze never left Melinda’s. “It was very nice to...meet you, Melinda,” she said placidly, and Skye frowned. Had the two of them met before? “I hope the next time we do, it won’t be in conditions like this.”

Melinda’s head tilted, her hand shaking Roz’s outstretched one with a passive coolness that suggested a weekend at their local rage room was in the cards. “Yes, of course,” she answered, and Phil’s head whipped back in forth in an attempt to understand what was going on. “You’re welcome back to the Golden Dragon anytime.”

No sooner had the door closed behind them and the rest of Yang’s men did Melinda turn the lock with a loud clack , the older woman seizing a corner of the wall and squeezing it so tightly Skye feared she would rip a chunk out of it. “Mom?”

The hand slowly relaxed. “Yes, honey?”

“C’mere.” There were perks to almost being as tall as your mother, Skye mused, and one of them was being able to deliver a hug with enough pressure. “I love you,” she whispered, rubbing slow circles on Melinda’s back; slowly, her mother’s grip on her tightened until she was practically holding onto Skye for dear life, waves of desperation and resignation radiating through her palms like a beacon.

Her mother was holding on by a thread, and if Skye let go, there was a chance she would fall apart completely. The fight in the restaurant must’ve been one of the last straws, she mused, a weight that would have otherwise been negligible, but given Bobbi’s college search, homecoming, the magazine spread and Phil being present with Roz, it’d done more than its fair share of dealing a heavy blow. Not to mention simply the daily intricacies of running a restaurant – those she couldn’t even begin to imagine.

“Let’s get you upstairs,” she finally whispered to Melinda, and one weak nod later, the two of them were climbing upstairs to their apartment, Piper, Mack, Elena and Fitz nodding to them both as they passed by on their way to the kitchen. Slowly but surely, they reached the landing, and Skye all but snatched the keys from her mother when she tried to open the door. “I’ve got you, Mom.”

True to her word, Bobbi was waiting for them when the door swung open, three bowls of rice, tomatoes and eggs sitting steaming on the living room table. Joy Luck Club was already set to play on their television, one of the few DVDs Melinda still kept around for the sake of nostalgia. “You’re sitting between us tonight,” she told Melinda as Skye settled her onto the couch. “And if you don’t fall asleep by the end of the movie, I – no, we –” she corrected when Skye stuck her tongue out at her. “– will consider it a personal failure.”

Melinda rolled her eyes, though her tone was fond when Bobbi pressed a bowl and pair of chopsticks into her hands. “Can’t let my daughters fail, now, can I?”

“Would be an absolute shame if you did,” Skye agreed breezily, and together, the three of them sank into the couch as the movie began, the room silent except for the sounds of the film and the occasional clinking of chopsticks against bowl. It wasn’t long after their bowls were empty that she felt a weight against her shoulder, and she turned to see Melinda slumped against it, eyes slid shut and a small snore emanating from her lips.

“Didn’t take long,” Bobbi chuckled, though her eyes were shrouded with worry. “She’s gonna hate Phil after this.”

“Yeah,” Skye agreed, and sighed. “It’s gonna take a long time for her to forgive him after this. If she ever does.”

Chapter 33: yat wok sook

Chapter Text

A chill greeted Phil as soon as he stepped into the Golden Dragon, frosty air threatening to take off his hat, scarf, and then some. Frowning, he checked the swing of the door – inwards, not outwards – just to make sure he hadn’t brought some of the month’s arctic air with him. Jesus, it’s cold. Over the last few months, he’d come to depend on the warm current of the restaurant, his sigh of relief serving as almost a warning bell to the kitchen staff that there was an order incoming.

Thermostat must be out. I wonder if Melinda knows.

“Phil, right?” There was a newcomer at the stand – Hunter, Phil thought, internally grimacing to himself in the hopes that he’d gotten it right.

"Brave of you to come back, mate," the Brit continued, leaning in conspiratorially. "'Tween you and me, if it wasn't for the paycheck, I wouldn't have come back at all. Place seems like it's mental. Plus," He jerked his head, and Phil followed the direction of his gaze across the dining room to Bobbi, who was in the middle of a lively conversation with a table. "Something tells me she seems like a bird I want to get to know."

Phil snorted. Something tells me you're gonna be here a lot longer than you planned, kid. "The mafia's a regular thing," he assured Hunter instead, and the younger man raised an incredulous eyebrow. It was Phil's turn to lean in with a secretive air, and he took care to lean in as if he held the secrets to everlasting romance. "First time I ever came here, fight broke out right in front of my table. Pretty sure I barely escaped with my life."

Okay, so maybe he was exaggerating, but the few people that knew he'd actually bolted like a deer seeing a pair of headlights on a darkened road, the better.

Luckily for him, Hunter seemed to lap the story right up. "Brave man," he said, eyes still wide with admiration before seemingly remembering that he was hired at the Golden Dragon to actually fulfill some duties. "Anyways, are you here to see someone? Mack tells me you're working on a spread for some magazine."

"South Harlem International Eating and Living Directory," Phil explained, the syllables ringing with the fatigue of someone who'd spelled out the acronym one too many times. "And before you ask, yeah, my boss Roz really did want our initials to spell out SHIELD. Is Elena on shift?"

Hunter nodded towards an opposite corner of the restaurant, where Elena and Mack were deep in conversation. Occasionally, one of them would look up at him, the expression etched into their features oddly parallel to the icy chill that'd greeted him upon arrival that day. Maybe someone stiffed them. Maybe last night's fight was costing them more than the mafia was willing to pay.

There were a million reasons for Mack and Elena to be shooting him cold looks. Didn't mean it was his fault, particularly.

Before he could wave Elena over, said server had turned on her heel and disappeared behind the kitchen's swinging doors.

Hunter watched the interaction with a chagrined expression and a whistle. "Not sure what you did to piss her off there, mate, but I'd suggest you figure out why and fast." Yeah, no sh*t, Sherlock. You want a coat and pipe to go with that? "If she's the one you're lookin' to interview today, I'm not sure you'll get what you want from her."

As if he'd sensed the conversation's topic from across the room, Mack lumbered easily over to the host stand, checking the charts with a practiced eye and clapping Hunter a little too heartily on the back. "Nice job, man," he said, and Hunter looked almost as if he was going to cough up an organ. "And Elena'll be out to see you in a moment, she wanted to confirm her shift schedule with Melinda." Though Mack gave him a grin, it was nothing compared to what he'd seen in the previous weeks -- if Phil squinted hard enough, it was almost like he was looking at a near facsimile of Bobbi's wintry smile. And those smiles never meant anything good. (But if Phil had committed a wrong, what had he done? And why couldn't he remember what it was?) "Fitz found something new for you to try. Why don't I get you your table?"

"Are you sure you want me to do this interview? I don't have to, you know." Melinda had to admire Elena's loyalty -- a few weeks, and she was already ready to pick up a torch for her. "You're basically doing this for him as a courtesy."

"It's good press," Melinda corrected gently, but the grim set of Elena's mouth didn't change. "He needs it, and so do we, especially after the wreck that was last night." (Well, it'd been more along the lines of a mysterious envelope left outside the back door this morning with a wad of cash, but there was nothing wrong with legally making an income, too.) "At the end of the day, he's just trying to do his job, and so are we. There's no reason for personal feelings to get brought in."

Not for her staff, anyways. According to Bobbi and Skye, Melinda was allowed to be hurt over Rosalind Price showing up at her restaurant all she wanted -- and she'd make sure she milked that hurt as best she could. That, and hopefully the distance would give her some time to reconcile whatever the f*ck her stomach did whenever Phil was around.

"Do the interview," she said again to Elena. "I can't tell you how to act, but make sure Phil gets the answers he needs, okay?" He was just another journalist looking for a scoop. That was it and that would be all -- hipster journalists came sniffing around Chinatown all the time. Phil would just be another one of the masses looking to gentrify a 'hidden gem'.

That was it.

"Okay." Elena nodded, turning to leave. "But just so you know, I'm ready to walk away from that table anytime you need me to."

Melinda gave her a wan smile. "I know, Elena. I know." When the door to the office shut with a loud CLANG, she let the smile drop, turning back to her paperwork. The expenses from the night before were really piling up, both on the property and culinary side; at this rate, every extra dollar made from the mafia would be have to put to the dishes she'd lost that night.

If this kept up, there'd be no money left to put towards Skye and Bobbi -- and the elder May was already marking their family calendar with a schedule of college tour dates. It couldn't be something as simple as raising prices, either; even an inch's increase would have regulars scattering to the Oriental Pearl across the street. And that...not even a high-profile spread from SHIELD could save her sorry ass from that.

The whole thing was almost enough to make her regret contracting Yang for revenge against the Ward family. Almost. A few more nights like this and maybe she'd come to regret it. But even if there were, there would probably be nothing as satisfying as (possibly) getting to deck Grant Ward across his nepotistic little face. Among other things.

She sighed again, squaring her shoulders. Time to get through the paperwork that would get her there.

"So, Elena," Phil shot the new waitress what he thought was an easy-going grin, only to frown in confusion when he got no expression in return. "You're the newest member of May's. How's it been working with the crew so far?"

"It's been good. I mean, before, I was an unwilling member of the Chinese mafia, so working in food service is kind of a dream compared to what I was through before." She shrugged. “I go to work, I learn Chinese on the job, I go home, sometimes I stay late and teach Hope Spanish while Mack teaches me English. Piper likes to throw in the curse words on occasion.” Another shrug. “A simple life. Not much more I could ask for.”

Was it him, or were her answers...guarded? Phil frowned; the last time he'd spoken with Elena, she'd been all jokes and outlandish innuendos, a stark contrast from the practically glacial woman sitting in front of her.

He tried to rack through his recollections for anything that might've caused the sudden switch; even with a thorough shaking he was coming up with absolutely nothing. Hm. Maybe some more questions would reveal the culprit. "Well, coming here's taught me that the staff of May's treats each other like family." Maybe she just wasn't comfortable talking about the restaurant in the same intimacy as everyone else? "Has that been what it's felt like for you?"

Elena nodded, this time with more enthusiasm. "The May's family treats each other very well," she said, a small smile playing on the corner of her mouth. Now that was what he was looking for. "Whatever you need, if it's not too outlandish, Melinda finds a way to get it done. She's already found a place for me to live upstairs, for example." The smile grew. "When I say she'll do anything for her people, I mean she'll do anything for her people.”

“You don’t mess with the May’s family,” she continued, holding her chopsticks aloft. Was it just him, or did the chopsticks look sharper than they normally did? “You hurt someone, you’ve hurt the whole family.” Phil could certainly testify to that – there probably was no person on the face of the planet that wanted to kill Grant Ward than Melinda May. (Bobbi was perhaps a close second, however.) “And they don’t skimp on revenge.”

They were talking about Grant Ward….right?

“And he was just so arrogant,” Bobbi grated out for the fiftieth time. Behind her back, Skye and Kara exchanged sympathetic glances: they’d only been walking for a grand total of ten minutes, and yet somehow, Bobbi’d managed to curse Lance Hunter out not two, not three, but a grand total of six times while also covering what seemed to be every single unsatisfactory quality about his performance the night before.

The last time either of them had heard Bobbi speak about someone with such vehemency, she’d ended up dating the man. Which could only mean –

You think? Kara mouthed to Skye, who nodded in return. Her own love life might be a mess right now, but that didn’t mean her sister’s had to be. If there was even a chance Skye could shift Bobbi into the realm of a happy ending, she’d f*cking do it. Even if it meant giving Bobbi sh*t to an inch of her life.

She shot Kara a wink before blinking innocently at her sister, who was practically red in the face from her rant. “I don’t know, Bobbi,” Skye announced, tilting her head to the side. “I think he’s kind of cute, don’t you think?” There was no need to mention that Hunter’d already seen her screaming at nothing in the back alley after shift last night. Or that the two of them had practically demolished the kitchen’s prep stash of siu mai following her screaming fit. Some things were just better left unsaid.

Still, much to hers and Kara’s amusem*nt, Bobbi’s head whipped around faster than Melinda’s during an attempted dine-and-dash. “Skye,” she warned, completely unaware of the smile Kara was suppressing behind her. As it was, Skye was having trouble suppressing a smile herself. Did she really think I was looking at Hunter? Of all people? “You barely know the man. Don’t you even dare think about asking him out.”

“You sure it’s not because you want to?”

“He – I – I would never,” Bobbi finally managed to splutter out to uproarious laughter, and Kara had to lean heavily against a construction banister just to catch her breath. “That man is absolutely infuriating, can’t follow directions to an inch of his life, and somehow he thinks that his stupid little British accent is going to let him get away with everything –“

“So you noticed he has a British accent,” Kara wheezed, which started up her and Skye’s laughing routine all over again. “Hey Skye, you remember the time when –“

Skye was already wheezing. “The time when Bobbi watched like, sixty hours of Gordon Ramsey on DVD because she wanted to pick up a British accent? Hell yeah, I do. Mom couldn’t stop calling Chan an idiot sandwich for a week straight.”

“I was twelve,” Bobbi glowered at the both of them, cheeks flaming. It didn’t stop Skye and Kara from launching into a fresh round of guffaws, though, and they were still chortling to themselves even as they turned into the restaurant. Little sh*ts, both of them. “And let’s get one thing straight,” she said, pulling them both to a stop before the host’s podium. Hunter was already there, the bastard, and the last thing Bobbi needed was for either girl to slip in the ten seconds it took them to walk past it. “Just because I like British accents does not mean I like him. Capisce?”

Skye and Kara exchanged a look. “Sure,” they deadpanned simultaneously, before Kara continued, “but he’s cute. You gotta admit he’s cute.”

Bobbi narrowed her eyes at the host stand. “He’s a little cute,” she bit out; if anything, it’d been true for all of thirty seconds before Hunter’d opened his fat mouth in absolute incompetence the night before. “I wouldn’t date him.”

“Sure,” Skye said again, then leaned over to Kara. “Twenty bucks she dates him ‘fore June.”

“You’re on.”

“Bob!” Hunter called from the host stand, arms raised in mock joviality. “This is just your reminder that yes, I do indeed work here,” he said when the three of them walked past the podium. “Your mum hired me recently and I’m here to work the podium and provide security when Mack can’t.” He held up a black folder. “You need to see the work papers, love?”

Laughing. Hunter was throwing one of the most embarrassing moments of her life to date and Skye and Kara were laughing. “Funny that you still work here, actually,” Bobbi forced herself to say coolly, and Hunter’s eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. She planted an elbow onto the podium, bringing them nose to nose. “Especially given the fact that I’m pretty sure I heard the highest-pitched scream last night while I was kicking someone in the balls.”

“You sure that wasn’t you, love?” A wink, and Bobbi only barely fought the urge to deck him. (May’s did have bills to pay, after all, and they definitely didn’t have room to account for workman’s comp and a broken nose.) “You can tell me, I won’t judge you.”

“I wouldn’t tell you anything if you were the last sentient being on earth,” Bobbi hissed back, and immediately, Hunter reeled back, clutching his chest as if he’d been shot. Good. “I’m on the podium tonight, you’re taking my place with the tables.” And she got to watch the color drain out of his face. This afternoon was shaping up considerably. “This is just your reminder that yes, you do indeed work here, and when you do work here, you rotate shifts with everyone on staff.” Hunter’s eyes were still wide, and the slight click of a camera could be heard in the background. “Or did my mom not tell you that?”

She pinched the folder with two delicate fingers – there was no telling where they’d been – and flipped it open. “You need to see it in the work papers…chum?”

“Bobbi!” The stricken Brit was saved by Hope’s arrival from school, the eight-year-old bounding through the restaurant’s door with a youth all four of them felt ache in their bones. “Mr. Pike said we have to do a science experiment for the end of semester project,” she began through a muffled hug into Bobbi’s midsection. “Can you help me?”

“Sure she can,” Kara grinned before muttering under breath, “it’ll be a great chemistry experiment with Hunter.”

“Kara!”

“You know it’s true,” Kara smirked, high-fiving Skye before turning to whisper to Hope. “I’ll tell you later.” She would not, if Bobbi had anything to say about it. “Anyways, Wong number two. What’s Fitz got rolling in the kitchen this fine afternoon?”

Skye gestured towards the kitchen doors. “Let’s go find out for ourselves, shall we?”

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

The table in front of them was practically groaning with dishes, most of which Mack was already eyeing even as he responded. “Didn’t have to and didn’t want to are two very different things, Melinda.” He pushed a bowl of rice and a pair of chopsticks towards her. “We haven’t done this in a while, and you’ve had a hard couple of months. Now eat.”

In all senses, Mack was right – it’d been a while since the two of them had sat down, just the two of them, for a check-in lunch. They’d done it practically every week when the kids had been younger, mainly so that they could mutually reassure each other of their parenting capabilities. Every time, without fail, Mack would order some choy, some white rice, and a heaping plate of yat wok sook.

The crunching helped them both think, he claimed, and while Melinda’d never found any evidence for or against, it was nice to have a tradition to sink into. Especially now, and her eardrums practically sighed at the familiar sound of crunching. Sounds like routine. “So I heard Hope has the science fair coming up,” she began, because it was far easier to broach the problems of an elementary schooler than it was even beginning to think about everything going on in her own life. “Is Bobbi helping her out again?”

“They’ve already started planning,” Mack answered, the trepidation of far too many explosive science experience etched into his features. “I think I’m going to have to tell them to tone down on the number of explosives they work into this year’s presentation. Last year, the principal told me they spent hours trying to clean up the remnants of the elephant toothpaste.”

Melinda shuddered. She could remember the brightly-colored foam a little too vividly. “Well, Bobbi’s in physics this year, so hopefully they’ll be aiming for something a little more..physics-centered rather than chemistry.” Gravity was a part of physics, wasn’t it? Note to self: check to see if anyone places an order for a large bowling ball and a chain. “Less of a mess to clean up, you know?”