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Coulson found her where he expected her to be- inside her bunk packing her bags. He leaned against the doorframe, arms and legs crossed and waited until she noticed the hair raising sensation of eyes on her back.
"I didn't think you'd be leaving so soon," Coulson said as she turned to look at him. His voice carried his trademark calmness.
"Well, there's no use standing bedside vigil, Fitz will wake up soon," Jemma Simmons replied. Her hair was swept up in a ponytail. The scratches on her face were only a couple days old.
"Are you going to say good-bye?" Coulson followed up. He untangled his limbs and moved into the room, stopping to stand over Simmons.
Simmons zippered the bag she had been chucking belongings into. She slid the bag under her bed and stood up to face Coulson. Her chest rose and fell vigorously, a telltale sign of nerves. She wagered for a brief moment of telling the rest of the team she had to leave. First would come the protestations, Skye would be at the forefront of the polemical pleas. Next she'd be bombarded with questions. It would be throwing caution to the wind if she answered any of them. It would be simpler to flee in the night then give some completely untrue answers.
"I wish I could, Sir," she replied to Coulson.
"Well in that case," Coulson said wrapping his arms around Jemma, "let me say good-bye now. But please, visit Fitz before you go and talk to him. He'll hear you."
"It's a promise, Sir."
After the unofficial goodbye, Simmons followed Coulson out of the room to the kitchen. She helped with meal prep and clean up like usual, sat down and had a beer with Skye and Triplett after. She bid them goodnight like always and returned to her bunk in the Playground for the last time. She holed up there for a few hours, double-checking her luggage. She contemplated writing a brief note to the rest of the team but decided against it. Once she was sure everyone had gone to sleep, Jemma gathered up her luggage and headed down to the medical bay. She left her luggage outside of Fitz' room. The lights were on, but dim, casting a yellow glow over his sleeping body. For a time he had been in an induced coma, but now it was all on his own to wake up. His arm was in a proper sling but his face still bore remnants of the plunge into the ocean.
Jemma quietly entered the room, her footsteps barely audible over the buzzing of machines and the light breaths emanating from the gurney. She took the seat next to his bedside and sat on the edge of it, leaning forward. Her hand took the hand of his uninjured arm. It was cold.
"Oh, Fitz," she said pitifully.
"I don't think you'll hear me Fitz, but, I wish I could tell you why I have to leave. You're going to wake up and I won't be there for you," Simmons said softly, she was looking into his face, deeply focused.
"I-I won't be there, physically. But I want you to know you will never leave me, and I hope you'd keep me in your mind as you do in your heart. Thank you for being with me this whole time, Fitz…"
Jemma's voice trailed off because it began to succumb to the pressure of tears. It would be the last time she would cry for a long time.
She stood up and leaned over Fitz and placed a kiss on his forehead. She pulled his blanket up to his chin to keep him warm and crossed the room to exit. At the doorframe, Jemma lingered, and gazed at Leopold Fitz one last time before her departure.
Coulson had known she needed to leave when things had taken a bad turn. Jemma knew he was the only person she could trust to help her leave without making a scene or a trace. Using an old electromagnetic pulse she was able to disable the alarm systems on one of the Playground's few entrances. She slipped out quickly, only having a moment before the system would reboot and alert the inhabitants.
Jemma was several miles down the road, veiled in the achromatic night. Fitz, perhaps subconsciously sensing her presence in the room before, opened his eyes, propped the top half of his body up on his elbows and whispered into the darkness one single word.
Jemma.