This was written over the weekend before the newest ep and was what I thought the Cambridge Incident was. It is now no longer canon but since I'm attempting to sort out this account I thought, hey, lets post this here also!
It had stared of as a normal day for Dr. Jemma Simmons. She had woken up at 5:45 am like she did every morning, made her breakfast, and checked the news. She felt her heart drop upon reading the headline. A dozen Inhumans had been killed during a Hydra raid yesterday. A dozen. Killed simply because they were different.
The war between Hydra and the Inhumans had been going on for years now, ever since Hydra overthrew S.H.I.E.L.D.. And in recent months, ever since there had been more and more transformations, more and more of them public, the fighting had gotten worse. Guerrilla tactics were being used, and the fighting had turned dirty.
But Jemma, she tried to get on with life as best she could.
Throwing the rest of her breakfast in the bin, she left her apartment, ensuring the door was locked behind her. Making her way quickly down the steps, the elevator broken once again, she mentally went over the lectures she was planning in her head for the day. She had a group of first year students, who were only beginning her module that day and head of the science department had told her not to push them to hard.
She had simply rolled her eyes, saying that it was Cambridge that they were attending, but she had agreed in the end.
Exiting the complex, she found it was a grey morning, the sun threatening to, but not quite able to, break through the clouds. Pulling her scarf around her face, she made her way across the street and down the road to the bus stop. It was one of the earliest buses, not one that anyone else really caught. But it was nice.
She liked it.
And it was on time for once.
Boarding, she flashed her travel pass and greeted the bus driver, Martin, and took her usual seat. One beside the window, not at the back and not at the front either. Sighing, she placed her earbuds in, and pressed play on the podcast that she was currently enjoying one. One about true crimes forensics. Everyone thought it was a bit odd, that she was a bit of an odd bird, but she didn't mind. She wouldn't be Jemma Simmons otherwise.
The early morning roads leading to the University of Cambridge were empty, making the commute even more relaxing and enjoyable. And finally, she reached her stop. She exited the bus, but not before thanking Martin. Her parents had raised her to be well mannered after all and headed to the lecture theatre, the day so far being like any other.
The class, the ones who had attended anyway, had seemed to enjoy what she talked about, a few more than others. She supposed that was natural, there would always be topics in classes that people enjoyed more than others. But the class, despite being only a number of years younger than her, seemed to respect her, but they also seemed to like her, laughing at her bad jokes and taking notes.
So, unlike so many other lectures she had taken, she could describe it as having gone well. It had been an uneventful morning, why wouldn't it be? And she was more than looking forward to her lunch. A new café had opened no more than ten minutes walk away, and she was intending on heading there when she felt it.
The ground shaking.
Gasps and cries of horror came from other students.
Then came the bang.
One of the biggest she had ever heard and the whole world lurched violently from under her.
She collapsed, unable to stand and glass from the windows rained down on her.
Cries of pain and shock came from around her.
Blinking the dust out of her eyes, she looked up, and saw that it was dust. It was Terrigen Mist. Someone had set of a Terrigen bomb. Possibly in response to the attack on Inhumans yesterday. And all around her, handfuls of people were transforming, the cocoon of rock coating them.
She knew she had to get out of there, it wouldn't be long before Hydra reared their ugly head. But she also knew she couldn't. She was a trained medical professional, and all around her people were injured, people were hurt.
They needed help.
Help that she could provide.
So she stayed. And worked out what to do next.
And she had no idea who to help first. People, injured, where everywhere around her. People breaking out of cocoons, unable to hold their powers in, were causing more damage and destruction.
But it was a cry of a mother that alerted her the most, someone begging for their son to be helped. Scrabbling to her feet, slightly uneasy as her mind swam, Jemma walked over to where she was.
The boy, no more than five, was hugged tight to her mother, a distance look in his eyes. Glass had rained down and coated his blonde hair, and blood seeped from a cut on his head.
"Can you help?" the mother asked as Jemma knelt down next to them, producing a first aid kit from her bag.
Jemma nodded. "It's worse than it looks," she said after making the first initial examination. "Head wounds tend to bleed a lot, but no damage is really caused."
"So he's going to be fine?" Then she shushed her son who cried out once Jemma started to wipe away the blood.
"He will," Jemma informed, taking a new wipe and depositing of the bloodied one. "But take him to the hospital. He'll need stiches and he'll have a concussion so no school or anything for a couple of days." She smiled at the young boy in the hopes that he would like her idea.
And she was right.
He giggled at this.
Jemma gave a soft smile, and reached into her medical kit, turning her head for a bandage and when she looked back, she found that the mother and son where no longer there. That she was fleeing with him in her arms. Jemma had no idea why and was about to call her back but the woman was soon lost to the confusion and chaos that reigned. The dust had settled but smoke still lingered and sirens filled the air, not just the emergency services on their way but Hydra.
Oh.
Hydra.
That might have been why they fled.
She looked behind her, and saw two Hydra operatives standing there and before she could do anything, one had her arm in his hand and was yanking her to her feet.
She tried to protest, she really did but her pleas fell on deaf ears and he forced her up against the wall, the stone biting hard into the back of her head.
"This the one?" the one who didn't have a hold of her asked.
The other one nodded. "Yeah, what's the orders?"
The first man laughed. "The same as they always are."
The sinking feeling she had experienced that morning returned but tenfold. "Please," she asked, trying not to beg but failing. "Please, I'm not who you think I am!"
The man holding her against the wall dropped one arm but it still wasn't enough for Jemma to fight her way out of his grip. He reached for his weapon.
"Please," Jemma begged. "Please."
He raised the gun, pointing it at her head and pulled the trigger, not even a hint of remorse on his face.
Jemma dropped to the ground instantly.
Dead.
The funeral of Jemma Anne Simmons was a simple affair in a church year in Sheffield. It was what she would have wanted.
Her family, and what few friends she had, were there. But they didn't want to be there. They didn't want to be at funeral of someone so young, who still had so much left to give.
Who had been killed in such a brutal way.
Her death had all but broken her mother, seeing what had happened to her daughter. She had only been trying to help but she had been killed for that.
Murdered.
And for that, Adelle Simmons was never going to forgive Hydra. They had taken her daughter from her.
Footsteps echoed across the churchyard, branches breaking under foot as he approached her. "Didn't think I would see you here," he stated as he made his way to stand beside her.
She shrugged, turning to face him and pulled her sunglasses down. "It's not every day that you get to go to your own funeral."
Hunter just sighed, staring at Jemma standing there. She was dressed in a hoodie, the hood pulled to cover most of her face and sunglasses covering the rest and simple black leggings. "You're hurting yourself," he said and he knew that Jemma knew that too. She was like a little sister to him and seeing her in pain was the last thing that he wanted.
"A bullet to the brain also hurts Lance," she replied, rolling her eyes before pushing the sunglasses back up.
Hunter had to admit, she was probably right. And if it hadn't been for her Inhuman powers, she probably wouldn't even be standing there. She would be the one in the coffin, not the dummy they had replaced her with.
When Hydra had rounded up the Inhumans, they had left Jemma there. They must have known she was Inhuman, part of the Resistance. They wanted to leave a message. They had almost missed retrieving her, medical professionals already there but all it had taken was one fake ID.
When they first found her, she had been all but dead but when they returned to base, the examining doctor had almost had a heart attack when she woke up gasping. Jemma, being the genius she was, had someone managed to place the injury that she had received, with milliseconds to spare, on the Hydra solider who had shot her, then lowered her metabolism, altered her biochemistry to make it seem like she was dead.
And now, looking at her, you wouldn't have thought she had nearly suffered a fatal bullet wound to the brain, save the bruise that still marred her forehead. "Jemma," Hunter tried again and she looked at him again. "We need to leave. We can't be… you can't be seen here."
"I want to…" she began, her voice breaking. "I want to make sure she's okay, they're okay."
Jemma looked back to her parent, Rupert Simmons holding his wife close as the coffin was finally lowered into the ground. It would be, to them, the last time they ever saw their daughter, and maybe also the other way around. Jemma knew she would have to go into hiding now, help the Resistance from underground. There was no way she could stay here anymore. Not after what had happened.
Not after what Hydra had done.
They hadn't only killed her to those who knew her, they put out a message, her face plastered over so many forms of media, listing her as one of the most dangerous Inhumans. It was why so few people had showed up at her funeral who had known her through her life. Teachers, colleagues. They didn't want to be associated with her.
Not after what she had become.
"C'mon," Hunter said, knocking her out of her thoughts. He held out a hand for her. "Let's go."
"Where?" she asked.
"Home," he replied because the base they were currently using for operations, until they would have to leave, was home. And Jemma Simmons fully intended to make it home.
Sighing, she took his hand, allowing him to guide her away from the life that she had known.
But she was going to fix this. Make the world right.
Make it a place where people like her could live.
Even if she had to tear a hole in the fabric of reality or destroy the Universe.
She was going to do it.
I'm just a massive fan of big brother Lance. Thanks for checking out, hope you guys enjoyed and feel free to leave a comment!