Jemma could hear them whispering. She could see how they looked at her differently. How they avoided her as if she had some disease they could catch. She supposed she did. Every time she got close to someone, they got close to dying. Only this time it was different. This time it wasn't just close. This time they — well, she should have seen it coming. Why it had taken this long she had no idea. With Skye it had only taken a few months before she had almost—

Jemma's thoughts were interrupted by a hand on her shoulder. She turned, expecting to see Skye, or maybe Trip, asking for the eleventh time today if she was alright. Instead she found herself facing an older woman wearing a long black skirt and a black jacket who sat down beside her. "Are you Jemma Simmons?" the woman asked with a Scottish accent.

"Yes."

The woman suddenly pulled her into a tight hug. "You poor dear."

Jemma coughed and pulled away slightly. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"Oh, of course. My name is Athol Fitz; I'm Leopold's mother. He told me a lot about you. Every month in the letter, 'Jemma this' and 'Jemma that'! Didn't take me long to figure out he was in love with you, though I think it took him longer to realize that himself."

Jemma took a steadying breath. "Yes. He told me that. Right before—" Her voice caught, so she gestured towards the coffin at the front of the church. "He—he saved me. I don't know if they told you that, but he did. He was a hero. Not just then. He saved me so many times. At least three. I just—I just wanted you to know that." She wiped away a stray tear that had escaped down her cheek. "Excuse me."

"Of course," Athol said. She stood up and, with one last look of sympathy towards Jemma, walked outside.

Slowly, Jemma made her way to the front of the empty church. It was fairly small. Simple. Clean. Fitz would have appreciated that. He always was a bit of a germaphobe. Never liked it when the counters in the lab got dirty, or when blood got on them from Jemma or Coulson stitching up someone on the team. But there's nothing to stitch up when they drown in the ocean. Nothing to take your anger out on. You can hit it and scream at it and do whatever you like, but it's always going to be there, waves coming in, waves going out.

She was almost to the front. She looked around, checking to see if she was alone, and caught Skye and May standing at the back of the church, near where she had met Mrs. Fitz, watching her. After a moment of eye contact, Skye turned and whispered something to May, who then nodded, and the two slipped outside, leaving Jemma alone. She turned to face the coffin. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a small stuffed animal.

"I know this is a bit silly, since you can't hear me," she said, looking at the toy in her hand. "I got you a monkey. Since we couldn't have one on the Bus. You can have one forever now." She took a step forward and, reaching into the coffin, gently placed the stuffed monkey next to Fitz. She quickly wiped away a tear, thoroughly annoyed at herself. "I told myself I wouldn't cry here. I can cry at home, in private, but not here. Not where everyone can see. They treat me differently. Like I'm fragile. Like I'm about to break. And they avoid me. The only one who treats me the same as before is Coulson."

Jemma sighed and sat down on the front pew. There wasn't much she had planned to say. They had shared so much with each other before, that now there didn't seem to be anything left to say. "I wish you could come back. I miss you. I need you. I—" She caught herself before she said the next thing on her tongue. Then she wondered what harm it could do now. Now that he was… Jemma swallowed back more tears and took a shaky breath. "I love you, too, Fitz, you stubborn thing," she said with a small smile.

She thought back to those few minutes when he had almost said the words, and the smile faded from her face. She lowered her head into her hands. If only she had insisted they share the oxygen, he might have had just enough to make it to the surface. Or if she had made just him take it, then he would certainly still be alive. And when they were on the helicopter, she should have gone and helped the medical team. Was not getting the bends really worth losing a friend? If only she had helped. Her father was right. She is selfish. She wasn't really his friend. Not if she wasn't willing to take risks for him. Even if he had lived, she didn't deserve him. Another stray tear rolled down her cheek. If only—

Jemma raised her head when she felt someone sit down beside her, desperately hoping it wasn't Skye or May or Trip. They meant well, yes, but they really had been more successful at making it worse, not better.

It was Coulson. She looked up at him for a moment, waiting for him to say something, but he stayed silent. She hung her head again, elbows resting on her knees. "It's so different. Without him." She sighed. "I hate the lab now. It's like he's there haunting the place. I… I can't go back there. I just can't. It's too hard."

"You can always transfer to the Hub if you like. They would love to have you."

Jemma didn't answer right away. "I don't know. You all are like family to me, but… I don't know how I can stay here. Without him." She looked up at Coulson. "I need him."

"I know," Coulson said gently. He wrapped his arm around Jemma's shoulder and she leaned into him. "It's alright to cry, Jemma."

That short sentence made all of her resolve disappear, and with a sob, a week's worth of unshed tears came pouring out.

Suddenly through her tears, she saw a figure in the corner of the room. He was tall and skinny with brown hair and sort of looked like—

No. It wasn't him. As much as she wanted it, it wasn't Fitz.

Fitz was dead.