A/N: darkangelcryo said: "Sometimes chapter 15 Jemma and May"

(chapter fifteen of sometimes (i find it hard to believe))

Jemma and Skye are in the middle of another debate about the exact definition of rest when Coulson appears in the doorway.

"Would you please just stay there? You need sleep, not to go gallivanting about—oh, sir, I didn't see you there! Would you be so kind as to tell Skye to stay put? Appeals to her common sense aren't working, so perhaps a direct order—"

"AC, tell her I'm fine! I survived two bullets, I think taking a walk will be o—"

"Barely!" Jemma interrupts, frustrated. "Barely survived two bullets, and that was only thanks to a drug about which we know nothing, so really—"

"Simmons," Coulson says quietly.

She turns to look at him properly, and the look on his face knocks the breath right out of her lungs. She's seen that expression only once before, when he told her he was sorry and hit the button to quarantine the lab.

It's not a happy look.

She swallows. "Sir?"

"Lorelei got Ward," he says plainly.

Jemma feels, as though from several miles away, Skye take her hand and tangle their fingers. It helps (a bit) with the sudden wave of emotions that have overtaken her. She takes a moment to breathe through her panic—she's a scientist; it's important to keep a clear head—and then forces herself to focus.

"When you say got," she says, and falters. Skye squeezes her hand.

"She brainwashed him," Coulson clarifies.

It's better than killed—much, much better, although of course if Grant had been killed she wouldn't need Coulson to tell her—or injured, but it still makes her chest tight.

She wonders, distantly, if the word Asgardian haunts him, the way Chitauri haunts her. They haven't spoken about it, not in those terms. They haven't spoken about it much at all, not since the days immediately following his exposure to the berserker staff.

(She remembers the morning after, lying in bed in that hotel room in Belfast, when he admitted that though the strength was gone, the rage wasn't, and quietly confessed his terror at the prospect of losing control.

And she remembers the awful, painful way he laughed, as though the sound was being scraped out of him, when she said she understood.

"You really don't," he told her, and his voice was so raw, it was impossible to be offended. "Jemma, you have no idea what I'm actually capable of."

She thought of the hijacking in Peru and of Fitz's account of the events in South Ossetia, and asked, "Don't I?"

"No," he said. "You don't." His arms tightened around her and he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, and his voice, when he spoke again, was low and almost broken. "And I really, really hope you never do.")

"Simmons," Coulson says sharply, and it pulls her out of the memory.

It does not, however, make her forget that losing control is one of the things Grant fears most, and she has to swallow twice before she can speak.

"What can we do?" she asks. "What—How do we get him back?"

"Lady Sif says that putting the collar on Lorelei will break the spell," he replies, then crosses his arms. "But there's a problem. The collar was damaged in the…scuffle. Fitz is looking at fixing it."

There are countless unknown variables involved in that collar. Asgardian science is so advanced as to be essentially indistinguishable from magic to their eyes, for goodness' sake. The chances of Fitz being able to fix it before anything horrible happens to Grant—before he's made to do anything horrible—are…miniscule, at best.

But Fitz is a genius—the smartest person she knows. She's seen him accomplish amazing things. If anyone can fix that collar, he can.

So all she says is, "Good. That's…good."

"So, wait," Skye says, and squeezes Jemma's hand again. "Is Ward some kind of…pod person now?"

"No," Coulson shakes his head. "According to Lady Sif, the men Lorelei controls don't forget who they are or what they know, she just…becomes the embodiment of all their desires."

That sparks a new fear—one she hadn't even considered—one she can't even name, because it's simply to awful to contemplate. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. Worrying accomplishes nothing. She can't help Grant if she makes herself ill with it.

"Jemma," Coulson says gently, and she opens her eyes. "We can't put the collar on Lorelei if we can't find her. So. What do you think Ward will do?"

"Grant," she says, and her voice breaks on his name. She clears her throat as Skye and Coulson kindly pretend not to notice. "Grant has identities, currency—properties all over the world. If he still knows us, then he knows we'll be after him. He'll disappear with her. We'll never find them."

"We'll see about that," Coulson says, and looks at Skye. "Ward's going to be doing anything he can to keep Lorelei off the radar. You're the best radar we have. Find them."

Skye nods and turns her attention to her laptop, letting go of Jemma's hand in order to type. It makes her feel oddly bereft. Coulson is apparently finished with the conversation; he leaves the pod, and Jemma follows him without thinking.

"And me, sir?" she asks quietly.

He stops and sighs, then turns to face her.

"There's not much you can do right now," he says, almost apologetically. "Keep an eye on Skye; make sure she doesn't over-exert herself. Help Fitz, if he needs it." He takes a step closer. "When we get Ward back, he's going to need you. So…" He shrugs. "Get ready for that. Because it won't be easy."

"No," she agrees, around the lump in her throat. "I don't imagine it will."

He places a hand on her shoulder and squeezes it firmly. "We are going to get him back, Simmons. I promise."

"Yes, sir," she says.

He nods once and walks away. She stands there in the corridor and watches him go. She takes a moment to breathe through the panic and anger and fear clogging her lungs and realizes, as she does so, that she's been rubbing her wrist—her timer—absently. She doesn't know for how long.

She pulls her hand away from her wrist like she's been burned, then hugs herself, trying to ignore the awful pit in her stomach.

Grant will be fine. He will. Whatever happens—whatever Lorelei does to him—he'll be fine. She'll make sure of it. They'll get him back and she'll take care of him.

In the meantime…she has more questions about this brainwashing nonsense, and she knows exactly to whom she should address them. Someone who, like herself, is most likely feeling entirely useless at the moment.

It's time she spoke to Lady Sif.