Jemma takes a moment to compose herself as she has to tell off yet another one of the agents swarming the lab she and Leo share. It's been nearly two says since the explosion on the bridge, since Mike had been killed and Phil had been abducted, but she can't seem to get the sound out of her ears. She can't seem to shift her mind to a lower gear—she wonders what will become of Ace, she wonders what they've done with Phil. She wonders what they're doing to Phil.
She's afraid of what they're doing to him.
"No, no, no!" she says for what feels like the hundredth time. "How many times do I have to say it: You do not need that much to stun them! Any more than that and you will kill your intended target. If you aren't going to respect the effects of this dendrotoxin, then leave it to someone who does. And who actually knows what they're doing, I might add."
The agent flounders uselessly, giving her the same cookie-cutter line as the others had. He's just following protocol, he's just following orders, he's just doing as Agent Hand had asked. And really, she knows it's not their fault, but it's all still enough to drive her mad. An hour ago she'd said they could use the fresh eyes, but now she can't help but feel that perhaps Leo and Grant had been right. She's frazzled as it is without having to hold the hand of every agent that Hand sends stumbling into their lab. Don't they understand that this requires very precise measurements? Don't they understand that the slightest miscalculation is the difference between incapacitating the target and eliminating them? Do they care? Likely not, from what she can tell.
"I'd take her word for it. I've been on the business end of one of those before; believe me, it's not pretty."
Jemma nearly drops the vial in her hands out of surprise. Jasper is standing in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets and regarding her fondly. She's grateful beyond measure when he looks pointedly at the agent standing next to her, causing said agent to flee the premises with the sort of haste that is nearly admirable in times like these. A sigh of relief leaves her as Jasper occupies the space beside her that had recently been vacated.
"I got your text," he says, by way of greeting.
"I didn't know if you'd be able to make it," Jemma says, fiddling with the dendrotoxin distractedly.
"Technically, I'm not supposed to be here," Jasper admits, shrugging one shoulder. "So I can't stay long, but I figured this was a bit of protocol I'd have to break."
Jemma's mouth forms an 'o' of shock before she answers. "I don't want you to get in trouble."
He shakes his head, dismissing the notion. "How are you holding up?"
"Oh, well, you know… just fine. Fine," Jemma answers. "Only it's been ages and we haven't got the slightest clue where they've taken him or what they want with him."
"You'll find him," Jasper assures her. "And in the meantime, Phil's a tough bastard. He'll manage."
"But this shouldn't have happened in the first place," she protests, willing her hands not to shake as she fits the small vial into the cartridge before her. She's so scared and she's so worried and she's so very, very angry. "They just took him and he just went with them and now the Bus is filled with all of these agents who seem to be interested in doing anything but getting Agent Coulson back and it seems to me that he's Agent Hand's lowest priority and I beg your pardon but how dare she come onto our plane and just take over like this when all we're trying to do is just…!"
She has to stop to breathe, her chest heaving with pent up frustration. She's just sprung a leak, but she has to batten down the hatches and do it quick. Falling apart at the seams isn't going to help anyone here. She's stronger than this. She knows she is.
"It's been thirty-seven hours since he was taken," Jasper prods. "When was the last time any of you took a break?"
Jemma fumbles for a response, the question catching her off guard. "I'm… I'm not sure, we've just been—I mean, since it happened I don't suppose any of us considered stopping."
"Then do me a favor and put this aside," Jasper says.
She opens her mouth to protest, but he cuts her off.
"An hour max," he promises.
She shakes her head. "I need to make sure the proper dosage is applied to these rounds."
"Jemma."
The way he says her name is gentle but firm, leaving no room for argument. There's a hand pressed to the small of her back but she keeps her eyes trained on the vials and rounds before her because if she makes eye contact with him she knows she'll give in. And she can't. They can't afford to stop, not for anything. The hand retracts and she inhales shakily.
"Then I'm ordering both of you to take a break," he says. As they begin to babble about how they shouldn't, about how they can't step away from their work for even a moment, Jasper presses his fingers to his lips and a shrill whistle hushes both of them. Phil usually just holds up a finger to garner their silence, but this method seems to work just as well. "That wasn't a suggestion, agents, it was an order. I shouldn't have to remind you that when a senior agent gives you an order, you obey it. You will each take a break from your work for no less than sixty minutes. Have I made myself clear?"
There's some hesitation from each of them. Jemma glances across the lab at Leo and one look tells her he feels the same—that taking a break doesn't sit well with either of them. After seeing some of the horrific things Centipede has done, none of them are keen on letting Phil remain in the insidious organization's possession for a second longer than necessary. Taking a break means they aren't actively working towards retrieving him, which means letting him down. For every moment they're not doing something to help him, they could be hurting him.
"I'm waiting, agents," Jasper says.
"Yes, sir," they murmur together.
"Exactly," Jasper says crisply.
"Fitz, you can go first," Jemma announces.
"No, you can go first," Leo counters.
"I would really prefer it if you would go first," Jemma says, sending a meaningful stare his way.
Leo narrows his eyes, Jemma rolls hers in response. Oh, want to spend some extra private time with your secret boyfriend, do you? No, it's not like that at all, grow up! They may as well have spoken these things aloud, but really, there's no need to. There are so many things that can pass between them without so much as an uttered syllable that identical twins would be jealous.
"You're both going now," Jasper says, quickly taking control of the situation. "I'll speak to Agent Hand and have the lab placed on lockdown until you're back."
"Yes, sir," Leo says, looking and sounding none-too pleased with the situation.
"You said you weren't supposed to be here. Won't you be in some sort of trouble by announcing that you're here?" Jemma asks. She remembers herself and hurriedly tacks on, "Sir."
"I checked in with Agent Hand before I stepped foot on the Bus," Jasper says. He shoves his hands in his pockets. "Look, I understand that you don't want to stop what you're doing. I've been there. But the fact of the matter is, however much you think you're contributing by pushing yourselves to stay on task, you have to reconsider. Your ability to remain focused is commendable, but without giving yourselves a break, you could actually be doing more harm than good. Take a breather and come back with a clearer head and the problem won't seem as mountainous as it does now."
Jemma admits that it certainly makes a great deal of sense, but it doesn't make her feel any less guilty, not does it relieve her uneasiness.
"You're not helping Agent Coulson by running yourselves into the ground. Pushing yourselves past the point of exhaustion is counterproductive," Jasper says, driving his point home. "And I guarantee that when he finds out you've gone one like this, he'll be pissed."
Leo snorts, but doesn't argue.
"An hour," he says. "No more."
"No more," Jasper assures him.
This is how Jemma and Leo end up sitting in her bunk with the door locked, halfheartedly picking at sandwiches despite their appetites and engaged in quiet, subdued conversation. The brief respite from having their home invaded is much needed; she can see that now that they're in the relative quiet of her quarters. But with the silence the guilt just seems to weigh down all that much heavier on their hearts.
Only ten minutes has passed before there's a knock on the door. Jemma shares a look with Leo before rising from her bunk to unlock the door. They're both pleased to find it's simply Jasper waiting for them on the other side. He doesn't make a move to come in—not that the cramped quarters would have allowed him much room to do so anyway.
"Just wanted to check and make sure you were following orders," he says.
Leo lifts his partially eaten sandwich as proof, rising as he does so. "Think I'm going to have a lie down. Excuse me."
Jemma knows that Leo isn't lying—they're both exhausted and sleep, even in a limited quantity, would be a blessing. But she's no fool either. He's cut out just now because he wants to give her and Jasper time alone. She's not sure if she's grateful or embarrassed, but is most likely a combination of the two. When Leo has successfully locked himself in his own bunk, she looks to the senior agent before her.
"Would you like to sit down?" she asks, gesturing to the bed behind her.
"You should probably take a leaf out of Agent Fitz's book," Jasper says.
She probably should. It's just that she knows she will just spend the next hour staring up at the ceiling, her mind abuzz with too many thoughts to afford her any sleep. If left alone, she knows she's just going to work herself up until she's forced to abandon any thoughts of taking a break and throw herself into her work once more.
"Would you please sit down?" she amends.
There's a beat of silence before he agrees with a nod and steps inside. She shuts the door behind him before they both take a seat on her bed. He sits with his hands clasped between his knees and watches her, waiting for her to say something, perhaps.
"You said you've been here before," Jemma says.
He hums curiously, prompting her to clarify.
"Earlier, in the lab, you said you'd been in this situation before," she says.
"Multiple times with various people," Jasper answers. "But if you're referring to Phil specifically, then yeah, I've been there. I stand by what I said, though: he's a tough bastard."
"And how did you handle the waiting?" she asks him. "The not knowing?"
"About the same way all of you are," Jasper says. He shrugs with an apologetic grin when she gives him a look that is none-too-pleased. "I'm telling you to take a break now because there were a handful of times that I wish I'd had someone to do the same for me. It makes you feel better to keep working because at least then it feels like you're working towards something, but the reality is that you don't know when you'll get him back. You don't know how long this is going to take or when you might be asked to move out. It's been thirty-seven hours and it might be another thirty-seven hours; we just don't know."
"I don't think I could stand another thirty-seven hours of this," Jemma admits.
"It won't take that long," Jasper says. "You'll find him before then."
"I've told you before that I don't like it when people tell me things just to spare my feelings," Jemma tells him.
"I remember," Jasper says. "Which is why I wouldn't dream of it."
Jemma sighs loudly, rubbing at her dry, tired eyes. "But you can't possibly know that."
"True, I can't know," Jasper says. "But I can believe."
She glances at him, waiting silently for an explanation. He shifts in his seat, leaning just slightly towards her.
"Did you know that Director Fury refers to Phil as his 'One Good Eye'?" he asks her.
"No, I didn't," she answers.
"Can you guess why Director Fury refers to him that way?" Jasper queries.
She shakes her head.
"It's because that's his talent. He looks at someone and sees the good in them, sees the potential in them that no one else can. He knows how to foster growth and manifest that potential," Jasper says. "That's something I can attest to first hand. I'm not saying he saved me from anything; I did that myself. But he was instrumental in the process that shaped me into becoming something I never would have dreamed of otherwise."
He pauses, as though for reflection, and Jemma can see he's a million miles away. She knows that Phil and Jasper are old friends, she knows that Phil was Jasper's S.O., but she knows very little of their relationship otherwise. How deep that river runs, she just can't say. Someday perhaps that will change. For now, the moment is gone and Jasper's attentions are back on her.
"He was allowed to hand-pick this team. He could have chosen anyone in the entirety of S.H.I.E.L.D., could have had any of the specialists, the veterans, the living legends that our organization lays claim to," Jasper says. "And he chose you. All of you. Phil's always been kind of funny in that regard. He claims he's not a betting man and yet he plays some of the most dangerous odds I've ever seen. Odds like the Avengers Initiative. So when he chose all of you for this team, it was for a good reason. It was because he saw something in each of you that no one else did and that you probably haven't figured out for yourselves yet. But it's there. He chooses to believe in all of you and that's why I believe you'll find him."
Jemma wishes she was so sure. But they've never dealt with something like this before. Before coming onto the Bus, she and Leo weren't even cleared for field duty. Granted, they've made progress, but they're still not really cleared for it, are they? Skye isn't even really an agent. They've got Melinda and Grant who are capable agents, but between the five of them can they really do this? She has to hope that they can. She has to believe that the faith Phil has put in them isn't unfounded. She has to try.
"You can do this. But you have to stay sharp and that means giving yourself a break once in a while," Jasper tells her. "So when the time for action comes, you'll be ready."
She nods. There's no other option because she can't even consider the possibility that they might not find him. They don't even know what Centipede wants with him. It had seemed fairly cut and dry as to why they wanted Mike, but Phil… what use could they have for him other than a bartering chip of some kind? And yet there's been no attempt by them to use him in that manner. True, he is a Level 8 operative, but what sort of information could they hope to get out of him that would be of any use to them?
Lost in her own thoughts, she barely notices as an arm makes its way around her shoulders. Jaspers leaves his touch light, giving her time to give him the signal to back off. Instead, she leans into him. His arm tightens around her and she drops her head onto his shoulder, letting her eyes fall shut with a soft sigh.
"You really should sleep," he says quietly.
"I know," Jemma answers. "I'd like to stay like this for a little. If that's alright."
"It's alright."
She can hardly remember the last time she'd sat with someone like this who wasn't Leo. She should feel nervous—and part of her does—but mostly she just feels at ease, reassured by his presence. It may have to do with the fact that Jasper understands how she feels about this situation as few others possibly could. It should feel strange being so close to someone she's only met in person twice now, but it hardly feels that way at all. All those phone calls and text messages have to amount to something, don't they?
"Are you worried?" she murmurs.
"I'm worried," he answers.
"Even though you believe we'll get him back?"
"Even though I believe you'll get him back," he agrees. He pats her arm. "Now come on, get some sleep."
She really would rather not move. As far as she's concerned, there's no reason to move. In fact, she's fairly certain she could sleep just as she is now, although she's not sure how Jasper would feel about being used as a human pillow.
"Something tells me I'm not going to get you to move," Jasper says, sounding vaguely amused by the idea.
"Well, if you'd really like me to move I certainly can," Jemma mumbles.
"I could ask you," Jasper says, "but I think I've got a better idea. Scoot back a bit."
Jemma pries herself from his side long enough to comply, pushing back on the bed until her back touches the wall. Jasper follows suit, leaning back against the wall before lifting his arm again. In no time flat, she's molded to his side like a limpet on a rock, her legs tucked up and her arm across his middle.
"Better?" he asks.
"Much," she answers. "But won't you be uncomfortable this way?"
"I think I can stand it for an hour," Jasper says.
"Forty-two minutes," she corrects him, even as she shuts her eyes.
He chuckles; an action she feels as much as hears. "Well, excuse me."
"You're excused," she murmurs. "Just don't forget."
"Forty-two minutes from now, your alarm will go off," Jasper tells her. "I promise."
Jemma doesn't say much more to that, only humming in acknowledgement as she slowly allows herself to drift off, tucked against his side. He's running a hand gently up and down her back, his fingertips trailing lazily along her spine. She thinks that he might keep talking, that he might be whispering soft, reassuring things to her… but that could very well be just a dream.
It's the middle of the night and Jemma is still a ball of nervous energy. They'd managed to find Phil and rescue him, but not long after he'd been back he was mysteriously absent again. She trusted Melinda's judgment, knowing that she wouldn't have allowed Phil to drive off without reason, and sure enough he'd only been gone a few hours before he parked Lola in the loading bay and retreated to his office.
She rolls over, burying her face in her pillow and inhaling deeply. It still smells vaguely of Jasper's cologne. He'd been gone when she'd woken to her alarm—forty-two minutes later—but there had been a note stuck to her clock which had read:
Sorry I had to run; not exactly my idea of an ideal first date. I'll make it up to you the next time we can manage some face time. In the meantime, hang in there. I know you'll find him.
Talk to you soon.
- Jasper
She picks the sticky note up now, rereading the words and studying his handwriting. The thought of texting him crosses her mind, but she decides against it. Perhaps in the morning. But sleep won't come easy, so with concern gnawing at her insides, she rises from her bed and exits her bunk. They've all decided to spend the night on the Bus, despite being docked—perhaps it's because they've all grown accommodated to a feeling of safety here and after an ordeal such as this one, it's something they all sorely need; that feeling of home.
Everyone is asleep as far as she knows, so that's why she's surprised to find she isn't the only one having trouble sleeping. Of all of them, she'd least expected to find Phil sitting on the sofa. It had been clear when they'd retrieved him that the experience had been trying, traumatic and exhausting for him, so she'd figured he would be sleeping much of it off. Seeing him there now, though, she feels her concerns multiply.
He's sitting on the sofa, his head bowed, his shoulders hunched and his hands clasped tightly before him as though in prayer. Perhaps he is praying. She realizes she's not sure if he's even religious or not.
"Sir?" Jemma ventures softly.
His head whips up sharply, as though he'd somehow forgotten he wasn't alone on the Bus. "…Jemma."
"Are you alright?" she asks, taking a step closer.
He smiles in a way that is meant to be reassuring, but which lacks his usual strength.
"I'm fine," he says. "Just some trouble sleeping."
"Are your injuries bothering you?" she asks. "Headaches? Double vision? Nausea or vomiting?"
"No," he says with a short laugh that seems a great deal more genuine than his smile had. "It's just been a long few days. I've got a lot on my mind. It's a lot to process."
He says this and she believes him, because she's sure it's the truth. It's just not the whole truth. She knows it isn't because he's smiling as he looks up at her, but she can still see the ways his hands tremble faintly and it makes her heart ache. Beyond his physical injuries, she doesn't know what Centipede had done to him and he doesn't appear to be in any mood to tell.
"Why don't I put the kettle on?" she asks.
He seems to relax somewhat at that, perhaps having expected a barrage of questions. Jemma has no intention of pushing him. If he wants to talk, she will gladly listen, but if he doesn't then it's not her place to try and make him. Not now, anyway.
"I didn't get a chance to properly thank you," Phil says.
"Certainly you did, sir," Jemma reminds him. "We were all there."
"Yes, that's true," Phil admits. "But what I meant was more that I'd like to thank each of for your individual efforts and that I hadn't had an opportunity to do so yet."
Jemma shakes her head. "Skye did most of the work in finding you. I'm afraid most of our efforts were secondary."
"I spoke with Agent Hand before she departed," Phil says, ignoring her statement. "One of the things she told me was how adamant you were about ensuring the rounds for the Night Night Gun were properly dosed. She said it was because you didn't want to kill anyone."
All at once, Jemma feels incredibly guilty. She thinks back to when she'd first reprimanded the scientists that Hand had sent to work with them and what Leo had said. That it didn't matter if the rounds killed those soldiers because they'd taken Phil and that was that. He'd been willing to do whatever it took to get Phil back and she… hadn't. She hadn't wanted to hurt anyone. Even the people keeping them from Phil. Even now, as guilty as it makes her feel, she can't change her mind. She doesn't want to kill people.
"I'm sorry," Jemma says. "I really don't want to kill anyone. But you should have been more important than that. I should have been more worried about what they were doing to you than what might happen to those soldiers."
"No," Phil says firmly. "That's not what I'm trying to say."
Jemma really doesn't know what to say. He can't possibly be glad she'd acted in that way, can he?
"Do you read Harry Potter?" he asks.
If she hadn't been confused before, then she is now. All the same, she gives him a look which should communicate clear enough that he had just asked her a very, very silly question. Perhaps he catches on because a slight smile twitches at his lips before he elaborates.
"Then you'll understand what I mean when I say that it takes a great deal of courage to stand up to your enemies, but a great deal more to stand up to your friends," Phil says. "I know the lengths everyone went through and were willing to go through to get me back. And believe me when I say that it's… humbling, to say the least."
He reflects on that for a moment, just as the kettle begins to boil. Jemma leaves him to his thoughts as she gathers their two mugs and sets up the tray. He's still staring pensively at his clasped hands when she places the tray on the coffee table and takes a seat beside him. It seems to take him a moment to realize she's sitting next to him and not standing at the counter.
"While I'm moved by that, I'm just as deeply moved by the depth of your concern, not just for me, but for everyone involved," Phil says. He picks up his mug, holding it up for her to see as he taps a finger against Captain America's shield. "I know you think you've done something wrong. But you haven't. Did you know, even Captain America shares your sentiments? When he was recruited, he claimed he didn't want to kill anyone. He just didn't like bullies."
"But in this case, don't you think I should have made an exception?" Jemma asks.
"I'm glad you didn't. I'm glad that you put your foot down and personally made sure each of those rounds were non-lethal," Phil says. He sips gingerly at his tea, and still his hands shake. "I knew that all of you would come for me. I'm proud of how you operated as a team. But I'm proud of you, Jemma, for—and I really have to make a pun here—sticking to your guns. You're an integral part of the moral compass of this team and that's something you should never be ashamed of."
She tries to come up with something to say, but there's nothing she can think of in response to that. So she studies him instead. The cuts and bruises on his face are ghastly, only appearing more so as they're complimented by the dark circles beneath his eyes. He looks exhausted, as though he could fall asleep at any second, but something is keeping him awake. It's not his injuries. He would come to her for that. Probably. Maybe. Alright, there's a good chance he wouldn't, but she's still fairly certain this has nothing to do with his injuries.
It has everything to do with whatever had gone on in that house. She'd seen the machine they'd had him strapped into, which looked like a downsized MRI machine, but she still has no idea what it was or what they'd been doing to him there. Judging by Skye and Melinda's expressions, however, it couldn't have been anything good. Seeing how much pain he'd been in when she'd entered the room… She feels tears pricking at the corners of her eyes and has to fight them back.
"I'm glad you're home, sir," she says.
Jemma can see that the statement means something to him, but he doesn't answer, just bows his head in a nod. If anything, his hands only seem to shake all the more, prompting her to reach over and still them with her own. She can feel the tremors running through him and, despite the heat of the mug, his skin is cool and clammy.
"Why don't you let me give you something to help you sleep?" she suggests.
He seems hesitant to accept.
"Just a mild sedative," she assures him. "Nothing drastic."
He gives in with a heavy sigh. "Alright."
It's strange following him to his room and instructing him to get into bed, but he's strangely obedient. She injects him with a mild sedative, just as she'd promised, and as she's cleaning the injection site with an alcohol wipe she can see the effects are already kicking in. It's somewhat concerning to see him still struggling against the pull of the drug in his system and it occurs to her that perhaps he's afraid to sleep. Afraid of whatever's waiting for him there, where no one can help him. Because this is something none of them can rescue him from.
"Just relax, sir," she implores, patting his hand. "Get some rest."
He murmurs something unintelligible, making one last ditch effort for keep his eyes open before he gives in. Less than a minute later, he's out like a light, breathing deep and even. Jemma hangs around, watching him for a time to ensure that he well and truly is asleep. When she's satisfied that he is, she gently pulls her hand away from his and exits his room as quietly as possible. She cleans up from their brief tea and carries her mug with her back to her bunk.
Knees drawn up to her chest and mug cradled in her hands, Jemma wonders. She wonders what this means for the team and moving forward. She wonders what this means for Phil. She wonders what this means for her. There's a distinct feeling of having come to a turning point, but where it will lead any of them, she just can't say.
Having finished her tea and finding herself with more questions than answers, she decides to take her own advice and get some rest. Dousing her light and clutching her pillow close, she closes her eyes and prays that whatever road they've started down won't get the best of them.