Lost

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"I'd love to Fitz!". The idea of going on a date with her long-term friend seemed alien at first, it began to feel like the right thing to do. It was a date, right? He never called it a date, but Fitz evidently had the E.Q. of a tablespoon. Fitz just stood there, a mixture of proud and mild smugness filling his normally reserved face.  He turned sharply on his heel and exited the room. Poor Fitz. He his heart was thumping so loud Jemma could almost hear it echoing in the dimly lit chamber. "You half wit" she calls under her breath, checking the door way to see he hadn't heard her. When Fitz 'smoothly' leant on the door to engage in their conversation, he had knocked the containment chamber's door ajar. As Jemma leant on the door, she could almost see how their lives, always so closely intertwined, had lead to this moment. The graduation ceremony, when Fitz had had waaay too much to drink. They'd kissed. Just once. A drunken kiss yes, but it counted to Jemma. Didn't it?

A sickly splash split her delusions. The monolith. It was active. In her dreamy eyed state, Jemma had forgotten the sole purpose of moving closer to it.  To shut the door. She backed away, like the liquid stone infront of her was a temprimental animal.  The door slammed aside with such force the hinges bent. A wave of charcoal grey rock flowed aggressively out of the glass container.  It knew what it was doing, going straight for the only person in the room.  The force staggered Jemma, pushing her to the floor as she tried to run.  Still it poorer out, rising past her head.  She stifled a scream, the childhood fear of being submerged in the ocean returning. 
Then came the tug. A gentle pull at first, nothing more than backwash. Although this happened within a mere few seconds, it grew impatient.  The stone pulled at her ankles and wrists, pulling her back into the container.  Jemma resigned to fate, knowing she would die in that glass box. 

The stone sealed, solidifying. It encased Jemma, forming her final tomb. 

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