[It takes awhile. She's so busy running scans she doesn't take any note of anything except what she's doing -- and how empty she's coming up.]
Will...
[She might say his name now and then, looking in the computer she thinks she's in, and finally frustrated in her attempts, stops. Her eyes close again and a tear leaks out of the corner of her eye and down the side of her nose.
Waking is a dreadful business. It's worse than crawling out of the dense fog she had been in before coming back to reality, and for a moment she doesn't know which is which.
But... This version had Fitz. She could feel safe here, with him. He probably wasn't the virus. After all, the virus had never shown her anything, just tricked her into doing it all herself. But Fitz was there.]
Fitz?
[Her throat is dry and scratchy, like she'd screamed for a long while and blown the voice. She clears her throat, but it doesn't feel much better.]
[The bay is dark by then. The staff left the two of them alone in
their mutual inactivity, deliberately keeping the senior engineer offline,
reasoning that he might see a full charge for once if he didn't have a say
in the matter.
When Jemma wakes, Fitz is still there, but he's cold and motionless.
His eyes are open, but unfocused and lifeless. He is as the empty avatar
skin had been, just a shell waiting to be filled. Jemma could surely boot
him if she has the presence of mind to do so, but she's otherwise alone,
free to wander about as she pleases.]
[She stares at him for a moment. It looks like the avatar, but it isn't. It isn't. She's reasonably sure. He wouldn't be charging himself if he were the avatar, who wouldn't need it. At least he was finally doing it. She wondered how far along he was, but decided to let him sleep for the moment. He charged faster offline.
The next thing was to have a drink. The tray table was nearby, but not close enough that she could reach it from the bed. Unsteadily, she pushed the covers off her and scooted to the edge of the bed to do so, pulling it to her. The pitcher is only half full, so pouring it into the glass was rather risk free. Which is good, since it was quite exhausting as it was.
She gulps most of it down and looks at Fitz again. Did she do good, to rebuild him? She'd been too stubborn to let him die, could she do it again?
Should she?]
He was the only one I had there, Fitz. And I thought I was never coming back...
[That didn't matter now, because she was back. And what was she going to do about it?]
All I wanted was to come back to you, because I --
[She lowers her voice, as though if she says it too loudly there's a danger of him hearing her.]
-- I wanted our chance. To try, whatever we want. Whatever we can.
I love you so much I can hardly say how much. Why doesn't that make sense?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Will...
[She might say his name now and then, looking in the computer she thinks she's in, and finally frustrated in her attempts, stops. Her eyes close again and a tear leaks out of the corner of her eye and down the side of her nose.
Waking is a dreadful business. It's worse than crawling out of the dense fog she had been in before coming back to reality, and for a moment she doesn't know which is which.
But... This version had Fitz. She could feel safe here, with him. He probably wasn't the virus. After all, the virus had never shown her anything, just tricked her into doing it all herself. But Fitz was there.]
Fitz?
[Her throat is dry and scratchy, like she'd screamed for a long while and blown the voice. She clears her throat, but it doesn't feel much better.]
no subject
[The bay is dark by then. The staff left the two of them alone in their mutual inactivity, deliberately keeping the senior engineer offline, reasoning that he might see a full charge for once if he didn't have a say in the matter.
When Jemma wakes, Fitz is still there, but he's cold and motionless. His eyes are open, but unfocused and lifeless. He is as the empty avatar skin had been, just a shell waiting to be filled. Jemma could surely boot him if she has the presence of mind to do so, but she's otherwise alone, free to wander about as she pleases.]
no subject
The next thing was to have a drink. The tray table was nearby, but not close enough that she could reach it from the bed. Unsteadily, she pushed the covers off her and scooted to the edge of the bed to do so, pulling it to her. The pitcher is only half full, so pouring it into the glass was rather risk free. Which is good, since it was quite exhausting as it was.
She gulps most of it down and looks at Fitz again. Did she do good, to rebuild him? She'd been too stubborn to let him die, could she do it again?
Should she?]
He was the only one I had there, Fitz. And I thought I was never coming back...
[That didn't matter now, because she was back. And what was she going to do about it?]
All I wanted was to come back to you, because I --
[She lowers her voice, as though if she says it too loudly there's a danger of him hearing her.]
-- I wanted our chance. To try, whatever we want. Whatever we can.
I love you so much I can hardly say how much. Why doesn't that make sense?