AN: So, after watching all of season one and the first half of season two of Agents of Shield in the span of a week, I became quite attached to FitzSimmons. Since season two hasn't been very kind to the lovable science duo, I felt like I needed to write this fic to resolve some of the tension between them. I tried to stay as canon-compliant as possible, but there may be some issues here and there. Let me know if you notice something really problematic so I can try to fix it.
Several of the chapters pull heavily from the show itself in an attempt to create a feeling of authenticity and continuity. All characters and any dialogue from Marvel's Agents of Shield are the property of ABC, Joss Whedon, Jed Whedon, and Maurissa Tanchareon. No copyright infringement is intended.
Reviews are welcome and appreciated. Please take a moment to leave your thoughts if you have the time.
In the decade they've known each other, this is the longest they've ever been apart. She's not sure what she expects from him when she returns from her undercover work at the Hydra facility, but it's certainly not the guarded stare he gives her after he asks if she's real. She's not even sure what to make of his statement. What she wants more than anything is to run to him and feel his arms around her. She's still shaken from her near demise, and he's always made her feel safe.
When he just stands there, arms crossed and saying nothing, she knows that her very presence is making him uncomfortable, and that is the last thing she wants. He's closed off to her in a way that is foreign to them both. Realizing he'd probably reject her embrace, she decides to walk carefully toward him.
She regrets the inane question she asks him the minute the words leave her mouth, but she's desperate to hear his voice. He just stares at her for a moment before mumbling, "I'm fine." They both know it's a lie.
It's not that he isn't happy to see her alive and well. He hated knowing that she was undercover at Hydra, and he much prefers that she will no longer be surrounded by people who might kill her at any moment. That being said, he's not sure that he wants her here, and that unsettles him. His attempts to get over her have failed miserably, and, while he hoped seeing her again would fill the hole she left in her wake, all he feels now is an excruciating mix of pain, loss, and inadequacy.
The strain proves too heavy for them, and they both mutter half-hearted excuses before turning away from each other.
They continue to avoid each other as much as they can for the next several days. On the few occasions they have to occupy the same space, they do their best to not to talk or even look at each other. The silence between them is unbearable, and Simmons is the first to crack.
She's tries everything she can think of to be what he needs, though she honestly doesn't have a clue as to what that might be. When leaving him alone just increases the tension between them, she tries seeking him out. She keeps her voice as cheerful as she can when she asks for his help. She hopes he'll understand that she still wants him as her partner. Out of habit, she finds herself trying to finish his thoughts, but she's wrong more often than she's right. When she tries not saying anything, he seems just as frustrated with her. She's completely at a loss. Everything attempt she makes just drives him further away.
He's exasperated with her and himself. Her presence used to be a comfort to him. Now, he wishes she would stop trying so hard to pretend everything is okay. He, like her, wants nothing more than for everything to be the way it used to be, before Ward turned out to be a traitor, before he confessed feelings she clearly doesn't return, before they both nearly died, before he became a shell of the man he used to be. He hates change, and he's struggling to find something to hold on to when nothing is familiar anymore.
The stress of the last few months has made him even more short of temper and impatient. He's used to being brilliant and capable and chatty. He knows that he is improving, but his recovery is so slow, and he wants more than anything to be the partner she's used to. He tries his best, but he always feels like he's floundering when she's around.
After a little more effort than it should have taken, he does help her sort out the problem with her hard-drive from Hydra, and they seem to find some footing with each other. But later, when he is looking at the backlogged files, their tentative détente falls apart. She used to be able to finish his every thought; now they're completely out of sync and they both know it. When she looks at him, he feels like she's searching for a sign that he's still the man she knew, and he just can't take it anymore.
When he snaps at her, she tries to explain, "I'm not trying to treat you any differently…" but he interrupts.
"I know, but I am different, and I'm trying not to be, but I am!"
He hesitates before going on, afraid that she'll confirm what he fears—that she knows he's always going to be less than he was and that's not enough for her.
"And for some reason if you can't accept it…" he reluctantly voices.
Now, she cuts in, wanting him to understand that she does accept him, all of him, as she always has and always will.
"Oh, that's not fair. Fitz, I'm only trying to help…"she trails off. She's only ever wanted to help, but she's failing. She's not used to failing, particularly when he's involved.
"You left! I needed help. I needed help with the cloaking. I needed help with, um, with lots of other things, and someone to talk through at least. You gave up on me!" he accuses; his hurt and bewilderment clear to her.
For a decade, Simmons has been one of the only constants in his life. He needs the stability she provides to keep him grounded. Ward's betrayal had shocked him to his core, but he took comfort knowing that no matter what he would always have Simmons. Then she'd destroyed that sense that security when she walked away from him. As much as he loved her, still loves her, he can't trust her now, and that kills him. In time he thinks he can accept that she doesn't love him as he loves her, but he can't accept her turning her back on him when he needed her most.
"I did no such thing!" she denies vehemently.
She left, yes, but she never gave up on him. She left precisely because she refused to give up on him. In her mind, staying meant she was willing to give in and accept a life for him that was less that what he could have and deserved just because she was desperate to be part of it. She wanted nothing more than to be by his side, but, after the first few weeks of his recovery, she knew without a doubt that he would never regain what he lost with her around. She'd made him dependent on her by jumping in too soon, filling in too much, and guarding him too closely. He started to look to her for everything and eventually he'd stopped progressing, content to have her fill in the gaps. So she left even though she felt like she had torn part of herself out by doing it.
"You told me you were going to go see your mum and your dad. And then you went off to, for all I know, you could, something could have, you could have been killed. And because what? Because you think I'm useless," he charges.
He's certainly hurt by her betrayal of their friendship, but he's also angry with her and himself for endangering her life. They're in this mess because he couldn't bear to see her die, and she'd clearly jumped headfirst into the first dangerous thing she could find because he's apparently too broken for her. He's livid that she would treat her life so carelessly, and he's furious with himself for not being enough to keep her safe.
Hearing his outburst, she realizes just how much she's failed him. The guilt over what happened to him that threatens to overwhelm her on most days increases tenfold. Her greatest effort to help him did help him recover, but it has also convinced him that she thinks he is of no use to her or anyone else. She knew the price of leaving him would be high for her, and she'd accepted it for his sake, though not without considerable grief. Now she sees that she'd been too preoccupied with her own pain to consider how he would interpret her absence or the price he would pay. She's failed him and driven a wedge between them that she doesn't think they'll ever get past.
"Of course, I don't. That's not why I left," she begins, before realizing that she's not ready to admit to him that her poor decisions during those initial weeks of his recovery are the root of his current struggles.
"Then why?" he presses, impatient to understand her reasoning. He's finally given up hope that he'll discover something to explain why Ward betrayed them, but he has never let go of his desperate wish that there is some rational explanation for why Simmons abandoned him.
"Fitz," she begins wearily. She wants to explain it to him, but his expectant stare unravels the last hold she has on her emotions.
She already knows that she makes him worse, but she isn't strong enough to live in a world where he knows it too. She knows it's selfish to keep the truth from him; she's hurting him—has been hurting him all along—but she doesn't have the courage to tell him. She wants to be what he needs, and, while it's clear that she still isn't, she can't help but stall for more time in hope that she will be.
"I'm sorry. I can't do this. Excuse me," she pleads, rushing out of the lab as the first tear escapes.
More confused than ever about what's happening between them, Fitz makes no move to stop her. His head aches, but he's spared from thinking about their latest tension-fraught encounter when Mack enters. Coulson needs them to figure out the explosives Hydra used on the U.N., and Fitz is more than willing to latch on to the distraction.
When Simmons returns to the lab later bearing two cups of tea, he knows that it's her way of apologizing. He just wishes he knew what she was apologizing for.
TBC.