Still recovering with the end of T.R.A.C.K.S so I thought I'd try writing a fic related to what happened during the episode. This picks up right where the episode finishes so hopefully it transitions smoothly. Sort of implied Fitzsimmons but nothing set in stone so I guess you can imagine whatever ships you want? Oh, and this was originally written as a really short one-shot but if anyone requests another chapter or two I wouldn't be against that. Hope you like it!
Fitz hushed the muffled sobs of his counterpart as she buried her face in his shoulder, tears slipping down and soaking into the fabric of his jacket. "It's okay," He whispered in a gentle voice when he felt her breathing beginning to even out. He gently pulled her to arms length so he could brush away the tears tracked along her cheeks before taking her hand and leading her out of the room.
"I-I should be with Skye," Simmons murmured in an obvious shaky voice, her eyes focused on the ground as she kept her mind busy with putting one foot in front of the other.
"Let's get you cleaned up first," Was Fitz's simple reply. Moments later he led her into a supply room almost identical to the one they had been in before, although this one was slightly smaller. He wrapped a hand round each of Simmons' wrists once there was water gushing out of the faucet and pressed them under the cold streams. She behaved almost like she was in a trance as Fitz rinsed off the dried blood, letting his fingers link between hers to get all that remained of the liquid off of her.
Once her hands had returned to a shade of light pink Fitz turned off the faucet, picked up and wrapped a towel round her icy cold hands. "She's going to be okay," He murmured, more to himself than to Simmons by that point, as he gently rubbed the fabric over her hands, running them in between each finger then in circles on her palms to soothe her.
"I should have done something," Simmons said with fresh tears pricking at her eyes. "She should have been wearing a bulletproof best o-or had an extra weapon with her," Her list of all she could have done was cut short as Fitz discarded the towel and pulled her into another tight hug, resting his mouth on her shoulder as she clung onto him. "This is all my fault," She whispered into his jacket.
Fitz allowed the biochemist a minute or two for her to calm down, he knew she always hated him seeing her cry anyway, before he gently pulled her away again. "None of this is your fault," He said in a stern voice Simmons was too upset to challenge. "You were the one that saved Skye, no one else."
"But Fitz-"
"But nothing," He stated then smiled weakly as he wiped away the most recent tear to spill onto her cheek. "You saved her. You're the reason she's still alive and you're going to be the first person she's going to want to thank when she wakes up. Understood?"
Simmons' bottom lip was quivering again in the way that a child would just before they cry but she refused to break down for a third time. "Understood," She answered in a shaking but prepared voice.
Fitz put on a brave smile as he smoothed out her hair to give her a slightly more composed look. "Are you ready to show these Americans what a Brit can do?" He asked, using the same motivational phrase he so often said when they were in the academy.
Simmons sucked in a deep breath before nodding and using the old reply. "Let's go kick some Yankee butt" She whispered with a weak smile before they trailed back, side by side, to the hyperbaric chamber and began work on how to save their friend.