bravejemma | to boldly go...

[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.]

[Honestly, she'd sort of figured Earth, if that was the Avatar he'd chosen, but then again, it didn't necessarily follow. She nods though, accepting the answer without comment.

But then she can feel it. The poking around, the searching.]

I don't know if I like them in the search...

[Which seems kind of silly... because isn't that what the computer was there for?]

You shouldn't. They're pressing into the system settings.

[He rolls a shoulder in sudden discomfort.] Could rework the way things oper--

[His arms drop away from her.]

Hey, um... Can you make me one of those... the... sitting... chair.

[He sinks backward, whether or not she's able to pull a proper asset file in time to catch him.]

[She realizes what's about to happen a fraction of a second before he starts to drop. In her panic, she conjures up a chair with not a moment to spare. It's nothing fancy, but at least Will is spared the indignity of landing on whatever might be considered floor hereabouts, in a heap.]

And what does that mean?

....Remember when I told you about that part in my code that doesn't match anything else in the system?

Shows up weird in root scans.

[He twitches and spasms.]

Th--they--th... testing variables.

[As he struggles, Jemma might notice a numbness spreading across her right side. Something smells like lilacs, for no apparent reason.]

[Oh, that was... Not fun. It may have started as lilacs, but it soon turned to burning chocolate, a charred sweetness that wasn't right. She texted her right hand -- it moved, it had just lost all feeling.]

Do you -- suppose it may be the same for me?

[Because she definitely feels strange, and she can't say she likes it.]

Probably. You have the same anomaly.

[His eyes roll, and he blinks to keep focus.]

Here -- sit down with me. I, um... access is..

California. I was from San Mateo... [He thinks. He's not sure if that's accurate information or just what's being brought up now.]

[She sits by him, but not without difficulty. Now her joints have begun to go stiff and limp at intervals, like the worst sort of arthritis she can imagine.]

Sounds nice.

[It hits her hard this time, right in the gut. She doubles over slightly, giving it a moment before she could talk again.]

I came from Sheffield. England.

Might change. It's -- they're messing with our code. We're.

What planet did you say that was? The database is...

[And then there's another flash, and the warping sensation grows more aggressive. Tiny little pinpricks poke at her awareness. Someone has opened up a dialogue box to type with her.

> Hello
> Is there someone there?
]

[Earth. She comes from Earth. I'm Jemma Simmons and I come from Sheffield, England, United Kingdom -- ]

> Hello?

[
> I'm presently operating on a theory.
> Please state designation and function.

]

> Jemma Simmons
> I don't know my function

> I knew it
>
> Are you ready to go home, Jemma?

[The cursor blinks for quite awhile.]

> I don't know how.

[She can't, can she? She's tried.]

> just trust me.

[And then, all at once, things go black for her. It's a more limiting darkness than the usual kind. There's no company here, and no sense of connectedness. Her link to the system is cut off. For the first time in months, Jemma is genuinely alone.]

[It's not just alone -- it's empty. The circuitry is now dead, and she doesn't feel that pulse anymore; it had become how she measured life. And now she was dead. She moaned a little. Now Will was alone. And she wouldn't see Fitz again.

Then again, if this was the afterlife... it could be far worse.]

[Sound arrives slowly, a faint underwater sort of noise.]

It's going to work. Just give it more time! This is the one. I know this is the one. You put your hand near that switch again and I rip your bloody arm off do not tempt me.

Fitz --

[Who else could be so angry and determined and Scottish? She knows that tone as well as she knows the person that it belongs to. It rings in her ears.

But that can't be. She's dead -- or good as.]

Will.

[Maybe it's the virus again. She can't let it trick her like it did before.]

She said something.

She said something.

[She sound is closer now, more urgent. Something soft and velvety nudges her hand.]

Jemma -- can you hear me? Are you awake?

[She pulls her hand away, though nothing else moves, not yet. She's holding her breath, until she lets it out in a rush and automatically takes one out again. Her eyes open but it's too bright and they squeeze shut again. She tries to sublimate back into the code -- become the ones and zeroes that stream by at breakneck speed, but there's nothing. Her avatar remains.]

You lot said there wasn't any degeneration. Get me a better medic to find out what's wrong.

Jemma? Please, give me some kind of sign you understand me. Squeeze my hand -- something.

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