So! Writing happened again a lot sooner than usual! This is not of "The World has Turned and Left Me Here" but really it could be because this is meant to be some kind of thing that could happen in the future and that was an insert scene for season 1. But either way! I don't often write in first person but with this one it just sort of happened and so I went with it. Read on, dear friends, and please let me know what you think, I'd love to know! I hope you guys enjoy it!
Thanks,
M
I'm just writing for fun, plain and simple. Just borrowing Joss Whedon's beautiful characters.
XXX
In his dream they're drowning. Both of them, choking and clawing toward the surface with one hand each knotted together, fingers cramping from the hold, knuckles blanching white, alternately lifting one another up and pulling each other down. There's a constant pounding in his head (or maybe it's just his brain screaming for oxygen) Get her out. Get her out.
He glances up, following the line of his arm to meet her liquid amber eyes and finds them filled with desperation and fear, her head haloed by the all-too faint light of the surface. But they've talked about this. First law of thermodynamics and all that. She's not supposed to be this scared. His heart tears at the sight of her but this is not the time or environment to wrap her in his arms, like he wants, not the time or place to promise that they'll be okay as long as they're together. He squeezes her fingers in an attempt to comfort her but she just pushes higher, hauling him up with a physical strength that she rarely displays. He drifts past her and as he does, their fingers are pulled apart by the current and... Did she let go? Panic floods his system as he fumbles for her but he's suddenly rising quickly, leaving her thin, pale figure floating mid water. The last thing he sees before a geyser shoots him from the ocean is her eyes, drifting closed, lips parting to let in the water. He's screaming then, trying to fight the current, everything's muffled in bubbles but he's breaking the surface and choking on air and salt water mixed together but he can't breathe because Simmons is still down there. Jemma's still down there and he can't get back to her no matter how hard he tries. He's going to lose her. She's going to be down there alone and if she dies, cold and dark and alone-
"Fitz!" There are hands on his face, brushing through his hair as he shoots up right in bed, almost knocking heads with the person bowed over him. The person topples away from him, rather ungracefully, brushing shoulder length wisps of hair away from her face and - Oh bloody hell it's her. He's simultaneously elated and pained at the sight of her. She's alive. Thank God, she's okay. But then all his resentment and hurt wells up at the sight of her picking herself off the floor and he looks away, wiping away the embarrassing wetness that has gathered around his eyes.
The door to his bunk, which had been cracked, is flung open to frame a bleary Mac, clad only in sweat pants and a very tight, ribbed tank top, and, ducking under his immensely muscled arm (because, even half awake, panicked and upset, Fitz cannot help but notice the other man's physique. He is, as Hallucination Simmons had said, quite a lot of man) a distinctly not ruffled Skye, work-out clothes firmly in place, dark hair strapped up in a pony tail.
"You okay, Turbo? You were yelling-"
"Fitz, what happened, are you okay?" Simmons steps in, pale hands raised to placate their friends.
She forms a barrier between the two of them and him, whispering first to Mac (and he notices with a spark of very confusing jealousy, her hand resting on his forearm), chin jutting out in that stubborn way she does when he shoots something back at her, before firing off another answer that has Mac nodding and backing off slowly, something like respect in his dark eyes. He catches Fitz gaze as he leaves and throws him a wink before disappearing, running his hands over his head.
Skye takes slightly more prodding, though he suspects it has more to do with Simmons interrogating her about her lack of sleepwear. Fitz can't help the smile that lifts just the corner of his lips as she touches the younger girl's arm gently and ducks her head. If he knows anything, Ah yep, there it is. Skye's caving. She relaxes her stance, holding onto Simmons' arm and murmurs one last thing, barely inclining her head in his direction. Rage burns in his chest. Do they think I'm completely stupid, I can see them talking about me. I'm brain damaged, not blind and it's not like you're trying to hide it, ye rude- he's completely blindsided as Simmons turns, fear in her eyes but a gentle smile on her lips and locks eyes with him for a moment, before turning back to Skye, nodding and muttering something back.
Smiles from Simmons used to make the day worth working through, especially the soft ones, the special ones meant (at least, he thought) just for him. When he'd brought her tea in the middle of a long night or said something silly on a hard mission, something only she could hear or understand. They were his smiles.
"Skye, I'm very serious, go to bed or I swear I'll get a tranquilizer." Simmons is saying as he pulls himself, slightly disgusted and heartsick, from his memories.
"Jeez, I'm going, old lady." Skye prods Simmons' side and then shouts over her shoulder to Fitz, "Control her, huh?"
"Couldn't if I tried," he stammers back, the words coming out harsher than he means them and he sees them both flinch out of the corner of his eye. Serves her right, but his heart isn't fully in the thought.
"Night Fitzsimmons." Skye mutters and, with a last look at Simmons, is gone, shutting the door behind her.
There is an echoing silence after the door is shut, a chasm that seems impossible for either of them to cross. Finally Simmons opens her mouth.
"Fitz, what-" but he's not ready for this suddenly and just wants to be left alone.
"I'm... I'm fine Simmons, go back to bed."
"You were screaming...I wouldn't really count that as fine." She tucks her hair behind her ear, glancing up at him.
"Doesn't really matter, Simmons, just-"
"Of course it matters, Fitz," She sounds like there's something stuck in her throat and he panics because he knows what usually comes after that and it's not something he can deal with right now.
There's silence again as he tries to gather some words to explain that but his brains like TV static at the sight of her, baby blue sleep pants, a long sleeve gray shirt because she was always cold, especially at night, left ring finger and pinky clenched in her right fist, the thumb nail of her left hand scraping over the first knuckle on her right hand. He remembers the first few weeks at the Academy when they were first partnered together, she'd do that when she came up to him but slowly, it had dropped off all together as their partnership had fallen into friendship. There are thin, half healed scratches over the knuckle now and he wonders how long she's been fidgeting with her fingers like that, letting them wear away and tear the skin. It constricts his throat and he presses his hands together in his lap to get some illusion of control.
"Fitz, I know you're still angry," her voice is small and a big part of himself hates that she feels the need to tiptoe around him but even that makes him even more upset. She shouldn't bloody feel like that. If she'd just stayed... This is- "And you have every right to be. But I am trying. I'm trying to be here and be like it was, treat you the same. Like you wanted. And if things were the same - Or..." she falters, brows creeping together as she thinks, "Maybe that's not what you wanted. I'm so confused, Fitz but I'm trying and I want you to know-"
"I know, Simmons," he doesn't mean to growl it at her and regrets it when he sees her wince but he's on a roll suddenly and can't quite stop himself, "But things are different and you did leave and- and I needed you but you were- and that's not something I can get past in a few days. And... and you l-lied to me and that-"
"It was to protect you, Fitz. I knew you'd worry or be more upset so I-"
"Lied and made me think you were abandoning me because I'm useless." He splutters, swinging himself off his bed to be toe to toe with her.
"You are not useless, Leopold Fitz, don't you dare say that. If anyone's useless, it's me. So-"
He barks out a laugh so harsh she jumps again. Jemma Simmons, useless. As if that's not the stupidest thing I've ever heard, "Oh come on, Simmons, don't even-"
"I am useless Fitz." She cuts him off and he finally truly looks in her face. Her eyes are sparkling and there is fire and ice in them, both hands now curled in fists, her mouth little more than a trembling slash above her quivering chin, "I couldn't... I couldn't think of a better way than taking the only oxygen we had," Oh god, we're going to this. Now? Simmons, please don't- "I've been going over and over it in my head since... And I'm sure I missed something, there had to have been a way, but... And I couldn't say what I needed to say, I couldn't stop you from pushing that button, or pull you out of there quick enough. I couldn't figure out away to heal the brain damage. And then when you woke up... It was habit to finish your sentences so that's what I did, and I couldn't stop myself even though I knew. I knew that doing that wasn't doing you any favors and I just kept..." A tear drips out of her eye and he wants so badly to brush it away with the tips of his finger but she's already swiping at it, impatient and embarrassed, "So I took myself out of the equation, took the mission that Coulson needed done, hell of a lot of good I did there. I couldn't even keep my damn cover intact long enough to get us any intel and what I did was on a hard drive that's a bit broken and now I'm back, and I'm just making you worse and... No, Fitz, you are not the useless one. You never could be."
He can almost hear his brain whirring at everything she's just word vomited at him but then she's turning away from him, running again.
"I'm sorry, that was... I shouldn't have- I'm just going to go. Please call me if you need anything." She's wiping her face and starting to move to the door so he shoots out his hand, catches the tips of her fingers but the contact is enough to stop her. She's frozen, stock still, but curls her fingers at the middle knuckle to hold his shaking hand. And suddenly the trembling stops. For the first time in months he feels... Solid.
"You think you make me worse?" He croaks. Surely she must be sleep talking or the jump from the roof to the plane that she and Bobbi had made (He'd heard Trip regaling Mac and Skye with the story, chuckling about "new, badass Simmons") had knocked something loose in her head. Because there is no imaginable universe where Jemma Simmons could make anything about him worse. Cold and upset as he's been with her, she's still... No. That can't be. She's not the person that makes things worse, she is the only one-
"Of course I do. Everyone can see it. And I can feel the-"
"Who's everyone?"
She shakes her head, still turned away from him, "If it's obvious enough to someone who's not been around us for... I suppose it doesn't matter. They're all right." Her voice cracks and she goes to pull her hand away from him but he moves as she does, knotting his fingers between her, not yet ready to not feel complete again, not ready to lose the feeling of her slim, cold hand in his because it's just too...
"Well then they're just..." he knows this word. He knows it and it's just not coming and if she'd just... nothing. She's silent, shoulders trembling, but she's not letting go of him, which he's taking as a not bad sign.
"They're what, Fitz?" She whispers, "They're right? They're going off what they can see? They're-"
"Idiots." He finishes for her, triumphant at finding the word and then, the unexpected happens. She laughs. An honest giggle so reminiscent of the old times that it makes his chest ache and his heart swell all at once.
"Fitz, these are our friends you're talking about."
"I know. But...You're Simmons. I'm Fitz. We're Fitzsimmons. Have been for ages. And just because I'm... just because I'm... upset. Just because I'm upset at you and everything that... If they think you make me worse, they're idiots." She finally turns back to him, sliding her fingers further in between his, locking their hand together.
"And... what if I agree with them?" She murmurs and he can hear the back teeth gritting on the question.
"Then you're a bloody idiot too." He grins at her cheekily and she laughs again, louder this time, running her free hand over her face.
"Fitz-"
"No. I say what makes me better, yeah? And look," He holds out his free hand which is completely steady. She snatches it out of the air, resting it palm up in her hand, brushing her thumb along his fingers, "I'm-"
"-not shaking. Oh Fitz, that's wonderful, when did that start?" Her eyes shine with hope and excitement and despite everything, he's catching it.
"'bout five minutes ago."
"Okay, well you need to try to remember exactly what you were doing when this started. Do you think you can-"
He shifts their clasped hands into view and looks at them pointedly, "This."
"What?" She's confused. I don't know how much clearer I could have been. And you call yourself a genius.
"You were leaving. And I took your hand. And then this."
"Oh. Well what else could it-"
"It couldn't be anything else. It was this." Is she blushing? Oh god, what have I done, is she uncomfortable or-
She surprises him once again by bringing the hand she had been cradling in her palm to her lips and placing a gentle kiss right in the center. With his heart pounding and his hand so close to her face, he can't help but to curve it over her cheek, still a little wet from the tears, thumb skirting under her eyes which fluttered shut.
"I like this." He says before he can overanalyze it and her eyelashes brush his fingers as she opens her eyes.
"What, Fitz?"
And then his nerve is gone. What if this makes things worse? This.. this has been good and we're moving forward, I think but if I say something stupid and mess this all up again-
"I almost forgot what it felt like to be... solid." There's a flicker of something in her eyes but it's gone before he can identify it and a smile replaces it.
"We'll have to find a way to sustain it then. This is a huge step, Fitz, I'm so glad." She pulls her face away from his hand but it doesn't feel like a rejection somehow.
"Fitz." Dread fills him at the change in her voice, back to soft and careful, but she's still holding his hand so...
"As happy as I am that we've spoken about things, it doesn't change why I came in here. You were screaming and thrashing around and... I was worried or I... Fitz, what happened?"
He sighs, not wanting to relive the dream, the choking and their fingers, so much like they are now, being ripped apart, seeing her suspended. He shudders and then she's suddenly crowding him, her free hand fluttering, like an uncertain bird but he forces the words out and she stills.
"We were... underwater," Just that much puts the tension back in her and her fingers are locking around his, "And swimming up but it was really far away. And you were... And there was a," he makes a sweeping movement with his hand because the word won't come, because it's the word for the thing that ripped her away from him and-
"A current?" she supplies, hoarsely and he nods.
"Yeah, that and our hands got pulled apart and a... Um. A jet of water that went straight up and it pushed me away. From you. And you were just down there. Alone and..." He chokes again, thinking about it, even though he knows that she's right here next to him, holding his hand even but the thought of it flattens him.
"You don't have to-"
But he does have to finish this, "And I knew you were going to die if... but I couldn't get back to you."
No, why is she letting go of my han- Oh.
Simmons takes his face between her hands and presses her forehead to his, thumbs stroking down his cheeks, over his jaw and then back up. It's her turn to be unsteady.
"Fitz. I... I'm so sorry. Has... have you dreamed that before?" Her voice is shaking again.
" 'S not always like that exactly but... yeah there are a couple... um... a couple-"
"Variations?" She sounds appalled by the word.
"Yeah. But they all end something like that." His eyes drift shut at her gentle touches and God I'm so tired, and she smells so good and her hands-
"How long have these been-"
Oh Simmons I don't want to - "Since..." He can't bring himself to tell her honestly. He knows the truth will flatten her, her self-loathing will swallow her and she'll pull away again and after all they've done tonight, that is not an option he can handle. Fitz brings his hands up to cover hers, pressing them in between his stubble-y cheek and his palms. That's all the answer she needs.
"Since I left." she whispers and as he expected, she starts to pull away, but his hands hold her fast and she doesn't get far.
"Fitz," it's a whimper and he can't even imagine telling her about the hallucinations version of her because if this was sparking off the guilt, that would bury her, "Why didn't you tell anyone?"
He shook his head, "That's not exactly something that needed to be high on the... on the agenda and-"
"I wasn't here for you to tell me. Oh Fitz." Her hands slide down from his face to curl around his neck, cradling the back of his head, fingers drifting through his hair. His eyes drift shut again and he buries his face in her shoulder, inhaling her clean, flowery scent, as comforting to him as the smell of his mother's house on the outskirts of Glasgow.
His arms slide around her waist, pressing her against him, all erratic breaths and murmured apologies. Finally he shushes her, rubbing his hand up and down gently.
"I might hate that we were... apart and... and that you didn't tell me why or any of it. But I'm starting to understand. And I'm not saying everything is... everything is fixed because it's not." There's still the minor detail of what I tried to tell you but for now- "But... this is better than it was, right?"
She nods, lips against his temple, her "yes" muted by the contact.
"Good." He brings his head up, not letting go any further than he has to and giving her a small smile that she barely attempts to return.
"What can I do to make this easier for you? It's quite clear, being away is out of the question," and even though he knows she wouldn't leave again without telling him where this time, he still shakes his head, hanging on a little tighter, "What can I do?"
He really has to think about that one and he's grateful when she doesn't push him. Finally, instead of answering, he pulls her over to stand in front of his bed, pushing back the already messy covers and then looking at her.
"Like the old days, yeah?" She smiles, crawling across the small bunk and pressing her body again the wall and resting her head on his pillow, hand tucked under her cheek.
He can't help but grin in response as he settles down, remembering nights after studying or projects, both of them too tired to go their separate ways, falling asleep together and waking tangled around one another, warm and safe.
"Exactly." He mutters, sharing the pillow with her, their faces less than a foot apart. He fumbles and finds her hand, slipping their fingers back into the knot they had been earlier, and draping his other arm across her body.
"Yeah," She shifts closer and his heartbeat kicks up a couple beats per minute, "Are you sure-"
"Yes. This... You help. Now go to sleep, I'm tired." He nudges her knee and she lets her eyes drift closed again.
"I missed you, so much." she whispers before her breaths even out and she's almost gone.
Something catches in his throat so instead of responding, he presses up on his elbow and skims her cheek with his lips.
She hums in contentment and that's all he needs to close his eyes and fall back to sleep.
In his dreams they're no longer drowning; they're floating in gloriously warm water, fingers tangled together, and lovesick smiles on their faces.