Duty (Agents of SHIELD, fic, rated G)
Written for the prompt of Tension for LadiesBingo 2014, which I never finished but am posting the few stories I finished in any case. The Charmed story Black Leather was for the prompt Abandonment. There's a couple more, one I'm still working on.
Duty
Agents of SHIELD
Melinda May and Jemma Simmons
The echoes from the firing range filled the air but Jemma Simmons couldn't hear them. Wisps of hair escaped the puffy pads of the noise-canceling headphones clamped to her head. Beads of sweat rolled down the back of her neck, gluing the curling tendrils to her moist skin. As the paper target lurched forward, she glanced at the bracelet on her wrist. She didn't really have to look; she could feel the pounding pulse in her neck and wrist and knew it was entirely too fast. Briefly her mind sifted through various chemical options to lower the heart rate, but all her ideas fled as a low cool voice behind her said, “Let's see how you did.”
Jemma closed her eyes briefly, then turned with an anxious smile, saying with strained brightness, “Yes, let's.” She pulled down the headphones, letting them hang around her neck.
Melinda May pulled the target close and examined the circular pattern of shots. “Not bad,” she said. “You've improved quite a bit the last few weeks.”
“It's just a matter of calculating the speed of the projectile and the various vectors involved, allowing for the recoil of the weapon and my personal muscle strength...” she slowed to a stop, wrinkling her forehead in worry, “or lack of strength.”
May tore down the target, hung another sheet in the holder and pushed the button to send it ratcheting away to the back of the range. “It's not about strength,” she said, pushing back a sword-sharp spear of black hair from her angular face. “It's about duty.”
“I don't quite see that,” said Jemma in honest confusion, “I mean, there's training, and native skill, and practice, as well as the variety of technical options for improving aim and accuracy.” Her voice trailed off. May had that aura of amused impatience that was so intimidating. The older woman's arms were at her side, the folded target loosely held in one hand. Even in May's relaxed pose, Jemma could see the poised energy held in her lithe body.
“All of those come into play of course,” said May. “But duty is why you're here, doing the training, putting in the hours of practice.” She reached one hand forward and turned Jemma's wrist to view the biometrics recorded in the thin plastic. One eyebrow arched. “153. Lower than last time. Have you been remembering to breathe?”
“At times,” admitted Jemma. “Not at other times.” She replaced the firearm in the slot in the tray and tried to calm her shaking hands.
“Are you sleeping?” asked May. She tossed the target into a blue bin. “I can't believe Coulson is still pushing recycling,” she muttered under her breath.
Jemma crossed her arms, hiding her hands against her body. She could feel her heartbeat, still fast but slowing, pacing her ragged breathing. She hated firearms practice. “Not as such,” she said, weariness leaking into her voice. “I have to keep close to Fitz, even at night. Especially at night. He has nightmares,” Jemma explained. She shuddered, then added uncertainly, “I'm still not sure I'm doing the right thing, leaving him now, while he's still recovering.”
May examined her quietly. “You are the logical choice to infiltrate Hydra. It is your duty to SHIELD, your duty to Coulson, yes, even your duty to Fitz. He needs to deal with what's happened. On his own.”
Jemma let out a deep quivering sigh. “I just don't know if I'm ready.” In a whisper she added, “I don't know if he's ready.”
“He'll have to be,” replied May firmly. Cocking her head, she stared into Jemma's red-rimmed eyes. “You want to go, don't you?”
Looking down, a flush flooding her cheeks, Jemma whispered, “Part of me does. Maybe.” She blurted out, “It's so hard! Seeing him like this! I can't help him. I can't be what he needs.” Her voice had risen, hysteria dancing along the edge of the words.
May shifted her weight, releasing some tension but remaining poised for action. “He'll be fine. Now get up to the gym. It's time for hand-to-hand training.”
Jemma took off the headphones and carefully hung them on the hook provided. Shoulders slumped, she headed for the door that led out of the underground range. Looking back she asked tentatively, “Aren't you coming, Agent May?”
“I'll be there in a moment,” replied May. She examined the weapon Jemma had been using, unloading it and readying it for the next use. Under her breath, she muttered, “It's dangerous but it's necessary. Not just for us, not just for Fitz. You need this, and you're ready. You have a duty to yourself, too.”
This entry was originally posted at http://vjs2259.dreamwidth.org/356490.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Duty
Agents of SHIELD
Melinda May and Jemma Simmons
The echoes from the firing range filled the air but Jemma Simmons couldn't hear them. Wisps of hair escaped the puffy pads of the noise-canceling headphones clamped to her head. Beads of sweat rolled down the back of her neck, gluing the curling tendrils to her moist skin. As the paper target lurched forward, she glanced at the bracelet on her wrist. She didn't really have to look; she could feel the pounding pulse in her neck and wrist and knew it was entirely too fast. Briefly her mind sifted through various chemical options to lower the heart rate, but all her ideas fled as a low cool voice behind her said, “Let's see how you did.”
Jemma closed her eyes briefly, then turned with an anxious smile, saying with strained brightness, “Yes, let's.” She pulled down the headphones, letting them hang around her neck.
Melinda May pulled the target close and examined the circular pattern of shots. “Not bad,” she said. “You've improved quite a bit the last few weeks.”
“It's just a matter of calculating the speed of the projectile and the various vectors involved, allowing for the recoil of the weapon and my personal muscle strength...” she slowed to a stop, wrinkling her forehead in worry, “or lack of strength.”
May tore down the target, hung another sheet in the holder and pushed the button to send it ratcheting away to the back of the range. “It's not about strength,” she said, pushing back a sword-sharp spear of black hair from her angular face. “It's about duty.”
“I don't quite see that,” said Jemma in honest confusion, “I mean, there's training, and native skill, and practice, as well as the variety of technical options for improving aim and accuracy.” Her voice trailed off. May had that aura of amused impatience that was so intimidating. The older woman's arms were at her side, the folded target loosely held in one hand. Even in May's relaxed pose, Jemma could see the poised energy held in her lithe body.
“All of those come into play of course,” said May. “But duty is why you're here, doing the training, putting in the hours of practice.” She reached one hand forward and turned Jemma's wrist to view the biometrics recorded in the thin plastic. One eyebrow arched. “153. Lower than last time. Have you been remembering to breathe?”
“At times,” admitted Jemma. “Not at other times.” She replaced the firearm in the slot in the tray and tried to calm her shaking hands.
“Are you sleeping?” asked May. She tossed the target into a blue bin. “I can't believe Coulson is still pushing recycling,” she muttered under her breath.
Jemma crossed her arms, hiding her hands against her body. She could feel her heartbeat, still fast but slowing, pacing her ragged breathing. She hated firearms practice. “Not as such,” she said, weariness leaking into her voice. “I have to keep close to Fitz, even at night. Especially at night. He has nightmares,” Jemma explained. She shuddered, then added uncertainly, “I'm still not sure I'm doing the right thing, leaving him now, while he's still recovering.”
May examined her quietly. “You are the logical choice to infiltrate Hydra. It is your duty to SHIELD, your duty to Coulson, yes, even your duty to Fitz. He needs to deal with what's happened. On his own.”
Jemma let out a deep quivering sigh. “I just don't know if I'm ready.” In a whisper she added, “I don't know if he's ready.”
“He'll have to be,” replied May firmly. Cocking her head, she stared into Jemma's red-rimmed eyes. “You want to go, don't you?”
Looking down, a flush flooding her cheeks, Jemma whispered, “Part of me does. Maybe.” She blurted out, “It's so hard! Seeing him like this! I can't help him. I can't be what he needs.” Her voice had risen, hysteria dancing along the edge of the words.
May shifted her weight, releasing some tension but remaining poised for action. “He'll be fine. Now get up to the gym. It's time for hand-to-hand training.”
Jemma took off the headphones and carefully hung them on the hook provided. Shoulders slumped, she headed for the door that led out of the underground range. Looking back she asked tentatively, “Aren't you coming, Agent May?”
“I'll be there in a moment,” replied May. She examined the weapon Jemma had been using, unloading it and readying it for the next use. Under her breath, she muttered, “It's dangerous but it's necessary. Not just for us, not just for Fitz. You need this, and you're ready. You have a duty to yourself, too.”
This entry was originally posted at http://vjs2259.dreamwidth.org/356490.html. Please comment there using OpenID.