In honor of the upcoming season, waiting on pins and needles to find out what happened to Simmons.
I had a wonderful time camping and stargazing this summer, which led to much daydreaming towards this story. While academics can be characterized by stuffiness, Simmons in particular struck me as the type to get her start through enthusiasm. I spent a great deal of time experimenting with whether I wanted to have dialogue or not and in the end, I opted to try out not having any. If any of you have a reaction, positive or negative, towards this story's lack of dialogue, please let me know. Also, let me know how playing with the time theme went; I was trying to go for an almost ethereal dynamic. Enjoy.
Time took another dimension when Simmons was in work mode. She and Fitz could spend five minutes planning or laying groundwork for a project only to have Coulson or another teammate come in and tell them several hours had passed. Unless a mission required a specific time limit to accomplish a task, time was a concept Fitzsimmons perceived very differently from most others. Even while working alone, as Simmons found herself doing that night, she found time to be fast at slipping by, but considerate when she focused at making a breakthrough. That night, that week, was certainly one for breakthroughs. Simmons had finally faced Fitz with her feelings, and Fitz had finally asked her out in a drawn out way. Now, Simmons hoped for a scientific one before she wrapped up for dinner.
Simmons had initially been annoyed that the door to the Kree stone's container was ajar. Ultimately, she was fascinated with the stone and was eager to get a plain look at it as she went to close the door. Time graciously slowed enough for Simmons to become cognizant of several things. For one thing, the stone, for lack of a better descriptor in categorizing its material qualities, was rapidly liquefying. For another thing, she realized that her fascination was colored with urgency, predominantly from danger of the unknown. Time slowed enough for Simmons to realize she was physically terrified, academically fascinated from this new development and that yet another, long buried part of her from her childhood days of wonder was overjoyed. Over the past year, she had allowed herself to be consumed with irrational and judgemental fears. She fully admitted to herself now that she was pleased with her fortune, tinged only with the regret that Fitz couldn't come with her and have dinner to discuss whatever they would find. Time up, Simmons spent the next moment aware of only the physical sensation of being actively pulled from her life as she knew it.
When Simmons was absorbed by the Kree artifact, she felt the distinct feeling, either real or imagined, of being bonded at the most basic level with the stone, as the stone. With the stone, she looked out into the room. Time agonizingly flowed at exactly the same rate as the clock by the door, and even dragged on as it ticked. There were no discoveries to be made, and Simmons was thoroughly stuck. Fitz returned after some time and stuck his head in, a list of what Simmons assumed was restaurants in his hand. Not seeing her, he left a moment later and again she and the room sat. Fitz came back another hour or so later. Yet again, he didn't seem too concerned; merely puzzled that Simmons wasn't where he'd last seen her the first time and still wasn't there when he checked back. He was gone again.
The time for dinner had long since passed when Fitz returned, now looking stressed, though not panicked. Again, he poked his head in and left, but was back only minutes later, having clearly gone through an active search for her. Now that Fitz had ruled out any other place Simmons could or would be, he returned to the place she had recently spent the most time. Time slowed the ride and let Simmons, the stone and the room watch in great detail as Fitz crossed the room to Simmons's work station, where she had left her notes and various equipment out. Since it was her project to study, her lab and her table, there was no need for her to pack up; Fitz finding everything out would be of no concern to him. On the rare occasion they worked separately, they would sometimes leave notes for each other, which was what Fitz was likely looking for. Finding no note, Fitz looked into the distance, hoping to again work out where she might have gone. That was when he saw the open door.
Simmons, the stone and the room, her new fellow audience members, watched as Fitz used a tablet at the workstation to enter a panic code for the facility. He had activated the fullest one, which was accompanied by flashing red lights and an alarming horn blaring on loop. It took only minutes for their team and the others who stayed at the facility to appear.
The alarm shut off and everyone listening with rapt attention to Fitz as he explained what he suspected. Fitz had made great strides in recovering levels of dexterity in his hand in the past several months, and though specific words sometimes eluded him, his speech had become quite fluid. Whatever progress he had made, however, was disguised by his delivery of his thoughts, complete with stutters, pauses, lost words, fidgets and ticks he had accumulated and then suppressed. Simmons and her cohorts witnessed the immediate reaction of worry and doubt of the team. Skye, ever the energetic one, took the initiative to do her own sweep of the facility for Simmons. As she disappeared out the door, Coulson had turned to Fitz, explaining that recent events had been stressful lately, perhaps Fitz just needed rest and Sky would soon find Simmons in the most obvious place Fitz had overlooked. While Coulson tried to bely Fitz's fears, May had taken up the tablet and was swiping through data, growing still as she studied it. As wordless as only May could be in times of confusion, she handed Coulson the tablet as Skye returned from her search, unable to produce Simmons. Together, they crowded around the tablet, still in anticipation. Simmons felt a strong wave of guilt overtake her as she heard her own tinny voice scream from the tablet, and as the team looked up at her as one. The accusation was clear in their faces. Simmons had gone.
Simmons knew the protocol the team would take in a case like this, and time was gracious in allowing her to efficiently watch the team draw a new perimeter around the artifact, based on the footage. Though the hour was late, the team felt time moving at an unmanageable rate, with every lost second adding urgency. Simmons, the Kree stone and the room sat, unmoving and watched the team grapple with their new impromptu mission. Fitz brought out the DWARFs next and inspected Simmons's new form from every angle.
Running through options, the team drastically decided to take action sooner rather than later, which took Simmons by surprise. Again the guilt washed over Simmons. The team was worried, panicked and grasping at straws, all because of her. And what was it for, really? As a child, studying every subject available in school, knowing her thirst to discover would never be truly quenched, she had always dreamed of discovering new worlds. She was the prodigy of the family, and while her father could in no way grasp many concepts that came easily to her, he succeeded in fostering Simmons's interest in other worlds. They would gaze through the cheap telescope he had pieced together from yard sales and teach her everything he knew.
He knew nothing, of course, and yet Simmons would listen with rapt attention. He would point to a star or a planet and tell Simmons he wished he knew what it was called, when and how it formed and everything in between. He would sneak her out of the house to the back garden when Simmons's mother wasn't looking, pick a new celestial body and tell her all the things he did not know. Sometimes they'd go through the garden itself and he would pick up a beetle or sit down for an episode of Star Trek and again talk about all the things he wished he knew.
Inevitably, her mother would catch on or come home and disapprovingly call Simmons in to bed. She needed her rest, her mother explained for the umpteenth time, so their daughter could focus and do well in school, where the real learning took place, rather than rhetorical questions and lists of things an unrefined carpenter and cabinet maker didn't know. It was only when Simmons got older, went to university at the early age she did, that she realized it was to her father to whom she owed much of her academic success.
She almost flunked out of university her first year from trying to ignore his teachings. Simmons had arrived at university, her mother's voice ringing in her ears, telling her Simmons needed to keep her head down and study hard to keep her success. Her professor was decidedly unimpressed with the fourteen-year-old and had begun to think Simmons's genius had been attributed to her ability to absorb and repeat information, nothing else. Against his wife's wishes, Simmons's father had gone to visit the university and see why his daughter, whom he knew to be brilliant despite his own lack of education, was flunking out of university in her first year.
Simmons's father listened as she wept and explained that though she did miss her parents, she was failing due to something other than homesickness. She had done everything her mother had said. She had kept her head down, had memorized everything and given answers she knew were correct, and yet her professors were saying she wasn't ready for the world of academia. He had wiped her tearful face and asked if she was getting what she wanted out of university life. She had been confused, and readily replied that she wasn't getting the grades she was used to. He had patiently repeated his question of whether Simmons was getting what she wanted out of her courses, and she said she didn't know. Finally, Mr. Simmons squared with his daughter. Words had never been his strength, but he would be damned before he sat back and let his daughter be defeated so early for something that to him was so simple.
In his less complex vocabulary, he finally spoke his mind in direct conflict to his wife's visions of their daughter's quantifiable success, denoting raised status for their low-born family. Simmons, he explained, knew how to obtain grades - she had learned that as a child. She also knew how to gain and process information. What she didn't have was the wisdom to know the difference between knowing and learning. Grow a little older, he explained, and she'd see that while she shut herself away reading, memorizing facts and figures, she had missed out on learning that much more by not asking questions, dialoguing and simply letting knowledge flow to her as it came and she worked it out. Simmons thought back to her mother's elocution lessons to give her a posh accent, trips to the shops to put together low-cost versions of higher class wardrobes and how her homework time was structured to maximize efficiency so she had time for extracurriculars. She remembered the hours spent with her dad, looking at the stars, the sun and everything under it down to the grass. They would tell each other what they most wanted to know about whatever they were focused on. As Simmons learned more, the game had changed. Instead, it was her father telling her about what he wished he knew about some rock and Simmons would rattle off an explanation that it was this specific type of rock, based on these proportions of assemblages of minerals, identified by these features. Yet no matter how much Simmons learned, no matter how many books she swallowed or facts she collected, she could never answer all of her father's questions.
Simmons's professor had been shocked and pleased to find his fourteen-year-old student at his office door the following Monday. Simmons had taken a well-needed break from studying that weekend, opting instead to binge on episodes of Star Trek with her father. That Monday, Simmons brought a categorized and well-ordered list of questions and comments she had accumulated over the course of the semester. He hadn't enjoyed his office hours so much in years. Since that year, her brilliance and aptitude had taken her all over the globe, both in ground-breaking conferences and in the field. Her mother's training had prepared her to rub the right elbows and steer from any conflicts while her father's preparations had granted her the rest. She had spent her life discovering things and had never looked back. Here she was, in a Kree artifact, and Simmons was both very stuck and very excited.
There was a sudden shock, jolting her out of her memories and into the lab. Face to face with Fitz's hastily set up equipment, she saw the team had assembled and was anxiously watching as Fitz made adjustments to his controls and recalibrated his attempt to produce Simmons. She had very little, yet so much to tell him when he released her from the stone, and was prepared to let him know of all of the observations she'd made while in the stone. She was conscious, for one thing, which wouldn't be possible if she were truly bonded to the stone, could it? Recalibration complete, and Fitz's equipment charging, Simmons waited in anticipation, realizing he was attempting to destabilize the structure of the artifact, should Simmons be inside and ready to be dumped out. Another jolt. It was quite painful, in an oddly muted way, and Simmons's vision flashed brightly before darkly spotting back to normal. After a third, again painful, attempt with the overexposure in her vision, Fitz came to a realization and set up recalibrations, excitedly explaining about the artifact's properties and how this one might actually work. The rest of the team filtered out his explanations and waited. The room hummed with the charging. The jolt came.
Whatever the team's or Fitz's reactions were, Simmons did not see. She felt herself crackling inside the stone, every nerve firing with the jolt. The room again flashed to black. She felt herself resolidify among the now-liquid substance and she was dumped on the floor, seeing stars.
Fitz felt his heart leap with anticipation while his stomach dropped from dread. The Kree artifact had, at the behest of his charges, grudgingly bubbled and given way to its liquid state, spreading out on the floor. When the charges ran their course, the stone shrank back like a fleeing wave from shore, building back up to its impassive shape. No one moved. Finally, Skye hitched a breath and broke the spell, shifting and looking across to the others. There was no Simmons to be had.