She hated to admit all the times she ignored her mind, the voices telling her to be rational, that the thoughts and words of those around her didn't matter, that their opinions of her meant nothing. She had pushed their taunts and jeers aside for nearly four months before they started to overwhelm her. Midterms combined with the snarls and comments from her peers, the older girls calling her everything from prude to a suck-up in varying degrees of vulgarity. The boys, teasing her and peppering her with lewd propositions that she wanted nothing to do with.

The first time it happened she had brushed it off with a roll of her eyes as she went back to her work, but the constant torrent of comments were drowning her. It took a month before it made the first crack in her resolve. She'd rolled onto her side that night and cried herself to sleep. It was the first in a long string of horribly sleep-deprived nights. She wanted to tell them to stop, but she couldn't find it in her to fight back, still timid. She was naught but a child in her reality. Seventeen was nothing compared to the men and women in their twenties that surrounded her on a daily basis, telling her they were smarter, wiser, more experienced. Instead of speaking up for herself she dragged herself from bed each morning, went to class, completed her homework and went back to her dorm to the same despondency that she left the night before.

What bothered her most was that she thought things would be different when she started at the Academy. She had always had to deal with those around her not understanding her; their age differences always coming in to play when she already completed first one, then two, PhDs while still a teenager. But she had thought, had hoped, that the Academy would be a place of refuge where work and science mattered more than trying to one up each other in every way. That it would be a place where she could relate to those around her for the first time in her life. Instead, she felt more lonesome than ever. Although many were likeminded in their pursuit of science and development, no one wanted to befriend the child in class. Her own lab partner barely spoke to her, only handing her equipment and chemicals when she asked, instead keeping to himself even when he was the closest to her age in the entire school.

When she had been invited to the party earlier that evening she had been shocked, unsure what had prompted Becky David to invite her out. She wasn't legal. Too young to drink in America. But Becky didn't seem to care, goading her into tagging along until she consented. She had thought maybe, finally, the other students wanted to befriend her, or at least stop in their teasing long enough to know her as a person. But she had been wrong. She'd barely been there ten minutes before the jibes started, the taunting about her mind; about her body.

How could some little kid get accepted to the Academy? Are you even old enough to have gone through puberty yet?

Do you even know anything outside of school? God, all you care about is studying, little brown-noser.

C'mon, let a real man show you how to be an adult Simmons. We'll have a couple drinks then Braden and I will take you upstairs and –

She had run from the party at the comments, trying to blink away the tears that burned, the shame flaring in her belly and nausea tainting each breath. She had stayed in her room for nearly an hour after that, sitting on the edge of her bed feeling revolted not only with her classmates, but with herself. What did she have to offer to any of them other than her academics? She didn't know how to relate to other people. Didn't have the shared experiences that all of those around her did. She'd never been with children her own age growing up, too clever to remain in the correct age matched grade. She was a disappointment. She couldn't do anything right.

She hiccupped, clenching her eyes shut against the emotions that swarmed through her. She wanted to die in that moment. Wanted to run from the Academy, crawl into a hole and cry until her body stopped living. Instead, she got to her feet, stumbling out of her dorm room and towards the stairs, sobs bubbling from her throat. She caught a glimpse of herself in the polished metal of the door to the stairs. Cold, dead eyes stared back at her. Bags underneath them telling of her constant lack of sleep. There was no fake smile plastered on her lips this time, the one she had been perfecting since she moved to America.

She looked dead. Felt dead. The only sign of life that reflected back at her was the sight of the tears sliding down her face, leaving a trail of mascara as they went, and the rise and fall of her too slim chest. She hated herself. She screamed. Cursed herself. Cursed God. Cursed everyone. She pounded her fists against the door once before shoving it open and darting up the stairs. She needed it to stop. The voices in her head. The feelings of failure that pulsed through her with every beat of her heart. She just needed it to stop. Needed anything that could take the pain away from her.

She couldn't deal with it anymore. Couldn't deal with seeing the acerbic faces of her peers with their snide comments. Couldn't take having to pretend to be okay anymore. Not for her classmates. Not for her professors. And certainly not for herself.

It was just too much.

Her head felt like it was spinning as she fell towards the door at the top of the stairs, tripping into the crash bar as a sob ripped from her chest unbidden. Her hands shook as she tried to push herself up, to force the door open.

She barely felt the cold air whipping about her skin as she climbed out the door onto the roof of her dormitory. Snow whipped around, brushing her hair in waves as she walked from the door towards the edge, entire body feeling numb. It seemed to happen in the blink of an eye, one moment she was standing by the door, the next she was atop the edge of the roof, looking down into the darkness that encompassed the street, the lampposts providing only a dim glow for the world below. The snow, falling heavier, seemed to give the illusion of softness on the ground, even though the concrete lurked a mere few centimeters below it. She closed her eyes, taking a shuddering inhale. The longer she hesitated, the harder she knew it would be. It would be quick, she hoped. A moment of terror and then over.

"Please, don't!" the voice sounded behind her, soft and yet riddled with urgency. Glancing behind herself she saw the young man a few meters away, his blue eyes darting between her and the edge of the roof every few seconds as snow ruffled his unruly curls. She cocked her head to the side, unsure why he was even speaking to her. She didn't respond but hesitated, keeping her feet firmly planted on the ledge. "C'mon Jemma," he urged, inching slightly closer.

"Stop! Stay there!" She yelled, suddenly feeling the heat of tears gathering in her eyes before they spilled down her cheeks again as her heart started pounding beneath her ribs. She hadn't expected anyone to notice her, let alone follow her. Fitz immediately halted, holding his hands up to show her he was listening even as his eyes continued their panicked flickering.

"I'm not moving, I promise," he assured her. She took in his figure then, noting how he was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, converse shoes with untied laces already dampening in the snow that was falling around his feet. "I won't do anything unless you say so, alright Jemma?" She blinked against the harsh winter weather, a million thoughts running through her mind. She couldn't shake the confusion as to why Fitz was trying to stop her. He had been her lab partner in chemistry since the start of the semester and had barely spoken to her outside of the necessities of class. She didn't even know he knew her name.

"Why are you here?" she demanded. He looked stricken at the question but quickly schooled his features into something that could come across as placating and yet not patronising.

"I saw you come in earlier and you looked upset. I was headed to get my laundry when I saw you go for the stairs..." he replied, voice filled with a note of panic. Fitz had only noticed her running for the stairs because of the way she had pounded on the door before managing to get it open as he was heading for the laundry room. There was something about her demeanour that tugged at him in the back of his mind, urging him to follow her. He had only hesitated for a split second before chasing after her, thankful that he had left the empty basket on the dryer while it was running instead of taking it back to his room like he usually did. The fact that he had made it up the four flights of stairs to the roof with his laces untied without falling was a miracle in itself. "What happened?" His question was met with a scoff before she spoke again.

"It's nothing. It doesn't matter. Go back inside." The words were so hollow he felt his chest constrict painfully, his hand twitching at his side with the urge to hold her; to keep her safe from whatever it was that had driven her to stand on the edge of a roof in the middle of the night, her intent clear in the way she would occasionally glance back over her shoulder towards the ground far below.

"I can't do that Jemma," Fitz said, trying to inch closer as she shook her head, trying to clear her eyes of tears again.

"You keep calling me Jemma," she said, unable to temper the words before they spilled out of her, broken and riddled with a hiccup. "Why?" He looked as if she had struck him across the face at the question. "No one calls me that here. I'm just a surname. How do you even know my name?" She was too busy blinking tears from her eyes to notice as he slipped a little bit closer to her again, his feet shuffling in the snow as he inched towards the edge of the roof.

"Jemma makes more sense right now," he answered, voice rough and accent thick as he shivered slightly in the cold. "And of course I know your name. I remember the first day here when they called you during the register. You were -" he cut himself off then, cheeks staining pink as he glanced down at his feet. She shook herself, confused at his reaction.

"I was what?" she demanded, ire rising. He was keeping her from the oblivion she had wanted. From the ability to just close her eyes and truly shut out everything that had happened - how people had been treating her.

"Magnificent." He said, the word fluttering towards her with a breeze of snow. She stared, unable to process the word. "You didn't stumble over a single question we were asked. It was brilliant. You… you're brilliant," he mumbled, completely scarlet in the dim light.

"If I'm so brilliant why does everyone hate me? Why do you hate me? What have I done to make you refuse to speak to me?" Jemma growled, shoving her hair out of her face with a shaking hand, her foot moving slightly further towards the edge of the roof. Fitz fought down the urge to beg her to stay still, instead rushing through all the things that he could say to hopefully keep her attention – keep her distracted until he could figure out what to do.

"I don't hate you," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, preparing himself for the words he knew he needed to say in order to convince her to stop or to at least hold her attention for a few more seconds. "God Jemma, you're the smartest girl in the school. I didn't want to say something stupid to you... I... I wanted to impress you when I spoke to you but I... I have no idea how I'm supposed to do that. No idea what to say to you in class when I feel like an idiot compared to you. I feel like my tongue swells until I can't get any sound out when you look at me."

"What?" she whispered.

He noticed the moment her eyes glazed over, her mind rushing to try and comprehend what he was saying and he took the chance. Without warning he darted forward, grabbing her around the waist and yanking her back down onto the paving on the roof, rolling with her slightly from the force of his grab until they were tangled together amidst the snow, his hand cradling her head from where it could have crashed into the concrete, his knuckles aching. She looked up at him, shocked, before crumpling in on herself and weeping.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I had to," Fitz murmured into her hair, keeping her tight to him as she buried her face in his neck. She struggled against him for a moment, trying to break away, before her body went nearly limp in his arms, accepting the comfort he was offering her.

"I just wanted it to stop," she cried. His heart clenched painfully at the words as he gathered her up, slowly making his way back to the stairs with her in his arms. It took him a few moments, but he managed to get her back into his dorm room, unsure of where hers was. She clung to him the entire way, sobbing erratically until her breaths slowed to the occasional hiccup. "I don't feel well," she mumbled, clenching her eyes tight. Before she knew what was happening she found herself wrapped in a blanket on his bathroom floor, concerned blue eyes raking over her figure.

"Jemma... I should call a doctor. You should be in –" his attempt at getting her to the hospital was thwarted as she leaned forward, vomiting into the toilet. Cringing at the noise he gathered her long hair in his hand, holding it away from her face while trying to rub circles onto her back between her shoulders. When she finally stopped retching she nearly collapsed back against his chest, her face pale and skin damp with sweat. He knew it was the adrenalin crash; that she was coming down from the emotional peak she had built herself up to but it didn't make him feel any less anxious. He knew that depression wasn't something that was going to disappear in the span of a few hours, but he couldn't help but want to cling to the young woman, to do everything he could to make it better for her, even if only for a moment.

"No hospitals, please," she muttered, eyelids fluttering as she seemed to fight with the desire to keep her eyes closed and yet open them at the same time. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Fitz frowned at the apology, getting a cup of water from the edge of the counter and encouraging her to take a few sips.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he insisted.

"I should have been stronger. Fought harder... I don't usually let these feelings get this bad... I'm used to being invisible and ignored... I shouldn't have expected any different here," she explained, exhaustion twisting through every word. Her self-deprecation even in that moment broke his heart, making him pull her just a tiny bit closer, his hand stroking up and down her arm. He wanted to tell her that she was already a fighter; that she had won this battle tonight, even if she didn't realise it yet. She had fought hard enough for him to be able to stop her. She had been strong enough to listen to him on the roof, even if she didn't know why. She had clawed for another moment of life, even if it was a subconscious action as of yet.

"Jemma-"

"I just want to sleep," Jemma breathed. He didn't want to let her; wanted to force her to the hospital where they could check her over, to make sure that she got help. But he understood her hesitancy - the complex emotions that were running through her at her own actions, the same emotions he had felt nearly two years before when his mother had found him on the bathroom tiles staring at a razor blade that hovered only a breath above the artery in his wrist.

Against his better judgement he lifted her off the floor, carrying her to his bed and laying her down before tugging the covers up and over her.

"Why did you come after me?" she questioned, sleep already riddling her voice. He stroked her hair back from her face, glad her eyes were closed so that she would miss the look of affection he couldn't quell from his features. He sighed softly, lowering himself down until he was sitting against the bedside table, legs stretched out in front of him as he prepared to sit vigil with her until the morning.

"I've never known how to talk to you and get your attention. But you've had mine since the first moment I saw you," he said, watching her breathing even out as she fell asleep. "I promise I won't ever let you feel like you're invisible ever again."

If you at any point are feeling suicidal, there is always someone who is willing to listen.

Canada/USA
National Suicide Prevention Helpline 1-800-273-TALK (8255)
Kid's Help Phone 1-800-668-6868
Depression Hotline:1-630-482-9696
Suicide Hotline:1-800-784-8433
LifeLine:1-800-273-8255
Trevor Project:1-866-488-7386
Emergency Services 9-1-1

UK
Samaritans: 116-123 / 08457909090
Childline: 08001111
Mind infoline: 0300 123 3393
Emergency Services 9-9-9