#i wish i could be certain i wouldn’t faint or go into cardiac arrest if i tried to march with them rn but at least i can be jail support

[dreamofbecoming]

being too sick to physically join a march means sitting here listening to the constant drone of police helicopters who are no doubt terrorizing and arresting protestors right this very moment, and hoping that i can donate enough to the bail fund to help get at least some of them home tonight. and it fucking sucks

[groundbreaking-science]

Section 3-2: Amplification

Warning! The following section contains exercises that may cause exhaustion, fainting, dissociation, abreaction and cardiac arrest. No exercise should be undertaken without explicit permission from a medical practitioner, and mental health support may be required for exercise 3.2.5. The reader proceeds at their own risk.

Prerequisites: Exercises in 1.4, 2.1-5, 3.1. Additionally material from section 1.9 is referenced.

The first time my father sensed the Earth and his place in it, a soft dawn was breaking. He stood shaking and gasping for air atop the world's tallest tower, with a view rivalled only by God above. A thick carpet of cloud rolled out to the horizon far below him, the very real verdant lands of Yahhoi still present and visible in glimpses between breaks, and he felt relief.

He'd spent the night screaming in deepest pain and writhing on the indifferent marble floor. He'd flickered between life and death, battling the effects of a poison he'd chosen against all advice to imbibe. It was said that the poison would draw out the drinker's latent power - should the drinker survive the process. My father, at the still tender age of sixteen, was the fifteenth warrior to try and the very first to breathe in the morning's cool air.

In that new light he felt rather than saw life stirring, and he understood the interconnectedness of his own life with the Universe around him. For the first time he sensed a power through the ki-field: the overwhelming strength and evil intent of King Piccolo. With renewed certainty in his abilities my father set out to face down that evil, and the rest is literal history.

After enduring the poison my father obtained the ability to consciously interact with the ki field. Though he wouldn't learn to amplify his abilities with any measured and focused intent for a while, needing guidance from more divine or experienced sources and more powerful, urgent motivators, every one necessitating the honing of a particular element in efficiency or technique. My father's spiritual awakening was slow-going then, though that is not an insult to his effort - even the Monk among our ragtag band took decades to fully master his unlocked potential, and I know there are towering heights I could yet reach.

It is that endless struggle that ultimately gave me the confidence to include this chapter. My current proficiency and my promise to impart certain skills make the work seem simple, but I know I have reached this level with a genetic advantage and a range of thankfully unique life experiences. Yes, nefarious forces could use this chapter to escalate their havoc by orders of magnitude, but that is a highly unlikely outcome, as I'm sorry to say the majority of readers will never achieve a level of amplification that could cause any material damage. Instead I believed it more pressing to think of those curious individuals compelled to perform the "super" techniques covered in the rest of this chapter and beyond, and these skills require ki amplification to perform safely, if at all. And besides, it would never have been fair to keep from you a skill that is considered an Earthling technique at heart.

So whilst I am no God, nor a questionable feline apothecarist making my home amongst the clouds, I am able to employ more traditional teaching methods to improve your ki output with conscious intent, rather than resorting to cryptic life-and-death experiences. And so, in a more measured way, we begin to tie together many elements you have already explored.

Before we delve back into the ki field, I wish to return to the ki we already possess - genki - and the two elements that contribute to the total energy output: the charge (energy per particle) and the flow rate (particles per second). Increasing one or both of these will increase your total genki power output.

The easiest way to achieve a step-change in power output - although impossible for many - would be to utilising a transformation. Simply growing larger means more cells need to be governed, which requires more parcels of genki to be released. You can think of the size of the centre (and therefore the centre's hypothetical surface area) increasing along with the body. A larger surface area with the same flux (flow per unit area) gives a greater power output.

Namekians are able to physically grow in size and therefore power, as demonstrated by Piccolo (the Junior) at the 23rd Martial Arts tournament. This ability is a learnt skill and under conscious control. Saiyans can also grow to gigantic proportions taking on a more ape-like form as Oozaru. Whilst this is an innate transformation and so more accessible (for Saiyans with tails, at least), it requires the reflected sunlight of a full moon to induce, and the Oozaru form does not naturally have a rational mind. Mastery and use of the form is therefore restrictive.

Earthlings on the other hand aren't known for their strength-inducing transformations; the mysterious Shapeshifting Schools utilise magic and transformations in this manner do not appear to grant a power increase. The innate transformation magic of Giants, Manwolves and similar teratoidal folk does grant an increase in power, and zoomorphic people of larger frames will have a greater genki output than the average anthropoidal person, but anthropoidal Earthlings are not granted either of these advantages (by their very definition).

However, Earthlings of all kinds do have access to one technique that will raise the ki particle flow rate: the Kaioken. Against received wisdom I will detail this technique later, if only to emphasize the dangers of trying to learn this skill away from the healing properties of the Heavenly Realm. The technique involves warping the centre's surface, therefore increasing the surface area but preserving the effective volume, allowing more ki particles through. Performed with too much gusto this technique can tear the body apart cell-by-cell, so for those of us bound to the mortal realm, mastery of this technique could take a lifetime.

There is a trade-off to these size increases, however. The pool of ki particles in your centre depletes far faster when deviating from its natural surface area and size. If all particles are used up, you will be left without a way to draw on ki, and will have to rest for an hour to fully replenish.

A further way to boost power output and to much greater effect is to increase the ki particle's average charge. Again some species have access to physical transformations that can achieve this; Frieza's race being one, where various naturally armoured and therefore lower-energy consumption forms reduce the draw on the centre's ki (both in flow rate and charge), and these forms prevent the individual from overwhelming lower ki energy folk around them.

Saiyans have access to another transformation called "Super Saiyan", one that does not increase the size of the body, but does impact every cell, creating a greater demand for charge per particle on the centre. From the combined research of scientists across the Universe, including my own, we know the transformation requires a level of circulating so-called "S-cells" in the body. In brief (as this transformation will be detailed later), high levels of emotion in the body trigger the S-cells to release a message in ki to all cells, asking them to call for more ki in readiness, in turn triggering the centre to release more ki which manifests as a transformation with recognised stages.

The final way to boost your genki output is to use a different version of genki entirely. The Gods and other non-mortals appear to use their own version of ki that is functionally the same in nearly every way, though God ki is more powerful - the reason for which remains unclear. Curiously, God ki is undetectable by mortals unless they receive specific training. Given how parallel they are, I believe then God and mortal ki to be of different chirality.

Chirality is a concept we find in nature. It is woven into the very structure of our bodies, even. When we look at ourselves in the mirror, our mirror image has the same make-up as us - the same number of blemishes on our face and hairs on our head - but there is no way to spin you around to make you look exactly like your mirror image. You and your mirror twin will always be left-right flipped as "optical isomers" of each other. Similarly, some molecules can have exactly the same chemical formula, but the structure can be left-right flipped. In our bodies, one molecule we ingest can fit snugly into a receptor and work as intended, but the optical isomer will be completely ignored (or worse, cause unpredictable damage in the body).

Mortal and God ki then, with their dyadic relationship, can be thought of as chiral mirror images. Unlike chemical optical isomers however, mortals can learn to accept and use the chiral God ki, but it is not natural and so must be unlocked in some manner and developed.

3.2.1 Raising Yuuki With Kiai

Earthlings are Universally known for their ability to change their ki output without reliable access to transformation or divinely developed techniques. Their wide emotional range and social nature can be repurposed or redirected to drive that increase in power. For an instantaneous boost of genki, we can rely on our yuuki. If you recall section 1.9, yuuki (courage) is not a true form of ki but a mechanism of bolstering the flow rate, and comes from reducing fear to free up "effort" and ki-particles and therefore energy otherwise poised to react in a more animalistic fashion to the stressors before us.

Consider the question - "when we run from a bear, do we run because we're afraid? Or are we afraid because we run?" This truth is a mix of both. Calming the mind can calm the body, yes, but changing our physiological state can also affect very real change in our emotions too, which can in turn free up mental capacity for other purposes. Likewise, amping up the body can amp up the mind and ki in tandem.

In section 2.3 we discussed kiai, the guttural yell. We slowed our breathing, using the inward and outward breaths to create a rhythm that our ki synced to. When our core tightened to yell our ki flowed steadily with the breath, expelled with the kiai. Kiai also raises yuuki, as the steady, conscious breathing slows the heart rate, reducing the physical sensations we attach to fear and therefore fear itself, a calming feedback loop. We can then think of that freed energy as released in a short, sharp burst of "courage" instead.

To practise this, perform a push intent with and without kiai. Notice the increase in strength as ki becomes more dense when paired with kiai. Then repeat the exercise, this time explicitly utilising yuuki. Calm the body to begin with, and with the freed capacity of mind, genki should be easier to focus and kiai more effective, the rush of emotion with each kiai honing the intent rather than distracting from it. Practice these four states until you can sense the difference in power, both in quality and quantity. Throughout your practice keep in mind whether your yuuki is well-maintained or not. There is no need to be perfectly physically calm every practice, only to be able to note how calm to better estimate the strength of that day's intents.

3.2.2. Yuuki - Advanced Calming

Slowing one's breathing has the ability to start a soothing chain reaction through the body. But there is a shortcut - to hack our bodily ki intents themselves, intercepting the messages intended for the heart and other systems.

To learn though we must be quiet to begin with. Sit quietly, slow your breathing, and feel the subtle pulse of ki intent that ripples with your heartbeat. Not the ki itself, as that will be flowing through the body at a near constant, rippling with the breath and heartbeat, but the change in intent that drives the heartbeat. This ripple will track back to the upper-right of the heart (close to the body's centre-line) to the pacemaker cells which control the heart's contractions, and will spread from the pacemaker cells to the rest of the heart. These are the intents we must intercept.

Follow these ripples and imagine them slowing - I think of a soothe intent to envelope and slow the beat intent, and before long you'll feel your heartbeat begin to slow too. The other physical symptoms of fear will leave you as the mechanisms triggering them unwind, freeing your mind and therefore affording you yuuki to use for ki manipulation. With familiarity you'll be able to track these ripples when under huge mental and physical stress.

It should go without saying that upsetting homeostatic equilibrium is extremely dangerous. This technique should only be performed for a few seconds before you let the body drive itself again. I only ever use this technique as a kick to my system, like a full-body shiver to reset. Slowing the heart too much will leave you breathless, drop your blood pressure and cause you to faint. Playing too harshly with pacemaker cells directly could cause them to fall out of sync, triggering cardiac arrest.

The next question both the curious and antagonistic among you will ask is whether this same soothe intent will work on others to incapacitate them. The answer is yes but, thankfully, there is an inbuilt difficulty; these homeostatic intents written with a ki signature are so tightly bound to that person's subconscious that overriding the messages takes considerable skill. I know of one assassin using this method to trigger cardiac arrest, and the genki "injection" must be delivered with great, well-practised precision within close-range. Miss and the assassin is wide open for a counter. I do not recommend developing this technique both for the safety of others and your own.

3.2.3 Field Ki

Genki manipulation has its limits. We have a finite amount of genki (created from chemical (food) energy) and a finite number of ki particles to assign it too. So there is a maximum amount of genki that we can release in one instant and whilst substantial, it is most unsustainable.

Instead the most reliable, near limitless way to amplify ki is to increase the charge per particle by converting genki to field ki (banoki). In section 1.9 we discussed the ki field; how the ki field is a lower energy state consisting of a soup of decayed and garbled ki energy separated from us by a barrier of ki particles. In 2.2 we visited the surface of the ki field to read the ripples created by the ki of others. Now we will reach through that undulating surface to harness the ki energy beyond.

Find a comfortable and well-centred position. Lower yourself to the ki-field as when learning to read the ki-signatures of those outside of auratic contact (exercise 2.2.2). Feel the waves of others, those vibrations, and settle 'above' them. Remember, your spirit is tethered to this reality by its very existence, so it would take a deliberate act to cut that tie and fall in. I'd hope by now you would be familiar with this exercise and such visualisations would be of little use, but for now attend to the ripples to aid the next step.

Now, you must expend a little effort and genki. Let your mind follow your decaying genki down to the field and visualise yourself penetrating the waves' surface with a hollow reed of ki, finding your way between the surface of empty ki particles at the still spots between the waves. A through or part intent works well here. Your genki and the field ki energy will meet through the imagined reed. The link will feel tenuous at first, as both your effort and genki used in the process will render the exercise counterproductive in net ki, but do not fret - with a little practice you will break even and then excel.

Once the connection is established, you will need to gather field ki. Imagine the reed straw you've made growing roots, spreading through the endless sea of field ki below to efficiently fill the space. Imagine those fine tendrils reaching, your ki signature spilling out as genki converts to give a semblance of structure in the field ki. Then, suck that captured ki back through the reed, palming it into your very real hands. Retrieving the ki can be tricky - overextend and your fine genki root system will break, essentially wasting that genki as it breaks down far too fast. Spread too little and, whilst safe, some genki will be wasted, unable to touch field ki and convert. Take your time - the amplification will come. Aim to be able to repeat this cycle of reaching and capture as a smooth, continuous flow. When this convoluted process becomes second nature, amplification can be achieved with a simple boost or swell intent.

3.2.4 Storing and Moving Ki

At first, this mix of kis will be heavy and unwieldy to move between foci as your ki signature is weakened through the mass. The usually chatty and fast to react genki will take a while to send intents through the rest of the more neutral ki, the genki acting as lit touchpaper. The best way to manage this mass of ki is to maintain the "rootlike" structure of genki through the mass, enabling fast communication between genki and the furthest section of field ki.

To practice, focus genki between your hands and swell the mass. As you sense the energy convert, try to send the ball of ki from left to right between your hands. Notice how, as you continue to amplify (and at first even lose total ki energy during the conversion) this movement increases in difficulty, demonstrating that as the fraction of genki energy in the focussed ball lessens, it takes more time to propagate your intent from the ordered, ki-signature laden genki to the unstructured mass of field ki.

Notice too, that if you were to apply for example a push intent, the strength of the ability would falter at first, the genki now having to learn how to send out this particular intent as well as apply it to itself. You will be frustratingly back to those early days of learning the basic intents. With time and practice though your skill and dexterity with intents will return - and faster this time around. When you've matched your previous skill level across a variety of intents when using only a tenth or less of the genki usually required without field ki, you will be ready to move on.

In the heat of the moment more powerful techniques will require more ki than can be created instantaneously, necessitating you to charge up the ki intent. There is a fine balance to be had between adjusting your genki flow as and when you need it for amplification, versus letting your mind work on autopilot at a fixed conversion rate to over-produce ki. The former of course saves you energy, but the micro-management could make you slower to counter. It is therefore prudent to know how to amplify and store that ki for later. If charging and amplifying a specific attack, of course bring ki to the focus in question, but to be ready at a moment's notice to push, to explode upwards to fly and to guard, you will need to store ki in an aura.

The fundamentals of this particular technique were covered in exercise 2.4.5, but to recap, use your centre as a focus, but this time expel ki. The ki should surround you in an approximate sphere, ready to be gathered into external foci like hands or feet, to report back to you nearby danger, or to create a near-instantaneous barrier. Remember when charging to use a hold intent too, otherwise the genki, untasked, will degrade. This technique is named "aura-shoring". When performed at high ki energy densities, ki will spontaneously interact with the world, creating an impressive and intimidating visible glow around the body.

3.2.5 Raising Shouki

We don't only trade genki for field ki during amplification. We expend effort to maintain spiritual calmness, shouki. If yuuki is the calmness between mind and body, shouki is our self-assuredness, the calmness between mind and ki. The stronger our connection between mind and ki, the easier amplification becomes. As discussed in 1.9, disrupting this link by agitating an opponent through very incisive taunts will knock their power-level down considerably, as they will be unable to efficiently convert genki to field ki. Now we wish to raise our own shouki.

To do so we must get in contact with our spiritual selves - not necessarily in a religious manner, but to know and speak our own truth. For my father, his brush with death was enough for his young self to begin to attend to that spiritualness, but you do not need to go to such extremes.

Mindfulness, the ability to just be in the present, comes easier to some than others. Mindfulness is not the ability to empty the mind, for that can be frustrating to achieve as worries for the day pop in and out. Instead we must notice those thoughts, the emotional and physical feelings, and maintain curiosity toward them before setting them aside for the moment. This benign distance affords us the ability to take stock. Spending time attending to how genki moves through our body and the environment around us can also assist in this mindfulness process. It is a focus on the here and now, and is something we can do alongside other exercises.

Mindfulness however is not dissociation, where we disown thoughts and experiences as not happening or not our own as a defense mechanism. And that leads me to a warning. For individuals dealing with dissociation as a result of, for example, psychological trauma, forcing the mind back in the body can cause an abreaction and worsen your state of mind. If you find you have constant bad reactions to mindfulness, or exercises and martial arts that encourage this open state of mind, then please seek professional support before continuing further. I know of one individual who broke through life-long trauma through sheer force of will, but it took him decades and could have ended poorly. However, dealing with the emotional block monumentally improved his raw power through yuuki and shouki, so your mental health is worth working on in whatever capacity you can. I also speak from experience. Fluctuating shouki was a difficulty I had in my childhood, and it took a lot of self-compassion and support from family and friends to let go of the guilt a child can swallow when they do not know any better. Simple grounding exercises - feeling the earth between your toes, naming sounds, colours and smells in the world around you - can suffice to bolster shouki somewhat in the meanwhile, and was the technique I used until I could be truly still and in the moment.

I told you once that I made the fortuitous decision to sit cross legged over seiza for twenty hours of a twenty-five hour ceremony. This ceremony, to unlock my fullest potential, required me to keep very still at a time I wanted to do anything but; my friends and family were in grave danger, some even passing away in the meanwhile, and the god performing the magic did not come across as particularly competent. As the hours ticked by I felt no different, only frustrated and wrestling with all my concerns with little else to distract me. It was only as my anger boiled over that I felt the ease at which ki enveloped my clench fists, and I understood the power of stillness. Whilst I know the silent magic of the god played a more than substantial part in my increase in power, I know holding out hope for Earth while confronting myself and my fears during those endless hours did play some part in repairing and raising my shouki, and I am grateful for that time to reflect. I hope you can find this time, too.

With every possible type of amplification in your knowledge and the most accessible at your disposal, it is now time to relearn all techniques with field ki in the mix. I know, I know it feels a step backward, but trust me, this step is a huge leap forward, and will give you access to all the work following on. When - or if - you can amplify the strength of your techniques by a factor of two with only a tenth of the genki available, you will be ready to proceed to the next section on guarding.

next previous first contents ask?

[hqwkeyes]

Blood Loss

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2,290

Warning(s): explosions, injury and blood, language, a bit of angst, fluff, unedited (sorry, i’m tired)

Summary: When Y/N and Bucky are trapped during a mission, a rather odd topic comes up.

A/N: This little fic was so much fun to write. My best friend ( @cracked-perfextion ) actually gave me the idea for it a few days ago, and I decided to write it! I really hope you all like it!

Masterlist  // Ko-fi

It was another mission involving yet another HYDRA base that landed them here in this situation. There had been about a dozen missions just like this one over the past three and a half months, so there shouldn’t have been any issues. Except this time was different. HYDRA knew you were coming, or at least they figured it out just before you arrived, giving them enough time to embed explosive devices in certain parts of the structure.

You and Bucky had just finished taking down a group of HYDRA operatives when Bucky used his comms to inform Steve that the two of you were making your way toward the nearest exit and would meet him and the others at the quinjet. Unfortunately, the two of you had unknowingly ran within range of one of the explosives, and the frequency from the comms set it off. The minuscule device had been placed at the very bottom of a door frame—easy to miss when not looking for it. It sent the two of you flying into the air as it blew out the surrounding wall and a large portion of the floor. You both landed in the basement below, surrounded by rubble.

“Y/N?” Bucky called out.

“Yeah?” You answered immediately so as not to worry him, but your voice was laced with pain.

“Where are you? Are you okay?” You could hear shifting in the rubble as he searches for you. It was dark, almost too dark to see him across the room, but you could just barely make out his shadowy figure from where you were lying.

“I’m fine, Buck, turn around. My leg is pinned under this beam,” you said through gritted teeth, biting back a wince as you shifted to look at him. “I’m about six paces in that direction. Just be careful not to trip over anything.” He made it over to you, then took out his flashlight.

“Are you okay?” you asked him, and then you were blinded by LED light.

You could just barely see the look of shock on his face before he composed himself.

“Shit, okay,” he mumbled as he ripped the sleeve off his jacket, then split it down the middle, leaving the ends attached.

“Y/N, you probably don’t feel it yet because of the adrenaline, but you’re injured pretty badly,” he said calmly, softly even, as he took out one of his knives. “I’m gonna use this as a tourniquet, but I need to slide it under you. Try not to move, okay? We don’t wanna make it any worse.” You nodded in agreement, and then he went to work.

Once he finished up with the tourniquet and made sure you were as comfortable as possible, he decided to take a bit of a risk.

“Hey, Steve,” he said over comms. “I know you’re gonna want to, but don’t respond to this. Y/N and I didn’t make it out. I think the frequency from talking over comms set off an explosive. It blew out the floor, so Y/N and I are in the basement, but she’s hurt pretty badly. I don’t think any vital organs were hit, so she should be fine for a little while. When you’re done, just come find us as quickly as possible.”

Which is why you’re here right now in intermittent silence with Bucky Barnes in the dark basement of a now-abandoned HYDRA base as you slowly bleed out.

“I’m really sorry,” he says for the seventh time in the past hour as he stares at his hands.

“Buck, the only thing more painful than this piece of metal in my gut is you apologizing over and over, so if you could not do that, that would be great.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, which makes you chuckle and then wince. Bucky stands up quickly and moves to sit beside you.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you tell him, shooing him away, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he checks your pulse, tightens your tourniquet ever so slightly, wipes some sweat and dust from your forehead, checks your pulse again.

“Barnes, quit it,” you finally say after about ten minutes. You know he’s only doing it to busy himself, to look after you, but you would rather attempt to make conversation with him.

“I’m-”

“Sorry, I know,” you cut him off.

A beat. Then, “You know, Steve used to talk about you all the time. Back in the old days, you know?” Bucky smiles a bit.

“Yeah, I’ve heard. Sam says he used to talk his ear off about me. Must’ve been annoying.”

“I thought it was sweet. Unfortunate, too. Steve’s ‘best friend, Bucky’ sounded like quite the catch,” you joke.

“Oh yeah?” A breathy laugh slips past his lips, and a little cloud of condensation forms in the brisk air.

“Yeah, he always talked about the guy who was with him through thick and thin, and always stepped in when he was getting his ass handed to him in a fight.” Bucky really laughs at that one.

“The kid never knew when to just walk away. Clearly he still doesn’t, but he doesn’t need much help anymore.”

“I can attest to that,” you say.

Another brief moment of silence comes and goes, and you begin to feel faint. You use the conversation to distract yourself from the growing numbness in your legs.

“You were quite the charmer too, huh? A natural ladies man, I heard.”

“Yeah, apparently. Not much of that going on anymore.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I’ve seen men and women swoon just watching you jog down the street. And that girl in the coffee shop last week? She nearly passed out when you complimented her hair.”

“I was just being polite,” he says with a shrug.

“Exactly! Imagine if you actually tried to flirt with her. She would’ve gone into cardiac arrest or something,” you joke, earning another laugh from Bucky as he shakes his head.

“He really did talk about me a lot, huh?”

“Hell yeah. He even told me about your first kiss.”

“He did?”

“Well not all the details. Just that you told him the night that it happened.” Your lips—now pale from blood loss and a tad bit blue from the cold—tremble around the words.

“I- well it wasn’t really anything special. Granted, I was probably fifteen at the time, so I was excited about it nonetheless.”

“That’s sweet, Buck.”

“I guess so.” He stares at the floor for a moment, then lifts his head. “What about you?”

“What about me?” A thin smirk forms on your lips, and although you’re beginning to grow dizzy, you focus on Bucky.

“How was your first kiss?”

“Oh, well it wasn’t anything special. It kind of sucked, actually. I was 16 and he came up and kissed me out of nowhere, then told me his friends had dared him to.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m long past it now,” you say before your head falls backward and rests on a piece of concrete that had fallen.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m just resting. Don’t worry about me.” He nods, taking your word for it.

“Anyway, you deserve better than that. He sounds like he was a real jerk.”

“You think little Steve would’ve beat him up for me?” you joke.

“I’m serious. But yeah, he probably would’ve if he were there.”

“Oh, I know.” You lift your head to look at him again.

“I’m sure your second kiss was better then.”

“Not by much,” you laugh, followed by a cough. Your head falls back again, a bit harder this time. Bucky turns on his flashlight again and notices that your skin is incredibly pale.

“Y/N?” There’s panic in his voice. “Shit, why didn’t you tell me? You’ve lost so much blood.”

“I didn’t want you to worry.” The words come out as a whisper.

“Worry? Of course I would’ve been worried. You’re literally bleeding out,” he nearly shouts.

“I was just enjoying talking to you,” you say as you strenuously lift a hand to rest it on his cheek. You feel warm tears on his cheeks, and he leans over you a bit before taking your hand on his cheek in his own, holding it tightly.

“I was enjoying talking to you too. I’m sorry your first kiss sucked,” he says, and then even more softly, “I wish I could’ve been your first kiss.”

A smile takes over your faint expression. “You weren’t my first, but you could be my last.”

“You’re not dying, Y/N.”

“You don’t know that. We don’t know when Steve and the others will get here.”

Bucky sighs, and a few of his tears drip onto your arm before he leans down and presses his lips to yours in a gentle yet passionate kiss. He runs his fingers through your hair, and when he pulls away, he presses his lips to your cheek.

“You’re gonna be okay, Y/N,” he whispers against your skin, and you tighten your grasp on his hand. You feel his warm lips against your forehead as you drift off.

Suddenly, you hear something beeping, and you open your eyes to a blinding light before immediately shutting them once again. You lift your arm—which feels much lighter—to shield your eyes before attempting to reopen them. Once you allow your eyes to adjust, you look up and find that you’re in a hospital room. The sound of something moving catches your attention, and you turn your head—a bit too fast, as you find yourself a bit dizzy—to find a sleeping Bucky Barnes shifting in what looks like a rather uncomfortable chair. A small smile finds its way on your face, and you sit up a bit.

“Bucky,” you call out to him in a quiet voice. You reach out and tap him, nearly falling off the hospital bed in the process.

He wakes with a start, nearly falling out of the chair. When he notices that you’re awake, he lets out a deep sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank God you’re finally awake,” he exhales. You notice tears welling up in his eyes.

“How long was I out?”

“Almost four days.”

“I- How did I get here?” You knit your brows together in confusion.

He calls to let the doctor know you’re awake before explaining, “After you passed out, I used comms again to tell Steve to hurry up or send someone to help us. He showed up six minutes later, said he had been on his way the whole time. He and Nat helped me get you out without moving you too much.”

“Six minutes? Isn’t that a bit specific,” you joke.

“I was keeping track of your pulse the whole time, actually, so he showed up just after I counted the beats in the sixth minute,” he says, his voice quiet as he speaks.

“You what?” Bucky lowers his head, stares at his hands.

The doctor enters a moment later to check your vitals and to tell you that the surgery to remove the metal was completely successful, as well as your treatment plan. Bucky sits through the whole thing, making a mental note of all of the important details.

When the doctor leaves, you speak up again.

“Did you stay here the whole time?”

“Um, mostly, yeah. I only left for an hour or two twice to go take a shower. Everyone else stayed with you then.”

“You slept in that uncomfortable chair for three nights? Why didn’t you just come back in the morning?” you ask, genuinely concerned.

“I didn’t want you to be alone,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. It makes you smile, which has Bucky’s heart lurching.

“I- I don’t even know what to say. Thank you, Buck.” He nods and grins, although there’s a question in his eyes. Moments later, the question is on his lips.

“Do you remember anything before you lost consciousness?” There’s hope laced in his voice and anxiety in his posture.

“You mean the kiss?” Bucky’s eyes widen a bit, as if he hadn’t expected you to remember, and then he nods.

“Yes, I remember. Thank you for that too.” Both you and Bucky wear a matching rosy tint on your cheeks.

“Could we uh-” he stops to clear his throat, “Could we maybe do that again sometime?” You giggle at that, and Bucky flushes a shade of scarlet.

“That sounds nice. I’d like that a lot,” you tell him.

Bucky gets up and takes a seat on the edge of your bed, and you take his hand in yours. He presses a light kiss to the back of it, which has you grinning like an idiot. You sit up and lean closer to him, despite his protests. He gently pushes you back until you’re resting against the reclined bed before leaning in. He nuzzles your nose with his own before capturing your lips in a kiss, just as gentle as the first one. His vibranium hand cups your cheek while his other one still holds fast to your hand. The two of you pull apart only when you hear the subtle cough of someone behind you.

“Sorry for interrupting,” Tony says with a cheeky smirk, “but we heard that our lovely Y/N was awake.” The rest of the team is with him, even little Peter, who has a bouquet of your favorite flowers in his hands.

“We can leave you two alone if you’d like,” Nat offers suggestively, but both you and Bucky insist that they stay, which makes Sam and Wanda laugh.

Bucky reclaims his seat in the chair just beside your bed, still holding your hand as the team chats with you. He isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Masterlist

[copperbora]

Concept Writing - Kit at the Vet

Heyo, beautifuls! I thought I’d share this piece, which is a concept for a maybe future story. Note that there’s certain elements which I’m not happy with - wolves are so overdone in shape shifting genre - but it’s still a great start and I hope that you enjoy it. 

Kit at the Vet By Rosanna P. Brost October 26th 2017

A kind, animal loving woman is sobbing. She has brown eyes, curly black hair and her husband is as bald as a baseball, with a voluminous moustache capable of winning best in show in any facial hair competition. He sits with one arm around her, consoling her and using his other hand to pet the strawberry blonde and grey dog laying at their feet. Despite the blood matted in the dog’s fur on one hind leg, it appears to be mildly annoyed, as does the receptionist who is sitting at the clinic’s counter. The waiting room is painted a soothing green, the floor is honeyed wood and the dog is really wishing that she could do something about the leash in the lady’s hand, which is so inconveniently attached to her neck, which the man won’t stop touching.

The dog is me and I am not a dog at all but a wolf but I’m also not that either, because I am actually Aurora Peters, Homo sapiens. These schmucks who have brought me in to Pleasant Hill Veterinary Practice are just two more in an annoyingly long line of idiots who apparently can’t read the ‘if found injured, please admit to hospital, not vet’ tag on my collar, or my name, or my mom’s phone number or even my home address. Instead, they’ve all taken me to the vet and it’s only stupid luck that there is only one veterinary practice in town for them to come to. Everyone here knows me, right down to the Russian Blue greeter cat, who has just come to say hi, but Jacob Hars, my well-meaning benefactor, rudely shoos her away. Luna gives a dissatisfied brrrt and wanders off, tail waving in the air, passing Doctor Hank Johnson as he steps out with a clip board. I meet his eyes and we share a moment of shared disgruntlement, then he greets my benefactors, the Hars, who tearily declare the usual.

“Doctor, we think she was hit by a car -”

“Her owners should know better than to let her roam!”

“There’s no name on her collar at all -”

“Doctor, if her people don’t want her, we’ll take her! She’s a beautiful animal!”

“I am truly grateful for your concern for this animal, Mister and Missus Hars,” says Hank charitably, “but I assure you, Kit has a good home and we have her on record. She’s just got a nasty little habit of jumping fences, that’s all.”

The Hars gasp and complain a bit more, but eventually Hank chivvies them out, the receptionist Tanja assuring them that they really do know me, then Hank pulls me into the back room with one of the clinic’s leashes. The moment that we’re through the door and out of sight of the waiting room he unclips the leash from my collar and glares at me. Despite the fact that he’s one tall dude, colour me uninspired - after all, there’s rainbow tabby cats all over his scrubs and he wears a bowtie decorated with paw prints. Plus, he’s like family to me, almost a second father; we even celebrate Christmas together every year and I gave him a birthday present just last week. (An obnoxiously lurid set of new scrubs, of course.)

“Kitsune, you gotta stop getting yourself into so much trouble,” says Hank crossly. “What’d you even do to yourself, girl?”

With some effort, because doing so opposes my current cute ‘n fluffy form, I speak, “I got caught in a barbed wire fence. It was rather against letting me continue on my merry way.”

He rolls his eyes. “You know, there are safer ways of practicing your bloody shape shifting! Couldn’t you have waited for shutzhund tomorrow?”

Ahh, shutzhund. Some girls have volleyball, some girls have jogging and then there’s freaks like me who compete in the lovely German dog sport of mauling guys in heavily padded protective suits - as a dog. My team mate is even a real dog, Hank’s champion Russian bred German Shepherd Vlad, (who, if you’re wondering, does indeed kick my ass at Shutzhund.) Hank got me into it because he figured that since I insist on moving around on all fours and pretending more or less to be canine, I needed to learn how to defend myself that way. Thus far, it has helped me learn how to bark convincingly, which has proven incredibly entertaining.

“Work was so boring, I needed to go out for a run,” I say, extending my hind leg and wincing at the shallow gash in it. “Good thing I’ve had my tetanus shot, eh?”

“Aurora Peters, what season is it?” demands Hank, crossing his arms.

“Fall…?” I say, cocking my head to signal my what-are-you-getting-at because honestly I have no idea why he is asking this dumb question.

“Yes, it’s Fall - hunting season, Aurora! The time of year when a bunch of idiots with guns who don’t know a deer from a shadow are running around our fields and forests looking for wildlife to put bullets in! And what are you, currently, woman?” he snarks. 

I glance at myself, then bare my teeth in a smirk which I have been perfecting in front of my mirror. “Gorgeous.”

Hank looks heavenward, as if asking God for help with bettering my youthful lack of brain cells. “A wolf! And if they don’t mistake you for a wolf, which lots of idiots hate, they’ll mistake you for a bloody flaming coyote, which people hate even more! Do you want a bullet in your brain, woman? ‘cus I can’t fix that!”

He likes calling me ‘woman’ - it’s as if he’s trying to remind me that I am actually a human, a fact which I am quite painfully aware of, thank you. 

“Not particularly,” I say, “but I wasn’t really in a field -”

“It don’t matter!” snaps Hank. “Kitsune, you gotta stay in town right now! And wear a bloody reflective vest, you ninny - emulate dog instead of arrooo.”

I sniff, “I wear it when I am hiking, but I need someone to put it on for me and I was alone, so -”

“Couldn’t you have stopped by here? Or gotten Rick, anybody to put it on for you?”

I look at him blankly, silently admitting: this would have been smart.

“But I’m alone tonight, so how the heck would I get it off afterwards?” I ask shrewdly.

Cue another eye roll. “You come by here and I’d take it off for you, you know I’m here for another hour. Kit, why can’t you have a weekday hobby? Why do you have to spend every spare minute you have running naked around town?”

He’s right, actually; if I were to transform right now, I would be naked, a fact which many townspeople have witnessed, thanks to the first time that I was hit by a bicycle (bikes are my nemesis) and the good Samaritan cyclist tried to help me. When I spoke up to say that I had just been stunned and was fine, the cyclist had fainted. Me, being kind of an idiot, had transformed back to perform CPR if needed, thinking they were in cardiac arrest - and at that moment, a long line of kindergartners had walked past the park where we were with their teacher on the way to the pool, the kids discovering quite abruptly what boobs look like. I had been unable to concentrate enough to change back, so I had ran streaking for home, only for my embarrassment to become truly complete by the police officer who had stopped by to write me a ticket for public indecency that evening. It had not ended there - for weeks I had had the parents of the kindergartners being terribly rude to me and that was about the time when I opted to spend the rest of my secondary education at home. 

“Well, since you were dumb and forgot to bring by another set of clothes for circumstances like this from the last time that you swore you wouldn’t show up here like this, you can spend the rest of my shift hanging out with Vlad until I can drive you home,” determined Hank and he herded me into his office, where Vlad was quite happy to slobber all over my face. Tail clamped between my hindquarters to thwart Vlad’s mundane yet cherished canine hobby of butt sniffing, I turned back to the door, just as Hank was about to shut it. His eyebrows shunted low over his dark eyes and I nervously laid back my ears.

“Y’know, Kit, someday this shape shifting nonsense is going to get you into some real trouble, and I might not be there to help,” said Hank and with these forbidding words, he walks off, cheerfully calling a greeting to his next, real patient.

Unfortunately, he repeats this warning in some format every time I end up at his clinic on four legs - after all, that’s how we first met - so I don’t really listen to him. Instead, I proceed to horse around with Vlad.

Like an idiot.

[pizza-is-my-buziness]

Hi, not sure if you're doing prompts or anything, but if/when you are, do you have any interest in a Supergirl Skimmons AU with Daisy as Kara? Maybe Simmons as a DEO scientist? If not that's cool, but I love your stories.

Thank you anon! Your kind words mean lot! And thank you for the prompt! I ended up using the episode “For the Girl Who Has Everything” as huge inspiration for the story so it’s not quite as Supergirl-esque as it could be (I guess) but once the idea got into my brain I couldn’t shake it free. Enjoy!

When Daisy opens her eyes, there’s an unfamiliar weight in the bed beside her. She’s used to being able to sprawl out however she likes, dropping onto the mattress after flying around the city all night, sometimes barely remembering to change out of her suit. But her limbs aren’t splayed across the mattress, she’s tangled up in someone, her arm draped across the waist of the person still sleeping pressed against her.

It’s Jemma. Daisy wouldn’t believe it if she hadn’t grown skilled at committing Jemma’s features and the smell of her perfume and shampoo to memory. She’d never admit it, but she can recognize the cadence of Jemma’s heartbeat in a crowded room and it’s the same steady, comforting rhythm that reaches her ears right now. It’s definitely Jemma lying in bed beside her.

That does little to answer the question of why.

As gently as possible, Daisy extracts herself from the warm tangle of Jemma’s body, immediately regretting those actions. It’s definitely not a dream; she wouldn’t feel so cold and lonely all of the sudden if it was. Daisy slips out of bed, taking a step back in an attempt to study the situation. It’s her apartment alright; the same messy piles of laundry are on the floor, the same cheap Ikea furniture still decorates the place. And the same giant windows -the thing that drew her to the place originally- are still letting in the sun, warming the room and making Jemma’s hair glow.

Jemma stirs and Daisy freezes, uncertain of what she should do next. It’s not like she hasn’t thought about this or even hoped for it…but she’s never taken her relationship with Jemma past the professional. She’s kept everything firmly in the realm of wishful thinking and Daisy thinks it would be ridiculously cruel if something finally happened with them and she couldn’t even remember it.

“Daisy?” Jemma questions, her voice quiet and cracked from sleep. She turns her head, looking at the empty mattress beside her before spotting her in the corner. “What’s wrong?”

Daisy only shakes her head, unsure of how to answer. “Uh…no…nothing.”

Jemma offers her a faint smile, rolling over so she’s facing Daisy. “It’s early still.” She crooks a finger at her. “We don’t have to be at the DEO for a while.”

Daisy barely manages to resist the urge to look over her shoulder, certain that there has to be someone else in the room that Jemma is talking to. But she manages to take a step forward, moving toward Jemma and her sleep tousled hair and her rumpled tank top.

And not much else, though Daisy is trying not to let her eyes wander.

When Daisy sits back down on the mattress, Jemma reaches for her, pulling her in for a kiss that makes Daisy’s mind feel like it’s going to explode.

Seriously, if this is how kissing Jemma is always going to be she’s a little disappointed she hasn’t done it before.

“Jemma?” Daisy pulls away even though it kills her to do so. “Don’t take this the wrong way but…what?”

Jemma smiles at her curiously. “What do you mean?” She frowns. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Daisy isn’t sure how to answer that question. Obviously, she’s doing great, considering the fact that she’s in bed with Jemma and apparently can kiss her whenever she wants. But she really feels like she would have remembered if Jemma had suddenly gone from her DEO doctor to…everything Daisy has always wanted for them.

“Is this a dream?” Daisy questions finally because it still feels like the only thing that makes sense given the circumstances. It’s a very real dream though, one she might not want to wake up from.

Jemma laughs and the sound sends shivers down Daisy’s spine and her heart beats double time. “Daisy,” she says softly, taking Daisy’s face in her hands. “Can’t we be happy and have it be real?”

Daisy kisses her then because she’s right. Can’t she be happy? Can’t she have what she’s wanted? Even if she’s missing some of the pieces of the puzzle, does that really matter? What she wants is Jemma and this moment and a thousand more moments just like it. Doesn’t she deserve it?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Don’t touch her!” Jemma snaps, raising her hand like she intends to physically hit the DEO agent’s hand aside if necessary. And for the record, she’s totally ready to do just that.

The agent backs away quickly, just like the other black-suited men in the room, unwilling to risk crossing Dr. Simmons. Which is fine, it’ll make things easier.

Thanks to her outburst, no one is willing to get close to the examining table in the middle of the room, though that doesn’t stop Jemma from moving forward. Daisy is lying there, still and silent, two things Jemma doesn’t think Daisy has ever been around her. Her skin has lost its usual glow and that…thing is covering her body, its hooks and roots twisted around her. Part of Jemma’s mind is screaming at her to do exactly what she just stopped the DEO agent from doing: rip the parasite off Daisy’s chest and shake her until she wakes up. But she knows that’ll only make things worse and put Daisy in more danger.

She’s unfamiliar with this creature but there’s no doubt that it’s a parasite and Daisy serving as the host. Sometimes the separation of the two can prove to be deadly for both parties involved and while Jemma doesn’t care about this hideous flower that’s latched itself onto Daisy’s body, she does care about the person serving as the host.

Jemma takes a breath to center herself, to focus her thoughts and push aside the part of her brain demanding rash actions. She looks at the agents. “Get Bobbi and Coulson and Mack,” she tells one, the one she almost hit moments earlier. “And start looking through the archives to see if you can find any mention of something like this.”

The men nod but don’t make a move to leave and Jemma feels her frustration flare up again. “Go! Now! We don’t know how much time we have.”

This, at least, gets the job done. Jemma is alone in the room again with Daisy, watching her chest rise and fall, each breath shallow and strained. Her eyelids flicker, like she’s dreaming and Jemma can only hope that her thoughts are pleasant at least, since reality is less so.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The kitchen smells heavenly and Daisy feels her mouth start to water, her stomach rumbling. Jemma doesn’t seem to be in a rush to get dressed in actual clothes and head off to the DEO so Daisy has no problem following her example, hopping up onto the counter top and picking up a piece of freshly cut fruit.

Jemma gives her a look. “Are you going to help or just eat?”

Daisy pops the apple slice into her mouth. “I thought I would just eat. You know, super-metabolism and all.”

Jemma swats her with a spatula before flipping the pancake sizzling on the pan. “Nice try. If you want eggs you better start cooking.”

Grumbling, Daisy slips off the counter again, going to the fridge and retrieving the egg carton. She pauses, considering the items in the refrigerator; she doesn’t cook much, eating mostly takeout or meals Mack or Coulson ply her with. But there’s groceries on the shelves, things she recognizes from seeing in the DEO’s fridge, things that she knows Jemma likes. Her heart flutters in her chest at the idea of them sharing this space, intertwining their lives together.

It seems ridiculous that she could have possibly forgotten this…maybe she hasn’t forgotten exactly…maybe she’s just been a little foggy…Daisy already feels like all of this makes more sense than it did earlier. This is where she belongs, this life feeling more solid beneath her feet. Of course she’s here with Jemma, of course they share this place together. What else is there?

“Daisy?” Jemma’s voice pulls her back to the present. “Eggs?”

“Right.” Daisy holds up the carton. “Got it.”

Daisy cracks a few eggs into another pan, watching Jemma out of the corner of her eye. She’s smiling blithely, pouring more batter onto the sizzling pan. Daisy glances at the clock over the stove; it’s late and she can’t believe Coulson or Mack haven’t called yet, at least looking for Jemma. Jemma, who seems to practically live in her lab at the DEO.

“I can’t believe you aren’t in the lab right now,” Daisy remarks, cracking another egg. “What happened to ‘science above everything else’ or whatever you’re always telling me when I’m trying to convince you to take a break?”

Jemma looks over at her, lifting an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with taking a break every now and then?” She asks. “You’re more important than science.”

It’s a nice sentiment but it settles uncertainly in Daisy’s mind and she’s not sure why.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“All we can do now is try and keep her alive,” Jemma says to the three solemn faces looking back at her. “We can’t extract the parasite forcibly; doing so seems to send her body into a form of cardiac arrest.”

Bobbi scowls, looking down at Daisy’s inert form on the table. “So…what? We just let this thing leech off her forever?”

Jemma purses her lips. “Not forever,” she says softly. “Daisy’s vitals have already been dropping drastically. She won’t sustain it for more than a few more hours.”

Mack looks stricken, unable to pull his eyes away from his foster sister. He reaches for her but seems to think better of it, afraid of doing something irreversible. “There has to be something…” He trails off, looking over at Coulson. “Jiaying. She’s our only hope.”

Coulson starts to protest but Jemma doesn’t give him the chance. “I agree. Now is not the time for strict rule following.”

“Jiaying is a criminal; just because she’s Daisy’s mother doesn’t mean we can automatically trust her,” Coulson points out. “She’s lied before.”

Jemma feels her frustration rising again and she curls her fingers into her palms, nails cutting into skin. “Coulson, it might be our only chance,” she says softly. “It might be Daisy’s only chance.”

Coulson looks over at Bobbi, who only nods. They leave without another comment and Jemma is grateful; they don’t have time to waste. She steps toward Daisy, brushing her hair away from her face, letting her hand linger on her forehead, her cheek.

“I have two PhDs,” Jemma says softly, not needing to look at Mack to know he’s still there. “I’m the head of a secret government organization’s science department. But I can’t do anything.”

Mack puts a hand on her shoulder and they stand like that for a while, keeping their vigil.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Something feels different about you,” Daisy remarks as she watches Jemma run a brush through her hair. She can’t put her finger on it; physically, Jemma is perfect, every curve of freckle exactly as Daisy has it imprinted in her mind. But there’s still…something unfamiliar.

Unfamiliar about everything, a nagging in the back of Daisy’s mind that makes her feel like she should be somewhere else.

Jemma gives her a look. “You’ve been acting strange all day and you’re saying there’s something different about me?”

Daisy gives her a sheepish look, flopping back onto the bed and staring up at the ceiling. “I know, I know. It sounds crazy.” She frowns. “I feel kinda crazy…it’s just…weird. Being here with you.”

“With me?” Jemma sounds hurt and the tone in her voice cuts straight to Daisy’s heart.

“No, not you,” Daisy assures her quickly, sitting up so she can look at Jemma. “That’s not what I meant. I mean…this is all I’ve wanted since we met. Us…together.”

Jemma frowns. “Then why question it?” She questions. “Why second guess everything?”

“That’s your job, right?” Daisy questions, smiling. Jemma doesn’t respond and her smile falters. “You know…since you never accept just one answer for something.”

Jemma nods, stepping out of bathroom and sitting down beside Daisy, taking her hand. Their hips and thighs press together and Daisy’s heart skips a beat. “With you, I don’t have to question anything,” she says softly. “There’s no need.”

Daisy closes her eyes, pressing her forehead against Jemma’s. “I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Jemma strokes her hair, her touch lingering at the base of her neck. “I just feel like there’s somewhere else I should be…” She opens her eyes. “Like we both should be somewhere else. Like the DEO.”

“Coulson can wait for once,” Jemma assures her. “You always give so much for other people, Daisy. You can be selfless for once, instead of always trying to save the world.”

Obviously, Jemma is right. And being here with her definitely makes Daisy feel like being a little selfish.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Jemma bites her tongue, swallowing down the words of protest when Coulson and Bobbi bring Jiaying into the room in Kryptonite cuffs, Bobbi’s gun glowing green from the rounds inside. She doesn’t want it near Daisy but she has a feeling Coulson won’t budge on this.

When Jiaying sees her daughter, her face falls, the mask she normally keeps so firmly in place falling away. The sight of Jiaying always twists Jemma’s stomach into knots; she hates the woman for what she did to Daisy when she was only a little girl, abandoning her to a dying planet and escaping with like-minded criminals in an effort to cleanse the galaxy of any inferior species. Daisy’s father had put her in a pod only four years later, hoping that she’d escape the death of her planet and make it to Earth. When she’d finally reunited with Jiaying, they had been on opposite sides of the war.

But looking at Jiaying now, Jemma can just see Daisy’s mother. She looks away from the open anguish on her face, looking at Daisy instead. Her skin is sallow now, her breathing raspy and Jemma’s fingernails don’t even leave creases in her palms anymore because she’s bitten them all to the quick.

“What is it?” Bobbi says, prodding Jiaying with her gun, her impatience plain. “Fix it.”

Jiaying only shakes her head. “I can’t. It's…it’s not that easy,” she says quietly. She reaches for Daisy but the cuffs keep her from touching her. “It’s the Black Mercy…a parasite that infects the host’s mind and traps them in their perfect fantasy. You can’t remove it by force, it’ll kill her.”

Jemma glowers. “We know that. Can you tell us something useful?” She snaps. “How do we help her?”

“You can’t.” Jiaying looks at her almost piteously, as though she can read Jemma’s every thought. “She has to reject the fantasy herself; that will cause the Black Mercy to lose its hold and release her.”

“But it’s her perfect world, right?” Mack asks sharply. “Who would reject that?”

Jiaying looks back at Daisy. “It’s the only way. Otherwise it’ll leech off her until she dies.”

Jemma can’t help but feel like that outcome is closer than she would care to admit.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Jemma seems perfectly content to do nothing all day, to laze around in bed, wrapped up in Daisy.

Daisy has no idea when this became the opposite of what she wanted.

“This isn’t right,” she says softly and that uneasy feeling is back, the sensation that the world is tilting beneath her feet. “You're…not you.”

“You keep saying that,” Jemma protests, watching as Daisy paces the length of her apartment. “But I don’t know how else to be.”

Daisy only shakes her head. “This just…it isn’t what I thought. We’re not…this isn’t how I imagined it.”

Jemma grins at her. “You imagined us together?” She teases.

Daisy ignores her. “You aren't…you would never do this.” She stops, spinning on her heel so that she’s facing Jemma, who is watching her from the bed. “You would never just stay here all day, doing nothing. Your work is too important…you have too much drive…too much ambition. Too much you want to do. And it used to make me crazy but now…now I realize it’s one of the things I love about you.”

“I don’t understand where all of this is coming from,” Jemma says quietly, the hurt back in her voice. “I thought you were happy…I thought we were happy.”

“You’re too docile.” Daisy studies Jemma, like she’s seeing her for the first time. “You just want to make me happy…when have you ever cared about making me happy or coddling me?”

Jemma winces. “You make me sound like a terrible person.”

Daisy shakes her head. “No…no…you're…passionate. And aggressive. In the best ways. You’re so opinionated and you never let anyone get away with any shit, even Coulson, which is awesome, by the way.” She pauses, shaking her head. “And you're…you’re the only one I trust…with me.”

Jemma’s brow furrows. “I don’t understand…all of those sound like good things?”

“But that’s not…you.” Daisy matches her expression, all knitted eyebrows and confusion. “I don’t know why, I can't…I don’t understand. But it’s not you. You aren’t my Jemma.”

Jemma looks away, her eyes closing. “I don’t know what that means.”

Daisy doesn’t either but it’s nice to finally feel certain about something.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Jemma hadn’t argued when Coulson had taken Jiaying back to her cell, refusing to let her spend a moment with Daisy but now it seems almost…cruel. She hates herself for thinking that, for letting her thoughts wander down that path but things suddenly seem so final, so unchangeable. Like there’s nothing for them to do but stand here and watch as Supergirl is finally defeated.

Angrily, Jemma swipes a tear off her cheek. Feeling sorry about things isn’t going to help Daisy and feeling sorry for herself isn’t going to get them anywhere. But right now, she’s not sure what else to do.

On the table, Daisy gasps, her head rolling to the side. Jemma quickly hurries to her side, taking her hand and holding it in both of hers. Daisy gasps again, the sound grating and terrible, a desperate rasp for breath.

“No,” Jemma says softly, reaching for Daisy’s face. Her skin is cold and sweaty. Daisy was always so warm and bright, like the sun that gives her her powers. That light seems to have faded away completely. “Daisy, don’t do this. Please. You have to fight it. Please, please.” Jemma can feel the tears dropping onto her cheeks but this time she doesn’t care. “Daisy, we need you.”

She needs her. It should be obvious.

Daisy wheezes again, her back arching off the table and she seems frozen like that, her body and lungs stiff and unmoving. Jemma bows her head, pressing Daisy’s hand to her forehead.

And suddenly, Daisy inhales sharply, dropping back down to the table. And the parasite, the Black Mercy, falls away, landing on the floor with a meaty thud. Jemma can hear Mack and Coulson exclaiming, Bobbi springing into action. But all she can do is close her eyes, pressing her forehead to Daisy’s chest, letting relief seep through her.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When Daisy opens her eyes, there’s an unfamiliar weight on her chest. For a minute, she feels like she’s lived all of this before, like she should be back in her apartment with Jemma in bed beside her. She thinks this time she might not be strong enough to pretend like she doesn’t want any of it.

And there’s Jemma, her head pressed to Daisy’s clavicle, Daisy’s hand in a vice grip. But they aren’t in Daisy’s apartment and they aren’t in bed together. They’re in a medical room at the DEO if the sharp, bitter smell of antiseptic is any indication. And Daisy can hear Mack’s voice and Coulson’s and everything feels fuzzy and uncertain but somehow stronger and more stable than the last thing Daisy remembers.

When Jemma sits up, moving back and letting go of Daisy’s hand, there are tears on her cheeks and a wobbly smile on her face. Daisy can only stare at her. “What’s wrong?” Her voice is strained and unfamiliar to her own ears.

Jemma doesn’t answer, smiling and shaking her head. There’s enough going on in the room to distract from Daisy’s question and when Jemma steps away to make way for Coulson and the others, Daisy follows her with her eyes. The memories bouncing around in her mind feel so real, close enough to reach out and touch: the way it had felt to wake up beside her, to have Jemma in her space, to kiss her and have her close. But looking at Jemma now, even with this space between them, it feels so much more real.

Amidst all the fussing and coddling, Mack and Coulson manage to fill Daisy in on the events of the day: Mack had found Daisy in her apartment, already under the influence of the Black Mercy. Daisy feels her cheeks grow hot as Coulson explains the effects of the Black Mercy and really hopes she can go to her grave never telling people that her greatest fantasy was apparently sharing an apartment and making breakfast with Jemma Simmons.

“So,” Bobbi asks with a smirk as she helps Jemma start taking her vitals, “what was your greatest fantasy, Supergirl?”

No such luck apparently.

Daisy clears her throat. “I don’t remember.”

Thankfully they leave it at that.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“I’m fine, really,” Daisy says, watching Jemma go through the same checks she’s been doing for the past several hours. “Just give me the seal of approval, Doc, so we can both go home.”

Jemma gives her a look. “You’re just bored.”

“And hungry,” Daisy says, forcing a smile on her face. It feels strange, being close to Jemma again. This is the way she’s familiar with: the doctoring, the checks, the fact that Jemma is always there when she needs patching up or a sympathetic ear. And even though she knows it was all in her mind, it still feels like they’ve had something more intimate between them. “So let’s do this thing.”

“I suppose you seem back to your old self…it never hurts to be sure though…” Jemma flips through her files once more before finally sighing and setting the folder aside. “Technically I can’t keep you; you are Supergirl, you know.”

Daisy rolls her eyes. “Like I would use my laser eyes on you.”

Jemma smiles absently, her thoughts seeming a million miles away. Daisy can relate. Finally she sighs, looking back at Daisy. “I’m glad you’re okay. I was…” She swallows. “I was terrified.”

Daisy feels her heart jump into her throat. “I…you were my perfect fantasy, Jemma. Being with you…that’s what the Black Mercy showed me.”

The confession hangs between them and Jemma doesn’t rush to assure her that things are perfect, that this is what she wants, all she wants, the only thing that matters. No, this Jemma only looks at her, contemplating her words and somehow Daisy prefers that to the alternative.

Jemma steps forward, her hand sliding over Daisy’s, settling in the curve of her elbow. She lifts her head and their lips brush together with barely enough force to be considered a kiss. But it’s a connection and it’s real and that’s all either of them need for the moment.