Departures and Intrusions
Jemma had a plan. Step one: Ward was going to die. Step two: Jemma would get a full night's sleep, conscious that she had restored balance to the universe. Step three: she'd help Fitz heal. Step Four: they'd all feel happy and safe again.
She tried to stay positive for Fitz, tried to give him as many hugs as she could so that he wouldn't feel alone and withdraw, and she tried to stay on good terms with Mack, whom she'd need help from in order to help Fitz regain control of his speech. Jemma had a schedule for both physical and mental therapy planned out for the next few months, and she looked into the future at the milestones that Fitz would eventually have the strength to cross. She imagined finally being able to talk to him without remembering him floating in her arms as she pulled them both up above the ocean's surface, or him in the hospital bed that Ward was in now. Tubes and machines had surrounded Fitz, and he hadn't been able to speak or do anything. She remembered refusing to let anyone else care for Fitz, and she remembered fighting with May when May came down to make sure that Jemma slept. Jemma had the perfect response to May's question: "What good will you do him if you burn out?" May had pointed at Fitz. Jemma had hated her because she was right, and because she was using Fitz to win an argument, and one too many people had used Fitz's trust to his hurt. Jemma was there to protect him. She wanted to make May bleed but then she didn't, because she'd regained control, and that was when the real planning had started. They hadn't found Ward yet, but they would soon. And once they did, she'd sleep in peace, no guilt, just Fitz.
If you weren't an idiot, you could step back and realize that although Jemma had the ability to be kind, she also had an ego, and she had a set way of doing things. Once some outside force acted upon her secure environment, or upon the people whom she included in that environment, Jemma went to work. Not only did Jemma need to be the best in her field, she was the best. Everyone in all her classes had either admired her or hated her, and they all competed with her, but she outdid them all. Who won the best fellowships to the most prestigious universities? Jemma. Who ended up being dismissed from a prestigious university when she embarrassed a professor in front of a group of fellow scholars by proving him wrong? Jemma. Who climbed right back to the top because she was the best and she knew it? Jemma. Then she'd been recruited to the university at S.H.I.E.L.D. All those minds and all those questions she hadn't even thought to ask, all the resources and ideas, the people who were on her level and made her have to try at everything for the first time in her life, well, that was blissful but uncomfortable. She didn't like to be proved wrong. She liked doing it to other people. She was better than everyone out of spite.
All these observations were made by Fitz. "You don't have to be confrontational to get people to listen to you." He'd said it offhandedly, while they worked on a project in the library, gathering research to build on. Jemma had put herself in charge of organizing notes, fingers clicking over the keys of her laptop. Before that, there'd been a contest between study groups, started by one of the older students who was there for another PhD, name of Alex Moskowitz. It was meant to be informal and trivia-based, but the night before, Jemma had gone head-to-head with him until she made a mistake and stammered while giving her answer, and Moskowitz had taken his chance to give the correct answer. No one felt sorry for Jemma because Jemma didn't ever feel sorry for destroying them. She believed that only the strong survived, and in this environment, intellectual prowess constituted strength. She'd outlast them all. Jemma told herself that they understood, and she was only helping them improve their debating skills or their methods of research or some other thing that she found a flaw in. Then there was Fitz, who the teacher had assigned to Jemma as study partner, partly because no one else who knew her or who knew of her wanted to be around her, not even out of fearful curiosity, or with the promise of extra credit. The teacher, Professor O'Malley, had called Jemma into her office. "You need to be able to work with people a little better, Jemma. Your temperament is counterproductive."
Jemma wanted to tell her to look at who was getting the best grades and who had turned in the best work, but she didn't, because O'Malley was the one who gave those grades and praised the work. Jemma never made light of the ones who praised or condemned her...unless they had no power. Then she annihilated them for kicks. Only the strong survived. "I'm quite all right with studying alone. I don't mind the extra work, ma'am. If working alone has any impact on my grades, then I can take on another project to make up for any discrepancy." She knew that O'Malley wouldn't listen, and she waited to hear who her study partner would be. She heard O'Malley say "Fitz" and when she didn't recognize the name, she asked if he was a new student, already figuring that he was, because O'Malley spoke of him without the reservation she used when she talked about how Jemma interacted with fellow-students. (This wasn't the first meeting they'd had about Jemma's mingling skills.) O'Malley told Jemma to meet Fitz in the library the next morning. Jemma followed the instructions, arriving five minutes early and going to her spot, the one closest to where the teachers liked to congregate, and therefore the spot that students avoided.
Fitz arrived a minute late with a giant backpack thumping against his side, an armful of books, and a tray with two cups of some hot beverage in a tray balanced on top of the books, a white paper bag next to the tray. Fitz lifted his chin at her as a greeting and used his leg to pull a chair out part-way so he could let his backpack drop into it. He put the tray on the table and plopped the white paper bag next to it, and then he put down his books. He held out his hand and said, "Fitz." Jemma gave his hand a shake and said, "I hope you didn't bring coffee. I don't drink coffee."
"Ah no, it's tea. I brewed it myself."
Jemma looked at the cups from the university's café and back to Fitz.
"I work there." Fitz smiled and moved his bag to the floor.
"Where's your computer bag?"
"My what? Oh, no. I don't have a laptop."
Jemma stopped arranging her supplies. "I beg your pardon?"
Fitz held up his finger and then took out his phone, set it on the table between them, and tapped a few icons. A holographic screen popped up. He looked at Jemma to see what she thought. When she did nothing, his smile faltered. "Usually people are impressed."
"It is impressive. We're surrounded by impressive things. Shall we study? Thank you for the tea."
"I got scones, too." He nudged the bag forward. "They're day-old but they're still good." He smiled up at her and then said, "I'm not the worst study partner. I mean, I don't know how good I really am, but... not that bad."
"I'm quite good. We should be fine. Are you...struggling with anything?" Jemma said. She didn't want to be dragged down by subpar study habits. Everyone here might be detail-oriented, and they might all be geniuses, but not one of them came close to her level of preparation. Jemma's outlines had outlines. Her lab reports? Things of beauty, and she could prove how beautiful and accurate all her findings were, all of the facts neatly written on her notecards and none of them out of place. Fitz wasn't a terribly messy person, but he was distracted, an unappealing trait to have in a study partner; studying required focus, or good grades and coveted fellowships didn't happen. He doodled in the margins of his notebook, too; monkeys, mostly. And...he was about to misspell a word. She reached over and took his notebook, spelled it correctly, and gave the notebook back to him. He didn't seem offended, but instead looked at the word and nodded, like he was checking to be sure it was right.
"It's right," Jemma said. "I'm sure it is."
"I believe you. Just memorizing it. I like to learn from my mistakes." Fitz nodded to himself again and finished the sentence he'd been writing down. "You're not popular here, are you?"
Jemma blinked a few times and drew back. Should she leave? What would O'Malley say?
"I mean," Fitz said, his head popping up like he'd realized how that sounded, "I mean, like... you don't have a lot of people saying 'hi'."
"In this school that isn't a flaw."
"It isn't a flaw anywhere. Just. You don't have people lining up to be your study partner, do you?"
Jemma's lips pressed together. She typed a sentence on her boring laptop while Fitz looked up some scientific journal article or other on his impressive holographic phone-computer. Jemma made sure the article came from a current issue. (No mistakes. Only the strong survive.) "Most of the students have trouble adjusting to my study methods. That's fine, they're perfectly entitled to do what they want, but I just have my way. I like order. Not every student likes it. That works for them, but it doesn't work for me. I know I can do better and so I do better. Anything less is wrong." She'd meant to say 'unacceptable', but...why not tell the truth? It wasn't like Fitz would care.
"Well, sure." Fitz rubbed the back of his neck and sat back, but then said, "You don't have to be confrontational to get people to listen to you." He took a bite of scone and pushed his notebook across the table to her. "Anything spelled wrong?"
Jemma made sure she wasn't as punctual when she went to their study sessions, and she double-checked everything just in case. She was standing outside the doors to the library, looking at the clock on her phone, waiting for the time to be exactly five minutes past the time they'd agreed to meet, and then she would walk in. It wasn't a good feeling to be the only person at any table, especially if you were surrounded by people who were supposed to have something in common with you. Being a know-it-all meant good grades and enemies. Being overly punctual meant that she'd have to sit alone. But doing it like this made sharing her study-time with someone else easier. She checked to make sure that she had all her notes in order, that her computer bag was closed, and that the laptop was actually in it; she had forgotten it once at one of her old universities, and the girls sharing her dorm had managed to hack into it and steal her notes, which they then used to cheat on their exams, and Jemma only knew they'd used her notes because the professor who had given the exams called her in and asked her about it... and he had actually accused HER of cheating, even though the other girls from Jemma's dorm had used the notes, barely even altering the terms she'd used. The professor decided to let the matter drop. But then he said, "Don't let this happen again, Miss Simmons, it isn't like you."
So revenge, then.
Imagine a room full of professors with nothing better to do with their time than debate obscure topics and review new variations of what has already been discovered and fully understood. Imagine a full-of-himself, presumptuous professor with a mind as narrow as Jemma's margin for patience at the center of the stage, expounding on his new ideas. Imagine a small, angry girl in the back of the audience get up and come down the aisle, standing in front of the professor, and roasting his raggedy tweed-covered butt. The enjoyment Jemma had taken in doing this? Unimaginable.
Then, expulsion.
And then, Coulson. He made her feel like she could be smart without having to prove it. He made her feel like she was the best without trying. Being on the Bus with Fitz and Coulson made sense. It didn't require any preparation. Now, watching Fitz try to say things and make people understand him, watching him grow more frustrated when he couldn't say things fast enough or with clarity, and watching him break things when he couldn't do what he was good at... Why did she ever think she could love someone and not get hurt? Why didn't she understand that he loved her before then? Why did she agree to get them out of there, and why did she let him get hit with all that water? Jemma had no satisfactory answers to that question, so she abandoned it. She didn't often give up on something she couldn't understand, but this time, she had more important things to think of. How could she get back down there with Ward without being seen? How could she turn off the security feeds without attracting suspicion? She was under suspicion already, so she'd need to let some time pass. She'd find the right moment. She'd give the impression of moving on, and in that time she'd help Fitz heal. Fitz wouldn't feel scared because she would be there to take care of him, she could hug him and help him take his medicine, she'd help him get through his therapy sessions, she'd make sure Mack didn't push him too much. Fitz was already making progress; he liked learning things by himself and for himself instead of learning with other people. He said it made him feel like he'd earned whatever knowledge he found. Like he'd fought for it.
"Jemma?" Coulson's voice came from her left.
She turned and smiled. "Hello, sir."
"Can I talk to you for a second?"
"Of course."
"I need you to go with May and gather intel for our next mission."
"That's field work, sir. I can't leave Fitz."
Coulson nodded and said, "I understand that, but, this is an area that requires your expertise."
"I'm sure you can find someone else."
"Jemma."
"Sir?"
"Please. Go with May. She'll brief you on the details once you're in the air."
Jemma stood. "Yes sir." She walked a few steps. Stopped. "Sir? What's the mission? Specifically. Where am I going? What am I needed for?"
Coulson didn't answer.
"Are you trying to get rid of me?" Jemma walked back to him and loomed over him, something she could only do when Coulson was sitting down. Everyone seemed to be taller than she was. She didn't like that. "I need to stay with Fitz. He needs me."
"The real you," Coulson said. "Not the girl you're turning yourself into. Sit down."
Jemma didn't want to give up her defensive stance, so she ignored the request. "I do my best work for you. I make sure every formula comes out right. I make sure Mack doesn't frighten Fitz so that HE can do HIS work, and I make sure that everything, everything is in order. Sir. Do not put me somewhere simply because you think I'm losing control. If I've lost anything," Jemma said, realizing that her voice was rising and getting thinner, maybe even whiny, and she hated it, "I will gain it back. I will restrain myself. I promise you."
"The decision's made."
"I'm the best person in the lab!" Jemma said. "I'm the best, sir."
"Not for Fitz."
"Sir--?"
"Who do you want to be, Jemma? Is this it? Is that all you have in you?" Coulson lifted his arm and pointed to the area Mack had set up for himself and Fitz. "He's not dead, and he's not blind, and he is not in any sense of the word stupid. He is one of the smartest people I know. Like, he could hold an in-depth conversation with Bruce Banner. You really think that he wouldn't see you changing? You really think that I wouldn't?"
Jemma refused to cry. She...refused... "I understand, sir. I've let my emotions get in the way of my work. I won't let it happen again."
"Yes you will. You're you. So, Agent Simmons. I order you to go with Agent May on this assignment. I'll have Daisy contact you when we need you to return. Understood?"
Jemma nodded.
"I'm sorry."
"Of course you are, sir," Jemma said. "You're you." She went to get her things together, and only when she was alone did she let the tears start to fall.