Jemma Simmons' life fell apart on a Tuesday.
A simple, ordinary Tuesday, much like any other Tuesday except for the fact that Grant Ward was HYDRA….as was John Garrett and… her team was gone…. Dead… (No don't think that. Coulson had survived being dead, and this wasn't nearly as bad as that and Melinda May was Melinda FREAKING CALVARY MAY….) and Jemma Simmons was flexicuffed in a Hydra truck sitting next to John Garrett who just wouldn't SHUT UP.
"Did I ever tell you about the time that I went through the skylight? I thought I was done for, but I still emptied…" he asked a rather enthralled Ward who acted as thought it was the very first time he had heard the story.
After far too long (six very long stories; none of which could be true based on the laws of physics that Jemma knew intimately unless they had been overturned by HYDRA also), Ward decided to take a long drink from a water bottle. Her mouth was quite dry, and he smiled, a distinctively unWard like smile as he offered her a drink. She pretended to play along, to appear grateful. She drank enough to wet her lips but then she took a larger gulp. Then as Ward pulled the bottle away from her, she spat at him. A pitiful act of defiance.
Garrett roared his approval of her spunk but Ward's eyes darkened into a murderous rage because she had embarrassed him in front of Garrett. He was close to hitting her with the rifle butt, determine to regain Garrett's respect, but then Garrett put out his hand. The blow never landed as Ward was Garrett's trained dog.
"Bakshi wants her brains intact, not splattered on the truck wall," Garrett stated mildly. He exhaled and smiled at Jemma. "Ward has no sense of control. It's one of his many weaknesses as you saw when he killed Fitz. I've tried to teach Ward control, but some people lack motivation to overcome their beginnings."
It was a barbed comment directed toward Ward as the younger man's face fell at his mentor's chastisement.
A jovial Garrett continued, "Now, Simmons, I'm sure you'll have proper motivation soon enough, but it's for the best if you willing change your alliance. You're far too physically fragile for Bakshi's motivation."
"Never," she insisted.
Garrett pouted. An honest to God pout and then he brightened. "Still loyal to Coulson, I see. It was the cupcakes, wasn't it?"
Garrett knew that Coulson had brought Fitz Simmons cupcakes when he was struggling to convince them to join his team.
"HYDRA can offer you far better things than cupcakes," Garrett assured her.
Jemma Simmons said nothing, instead she tried to focus on being strong, and not crumbling due to fear and grief.
Garrett helped her out of the truck. In grateful appreciation for his assistance, she attempted to kick him in the 'nads. Instead of getting angry, he just flipped her over his shoulder and loudly laughed while she struggled.
"Kid's got spunk," he informed Ward. "Shame you didn't learn anything from her. Come on Jemma, we're off to see the Wizard, aka Bakshi."
Sunil Bakshi was a rarity, a Shark impersonating a human, who also wore a flawless suit. If he wasn't a soulless member of HYDRA, she would have thought he was rather handsome. However, she had learned that pretty packages often hid a rancid inside. (See Ward, Grant.)
"Dr. Simmons," he urbanely stated as John Garrett placed her in a chair. "Please accept my apologies for your rough treatment. I would have preferred not to have been forced to have you endure that. A bad first impression is almost impossible to overcome."
A bright, dead smile was offered and Jemma struggled to hide her fear. Meanwhile, John Garrett leaned against the wall and faked disinterest. The truth of the matter was that he was deeply invested in Simmons joining HYDRA willingly as his Deathlok enhancements were failing. Odds would have been better for his long term survival if Fitz had been captured, but the engineering genius had escaped.
However, he had lied to Simmons because he was a desperate bastard. Her emotional identity was heavily bound to being the Simmons of Fitz Simmons. Rip that from her, take SHIELD away from her, and quite possibly she would willingly join HYDRA.
Yeah, and he had a bridge in NYC to sell.
"You come with sterling recommendations," Bakshi continued, as he reviewed her profile on his tablet. "I am quite interested in having someone of your skills work for us."
"Never," Jemma protested.
"Your organization is shattered, your team dead," Bakshi calmly stated. "Your employment opportunities are rather limited since you don't have the possibility of positive references from your previous employer."
"Thank you, but I'm not interested," Jemma offered. "If you'd let me go, you can interview the next candidate. I'll need these removed, please."
She extended her restrained wrists toward Bakshi, who merely blinked, once, twice, three times. The silence spread and spread until Bakshi smiled his dead smile.
"I'm terribly sorry, you are the only qualified applicant," Bakshi finally explained. "We would prefer that your cooperation, however if necessary we can ensure that you… comply … with our requests."
John Garrett didn't like that idea, because he found Comply by Hydra method a tad bit too enthusiastic. Muscle memory remained but the important stuff, like how does one jump start a life support system that been a best at stop gap measure at keeping someone alive, was often found leaking out of one's ears after one of Bakshi's motivational sessions.
"Take her to a holding cell," Bakshi commanded Kaminsky and Jack Rollins. Much to his annoyance, both HYDRA personnel had difficulty controlling the slight woman. He waited to speak to Garrett until after Kaminsky had stunned Simmons and carried her out of the room.
"There's someone I wouldn't playing doctor patient with," John Garrett announced to Sunil Bakshi. Garrett watched as Bakski's lips thinned in nearly hidden disapproval as he thought Garrett was being crass.
Why yes he was, but like everything he did, it was done deliberately, with a goal in sight. Bakshi was a street rat, he endeavored to hide it underneath a layer of acquired sophistication and poshness, but Garrett enjoyed picking at the cracks, hoping to reveal the true Bakshi.
"Your staff needs remediation if they can't subdue a ninety pound woman," snapped Bakshi.
Garrett let Bakshi's censure roll over his back and return back to the universe. Very zenlike attitude, but it really IRKED Bakshi as his nostrils flared. And WIN for Garrett.
"Your usual methods of ensuring compliance may be too intensive for that delicate flower," Garrett stated. He had to be careful, push him toward the goal of keeping Simmons' intelligence intact, but her focus towards a different goal.
I am a dying man, grasping at straws.
"You are dismissed, Garrett," Bakshi ordered.
Like the dutiful, dying dog that he was, Garrett nodded his head in easy agreement. As he was about to leave the room, he stopped to give Bakshi sufficient intel to push him into acting the way Garrett required. "She'll probably attempt something noble and stupid," Garrett informed Bakshi. "Starvation diet, or provoking Rumlow about his receding hairline so he gets pissed enough to kill her. And for the record, I didn't bring that psychopath onboard. Some dogs need to be put down when the madness comes on."
Garrett wasn't surprised when he and Ward were assigned clean up duties, as Bakshi was a prissy bitch. He cleaned, he organized, he catalogued the various toys in the fridge (and kept a few!). He faux listened to Ward bitch, bitch, bitch about the ignominy of it all. After a week, he was returned back to civilization.
"How's Brains?" he asked. "Is she complying yet?"
Because really, how much could they screw things up?
Plenty, he realized.
It was time for Garrett to take over. Idiots! Every single one of them.
Jemma Simmons had been subjected to several days of the Faustus Compliance Training. She had stared at the screen and repeated the mantra until Bakshi and Whitehall were convinced that she was HYDRA. She had been tested, had passed, and then she had returned to her room where she had opened her wrists in an attempt to join her team and her family in whatever the afterlife was.
Quickly, professionally and ultimately unsuccessful.
They had hospitalized her and even now she was restrained to her bed in the hospital ward. There wasn't much she could do to continue to fight her capture, but her hunger strike was now in its third day. A feeding tube was threatened, but she still held true to her goal until John Garrett arrived in her hospital room.
"Come along, bring it in, and then you can leave," he explained. He sat down next to Jemma's bedside and he shook his head in fake paternal disapproval.
There was a rattle of carts and the most delicious aroma filled the air.
Roast. Gravy. Yorkshire pudding. Cauliflower cheese. Plus swedes and…. Her mouth watered and her stomach further betrayed her by growling.
"I think this meal promises to be far better than cupcakes," John Garrett informed her. "However, we will have to take it slowly as you've been a very bad girl, Simmons. We will start off on broth and work our way towards solid food."
He placed his one hand on her face and forced her mouth to open. Far more gently than Rumlow had tried, as that had left her with bruises, but still with sufficient pressure for her mouth to open. He took a ladle of broth and placed it against her lips.
"Open your mouth, here comes the helicopter," he began.
Sunil Bakshi and Daniel Whitehall observed John Garrett force-feeding Jemma Simmons. He succeeded in having her down eight ounces of chicken broth with a few spoonful of mashed vegetables, a HYDRA victory in the battle against Jemma Simmons' formidable willpower.
"The modified Faustus protocol will start tonight," Bakshi announced to Whitehall, who nodded his head once. "Do you wish any modifications after watching the dinner and show?"
"I've already revised the protocol, so you will start the regiment tonight," Whitehall informed Bakshi. "Inform Garrett that she will be his responsibility henceforth. I predict that Dr. Simmons will be elated being the recipient of his attentions."
Whitehall nodded his head, so Bakshi realized he was dismissed.
Jemma Simmons almost didn't notice when the classical music began to play in her hospital room. Gabriel Fauré - Pavane, Op. 50, she realized which quickly segued into Venus, Bringer of Peace. Her eyes were closing during Lady Radnor' Suite, Slow Minuet, a futile battle against a physical lassitude that had to be chemically induced. When Sunil Bakshi arrived in her room, complete with whiff of brimstone, she was too stoned to verbally protest.
"Dr. Simmons," he began in his smooth, cultured tones. "Your employer wished to reassure you that in spite of your recent health issues, your offer of employment has not been rescinded. In fact, we pride ourselves on our Employee Assistance Program, so you will receive much needed mental health assistance, as much as you require, as you recover from your nervous breakdown."
Even while somewhere down deep, Jemma Simmons screamed a futile protest, she found herself answering, "Thank you for understanding, Mr. Bakshi."
"Just listen to the classical music, it's been selected specifically for your emotional health," he explained in the honey tones of a viper. "I was quite delighted when you ate for your visitor. He will be making regular visits to ensure that you eat. A healthy body, a healthy mind are completely intertwined. Now go to sleep, Dr. Simmons and dream of a word at peace."
The sounds of Sospiri, Op. 70 guided her to sleep.
She wore long sleeves during her first week in the lab. Everyone seemed aloof, no doubt knowing about her nervous breakdown, so she concentrated on her work, struggled to do her best. A few thoughts would float to her mind, as though there was a separate mental Jemma screaming at her to fight, fight, fight, but she repeated the mantra and calmed her unease.
Jemma Simmons was lonely though. No friends, and John Garrett hadn't visited her once since her discharge. Not once, even though he had been roped into feeding her at the hospital.
Well, perhaps she'd go to the Bucket of Suds for happy hour and karaoke. Sit in the back of the room and pretend that she had friends. (She didn't, as they were all dead, dead, dead).
She was walking to the parking lot when she heard a familiar voice call her name. Jemma Simmons turned to face John Garrett and she felt… giddy. Unbelievably giddy… like a school girl with a crush…. even while her mental Jemma screamed a futile protest that something was seriously wrong if she was crushing on JOHN GARRETT. HYDRA CYBORG.
"You doing anything?" Garrett asked. "A pretty girl like you must be going out on a Friday night."
He thought she was pretty!
"No, not doing anything," she admitted.
"How about dinner?" John asked.
"It's a date," she blurted, even as she blushed.
And John Garrett smiled.