There's movement, people stretching out, turning pages, passing through the carriage. He ignores it all.

A blank stare has replaced the wide smile, three-day stubble has taken the spot of his once cleanly shaven jaw. It's been a year now, one whole year. And he's still breathing.

Someone sits down next to him, pressing themselves into his side due to the limited space available thanks to the packed nature of the train he's on. He tries to move closer to the wall and ends up pressing himself against the frosted glass. He almost smiles, thinking about how ridiculous he most look from an outsiders perspective. Leaning against the glass, Fitz softly drags his finger across, drawing wobbly lines and incomplete circles.

That's how he feels, an incomplete. Now that she's gone. He stares at the ring he's drawn on the window, noticing its imperfections. He looks down at the one on his left hand and does the same.

He still wears it, even though she took hers off long ago. He can see it still, the tenderness in her eyes even though her actions were anything but, she placed the silver band on the table and walked out in silence, leaving him in an unfamiliar world, one that's incomplete and strange and saddening.

He closes his eyes, he can't look back, not now. Not when he's so close. If he dwells on memories past it might be enough to break him, and he can't do that. Time passes and in what could've been mere minutes or hours on end, they arrive at his stop.

He places one foot on the solid pavement and he stops breathing.

Because this was is what once was, a place where everything made sense, that held his life, his world.

It was all in tatters now.

It was a short walk, from the station to their apartment building. The first time he'd seen the place the day was bright and so was her smile. Now the clouds were grey and he stood alone, wrapped up in his old coat with frayed sleeves. One she'd always told him to get rid of but he could never bring himself to do it.

Fitz wills himself inside and up the stairs, pulling out the key he still keeps in his pocket. The lock turns and he scrunches his eyes shut as he steps inside.

He waits, unmoving until a soft voice cuts through the empty silence, breaking its spell.

"Fitz."

He doesn't move, he can't, he never thought for a second she would be here, standing in front of him with her simple pony-tail and light blue jumper.

"I didn't think you'd be here," he manages, staring straight at the floor. She can't be here, she can't. Not after he'd spent so long trying to shake her, making himself forget.

"The lease expires today, I just…" she breaks off, trying to find the right words, "I wanted to say goodbye." He almost laughs at that, it wasn't as if she said goodbye the first time.

"Well, I still have things here so, that's what I'll be doing." He pushes past her and stalks into what once was their bedroom. Except now it's an empty with nothing but a bed frame and closet half-filled with a few boxes of his things. He places his arms on the sturdy wood of the bed's end, trying to regain his breath and organise his thoughts.

This wasn't what was supposed to happen. This wasn't the day he'd planned in his head. He was supposed to arrive, pack his things and spend a few moments standing in the apartment's emptiness, in its cold.

But now she was here, she was warm and she was his memory. He should've known she'd follow him.

"Fitz, please,"

"No," he breathes quietly, "no you don't get anything from me." She flinches, reeling at his harshness,

"I don't expect anything, I just wanted to make sure you're alright." He laughs at that,

"Alright? I'm not bloody alright, I'll never be alright. You made sure of that." Jemma sighs, moving towards him, placing her arm on his shoulder.

"I know, I know it's all my fault Fitz, but, this is how it's supposed to be," she concludes, straightening her cardigan and fiddling with the buttons, unable to meet his eyes.

"That's not true and you know it-"

"Fitz,"

"No, Jemma, I'm not hearing it," he snaps, striding across to the closet, furiously opening it and pulling out boxes.

"I didn't come to argue with you," Jemma whispers. Fitz turns to face her,

"What did you come for then?" She shrugs,

"Sentimentality I guess." For some inexplicable reason that causes his knees to give out before he can realise what's happening and a sob rips itself from his chest. She rushes over, pulling at his arms.

"Fitz, Fitz please," she begs, she might start crying herself. He inhales and exhales, trying to calm down, trying to make sense of things.

It's no use really, she left him. She picked up and went taking away everything he'd ever truly known.

"I can't live like this anymore, with the hope that one day you'll come back." Jemma sighs, leaning her forehead against his. They stay like that for awhile, soaking in each other's presence for the sake of history and connection.

"I know," Jemma breathes eventually, she turns her head and gently kisses his cheek.

"Goodbye Leo," she whispers softly. He simply stares back, burning her face into his memory, holding on to one last moment of her as he knows its his last. The sound of her footsteps reverberates around the room, leaving him in the quiet. Fitz feels as though every ounce of feeling has been drained out of him. He lies back against the cool wooden floor, staring straight at the ceiling. It's easy then to close his eyes, sleep opening beneath him like a well, and he throws himself into it with will, allowing the darkness to eat him up.

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