bravejemma | to boldly go...

[She gives a frustrated cry -- because she doesn't know where to go. She would run miles if she knew which way, but direction was losing meaning quickly.

She tries everything she can think of -- boosting her signal, unlocking access to whatever she can reach -- it doesn't feel enough.]

Fitz, I'm here, don't stop --

[Unlocking access to whatever she can reach includes dismantling the quarantine. The red light swells and glows brighter--

And then Jemma will feel a sensation of being pulled, yanked away from her sector and placed in another one.]

What the hell do you think you're doing?!

[As soon as she undoes the quarantine, she tries to stop, but there's no going back from that. Then she feels herself being taken away, fragmented -- ]

NO. NO, NO, NO, FITZ! FITZ!

[She's too grieved by how close they were, and how she ruined it, to answer Will. She manifests, too upset to remain everywhere and nowhere in the nothingness. She concentrates into an avatar, and immediately drops to the ground.]

That wasn't Fitz, Jemma.

[He joins her there, but remains standing, staring out somewhere that isn't at her.]

I told you not to hang around the quarantine. You know what was in there. What the hell do you think a virus does??

Shut up, I don't care!

[Now she's even worse off than before, and had been tricked to boot. How much stupider could she be? She was never going to leave. She was stuck, just as much as Will was.]

Obviously you don't.

[He sighs, jaw clenching.]

At least help me pack it away again. If we each have a piece of the encryption it'll be harder to break. We'll talk about this later.

[But she can't bring herself to move, or do anything. She feels like she could cry, but it's not coming. Computers don't cry. So she decides to be angry instead.]

Stop chiding me like I'm a child!

Then act like an adult or there won't be a later. This thing could tear down the whole system form the inside out.

[He bends down to help her up, embracing her from behind and extending his arms around to take hold of her wrists.]

Focus. Set aside whatever you're going through. It doesn't matter. It's all just binary. Ones and zeroes.

[It doesn't matter? She wants to yell at him more. How dare he.

She struggles briefly, but his grip is iron-clad, and she gives herself over. All ones and zeroes, opened and closed, first this, then that.

Containing the virus takes time, but they have that in spades. And they work together... actually quite well. It takes her over. But it wasn't Fitz. If her heart weren't already broken, that would have done it.]

[When it's over, he defaults back to their avatars. He turns her around, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand.]

Hey... You did great. I know it was hard for you.

[She lets him hold her there. She feels too sad and empty to do otherwise.]

I thought it was Fitz. I thought...

[Maybe he's stopped. The thought is chilling, but maybe... maybe he thought he'd done everything he could and stopped looking.]

I know you did.

[He kisses her forehead gently.]

Viruses do that. They start creeping into your code and warping things. That's why it's best to just stay far away from the quarantine. Whatever you were looking for can't be worth what it would do to you.

You're the only company I've had here -- I don't know what I'd do if...

But I want to go home.

[She knows it sounds young and immature, but she doesn't care.]

I'm never leaving, am I?

[He frowns, eyes shining with raw pity.]

...I tried to tell you before. One way trip.

I'm sorry.

[She chokes on the sob as it tries to leave her, and trembles. Too faint to care, she leans against him and cries into his front. He had told her, and she'd been stubborn, determined to find the way out. But it had been ages -- months, at least, and she was no closer to finding her way back.]

[He holds her as tightly as she holds him, doing his best to provide stability and security to her when she needs it most.

When the worst of the sobbing seems to have subsided, he tilts her chin upwards, and kisses her. Maybe she just needs to know that she's not in this by herself. ]

[Upset as she is, she leans into it, and before she knows it is fiercely kissing him in return. She forgets, for a moment, that these aren't bodies; they're avatars and made of ones and zeroes just like everything else she does and interacts with. He's warm and firm, and she doesn't just pass through him like she logically should, since neither of them exist like this. Not anymore.

She deepens their kiss, winding her arms around his neck and pulling him down to meet her again, mouth open and inviting.]

[Maybe it's just part of living in the confines of a holographic processor. They're quite good at playing pretend.

With her so eagerly requiting, he lifts her at the waist, kissing feverishly. There's a room now, a setting called "J.S. quarters" that contains a proxy of her room from home. There's a full model of the ship in the holosuite's profiles available; this is just where he thought she might want to be right now.]

[It even smells like her room, a fresh, slightly floral scent that calms her.

He's taking her to bed, she realizes, with a kind of detached anxiety. And why not, if all they were was zeroes and ones, a mere spark in a motherboard floating somewhere in space.

After, she feels like she could disappear, keep falling through the emptiness and that would be fine.]

[He would have stopped if she'd said no. But she didn't vocalize her anxieties, and he continued with his version of comfort. He's a gentle lover, but still strong and firm. She needs support. They both need someone to love.

When it's over, he lies beside her, running a hand down the side of her arm.]

You're gonna be okay, Jemma. We both will.

[She's reluctant to say anything, but knows she should. Even if she knows the hand on her arm, and his chest against her back, is all simulation, it's real enough.]

It might take me a long time.

[She still wants to go home so badly. Be with Fitz.]

I know.

But we've got lots of time. We can fill it however we want.

[It's what he says, but their virus adventure left enough of a trail that it's caught someone's attention. The unit powers on abruptly, loading a beach sequence this time. It's all wetsuits and surfboards. Instead of lying in bed, Jemma and Will as settled on a beach blanket, staring up at the noonday sun. As before, there's a distinct sense of a scenario, motions that they're supposed to perform as non-player characters.

This time though, users don't arrive. Someone's surveying from outside in search of anomalies.]

[A proper beach it is, too. Hot, sunny, with white sand, certainly not a British beach. Once again, she tries to pay no attention to what it turns out she's wearing. It's a lot less swimsuit than she could normally be talked into, that was for sure.

She sat up slowly, expectant and waiting for... something. She was about to ask Will if he'd done this, but she knew he hadn't. This was a base scenario, a template, say, for users to edit and customize as they wished. Same as before, she has the urge of what she should be doing, but she avoids it. She doesn't see any users, though, just them and other non-player characters.]

What are they doing?

Who knows? Maybe they're still spooked about something glitching out.

[He props himself up on an elbow and rolls onto his side to face her.]

Could be a diagnostic, though. If it is, you might want to let the program run all the way. Failing a diagnostic test might get you recompiled.

Well doesn't that sound pleasant.

[Subtext: No, it doesn't.]

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