Author's note: This was written as comment fic on Tumblr, on a gifset of Jemma waking up with her sharp stick in her hand, then going back to sleep on Leo's leg, posted by tony-pepper-stark.

The whole time she was alone, Jemma kept her spirits up by saying, "That was alien tech. Tech is Fitz's job. Fitz is coming. Fitz will find a way to get me home. My job is biology. My job is living. I will stay alive long enough for him to find me." At really low times, Jemma wondered why it was taking so long, but her answer was always, "It takes time. Fitz is working on it. He's working on it, give him time.

It seemed such a long time, but the days were not the same length, so weeks and months could not be tracked. Malnutrition, trauma, stress, sleep deficit - all eating away at her higher functions - she could barely remember his face or the sound of his voice. But she kept whispering to herself, "Fitz is coming" like scripture. Some days those were the only three words she said. After a while she stopped saying it aloud, dehydration made it hurt uselessly. But it went round and round in her head, making her try to sleep, making her keep hunting, keep hiding, keep running, keep living.

And then she saw the flare.

Early on, she had calculated how much water her body needed for various levels of activity. Hunting and digesting food takes water. Breathing hard uses up water. Talking uses up water. Running uses water. Hiding uses water. Walking uses water. To check out the flare would use up, possibly waste, the water she had collected from an improvised solar still. But she drank it. And for the first time in a long time, she used her vocal cords: "Fitz is coming." Her voice crackled. It hurt to talk. But Jemma said it again, and started walking.