bravejemma | to boldly go...

[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.]

Hurts like hell, I'll give you that much.

[He reaches for her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze.]

So maybe now's not the time to be stubborn.

[She grimaces -- but the water looks so inviting...]

Don't judge me for whatever the program wants me to do?

Half of them would have you falling embarrassingly in love with some random User.

[He smirks, kissing her tenderly.]

It's just a skin we wear while we're being watched. None of it's real. We both know that.

[A skin. She could do that. Like being at Hydra -- except way easier.

She follows the urges -- runs to the water, splashes about, and when Will pushes her in, reacts with all the indignity she program called for. She leaves, but there's no user to interact with, so she goes into a holding pattern, a loop that honestly becomes tiresome.

Eventually someone passes the loop, and she assumes she's meant to be lovestruck with the user. User or no, it crept up into her chest and down to her belly.]

[The sequence runs through four loops, pulling Jemma along. It made her smile, and squeal, and blush, and then pieces reset and ran through again and again. And then the program is jettisoned and replaced with the next scenario. This one's from a non-Earth planet, depicting a violet mountaintop against a turquoise sky. Jemma will find herself moving about on an intricate network of tentacles, speaking in a tongue she's never studied.

Will is there with her as well, though his signal emanates from a smaller, fuzzy creature that nips at her ankles.]

Hey, brace yourself in this one, will you? I think there's a branching path that depends on whether the user stops the girl from getting killed in the opening.

[If they're running scenarios without User input, she's probably in for a pile of pain.]

[Wait, back that up.]

Sorry?

[Too late. She feels a tentacle wrap around her ankle, yanking her off her feet as she lands hard. She tried listening for what the program wanted her to do, but there was nothing but a frantic slamming of a panic button.

[The grip at her ankle drags her further, pulling her along a stony terrain. Bits of gravel scrape against her skin, harsh and unforgiving. Will scrambles to keep up.]

Look, we're both gonna get it, okay? You're not alone. User's supposed to find a way to rescue both of us. No user, no rescue. Just cross your fingers and hope they only let it run once.

[She may not have been alone, but she felt increasingly alone -- and in pain, as her skin is scraped away, giving way to blood. This isn't real. This isn't real. This isn't --

If it's not real, why does she have dust and blood in her mouth? She's screaming, without regard to the fact that it's not going to stop. Something crunches her in half; she's conscious long enough to hear her backbone snap like a dry wishbone, and the spinal cord undoubtedly disintegrate into worthless pieces.

The simulation runs again, a little longer this time; the behavior of the hungry, painful landscape must be randomized, because this one isn't nearly as quick as the last one. She dies pleading to be killed.

The third time... she can't even speak anymore. There's hardly room for anything except the now mindless litany of it's not real, it's not real, it's not real, it's not real running through her head.]

[The program unloads, and then it's simply the white space again. Will clutches for Jemma, though his knuckles are scraped and bleeding, legs broken and useless.]

Hey... hey... Sshh, it's over. Try to mend your data. You're starting to fragment.

[It's not over, though. The machine's still on.]

[She curls into him, not answering, shaking too hard to really hold on back, and whimpering -- even sobbing is too much now. She can feel that the program hasn't shut down, it's just in the loading phase. But she doesn't want to see what comes next, and if fragmenting means she doesn't have to be killed anymore, it might be worth it.

But she can't leave Will alone.

She does her best to pull herself together -- she doesn't know how she's doing it, this new instinct is strange but effective. After a short moment, she's able to straighten up and even though she's still weeping -- she can feel the tears on her cheeks -- and give him a proper reply.]

Why did it have to be that one? How -- how many --

[How many terrible scenarios like that can they possibly run?]

It's not the worst I've seen. There's at least a few for every crew member, plus the default ones from the library.

But -- there's a lot of nice ones, too. Paradise islands and everything.

[He rubs her back to soothe her.]

I think there's a few that remind me of home... Or maybe they don't. I don't think I'd know home if I saw it again.

[People were so screwed up -- but then, she'd known that, hadn't she?]

Where was home?

[Maybe he doesn't remember, but maybe he does.]

It was... Earth, I think?

[He hugs her gingerly.]

But that might be the serial record for the ship. The data storage is difficult to access...

[Though the machine is still very much running, there's yet to be another program loaded. Instead, Jemma will be acutely aware that something's triggered administrative access. Something's being run, a full scan of every process. Data packets tingle in sequence, as do the hidden files and the other secret nooks Jemma discovered during her research.]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject