Suffice it to say the afternoon could have gone better. Around 14:00 hours a small electrical fire in one of the labs closed down the whole wing for the remainder of the day so that they could ensure the issue was resolved and it was safe to resume work. Two hours of standing around while the fire brigade did their check, making sure the most vital samples were unharmed and the storage lockers were working, and communicating with various personnel finally did Jemma in and she may have snapped at a few people as a result. Coulson told her to "take the night off, you know, get some rest," so it must have been pretty obvious she was getting overwhelmed.

Not all was lost though. Before the fire alarm sounded, she and Fitz were able to compare Daisy and Lincoln's EEG reports. While Lincoln's manifestation of the specific frequencies were far less extreme, the patterns had enough similarity that they both felt confident this was their most promising theory. Over the last several days, Jemma had run several tests that exposed the ISO-8 to Inhuman DNA and terragen particulates with no discernable effects. She had, however, noticed that when she observed some of Joey's living cells there still seemed to be a certain level of instability in the integration of the macromolecules characteristic of the transformation. Both Lincoln and Daisy's cells proved to be very stable, which Jemma attributed to either the time that had elapsed from their respective changes or whatever had been done to them at Afterlife.

What was more, Jemma counted herself lucky that none of the samples or data they'd gathered so far was damaged in the fire. The fire fighters insisted that since the source of the fire was electrical, the electricity in that wing be shut down. But after a conversation with Mack and Coulson she got approval to move the storage coolers into the kitchen for the time being, with the caveat that she would make sure they were CLEARLY labelled. It all went against several protocols, not just for the organization but for lab safety in general, but it would do in a pinch.

Before acquiescing to Coulson's suggested change of her evening plans Jemma conferred with Fitz regarding their plan of attack for the next day, assuming the labs would reopen in the morning. In particular, they discussed the challenges of testing their most recent hypothesis. It would involve recreating the frequencies they observed in the brain scans in proximity to the ISO-8. Fitz said he was sure they had something around that would make that possible. Jemma offered to help, but Fitz declined, citing that he would be around the lab all evening anyway helping to fix the electrical systems so he might as well poke around for what they needed too.

Jemma gratefully retired to her bunk. There was actually quite a lot she could do; a few housekeeping chores had been neglected in the days since the samples of the ISO-8 had arrived. In particular, however, she looked forward to resuming her research into psychology and counselling. Jemma Simmons had never been one to neglect her studies, even if the topic did qualify it more as a hobby than necessity. So she confined herself to a short rest of half an hour, and then delved in.

Jemma started by arranging all the textbooks and counselling books she'd accumulated on her bed neatly, organizing them first by type and then by field in order of difficulty. In the middle of it, she precisely placed her laptop, a habit stemming from before the academy. It gave her a certain peace to go through this ritual, and she crawled into her bed carefully so as not to disturb her system. She smiled as she picked up her laptop and placed it on her lap and flicked open one of the textbooks, ready to take notes just as she would for an exam.

It took a bit for her to realize she wasn't concentrating. Nearly two hours after she began, she checked the time with surprise at how much had passed. Or rather, she thought as she looked over her progress, how little she had accomplished in that time. She had read all of one page, and had just one note to show for it on her computer screen. She hardly remembered what that page was about if she didn't look. She sighed in frustration. Studying had always been one of her favourite activities, she considered learning one of the great joys in life. It had never been difficult for her either. Fitz used to tease her about how much she loved homework. Homework itself might not have been high on her list of hobbies, but she admitted she worked at it with more fervour than an average student, even at the Shield academy. A sagacious student, she certainly wasn't going to waste the opportunity to pad her scores; and besides she relished the feeling she got when her instructors handed her work back to her with a 100% on top and a proud smile on their face, praising her intelligence and dedication. She wished such a feeling of pride and satisfaction was as easy to come by now as handing in an essay or lab report on time.

Much had changed for her. Her mind was dishevelled now and not as willing to take in new information. She closed the book angrily and gazed out the only tiny window in her bedroom from which the moon was now clearly visible. She was accustomed anymore to the lump that choked her and the burn in her eyes when she would catch sight of it and flash back to her desperation at the indefinite darkness of the planet. She normally forestalled the tears by distracting herself with her work, another reason she was in the Lab so late these days. But now, in the solitude of her dorm, she couldn't fight it.

The memories began with playing at that time when she was alone, miserable and scared. But she remembered meeting Will and their funny introduction. And then her mind began to assult her with the cruellest of fantasies. Mainly, she imagined Will, alone on the planet after Fitz brought her back. Against her will she played out every possible scenario of his death at It's hands. Sometimes he was stoic, confronting It bravely to distract it while she got away. Other times she saw his face consumed with fear and pain as It stole away his life. Sometimes she would hear him scream out for her to help him. Then too, how long could he have lived in pain with the disabling injury Fitz described? Did It hunt Will like a predator, 'playing' with him to extend his suffering? Was it possible Will could have still been alive when It commandeered his body? Every new replay caused another cascade of tears to wet her cheeks. Whatever the case it was undeniable that he didn't deserve what he got- of course her brain would also remind her of every kind thing he did for her, how funny he was. That he was smart and that he was banished unfairly by people intent on bringing back the thing that eventually killed him. And he'd fought for so long to survive, forced to take action against his own crew. And then she came. Maybe even convinced him to hope again. Only to let him die there while she got back home after a fraction of the time he spent there.

Sobs fell through her lips until she was nearly breathless. She told herself to stop with this unproductive torture- logically she knew it did her no good to revisit her guilt in this way. But she couldn't stop. Because then her brain moved on. Moved on to getting back, to seeing Fitz. It reminded her of the fact that Fitz never gave up, not even once, on getting her back even though all the evidence pointed to the idea that she was gone forever.

'He should have given up on me. He should have moved on with his life. He would be so much happier. Why wouldn't he just listen to the evidence?' She ridiculed herself as another wave of tears crashed to her bedsheets. She brought her knees to her face and huddled into the headboard in a semi-sitting position, placing the pillow on her knees so that she could cry into it without worrying her neighbours. She thought of how supportive Fitz was when she got back, he almost wouldn't leave her side. And how did she reward his loyalty? By becoming obsessed with getting back to the very planet he'd spent 6 months trying to save her from. And why? To bring back a man she admitted to him she loved, who ended up being dead all along anyway (because of her, she reminded herself again). And she'd actually asked Fitz to help her. Even worse? He did.

She felt sick when she thought of his face at the castle, when she realized that they'd forced him to listen to her screams as a way to manipulate him - because of course he couldn't let her be hurt. She'd thought that all she had to do was get through it without telling them anything or agreeing to help them. But really she'd failed, because she didn't stifle her screams. So Fitz went to the planet. To get the man she loved.

Her mind whispered to her insidiously, 'But did you? Why didn't you hold on to him? If you loved him so much why did you let him stay behind so you could go home? Why did you lose him so easily in the storm?' She felt like she should have loved him, and yes, she did. But she felt guilty too, for how she didn't miss him as much as she imagined. It'd taken her a while to realize what was wrong with her feelings after Fitz and Coulson came back, but then she figured it out. She liked him, and she felt overwhelmingly guilty about leaving him, but she didn't feel like she'd lost a lover. It was more just the tragedy that was his life that burdened her. He'd been a duty to her, an obligation of care. How long was it right to mourn someone that you'd spent six months with? She didn't feel like she did him justice.

All these things filled her head, going round and round. Her own mind abused her, hitting her with all the ways she'd failed and all the hurt that became of it- She'd not helped Fitz the way she should have. She didn't stop Trip from going into the temple. How many had died because she failed to kill Ward when she should have? She didn't save Will and Fitz kept on getting hurt because of her. She let Lash kill all those helpless Inhumans to save herself. Why did she deserve to get off that planet? It was dizzying, all the pain that swirled within her. So she closed her eyes tight against the tears that kept breaking through and before long drifted into a fitful sleep.

Jemma woke still propped against the headboard, grudgingly drawn out of a dream where Fitz was kissing her again compassionately. It was such a pleasant dream, a sort of kindness her mind could muster after she cried herself to sleep. She uncurled herself to stretch her stiff neck and back. A glance at the clock told her that it was 4:00 in the morning. She desperately wanted to go back to that dream. The dream where she and Fitz were happy and together. In her dream she was so indignant that the little cottage she'd seen as a child had been sold and the owners were unwilling to sell it to her and Fitz. And to spite her they were going to add a poorly designed addition to the back of the house. So they ended up in a block of flats with her parents on one side and his mom on the other of their module. It was incredibly awkward, of course, but they were still working with SHIELD, their lab was nearby, and every morning Fitz would smile at her and kiss her and honestly there was nowhere Jemma would rather be in that moment. But no matter how hard she tried to bring herself back there the sleep would not come, even after throwing on some pajamas and burying herself in the covers. She tossed and turned another half hour or so before she lifted herself out of bed and sat down at her desk.

If she couldn't sleep, she might as well make the most of this time. She scrounged out a piece of paper and a pencil. She decided that it was time to talk to Fitz, really talk, as Daisy suggested. And since preparation was still her forte (and emotions were not, she'd found) she was going to draft exactly what she wanted to say to Fitz. Get completely organized so that she could tell him everything. And then maybe, maybe, the eggshells they'd been walking on would dissipate.

Easier said than done, however. It didn't take long for Jemma to remember why she was putting this off. Where would she even start? 'Treat it like a letter,' she told herself.

'Dear Fitz,'

That was right, right? People normally start letters that way. This wasn't really a letter though. She was still going to talk to him. Besides, it wasn't like they were light years apart anymore, even if it felt like it sometimes. If she wrote him a letter, she would still have to see him at the lab the next day or whenever, and that would certainly be uncomfortable. No, this wasn't a letter. Thesis, maybe? State your intent first.

'Dear Fitz, Hello Fitz. I think we need to talk about everything that's happened recently.'

Better. But... what was there to talk about, exactly? He'd jumped through a space portal with Ward to get Will back...

'Thank you for your help on the portal. I truly couldn't have done it without you. And it was very brave of you to go to the planet with Ward to find Will."

That had to be the understatement of the year. How could she possibly tell him just how deeply what he did touched her? He'd had no personal attachment to Will, yet he was the one convincing her to keep going. Not only that but he did it all while knowing what Will was to her... Jemma gave up and decided to keep moving forward. There simply weren't words to do it justice.

'And your support since then has been a life-saver. It's been so nice to work with you again.'

Another understatement. Should she tell him how some mornings, the thought of seeing him was the only thing that got her out of bed? That when she was consumed by guilt or anger, it was his hand on her shoulder that pulled her out of it, or at least made her feel like it was possible to carry on? That he was the only one who really made her feel like it was okay to cry when she needed to, and as a result, she was feeling less and less need to?

'I would like it to continue.'

Well... she actually wanted much more than that. But all in due time. She imagined Daisy reading her short outline and poking fun at her penchant for inadequate articulation when it came to personal feelings. "Oh my god you are SO British!" Daisy's voice mocked in Jemma's mind. 'Well I am British. So sue me.' She thought in reply.

'Fitz, I am so very sorry that I roped you into helping me get back to Maveth to save Will, especially since it turned out to be such a futile endeavor. It was rude of me to make you do that, but your efforts have meant so much to me.' She tapped the desk with the end of her pencil, reflecting, and then wrote the next sentence deliberately. 'I also regret we did not get to go on our date, and that our last dinner was… tumultuous. That is something I would like to correct in the future.'

Just writing out that sentiment made her unconsciously hold her breath. Once she realized it, she reminded herself breathe, relax. She took a moment to pause her composing and considered his possible reactions to this. He could be happy, but it could also be too late. The way he told her they were cursed… Well, if he still thought that, she might just have to prove otherwise. They'd had some bad luck, sure, but the cosmos as a whole was not capable of having any thoughts or feelings. It was inanimate. More of an intangible concept, really. She considered the happenings of the last 7 weeks, trying to gain evidence for her predictions to the outcome of their very necessary conversation.

The more she did so, however, the more disconcerted she became. She thought again about his determination to resurrect centipede. And how he didn't mention Agent Jones help or seem concerned that Jones was put off by it. In their fields credit was important, especially when a person wanted to advance. She and Fitz agreed early on that they would be diligent about giving credit where it was due since neither of them believed in cheating.

Jemma became increasingly convinced something was amiss. She'd not recognized how many things just weren't right – Centipede and Jones were just two examples, but then there was the way he didn't react quite how he normally would, and he seemed so… relaxed, except that morning when she discovered the mark on his neck; the injury which was worrisome in itself by his attempt to hide it. And they'd 'bantered', in a way, but his tone wasn't right. It wasn't the friendly banter they used to do, it was half-hearted exchanges like one might do with an acquaintance they'd only just started working with and with whom their only common ground was the current task. She reviewed the instances she'd noticed him not acting like himself and knew that to anyone else these would not seem especially out of the ordinary. And, in fact, taken alone she wouldn't think so either. But the pieces were gradually forming a picture- something was wrong. Either he was in a very different place than she'd thought in coping with all the events or…

An image flashed in her mind of Agent 33, brainwashed by Hydra and wearing May's face. Before the mask had become damaged Coulson had only barely been able to tell that it wasn't her. And by his briefing afterward, these were exactly the sort of elements that he'd said to look out for as a giveaway – 'the little things'.

Jemma dismissed that possibility out of hand. Surely Hydra was not functional enough to send in a mole with Fitz' face at this point. When would they have even had the chance? They'd spent most of their time together since he and Coulson got back from the planet. Still, she made a note in the back of her mind it would be prudent to do a little more observation. In this day and age you could never be too careful.