Chapter One: Nightmares

You're more than that, Jemma.

In the flickering blue light of the ocean floor, she saw him clearly for the first time. It all seemed so obvious, so painfully transparent, and yet she'd been blind. Blind, and it was all too late.

I couldn't find the courage to tell you, so please. Let me show you.

Her head swished back and forth. No.

His face was steady, never wavering, despite the tears glistening in his eyes. How could he be so sure? Even ninety feet under the surface and with a diminishing oxygen supply, he was still so calm.

You have to take it.

The world blurred with her own tears and she threw her arms over his shoulders. Her body was trembling. No.

He wrapped his good arm, the one holding the oxygen tank, around her. Take it, Jemma.

She squeezed him that much harder. Her mind couldn't find the words to tell him how much she cared about him – she'd never even considered how he might've felt about her, or if she might return that feeling.

Take it.

She kissed his curly mop of hair, his forehead, his cheek, praying her kisses conveyed how she felt when she didn't know how else to tell him. He pushed her away gently and tucked the oxygen mask into her shaking hands. She barely moved. It wasn't real. It was a dream. She would never, not in a million years, leave him to die.

Then, before she knew what was happening, he was gone.

NO!

Water rushed in and threw her against the wall, submerging her completely in less than two seconds. Her hands automatically raised the oxygen tank to her mouth and released the cap, sending a burst of air down into her lungs.

In the inky blackness of the oceanic depths, she renounced everything her survival-oriented mind was telling her – get to the surface, go! – and reached instead for her best friend's body crumpled in the corner. She grabbed his shirt collar and pulled them both out the window, swimming straight for the glimmering surface above. Never mind what she knew about atmospheric pressure and nitrogen narcosis and everything else accompanying the changes in pressure upon ascension – she had to get them to the surface because she was a biochemist and she knew the dangers that a lack of oxygen could bring.

Swim, Jemma. Swim.

Every kick got harder as she got closer to the surface, and she cursed the scientist inside of her that was spewing out facts about decompression sickness. She focused on the daylight getting brighter, the water getting warmer. She could force her body to obey.

But her body was too slow and the change in pressure too great. Her legs stopped responding to her commands, and her vision went spotty. The limp body she held was suddenly too much for her to keep and it slipped out of her grasp, sinking back into the watery oblivion.

Jemma Simmons woke with a start.

Her eyes darted around the room, chest heaving as she caught her breath – gray walls, medicine cabinets, the smell of cleanliness and various drugs and antibiotics.

And the bed.

He was on the bed, not drowning in the ocean. Instead, he was drowning in wires and tubes and medical equipment and hospital sheets, dwarfing his pale, unmoving body.

Fitz.

Simmons stood up and walked to the edge of his bed, taking his listless hand in hers – the other one was in a stiff blue cast. His face was so gray, so still. Almost peaceful. But when she looked at him, her mind flashed back to her final vision of him – that sad smile shining in the oceanic light. No matter what variation her nightmares took, his last expression was always the same haunting image.

She swallowed and sat on the edge of the thin mattress, staring at his hand instead of his vacant face. "Hi, Fitz," she said.

He didn't move.

Fitz was never quiet. Words were how they lived and worked together. Between them, it was always words – it would still be words, even if she had to supply them alone. "I've been reading all these theories about coma patients hearing people talk to them. I've read the science behind it, both sides. Studied it a bit in college. It's all very fascinating, really."

The only sounds were the constant beep of the heart monitor and the whirring of the life-support machines.

"I don't know if you can hear me. I mean, there's no solid proof that you can, but..." She swallowed again. "There's no proof that you can't, either." She traced her finger along the lines of his palm. "You can tell me what's true when you wake up, all right?"

The sliding glass door opened with a swish, followed by a soft knock. "Can I come in?"

Simmons looked up at Skye. The rest of the team had only been at the Playground for a day, now; enough time for a second round of Billy Koenig's orientation and getting settled in. Simmons hadn't even been to her new room yet. She'd passed orientation and went straight to Fitz's new room – a side-room off the main labs – which she sat in for all of five minutes before the big windows became too transparent and she found sheets to hang over them.

Skye sat down in the chair Simmons had vacated. "How is he?"

Simmons placed his hand back on the bed and stood. "Stable." She busied herself smoothing his sheets, checking his IV and the other machines. Anything to keep occupied.

"And how are you?"

She tucked in a stray corner of Fitz's blanket. "I'm fine."

Skye's head bobbed, and though she was clearly unconvinced, she didn't press the matter. "Have you explored the labs yet? Koenig took me on a tour, and they have lots of new toys for you to play with."

"I haven't looked."

"Simmons."

She looked up from the IV line to Skye's concerned face. "What?"

"Do you want to talk?"

Simmons stared at Skye. She didn't know what to say. Honestly, she didn't know if she wanted to talk, or what she would even say. This was Skye, though. Skye was a friend – she was Fitz's friend.

She reclaimed her perch on the edge of the bed and sighed, searching for the right words. "We were going to send the dwarves on the Bus to track them," she began. Might as well start when everything went wrong. "Ward found us."

Skye's face twisted at the name.

"He took us to Garrett, and Fitz – he used one of those EMP on Garrett's tech. We ran, Ward followed... we locked ourselves in the med-pod." Simmons' eyes were downcast, fixed on the memory in the past. "Ward ejected the pod and dropped us into the ocean." She winced at the memory of slamming her head against the wall and blacking out. The stitches came out two days ago, but the wound was still tender to the touch. "I woke up and Fitz said he rigged up a beacon, but we didn't think anyone would be listening. No way out, no rescue."

"But you did figure a way out," Skye said.

Simmons nodded tiredly. "I wish I hadn't," she admitted. She raised her eyes and met Skye's gaze. "If I didn't suggest using heat to explode the glass, Fury would've gotten there and pulled us up, and this" – she waved her hand around the medical room – "would never have happened."

Skye bit her lip. "You were running out of oxygen. You–"

"Fitz did run out because I took it!" Simmons exploded, surprising both herself and Skye. Tears sprung into her eyes and ran down her cheeks before she could tame them. "I took the oxygen tank even though I knew he wouldn't make it, and if we'd just waited, if I'd convinced him, then he would be awake and healthy!"

She took a deep, shuddering breath, gripping the mattress in white knuckles. Fitz's silent body rested in the corner of her vision, a painful reminder of her decision. But, if she didn't suggest it, would he still have told her how he felt? She choked back a sob.

Skye didn't say anything.

"I don't know what to do," Simmons whispered.

"None of us do."

"But I should." She blinked back more tears. "I'm a scientist. I have two PHDs. I'm his best friend."

"Simmons, you're not a miracle worker."

"I'm his best friend," she echoed, staring at the shell of a body that was once her closest companion. "What if..."

"Fitz is strong," Skye said firmly. "We'll all get through this."

Would they? Simmons knew all sorts of things about brain damage, information that had no personal connection until she woke up in the decompression chamber with Nick Fury standing over her. Fitz had been in a coma for three days now, and every day he stayed that way, there was a lesser chance of recovery. She knew that, and that's what scared her the most.

Skye stood up suddenly. "Come with me."

Simmons glanced up and wiped tears from her cheeks. "What?"

Skye pulled Simmons to her feet and towards the door. "You need a shower. And a real bed."

Simmons latched herself on to the door frame. "Skye, no."

Resolute as always, Skye kept pulling. "Fitz can wait a little while."

"But what if he–"

Skye yanked Simmons out into the labs and toward the corridor. "I'll stay with him, and if he wakes up, I promise you'll be the first to know. Just please, go take a shower and sleep."

Simmons looked back at Fitz's room, simultaneously the safest and yet most agonizing place she knew. Even as she was about to argue, her body rebelled and her mouth opened in a giant, jaw-popping yawn. "A little nap," she consented. Her dozing hadn't exactly been peaceful sleep.

Skye's lips bent into a half-smile. "I'll tell Fitz."

After making sure Skye was indeed going to stay with Fitz, Simmons set off down the halls, trying to remember where her own room was and if her stuff was even in there. When she finally found it, it didn't feel right; too big, too gray, too dusty, too vacant.

It wasn't next to Fitz's room like it was on the Bus.

Hi, friends! This is my first foray into AoS fanfiction, but it's a story I've been thinking about since the beginning of Season 2. Having just finished that, I feel that now is the time to post my little story since we've got about four months to wait until Season 3. I'll post new chapters on the weekends (probably) and no, I don't know how long this'll be. Until I run out of story to tell? :)

As everyone probably guessed, I don't own Marvel or Agents of SHIELD or anything of interest, so these characters are not my own.

Thanks for reading, and just so you know, reviews are the fastest way to make me write more. ;)

Next time: Coulson has a writing problem!

Have a fantastic day!