to boldly go...

[bravejemma]

Comments

[bravejemma]

[The cursor blinks for quite awhile.]

> I don't know how.

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

[hypoxic]

> 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.]

[bravejemma]

[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.]

[hypoxic]

[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.

[bravejemma]

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.]

[hypoxic]

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?

[bravejemma]

[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.]

[hypoxic]

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.

[bravejemma]

Fitz --

[Her voice is creaky from disuse, throat dry. He's put his hand in hers again and she squeezes it. She squeezes it like it can save her from the bright, noisy, solid reality.]

[hypoxic]

Yes -- it's me. I'm here.

You've been asleep for a long time.

[bravejemma]

Not asleep.

[She tries opening her eyes again, this time letting them become accustomed to the med bay's bright light, little by little.]

[hypoxic]

[Fitz is there, hovering over her. His expression is still fairly neutral, though his tone betrays anxiety.]

No -- you aren't now. I know that. I knew this time would be the one that works.

[He knew the last twenty times would be the one that worked as well.]

[bravejemma]

I wasn't.

[She can't argue. He will just have to get used to it. She squeezes his hand again, and is torn for a moment -- Fitz is here, but Will is still there, and now he'll be alone. Tears came to her eyes, and one escaped, running down her temple.]

[hypoxic]

She's tearing up -- someone help her take care of that. She hasn't got much range of motion.

[Which brings him to some other questions.]

Are you feeling things all right?

[bravejemma]

I...

[How does he mean?]

My -- my sensory inputs are... functioning.

[hypoxic]

[....... what.]

You're not moving much. Is it because you can't?

[bravejemma]

... No?

[She doesn't think so. She has one hand in his, but she lifts the other carefully. They were heavy, how did she ever have a body?]

[hypoxic]

[If he had control of his breathing, he would have heaved a sigh of relief.]

That's better... you're just so still. I'd worried about paralysis.

[bravejemma]

Am I?

[She supposed she probably took for granted how much people with actual bodies moved, even when they were being still. Even so, she's not sure she can dredge up the energy to move too much if she doesn't have to.]

[hypoxic]

... it doesn't matter. [She's Jemma. That's the only thing that matters.]

Are you all right, Jemma? How do you feel?

[bravejemma]

[She opens her mouth to answer, but nothing is coming. She feels dreadful. She used to have a program telling her what to do and now there's nothing but dead air.]

I don't know.

[hypoxic]

[He gives her hand light, gentle pressure.]

It's -- it's all right. You've been through a lot. You can move round at your own pace... I'll be right here with you the whole time.

[bravejemma]

[It seems daunting -- and slow. She's used to going from one thing to the next in the microsecond it takes to process. But she sinks back on the bed, still dazed. But there's one question she has.

How did you find me?

[hypoxic]

Daisy heard you. We figured out the rest from there.

[He's oversimplifying. Ever since that incident when Skye was swept up in that hivemind-cult, converted into Unit D4I5Y and subsequently recovered, she's had an odd relationship with aspects of technology that they couldn't begin to unpack. Borg. Let's just go Borg. When they were poring over the broken functionality for the five billionth time, Daisy came down with a migraine, insisting that she could hear Jemma screaming. It broke his heart. He hasn't tried to sleep in a week.]

[bravejemma]

Who?

[Daisy feels familiar, like she knows who or what that is but not the same way he does. It's difficult to explain.]