For the past two days, Jemma has held things together, worn a mask on her face and put a muffler on her heart. She's set her brain to the task of getting Fitz better. Reading up on his condition and assisting the doctors has kept her occupied for the most part. When there's a lull in activity she's gripped his hand, whispering pleas for him to wake up, repeating, until her voice is raw, how much he means to her. How she can't possibly bear to live without him. And when words become too much, catching on silent, invisible sobs, Simmons reverts to reciting the periodic table in her head, attempting to keep the tears from falling. She won't let herself cry. Not when she's surrounded by strangers in white lab coats and scrubs. Not when Fitz is the one in the hospital bed, clinging to life and irreversibly different.
Slipping on her science brain is successful until she's left alone, just her and Fitz and the alien hum of machines. It's all whirling inside her brain and she can't stop thinking about the way science is theirs. Something they always share, and it isn't nearly the same when half of the equation is missing. It never will be.
"Fitz," she whispers, his name soft and painfully familiar on her lips. "Fitz," she echoes, realizing how much she loves his name, how often she's said it over the past years. She wants to scream it right now. Scream his name again and again until he finally wakes up, because this waiting, this hanging in limbo, is excruciating. She closes her eyes, willing away the encompassing sadness as she speaks, witnessing the sight of his pale body, looking absent of life. Absent of Fitz.
"You have to wake up soon, and you have to be okay. You have to be okay, Fitz," she says, words soft and running together in a rush. "We need you… I need you, more than anything in the world. You were so brave, Leo. And you're strong. We'll get through this. Together, like we always do. No matter what. I'd switch places if I could… I'd…"
"Simmons."
She pauses, her exhausted, traumatized, sleep deprived mind, aching to believe that the voice belongs to Fitz. Springing open, her eyes latch onto him. He looks exactly as he has for the past two days, small and fragile and gone. He looks gone; it's breaking her heart. The monitor relays no change in his vitals, no indication that the voice came from him. She feels her stomach drop, a sinking feeling dragging her down as her name is called again. "Dr. Simmons."
She turns around, not entirely surprised when she sees a small group of doctors standing in the door. It was foolish to believe he'd woken. Stupid, stupid, stupid, her mind scolds. It wasn't him. It wasn't him. It wasn't him. Fitz is in a coma. Fitz almost died. Fitz might never be the same.
Suddenly, it's all catching up to her and the room is too small and too hot and she needs to get out. Get away from everything. She wants to run and she doesn't ever want to stop.
"We're just here to take some tests. You can assist if you'd like."
The doctor's words are distant, jumbled and distorted as though Simmons is underwater. She's holding things together with the thinnest sliver of a thread and it's pulling, fraying at the edges until it snaps.
Without thought, she rises from her chair, the piece of furniture permanently situated beside Fitz's bed. "Excuse me," she mutters, brushing past the doctors as she shuffles into the hallway. "I just need a moment." Her voice cracks as the door closes with a soft whistle and finally she's alone in the empty corridor.
Terrifying reality and possibilities are crashing down, threatening to smother her in one huge, overwhelming avalanche. Memory and nightmare intertwine, weighing down on her, gathering and smothering and growing until all the light is blocked out.
She feels trapped.
The hall is too white and too still and it feels like everything is getting tighter. Her skull pounds painfully as she leans her forehead against one of the walls, her stomaching turning with dread and anxiety. She turns and vomits into a trashcan, expelling the few contents in her stomach. Fitz. She's literally sick with worry.
The floor tiles are spinning. Her whole world is spinning too quickly and she's never going to be able to keep up. Tears burn in her eyes, her heart beating with one name on her lips: Fitz.
Fitz who's always been by her side. Fitz who stayed up with her all night back at the academy when she couldn't sleep. Fitz who followed her onto the Bus despite his fears, who was willing to jump off a plane for her, who'd sacrificed himself at the bottom of the ocean. Fitz who's unconscious just a few feet away. Fitz, the most important person in her life.
The walls feel too close again and her ribs feel tight as she gasps for air, squeezing her eyes shut while scenes from the med pod flood her mind. Just like that, she's back underwater, watching Fitz lose consciousness all over as a foreign scream falls from her mouth. She's about to slip when someone grabs her, helping her stand upright.
"Jemma, it's Skye."
Simmons opens her eyes, blinking through tears at her friend, the med pod scene still running in the back of her mind. There's so much she wants to say, but her lips won't move and her chest is constricting again, because Fitz is on the other side of the wall, fighting to survive and here she is falling apart.
Her breath is coming faster and faster as she sobs and she can't stop it. Her shoulders are heaving, her lungs burning and it's all she can do to keep filling them with air, before gasping again, her heartbeat rising exponentially as she shakes her hands, pacing fretfully.
"Jemma," Skye says again, words laced with nerves for her friend. "Come on, let me help you. You'll be okay, Jem. You'll be okay. Just slow down."
A few seconds pass as Skye desperately tries to calm Simmons down. Then another voice comes, its calmness drawing her attention. "Jemma." The steadiness of the timbre snaps her out of the dark med pod and into the overly lit hall. She hasn't heard that kind of authority and certainty in what feels like months, her brain clings to it. She opens her eyes.
It's May.
"Jemma, I need you to talk to me. What's wrong?"
The scientist's body is quivering, her inhalations too close and nervous. It takes her a second to form words but eventually she manages to sputter out, "Can't breathe… I-I feel like I can't breathe… Hyperventilating… I ac-actually have t-too much oxygen… Not enough carbon diox-dioxide" The words slipping in between gulps and warm tears, still true to science in a typical Simmons fashion. She thinks about it bitterly, she has too much oxygen, and he had too little. It's cruel. It's not fair.
"Shhh, it's okay. It's going to be all right."
Jemma can't believe she's this out of control in front of May. She'd be mortified if her mind could focus on anything other than Fitz and struggling to push regulated gulps of air into her lungs. But the older woman doesn't seem to mind. In fact, she looks ready, stable—something Jemma has been longing to see.
"Sit," May instructs, offering both of her hands to the young woman who shakily sinks to the floor, gasps still ragged and quick as she sobs. "I've got you. I don't want you to fall," May says as she kneels in front of Simmons.
"We're going to breath together, okay?" May is looking at her with dark brown eyes, seeking out Jemma's own chestnut irises, keeping the girl focused. Reaching out, May takes her arms, grounding the girl to the present.
"In… and out," May demonstrates, holding Simmons' gaze, the younger woman's eyes wide with fear. "In… hold it… out…" May repeats over and over again until Simmons' breathing begins returning to normal.
"It's okay. You're doing great. Everything will be fine," May states when the scientist is able to regulate her own breathing. May's voice is calm and warm in a way Simmons has never heard. The older woman gives Jemma's hands a soft squeeze before releasing them.
"I thought Fitz was…um, I…" she stumbles over her words, feeling desperate to explain her breakdown. "I heard m-my name and I thought… I thought-"
"Simmons, you don't need to explain if you don't want to."
The scientist's head is already reeling through memories, her stomach clenches again, her whole body turning against itself as a faintness fills each crevice. "I think I'm going to be ill," she murmurs, breath picking up again.
"Just focus on me, Simmons," May says. "Right here, in front of you. Nothing else. It's going to be okay."
Jemma shakes her head, pulling her knees against her stomach. "But it's not… It's not going to be okay." She hiccups softly. "I thought Fitz w-was up… but he wa-wasn't. What if he n-never wakes up?" she asks, finally vocalizing the fear that's been burdening her. Tears stream down her cheeks, violent sobs racking her small frame as though her mind is realizing that this is the first time she's allowed herself to cry over the incident.
Skye slides beside Jemma, the biochemist just now becoming aware that Skye hasn't left. Within seconds, Skye has wrapped her arms around Simmons as she cries. Whispering, "I can't lose him. I can't."
May sits on the other side of the hall, sharing a worried look with Skye. It's one of the few times Skye has actually seen May look concerned, eyes sincere with empathy. The hacker rubs circles on Jemma's back as she hiccups, sobs subsiding to slow, inaudible tears. Exhaustion and sadness threatening to drown her. "I'm so sorry, Jemma. I'm so sorry," Skye says, guilt weighing deep and heavy in her stomach.
None of them are sure how long they sit there in the empty hall, air thick with a nearly tangible sadness. After a while, Jemma sniffles, looking up with puffy, red eyes.
"It's going to be okay," May repeats.
To Jemma, it doesn't feel like anything is ever going to be okay again. But before she can speak up, May continues. "Do you know how I know that?"
Jemma shakes her head again.
"Because even if the very worst happens and Fitz doesn't wake up, you'll manage to keep moving forward. It's going to hurt. It going to hurt like hell, but eventually, you'll learn how to live with it. And little by little, you will realize that you can go on. You're a fighter, you wouldn't be here if you weren't. You're stronger than you think, Simmons."
Jemma nods, blinking tears away. "Sorry," she mumbles, shoulders slumping in defeat and embarrassment.
"You've barely eaten or slept in days, Simmons. You need to take of yourself," May says.
"We're worried about you," Skye adds, rubbing Jemma's arm.
She nods and casts her eyes downward. "Thank you for, uh, everything and… sorry, again, I didn't mean to get so upset. It's humiliating."
May stands up. "Go get some rest. You can check on Fitz later… And Simmons?" the woman says, pausing until their eyes meet. "Don't apologize. Let us help you."
"Okay," Jemma says softly, even though she knows she won't sleep until Fitz is okay. Won't stop working until she knows everything she can about his suspected injuries. Her tired, watery eyes follow the older agent's every move as she disappears down the hall. A kindly stated promise carrying behind her. "It'll get better."
For the first time in days, Jemma starts to believe it, if only a little bit.