#jemmasolo

“Next time I think we’re going to have to spring for gold label,” she remarked. “Get Coulson to let us come back in summer and have a proper swim, hm?”

“What?” Jemma teased, though the thought of swimming in this cold made her bones ache. “You think it’s too cold to swim? Pfft! You call yourself a spy!”

“Oh, I could swim in this if I wanted to,” Bobbi retorted, and stuck her chin up, bragging a little, “it’s just, the last time I swam in this weather, it was either that or cut off a toe. And believe me, I had to think about it.”

Jemma laughed, and rolled her eyes, but before she could think of the next thing to say, she found herself walking straight into Bobbi’s pack. She blustered to a halt, wondering why Bobbi had stopped; they couldn’t be there already, she was sure.

“Oh, shit,” Bobbi cursed.

“Come on,” Jemma waved her off. “I’m not going to make you swim. I brought a picnic. I even found that cranberry salad thing you-“

“No, babe,” Bobbi interrupted, pulling Jemma by the wrist up onto the track beside her, at the top of the hill. “I meant that.”

“Oh. Shit.”

The land fell away before them, covered in thick forest, near-pristine wilderness all around for miles. In the distance a bird was returning to its nest, and here and there, rocks or shining water broke up the blanket of green. It would have been positively breathtaking, if not for the turbid grey cloud looming over it all, sailing ever closer; like a shadow, inescapable. Beneath it, rain fell in a torrent so thick it seemed to consume the forest. It would scarcely stumble over doing the same to them.

“We need to get back to the tent,” Jemma admitted, though she screwed up her face and watched the storm in profound disappointment, briefly longing against all logic to simply will it into retreating, or at least pausing its onslaught for the rest of the afternoon.

“Look at the size of it, Jemma,” Bobbi pointed out. “I think we should get back to the car.”

“No, I…” Jemma trailed off. She had no argument to bring to bear; nothing but the dream of a perfect weekend, to which she’d been clinging all this while. Nature was a powerful force, and her plans were naught in the face of it. She sighed, and turned back the way she had come. Though the track was narrow, Bobbi kept up, and put a hand on her shoulder briefly.

“I’m sorry babe,” Bobbi offered. “I just don’t think this weekend was meant to be. We’ve still got some leave though, right? Why don’t we pack it up, head into town? I’m sure we could find a place.”

A place. Jemma tried to swallow her disappointment. It wasn’t supposed to be just a place, if all she’d wanted was a place they could have gone to a nice hotel in the nearest city to base, maybe bought a spa day, lived on room service. That sounded nice. But she had chosen this place, this trip specifically. She had wanted to get outside, really and truly outside. She had wanted to see the wildlife and the scenery in this place. She had been imagining herself and Bobbi walking amongst these glorious trees, admiring the birds, stargazing together in near-unpolluted skies; all manner of away-from-it-all fantasies for months. Literally, months. It had taken her that long to get the leave, with disaster after disaster being thrown at them, and she couldn’t bear the thought that a little rain was going to take it all away. Even if it was actually a lot of rain. But she couldn’t explain all that without sounding like a stroppy child, so instead she stammered -

“Just- Just don’t slip, okay?”

The rain was getting heavier around them, the storm already well on its way. The dream was dead. She gritted her teeth and pulled away from Bobbi, marching on ahead with the excuse of packing up their things before the worst of it hit.

“Jemma, wait!” Bobbi called, and jogged after her. “I didn’t mean we should just give up- I mean I did- but not… like that…”

Bobbi trailed off. The terrain was becoming increasingly treacherous and rain saturated her clothes, her pack, her hair. With the steep downward slope on top of it all, she had no choice but to focus on the slippery ground or risk falling, and with thick sheets of rain between them she wouldn’t have been surprised if Jemma had disappeared from sight by now anyway. Gritting her teeth, she picked her way slowly forward, thinking. She could imagine the frustration Jemma was dealing with at her plans finally being rained out beyond saving, but more than that, she couldn’t bear the thought of Jemma believing she was disappointed, or that she’d simply been waiting for an out. Was that the impression she’d just given? Or, perhaps, had she indicated she would have preferred to spend the time in a hotel, being pampered? Pampering was nice, but this – ancient redwoods, nature’s beauty, and a level of privacy Bobbi hadn’t experienced in years – this was unbeatable. Why was she so terrible at expressing things like that? Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself as fast as she dared, desperate to catch up and clarify things before they spiraled into disaster.

Perhaps a little too desperate, in fact, as Jemma had stopped and Bobbi hadn’t noticed until she was practically upon her. Startled, Jemma jumped, turned and slipped. She lost her footing on the side of the track and fell with a strangled yelp. Bobbi reached out to try and catch her, and that only made things worse as her heel slipped and her knee buckled and she fell too. For a few seconds, the two of them were a tangle of limbs in a miniature mudslide of their own making, but fortunately, even then, they only managed to fall a few feet down the slope before they tumbled apart and flattened themselves against the earth.

Feeling herself flung away from Bobbi, Jemma thrust her hands into the dirt. She looked up, struggling to see through the rain, and spitting water and loam as she climbed back up to Bobbi’s side. Bobbi was lying prone, hissing through her teeth, clearly in pain. Jemma’s heart plummeted.

“Bobbi?” she asked, almost shouting over the sound of the rain, and praying it was just the momentary shock of the fall that had shaken her, and not a serious head or back injury. “Are you alright? Did you hit your head?”

“It’s my knee,” Bobbi told her, fortunately able to sit up after a moment, if gingerly, and examine her own injury. “My bad knee. Must have twisted it or something. It’s not serious. We should keep moving. I’ll look at it when we get back.”

“Right, okay. Come on.”

It was slow going after that. The rain pounded down and evening deepend around them, but Jemma stayed by Bobbi’s side, limping slowly through the wilderness. She let Bobbi focus on nothing but moving forward, keeping her eyes on the light at the end of the tunnel; on all the things they would do when they got to that hotel in town. A warm bath. A nice hot burger with chips. Thick, warm dressing gowns. It was a long time before Bobbi realised Jemma wasn’t leading her back to the tent.

“Jems,” she objected. “This is a road. We’re out of the camp, what are you doing?”

“If our tent’s still around, we’ll find it tomorrow,” Jemma explained. “This is safer, better for your knee. Besides, there’s more likely to be a building of some sort this way, where we can get proper shelter and wait this thing out. You keep walking. I’ll scout ahead.”

Jemma gave Bobbi a brief kiss, and then disappeared into the rain and the darkening sky. This time, Bobbi was not stricken by a panicked need to follow. Instead, she caught herself smiling at the thought of how close the words I love you had come to spilling across her lips. She stood a little taller and walked on.

-

Soon enough, Jemma was running back down the road to Bobbi, announcing in a flurry that she had found a holiday inn not much further down the road and had already booked them in for the night. It was no five-star hotel, she qualified, but a compromise she hoped Bobbi could accept. More than that, of course, the news was music to Bobbi’s ears, which Bobbi went out of her way to impress upon Jemma. Yet darkness had well and truly fallen by the time they staggered into reception. As the innkeeper, Barry, asked his staff to fetch towels and discussed rooms and payment with Jemma, Bobbi looked around at the adorable woodland décor and still-lifes of canoes and decided she would like nothing more than to curl up and go to sleep on the warm, dry wooden floor. But she was determined to keep her guard up, for just a little longer.

“You ladies look a right mess, if you don’t mind me sayin’,” Barry remarked; somewhat incredulous and, if Bobbi was not mistaken, a little impressed. “You were up the mountain in this?”

“You know what they say about courage and stupidity,” Bobbi replied, easing herself into a seat and trying not to wince at the whole different kind of pain that flooded through her leg at the motion. Jemma was fussing over her, but Bobbi waved her away.

“What brings you out here this time of year, then?” Barry wondered. “Not exactly hiking season.”

“It was the only time we could get off work,” Jemma explained. “I just wanted to try something a little different, you know. I didn’t think it would be that bad. Thought it would be romantic."

She laughed at herself and rolled her eyes as she signed them in, and Barry huffed quietly to himself.

“Romantic? And you asked for the cheapest room?” He gave Jemma an exaggerated look of shock, plucked the key he’d given her out of her hand, and then eyed Bobbi as if she was in on the joke. “Where’d you catch this one? Tsk tsk. No, that won’t do at all, ladies. I have something much better for a romantic weekend away.”

He reached for a different set of keys, and a brochure. Jemma blanched.

“Oh, no, I’m afraid we really can’t pay-“ she promised, but Barry waved her off.

“No extra cost. Like I said, it’s not the season down here. We’re practically empty. You’ll still have to pay the amenities, of course – I’m not made of money – but we’ve got some wiggle room in regards to the accommodation. Plus, in your state, I think you’ll appreciate the, uh, private facilities. Come on with me.”

Barry led the way out of the reception cabin, and Jemma turned and pulled a face to Bobbi that said something along the lines of well, isn’t this fancy? With her knee burning, her clothes drenched and muddied, and her skin feeling like it was going to be cold to the touch forever, Bobbi was grateful for Jemma’s good humour. She pulled herself up and put one foot in front of the other, chasing that relentless warmth across the site.

“… windows to the west, sometimes you can see the deer grazing in the morning,” Barry was saying to Jemma as Bobbi finally approached their designated cabin. He smiled at her, and waved Bobbi over. “You alright with that knee there?”

“Yes, thanks. Just an old injury. Field hockey’s a violent sport.” Bobbi explained.

“Don’t I know it?” Barry chuckled, and finally handed over the key. “If you need anything, let me know – details are in that folder there. Otherwise, I’ll leave you ladies to get acquainted. Y’all have a good night.”

They thanked him and made their farewells, and then wasted no more time before pushing into the cabin. As they wandered in, the two of them stared about in awe, their energies momentarily replenished as all expectations were blown away. There was a cozy lounge with a large television and a log fire, and stacks of books and magazines. The kitchen was simple but adorable and Jemma hurried to turn the kettle on, and peek out the window overlooking what Barry had promised was a frequent deer grazing ground. Bobbi quickly found the bed and dropped herself onto it, hardly having the energy to spare a thought for the mud and muck she’d just walked in. She closed her eyes, relishing the way the soft, cushioned blanket cradled her aching body. A few moments later, Jemma stuck her head in through the bedroom door, and smiled at Bobbi’s spread-eagle state.

“You saving room for me on there or what?”

Bobbi huffed, frankly reluctant to lift any of her limbs ever again. She was still hungry, dirty, and cold, but she’d live with that if she had to. Jemma sat down on the bed anyway, and pulled off each of her shoes with a huff and a moan of relief.

“Hey,” she wondered, peering at the one door in the place they had not investigated yet. “What do you think he meant by ‘private facilities’?”

Bobbi stared at the ceiling, not willing to commit to lifting her head to follow Jemma’s gaze. “I don’t know.”

Unable to resist this final curiosity, Jemma padded over to the door and slowly pushed it open. On the other side was a rustic but luxurious bathroom. This being the lover’s cabin, it had some special extras in amongst the usual amenities, which made Jemma smile, but her eye was quickly taken by the feature of the room: an enormous, deep, positively luxurious standalone bathtub. She ran to it, knelt by it and ran the tap, and the hot water seared against her rain-soaked skin. The stress that had been piling up inside her all day bubbled out in another laugh, and she ran her hands under the water until they started to feel normal again.

“Bobbi, get in here!” she cried.

“Why?” Bobbi called back. “Unless it’s a hot dinner or a hot shower I really don’t –“

Jemma stepped back into the bedroom and threw another towel at Bobbi. She showed off her heat-reddened hands and watched Bobbi’s jaw drop.

“I can do you one better on the shower,” Jemma promised. “As for the dinner, I don’t know about hot, but I do still have the picnic stuff and I’m sure most of it will have survived.”

“That sounds fantastic.”

“How would you feel about eating cranberry salad in the tub?”

“Amazing,” Bobbi groaned. “God, I love you.”

Jemma grinned as Bobbi hauled herself to her feet one final time, swanned across the room with more grace than anyone with such an injury flare had any right to, and gave her a rakish smile and a dizzying, muddy, rain-tinted kiss.

She nearly choked on the apple – on the desire to spit it back in his face – as the thought filled her mind, and all her senses, so loudly that for a second it almost felt like her hearing had returned:

People are starving.  

People down below were starving to the point where they had clawed at grain poured onto the ground before them. To the point where they had leapt at each other’s throats. Had killed a man. Or would have, were it not for her – and for Kasius, who had finished what they’d started not for bread, but for perfection.

Kasius sighed loudly, smiling paternalistically.

“I know, my dear,” he assured her. “It can be quite overwhelming. I forgive you.”

Before she could flinch away, Kasius brushed her cheek. His fingers came away with a droplet of water. A smudge of gold. Jemma gaped in horror but fortunately, he merely called another servant to bring him a cloth to wipe the smudge away, and another with a pot of paint to reapply the gold where she had marred it. Feigning chagrin - but also, hiding the terror in her eyes and on her face – Jemma ducked her head and let Kasius led on again. As they walked, he waxed lyrical about his garden and its many beauties, and how it was such a shame that a beauty like herself had been held separate from them for so long. It faded into a meaningless blur of sound. To him she was merely another one of his flowers; he only admired her hardiness because it had allowed her to emerge from below unscathed, for his admiration.

Little did he know, of course, that she had a littering of scars on her torso and legs. She had been through too much not to. Yet, as he had said of his former… concubine? She was safe with them hidden beneath her tunic, where he could not notice them.

(She hoped that would not change any time soon.)

He also did not know, though, many other things about her – or, apparently, about his flowers. Things like the fact that she was a highly trained biologist with paramilitary experience. Things like the fact that apples, peaches, apricots - let alone the plants that they walked past now; daffodils, oleander, Angel’s Trumpet – could kill.

He was walking her through a field of weapons, and he didn’t even know it.

Now, there was something worth smiling about.

--

Standing outside his door that evening - or at least, her best estimate thereof - Jemma took a deep breath. The crockery shuddered on its tray and she hoped it was not too loud; she did not know how many others had been given the silence bug, or drug, or whatever it was. But she drew herself strong. It was now or never – not least because she just couldn’t take this much longer. Her behaviour was unusual, but Kasius still hadn’t cottoned onto the fact that she wasn’t who he thought she was, so she was willing to risk it. If all else failed, she hoped, it was a demure enough act of service that he might think it merely unusual – perhaps even a gesture of goodwill – and simply dismiss her.

Strong, she thought to herself, and knocked on the door.

“Enter,” he called, and so she did, and the smug thrill that ran through her at his expression of surprise was more satisfying than she could have imagined. Careful not to let on, however, she smiled meekly and curtseyed a little before bringing the tray forward. Kasius shuffled in his seat, and gestured for her to sit beside him. How quickly would she be dead, she thought, as she lowered herself into the seat. How close was his assassin? Around the corner? Just outside the door? Heart pounding, she poured the tea.

“Hmm, sweet,” Kasius mused, wafting it past his nose as if it were wine. All of a sudden, Jemma thought, perhaps she should have worked with wine. Perhaps it would have hidden the scent more easily. But then Kasius asked; “What is it?”

Jemma tilted her head. Was he expecting her to answer?

“Speak,” he said, and nodded insistently – excitedly, as if watching her open a present. Jemma’s lips twitched, trying to contort into a smile as her heart filled with the sense of freedom, and a desire to tell this slimey maggot everything she thought about him.

“Wellness tea,” she said instead. “Good for the skin.”

This seemed to amuse Kasius, and Jemma almost laughed. Instead, she simply let that smile slip loose, as if she were pleased to have amused him, and poured the tea. He waited until she picked up her own cup, which she had been hoping against, but prepared for. She took a sip, and so did he.

(They’d have to drink much more than that, though.)

“And what have you been doing with your day, my dear?” Kasius asked.

“Listening,” Jemma replied, and she could see it. And hear it. The smugness. That’s my girl, his expression said. I knew you’d come around. She wondered if he could see the same smugness in her eyes – but no, she thought, he probably assumed she was simply overcome with desire, or gladness for having pleased him, or any number of things that required minimal brainpower on her behalf. Instead, what she meant was learning. And now that she could speak, oh, what she had learned was going to earn her so much more satisfaction.

“Oh, this is simply wonderful,” Kasius praised, taking another mouthful of her tea. “You must share the recipe with the kitchens. Where did you learn such a thing?”

“My mother taught me.”

“Hm.” Kasius nodded thoughtfully. “Interesting woman, your mother. I should have her brought here. Where did you say she worked? Processing?”

“Yes.”

Part of Jemma hoped that he would find May. She would certainly have something to say about this whole situation. Or to punch, at least. But most of Jemma’s attention was focused on trying not to cackle like a bloody murderer as Kasius refilled his own cup to the brim with more tea. How long had it been since he’d poured his own cup? Was it because he was used to taking as much as he wanted of something he liked? Or was it the drug she’d put in there, that even now, was niggling at her own throat to take more?

“Processing, you say?” Kasius repeated. “Yet she knows something about herbs. Curious.”

He paused, and Jemma had to take another sip before he got suspicious.

“Yes, ah,” she offered faux-nonchalantly. “I suppose she got creative. Working with what we have, everyone playing their part and all that.”

“Naturally, naturally.” Kasius nodded. “That’s what I like to hear, my dear. Beautiful stock, your family. You know what? I will have your mother found.”

Perhaps this would have scared her, any moment other than now, but Jemma’s blood was already pumping. Kasius’ words were growing uncontrolled; speaking his mind rather than the measured, perfect words of a philosopher. He drank more. Jemma’s throat itched too, but she quashed it down with the thought of what it would take to expel the poison later. Meanwhile, Kasius’ pupils were growing wider. The drug. Was the poison taking effect yet? How fast was stage two going to go? How was she going to get out of this room once it had?

“Have you got somewhere to be, my dear?”

All of a sudden she felt watched. More than that. Seen. One of the side effects of the drug was paranoia and she should have known, she should have predicted this – but how lucid was he, still?

“You’re all fidgety,” he said. “You’re fidgeting. I don’t like it.”

She grinned, and drummed her fingernails against her teacup. Never had she wished for a clicky pen more in her life, but this would have to do.

“Sorry,” she said, unabashedly not sorry at all as she felt the tides rapidly turning in her favour. “I’m simply excited about having executed my plan to perfection.”

“Perfection?” he repeated, bewildered, and she blinked coquettishly.

“Aren’t you proud of me?”

Something, she saw, started to dawn in Kasius’ eyes. Something, perhaps, about what he had said to her upon their first meeting. About her wrist, smooth as if untouched by a metric. About her tears. Her mysterious knowledge - ‘creativity’- with plants that had not been seen by humans like her in nigh on a century.

Something about the old stories.

Kasius leapt to his feet, and swayed.

“GUARDS!” he roared, and Jemma scrabbled away. This was a rollercoaster of a plan but she wasn’t out of ideas yet. She snatched up the teacup, brandishing it like a weapon, and put the table between her and Kasius so that he could not attack. She only had a few seconds. She’d have to pick a door soon. But she couldn’t help spending a little longer watching the fury in Kasius’ eyes burn out into desperation, pain, fear.

She held her chin high. No mercy.

“Why did you do this?” Kasius choked; still surprised, it seemed, that a woman he had been willing to gift with perfection would turn on him so.

And Jemma had thousands of answers to that question, but one came quick and burning to her tongue.

“Acacius,” she said. “Who?”

“The man I saved. The one you killed,” she explained. “You owe me a life. That is how it works, right?”

Recognition clicked in for a moment, and then the fury returned. Kasius lunged at her, but fell onto the table; convulsing, frothing at the mouth. Not long now.

“GUARDS!!” he cried again, with as much strength as he could muster, though Jemma could hear even that was rapidly fading. “Guards! … They’re here.”

They.  

The heroes. The stories. The legends. The ultimate threats to this regime.

They.  

Her.

Heart in her throat, teapot still in hand, Jemma retreated, launched herself at the door, and fled through Kasius’ compound with the desperation of a crazed racehorse. She was almost out by the time they finally turned on her, and she struggled, and it felt like she was drowning, but she fought on. She smashed the teapot over somebody’s head, ducked a swipe, overturned a potplant and ran. The roses caught at her tunic and flicked at her face and she ran. She stumbled down the stairs, lost her footing for a moment, felt herself falling and thought it’s all over but it was not. The shouting and jostling all around her was muted but she could hear herself. Her footfalls. Her heartbeat. Her breath.

Something slowed within her, and steadied, and somehow she caught herself and staggered on toward the door. She slammed it shut behind her, only taking half a second to catch her breath before looking for the next one. How far had the battlecry gone? Would she be safe anywhere? Which direction should she go?

She settled for ducking into a crevice for a second, as more guards poured into the passageway from elsewhere. Armed ones; not Kasius’ dainty personal staff.

Jemma stiffened, holding her breath as one of them stalked past her – and was shortly blown back, off his feet and into the ground, hard, by a new arrival. Daisy. She seemed amused by all the panic and the alarms – and if Jemma was not mistaken, mouthed, aw shux, for me? – at the contingent of guards between them. Jemma curled even deeper into the crevice, out of the way while Daisy attacked, and only when the coast was clear did she creep out again. Upon seeing her, Daisy baulked - horrified, sympathetic – and touched Jemma’s arm.

Are you alright?

Jemma touched her ear, symbolising deafness, and Daisy frowned in confusion.