Work Text:
9:53 p.m.
She’s just supposed to do a basic examination, nothing new or different or extreme in any way. Take note of his heart rate, listen to his breathing, etc. Everyone (literally, every single one of her teammates) had offered to go in there with her, be an assistant, be back-up. She turned them all down, though she knows they’re all standing outside the cell now.
Grant Ward has yet to say a word to her. She returns the favor.
10:17 p.m.
Jemma’s just started to unwrap the blood pressure cuff when the lights in the cell flicker, brighten, then go out completely. The screech of heavy metal against heavy metal sounds from far away, and she doesn’t realize until it’s already happened that she’s stepped closer to him.
She’s frightened and she’s looking for protection.
She thinks Grant (Ward, she corrects herself, liar, traitor) might take a step toward her too, but she jerks away toward the door before she can look properly.
The door won’t open. The orange back-up light flicks on, but nothing else does, and the door is sealed shut. She bangs her fist on it as hard as she can.
“Jemma!” Fitz yelps from the other side. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.” She says. Her voice is a little shaky. (A lot shaky.)
“It was some kind of power failure, something with the wiring. We’ll fix it, okay? It just might take some time.”
Jemma leans into the door. “Fitz.” She croaks, her voice hoarse and terrible. “Leo.”
He’s right up against the door now too, she thinks, because his voice is quieter but still audible. A little muffled. “I know, Jemma. You’ll be okay, it’s okay. It’s not a box, you’re not in the water. We’ll get the door open right quick and you can come out, okay?”
She stays leaned against the door and doesn’t look behind her.
10:49 p.m.
It’s taking longer than they expected. Fitz, Skye and Trip take turns talking to her through the door.
11:26 p.m.
Ward touches her shoulder when her eyes are closed.
She screams.
11:39 p.m.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“You’ll understand if I don’t take your word for it. Your track record for causing me pain of many different varieties tends to speak for itself.”
He doesn’t say anything else.
12:04 a.m.
She’s hungry. She was supposed to go up and get a snack with Skye and the boys after she’d finished the exam, and she’d forgotten to eat dinner.
“Violin.”
“Neodymium.”
“Mandible.”
“Edamame.”
“Electrostatic.”
“Why is it taking so long?”
“That doesn’t start with a C.” Trip replies, tapping his fingers against the door.
Jemma taps back, because she’s made them all just as anxious as she is. “I’m getting hungry.”
He taps another rhythm. “Maybe you should try and take a little cat nap. Make the time go by quicker.”
She taps back again. “I’m too nervous. I keep thinking I’m going to run out of oxygen.” Her lungs do a little hiccup, as if in agreement.
“She’s going to hyperventilate.” Ward says softly from the opposite corner of the room.
Jemma swallows roughly, turns her head the other way so she can’t see him.
“Slow, even breaths.” Trip murmurs quietly through the door. “Listen to me, breathe.”
She does.
1:09 a.m.
Skye is playing all of Jemma’s favorite episodes of Doctor Who on her laptop, but Jemma is hardly paying attention. Ward has fallen asleep leaned up against the edge of his cot, head tipped back and brow furrowed even in sleep.
She can’t stop looking at him now that she knows he isn’t looking at her.
1:57 a.m.
He hasn’t grown fangs or horns, or transformed into any kind of beast. His face is the same, his body is the same. He hasn’t revealed any super strength or damaging abilities. His eyes are the same color, and she assumes that if he were to smile anymore, it would still look the same. That’s the worst part, she thinks.
1:58 a.m.
He still looks like him. All the pain he caused, all the lies he told, every part of her heart he broke, and he looks exactly as he did before.
She wishes he didn’t. She looks away.
2:03 a.m.
She doesn’t remember falling asleep, but she wakes up screaming. Fitz is banging on the other side of the door. “I’m right here, Jemma! I’m fine, I promise, I’m right here! It’s okay!”
She hears the words but she can’t seem to process them.
And then there’s arms wrapping around her, holding her close, and she processes that a lot faster. She also can’t bring herself to care that there’s only one person it could be, because she just wants to stop shaking, wants to stop screaming. She wants to stop seeing those memories of Fitz in the water. Some of those things will stop. She knows which one won’t.
“Keep talking to her, Fitz.”
The engineer pauses for a moment, thrown by Ward’s voice. But he continues, his words just a touch less desperate as he tries to soothe Jemma without seeing her.
Eventually she settles. A little bit.
2:10 a.m.
She hasn’t stopped whimpering when the full lights flicker back on. A buzzer sounds near the door and then it flies open, and the whole team is tumbling into the cell before she can properly lay eyes on them.
Trip scoops her up and away from Ward’s grip, cradling her close to his chest. Fitz is murmuring to her the entire time, matching his stride with Trip’s. Skye grabs the medical kit and Jemma’s notes and trails behind them as they leave the cell.
The hacker starts talking too, telling Jemma they can play more Doctor Who and that they have some leftovers of May’s cooking waiting in the kitchen.
“Did he hurt you?” Fitz asks quietly when Jemma is settled at the table. She shakes her head, breathes slowly through her nose until her chin stops trembling.
You’re fine, she scolds. You were just stuck in a room for awhile. Nothing was going to happen to you. Pull yourself together, you’re not a child. You’re fine.
“Maybe we should leave you be for awhile.” Skye says carefully, running fingers through Jemma’s hair.
“No!” She replies, eyes wide and face burning just a little. “No, please. I don’t want to be alone.” Her cheeks heat up even more. She feels silly. “You’re probably tired, though. It’s the middle of the night. I’m sorry, you should go to bed. You’ve all been up and fussing over me. Go to bed, now, the lot of you. I mean it.”
You’re fine.
Fitz, Skye and Trip seem to have a wordless conversation above her head, because all three of them sit down around her at nearly the same time. No one says anything, they just sit and Skye turns her laptop back to Doctor Who and they stay with her.
She tries to get them to go exactly four more times, but they sit still.
3:00 a.m.
Fitz and Skye are sound asleep, leaning against each other so they’re still propped up on the couch. Trip’s just barely dozed off, his chin tipped forward toward his collarbone, one arm crossed over his chest and the other stretched behind Jemma.
She’s awake still, shivering and trying to picture Grant Ward looking evil, scary, trying to make his outside match what’s inside.
He’ll still look the same the next time she sees him, though, and she can’t let it bother her. She won’t let him have an effect on her anymore. Never again.
You’re Jemma Simmons. You’re not a child, you’re a doctor, and an agent. Hold it together. You’re fine. You’re always fine.