Solving Will Daniels
Prompt Five: Jemma returns from the alien planet, and tells Fitz about her experience… but not all is as she believes it to be
(Fitz’ Point of View)
It took awhile for me to leave my room. I promised to help Jemma, because even if it kills me to do so, I know there’s a human being who has been trapped on an alien planet for 14 years. And she says he’s the only reason why she survived. In good conscious I cannot continue living knowing he is trapped there. But my heart weighs heavily on this matter, desperately trying to convince my mind that I could lose Jemma forever.
But that is the thing about relationships. It takes at least two people to want to be in a relationship. You can’t contractually obligate someone. You can’t have them sign a contract. I can’t expect Jemma to return my feelings because I have them for her. And for that little glimmer I received, she may have had them, too. Isn’t past tense one of the saddest use of words?
I originally wanted to wake up early and start on work the next day. That was before Jemma told me. Instead, I lay in bed for a long time, tired from not even sleeping well, but unable to sleep deeply. Jemma knocked on my door at least twice. She was checking to see if I was up – and okay for that matter.
In truth, this whole situation is very numbing for me. It was in these moments that I had some clarity. I need to know this man. And not just when we get him back. I need to know him now, and what his life was before. I finally was able to get out of bed, shower, try to get on with my day as normal as possible. But in truth, I haven’t known what is normal in life for a very, very long time. And there’s no going back to it.
The anger I’ve felt over this situation isn’t something I’m proud of, but I’ve worked it into a positive spin. It’s now the fuel for research. Late last night, with Jemma, after out talk, I put together a program to run simulations of ways of getting back to the planet. That work is done. But, now comes the time that I get to know Will Daniels.
When I got to the lab, I chipped away at some mundane work, and when everyone shuffled off to lunch, I began to research this man.
Except, I couldn’t find anything about him.
Sure, there’s plenty of people in the world named Will Daniels, and the variations of that name, but none match what Jemma told me. No surly U.S. Airman who was recruited by NASA for an undisclosed mission. His hometown showed no records that he ever went to the local high school or was baptized in a congregation.
Will Daniels does not exist.
I made sure of it by having Daisy take a stab at it. She’s been very busy, but after being told the story, she was more then reluctant to help. There’s a certain way people look at you after you go through something difficult. They don’t mean to do it on a conscious level. But there’s a sudden shift in the way they look at you, and the tonality of their voice changes in the slightest. It is pity. And it’s something I became well acquainted with during my long recovery, which in another truth will never be a complete circuit.
But I know everyone that has given me that kind of look has been well meaning. It doesn’t help to loiter on how uncomfortable it has made me feel. And, learning that was a big part of my healing process.
Daisy was thorough. She hacked into NASA, a tricky business to do especially as Coulson tangles with Rosalind, who used to work for them. NASA had no files on a Will Daniels. Or a William Daniels. There were no redacted files with even mentioning the Monolith. We had effectively burned that end.
So with my absence of findings, it was clear something was amiss, with either Jemma or her story. I replayed the harrowing details in my head, trying to glean something she had told me that would help connect the dots. Maybe I missed some important detail and just had the data wrong.
And then it hit me, Jemma’s phone. She talked about using her phone to take pictures and videos and keep a diary. She could have potentially taken maybe a picture or two of Will. If I couldn’t find him, then maybe I could see him.
This wasn’t going to be an easy conversation to have with Jemma. We could be talking about the new scientific relationships and I would probably still find something unpleasant about it. It was hard to be around her, and yet I still craved for it.
She still had it; it was in her makeshift bag. Completely dead. But that was not a problem. I proceeded to juice it up, retrieve the files. Jemma stood over my shoulder as I did so. She played with her hands. Crossed and uncrossed her legs. She was uncomfortable.
And then came the time. At first the pictures started out as any science plopped into a new environment would react. The blue planet was what she said it was, barren, blue, massive. The pictures of the moons were fascinating, and I immediately wanted to delve into research it’s horizon, but I held back.
The pictures then jumped around. Jemma said she started to conserve battery more at this point.
Then, a picture from her point of you looking outward of some sort of cage. This aligned with her story. She explained this bit again. We both held our breaths as we continued onward.
But, as I clicked through every image or video, there was no Will. It was more like a dark shadow where a body ought to be situated in a photo. I didn’t want to see Jemma’s reaction, but I could from the glare on the computer screen. Tears had welled up in her eyes. She had stopped twisting and connecting and disconnecting her fingers.
“I don’t understand,” she said, a blankness to her voice.
I didn’t either.
There was some truth to her pictures though. The NASA equipment was there. So NASA had sent devices there.
“I don’t think he ever existed,” I said slowly to Jemma. It wasn’t a statement I made to upset her, but one I wanted to convey that we needed to seek out other explanations. She was just processing that her last six months may have been completely different then she imagined them. And I couldn’t tell you how terrible of a feeling that may be.
“What did I…?” she began. A vocal inflection at the end suggested it as a question. Her inability to complete the question demonstrated her confusion, her hurt.
“We will get to the bottom of this, Jemma,” I said to her, swiveling around in my chair to actually look at her. She had a hand up to her chin, the bent fingers closed over her lips. She was looking to the floor away from me, contemplative.
“I can’t remember anything differently,” she said softly, her voice now with a rasp to it.
I could do nothing but just stare at her, feeling so helpless to what she must be processing. She was alone on an alien planet, her mind could have concocted this, I could accept this possibility, but I don’t think she could.
“We’ll figure this out, we’ll know what happened, Jemma,” it was an attempt to console.
But she turned, looking squarely at me. She had that look in her eyes that I saw the previous night. That disappointed in herself look.
“But what if I don’t want to remember it differently?” she said.
I began to run with why she might feel this way. Maybe the reality of what had happened was actually so terrible that her mind had to conceive it this way. She constructed the image of this man to continue the last shreds of hope she had. He manifested as a manly man archetype. Roguish. Indiana Jones, James Bond… maybe even the Grant Ward type. She hung around with these types all day back at SHIELD, and she felt comfortable in their presence. So why not?
There was nothing else I could say to her so I stood up from the chair, and offered her the only thing I could at the moment. She accepted, and what had become an all too common occasion, she nestled her head into my shoulder and cried, not understanding the world she had lived in and the world she couldn’t understand to live in now.