[It started three days ago, with an 0-8-4. The object itself was cigar-shaped, metallic and ominous. It looked to May like a missile, and it lived up to her expectations by detonating, splattering everyone and everything in a decent radius with a clear viscous substance they couldn't then, and haven't now, identified. The telepathic connection manifested overnight, affecting the entire team in pairs: Fitz and Ward, Coulson and Skye, May and Simmons. They're following quarantine procedure on the Bus, until they get this figured out.
In recent hours, Simmons has probably learned more about the plane than she'll ever need to know. May's been thinking extensively and frequently about aircraft controls, flight instruments and avionics; strictly and deliberately controlling the direction of her thoughts. It probably isn't altogether flattering that she feels the need, but she's using the same techniques she would to resist interrogation. Paranoia is the wrong word for it, largely because she doesn't give that much indication of having anything to hide, but she's guarded.
This morning, she curbed a thought about the importance of protecting Coulson. It felt dutiful, probably wasn't suspicious; not an inordinate amount of concern to have for an old friend. With her it's sometimes impossible to draw a clear distinction between personal and professional. In case anyone's betting otherwise, she's got emotions. Her frustration is only natural for the situation. She's angry, too, but not about this. It isn't the type of anger that surges up in reaction, more like a vast undercurrent, something she holds as a constant. It's unclear how much of that is a lingering effect of the Berserker staff, and how much she's carried for longer.
Simmons stands the best chance of resolving this situation, and May doesn't want to be a distraction. She had some limited success quieting her thoughts with tai chi, earlier. It's a shame she can't do that all day. She's expending an awful lot of mental effort to keep her walls up, and that can't go on forever. She's been listening, too, to the inward process of Jemma's work, and although she doesn't understand most of what she overhears, she knows the answer to her question before she asks.]
( 5. let me know if you'd prefer prose )
In recent hours, Simmons has probably learned more about the plane than she'll ever need to know. May's been thinking extensively and frequently about aircraft controls, flight instruments and avionics; strictly and deliberately controlling the direction of her thoughts. It probably isn't altogether flattering that she feels the need, but she's using the same techniques she would to resist interrogation. Paranoia is the wrong word for it, largely because she doesn't give that much indication of having anything to hide, but she's guarded.
This morning, she curbed a thought about the importance of protecting Coulson. It felt dutiful, probably wasn't suspicious; not an inordinate amount of concern to have for an old friend. With her it's sometimes impossible to draw a clear distinction between personal and professional. In case anyone's betting otherwise, she's got emotions. Her frustration is only natural for the situation. She's angry, too, but not about this. It isn't the type of anger that surges up in reaction, more like a vast undercurrent, something she holds as a constant. It's unclear how much of that is a lingering effect of the Berserker staff, and how much she's carried for longer.
Simmons stands the best chance of resolving this situation, and May doesn't want to be a distraction. She had some limited success quieting her thoughts with tai chi, earlier. It's a shame she can't do that all day. She's expending an awful lot of mental effort to keep her walls up, and that can't go on forever. She's been listening, too, to the inward process of Jemma's work, and although she doesn't understand most of what she overhears, she knows the answer to her question before she asks.]
Any progress?