There were a few times he'd been afraid.
Well, more than a few, he supposed distantly. The rhythmic dance his fingers performed on the keyboard wavered for an instant as his mind wandered, but he shook his head and continued. Pale blue eyes were weary behind their glasses; the dark circles beneath them were only accentuated by the stark lighting of the computer screen.
Of course, he was afraid every time XANA attacked. It was a nagging worry, constant so long as a tower was activated, whispering through his mind when he neglected the Superscan for more than a few hours.
It was different. Mild, but persistent. Typical, but annoying, nonetheless.
The fear he felt when he gazed directly into the sign of XANA, when lightning crackled endlessly over his skin, when he couldn't breathe-
It was different. He remembered that fear vividly, and he remembered thinking, "I'm going to die," each and every time it struck him.
It was natural though, he knew. Everyone feared death; it was encoded in the humans' natural sense of self-preservation. It didn't make it any less terrifying, but it was reassuring to know that at least others understood.
His breath caught in his throat, and he drew his hands from the keyboard. Absently, he rubbed his wrists, feeling the familiar ache in the tendons and the shooting numbness down his fingers. He knew that it would worsen with time, but he couldn't afford to take a break.
He couldn't afford to make any mistakes. He closed his eyes and leaned back in his swivel chair, the throb in the back of his skull easing marginally.
His chest tightened. He couldn't take breaks. He couldn't make mistakes. Otherwise, he had nothing going for him- he was useless to his friends, and then, they wouldn't need him anymore, they wouldn't like him-
Jeremie returned to staring at the screen before him. He was so tired. His wrists hurt and his eyes ached, but the thought of going to bed made him feel sick to his stomach.
The others didn't need him. Aelita could run the supercomputer and create programs. He needed to useful.
And so, he leaned forward, and his fingers began soaring across the keyboard once again. Occasionally, he'd pause. He'd rub his eyes or his arms, and he'd consider getting some sleep, but he always returned to the computer.
Maybe if he did, they'd like him. Maybe... they wouldn't blame him when things went wrong next time, if he could prove he could work just as hard as they needed him to.
Finally, his body gave in and he slumped over his desk, eyes shut and breathing smooth. A steady stream of 'J's flooded the line of coding he was working on.
Even his worst fear couldn't combat his body's basic necessities, after all.