October 20

Last night's dream was another of the more unusual ones. It was the kind that makes me wonder where my unconscious brain is getting ideas, because it did not feel like my own dream and never would I be in that situation. I was in the back of a van, and it was full of computer equipment and the walls were covered in articles cut from The New York Press, a newspaper I've never heard of. Either it is a company in the shadow of the New York Times that my brain picked up from the street somewhere, or it is one of the strangely specific details I dream up. Either way, I was in the van covered in newspapers with the Girl. She was afraid, I knew that much. The door was thrown open and we were both taken, and that was when I woke up.

Jemma gently closed her journal and set it on her nightstand with the pen before slipping out of the sheets and getting ready for work. She'd been tracking her dreams in journals since she realized at nine years old that the same girl was in every single one of her dreams, despite having never seen her before in her life. Her mother always told her it was like an imaginary friend while she was asleep, but Jemma didn't know what to think of it and began logging it. For what purpose, she didn't know, but she was 25 now and still hadn't stopped the habit. A bookshelf in her bedroom in her apartment showed it; one row was filled with journals. They started with pink princess journals on the left and gradually matured along with her age until they were plain black or brown on the right, and every single page contained a dream that included both herself and her imaginary friend.

That was just her night life though, and Jemma had long since gotten used to ignoring her curiosity and getting ready for work. She had patients to get to at the hospital that Jemma was sure didn't want her daydreaming at work. After a quick shower and a bowl of cereal, she was out the door with her coat and headed to the coffee shop to grab her usual in preparation for her long shift on call. Everything was going as normal, she got her coffee and was still sipping on it after she changed into her scrubs for the day.

A few minutes later, she was paged to the ER to run the place while the attending that was in charge went to an emergency surgery. Jemma tossed her coffee into the trash and was greeted by numerous interns trying to suck up to her the moment she arrived in the ER.

"During that surgery you had yesterday, that was the fastest appendectomy I've ever seen, it was incredible!" One told her.

"Well the APPY was the least important thing. In trauma repairs you have to deal with the more minor injuries quickly and efficiently to get to the bigger problem. Now get to work and learn something, there's a patient complaining of chest pain in bed three." Jemma shoved the chart at the young intern and gave everyone their jobs before she reached for the last chart to take care of it herself. Young woman, age 24, laceration on the face.

"So how did you end up with this cut?" Jemma was smiling when she approached the bed, but when her eyes looked at the woman's whole face instead of just the cut, her jaw dropped. It was her imaginary friend.

"I-" The woman looked just as shocked as she did, if not more so, all wide eyes and shock. "You're-" the woman was just as inept as Jemma, who was just standing there dumbly holding the chart while her patient's cut continued bleeding a bit.

"You know who I am?" Jemma asked, clutching her pen tightly. There was no way this girl had dreams about her too, that was unreal. It was impossible and Jemma couldn't even begin to comprehend it. The woman just nodded, still just as confused.

Jemma's pager began buzzing at her hip, and Jemma was close to swearing at its timing and shutting the thing off. She couldn't just ignore a 911 page, but she didn't want to let this strange occurrence fly over her head either.

"…Daisy." Jemma read off the chart. Daisy nodded and Jemma lunged forward, uncapping her pen with her mouth and scribbling her number on Daisy's arm. "Call me later, we need to… talk." Jemma stuttered, stepping away and handing Daisy's chart to the nearest intern.

"Wait, don't I get to know your name?" Daisy was smiling when Jemma turned back around, and it made Jemma's stomach turn over.

"Jemma Simmons." She smiled, gesturing to the name sewn on her lab coat. "I have to go. Call me." She ordered before taking off at a speed walk to answer the page.