My take on how Simmons dealt with nearly losing Fitz in the season one finale.

I don't own FitzSimmons or anything else in Marvel's Agents of SHIELD.

"He's Alive"

Jemma had begged to follow him, but they'd wheeled her into a separate room in the medical base. Logically, she understood why. Fitz had to be treated for injuries far beyond her own, not the least of which his comatose state.

But still. Even though she knew it made no medical sense, Jemma needed to follow Fitz. How was he supposed to get better without her? Clearly the only way he would be properly fixed is if they were together, right? Unfortunately, the doctors Fury had left them with at his hidden base didn't seem to share her point of view, so Jemma had to sit and wait for her own health clearance before going to find her best friend.

When that moment finally arrived, a nurse showed her the way. They wound through a series of hallways for several minutes, walking in complete silence.

"There's not much more we can do until he wakes up," the nurse told her upon arriving at a grey metal door. "We'll know more then. For now…well. You'll see. I'll give you a moment,"

"Thank you," Jemma replied. She steadied her shaking hands. As soon as the nurse was out of sight, she turned the doorknob.

One of Jemma's greatest strengths was her ability to pull away and assess these sorts of situations calmly and with a clear mind. But when she laid eyes on Fitz in his hospital bed, that strength dissolved into tiny little bits of nothingness.

Fitz.

He looked terrible. Dark circles under his eyes. Skin far paler than usual. If she didn't know better, she'd guess he was...

No. No, no, no, no, NO. She tried, but she couldn't even say his name out loud before her eyes spilled over with tears.

Jemma wasn't sure how long she stood in that doorway, watching his motionless body, mentally going through each piece of equipment they had him attached to and cataloging all the different things they were treating him for. But it was a good long while.

"I'm so sorry, Fitz," she finally managed to say. "So, so sorry." Then Jemma took a shaky breath, straightening her shirt. "But. At least you're alive. Right? We can work with that, can't we?"

That got her feet moving. She walked over to his bedside and sat down on the mattress, careful not to disturb him.

"We can fix this," she continued to babble. "We can. Look, we're together still. After all that. There's hope yet." Offering up a smile, Jemma reached for his right hand. His left was held up in a sling over a sizable cast.

Fitz remained still. His hand was eerily warm to the touch.

Fever, she realized, glancing at his vitals monitor. A bad one, too. Poor Fitz.

"You saved me, you know?" she said. "You did it. And there's a convincing body of medical literature that says comatose patients can absorb information around them through their subconscious, so if you absorb anything Fitz, please absorb that. You saved me. You're the hero. Again."

Jemma could feel her lips start to quiver as another tear ran down her cheek.

"You're my hero."

No movement. Jemma's eyebrows knit together and she let out a sigh. "Oh, Fitz. You didn't have to do this. Really. Why me? Why love me? Stupid, stupid Fitz."

Looking back on it all, Jemma knew that she should've seen this coming. She should've noticed something at least. His caring for her explained so much of the past several weeks. It even explained a few nagging things from the past several years.

And of course he hadn't said anything to her about it. That was textbook Fitz. Saying something would've changed the status quo, and without her lead, he fought that sort of thing like a fuzzy little Ewok fighting back Stormtroopers.

Fitz…

Jemma pinched the bridge of her nose, pulling her emotions back into check. She wasn't going to be of any use to her best friend as a blubbering mess. Even though the doctors told her that she couldn't help with his treatment due to personal connections, there had to be something she could do.

His words burned in her brain. "You're more than that, Jemma."

She couldn't let him down.

"Fitz, we need to talk," Jemma said. "You have to wake up."

Fitz didn't budge.

"Come on, stop avoiding it. There's an important conversation we need to have, and you have to be awake for it," she insisted, letting her tone get sharper. "Now wake up."

Still nothing. Not even a flicker from the fluorescent lights above.

Jemma squeezed his hand tighter. "Fitz, you sacrificed yourself for me without even giving me a chance to respond to what you'd said! You have to wake up and talk this over with me. It's kind of a big deal!"

Her voice cracked a bit. Desperation was starting to show through.

"Fitz. Please. Fitz!"

Memories flooded her. The darkness. The reduced oxygen levels. Fitz's arms around her, comforting her in the face of his own death. "It's okay," he'd said.

"It's NOT okay!" Jemma exclaimed, practically shouting at the boy in his hospital bed. "Fitz, please, you have to give me a chance to tell you how much you mean to me!" She dropped his hand and threw her arms around his shoulders, just like before. But this time, her face squished into the pillow under his head, and her tears leaked onto it instead of his shoulders. "Fitz!"

She held him close, crying his name into his ear. Her arms laced behind his head gently, as if he were a newborn child. He was delicate in this state. So very delicate. She had to be careful.

Jemma kissed him just below his temple. Once. Twice. Three times. "Fitz," she whispered. "Fitz, please come back to me."

But not a single monitor changed. Fitz was no closer to consciousness than the metal door she'd come through to see him.

And that's when Jemma realized it: at this point in time...there wasn't anything more she could do. He wasn't Fitz right now. He was just there. Maybe he'd be more again someday, but until then…

Taking a deep breath, Jemma unwound her hands and pulled back. The air felt cold against her skin without him, but the nurse would surely be back any moment, and she didn't want to look like she'd been disturbing her patient.

Jemma stood up. Her heart squeezed in her chest as she observed his own rise and fall. She swallowed back emotion, one thought occupying her mind:

Her visit hadn't made a difference to him.

Which shouldn't be a surprise. Really. She was a scientist, and she knew miracles in actuality just came down to luck and chance. She wasn't going to be able to save him with feelings. Medical science would have to suffice. It was what she'd built her whole career on, after all.

But she'd throw it all away in an instant if it meant that hugs could be just as powerful as life support systems.

Out in the hangar, the plane's hatch slowly lowered. Jemma steadied herself, preparing to face the team. They'd all made it. Somehow, they'd all done the impossible and survived.

Seeing them all standing together filled Jemma with warmth, and she walked forward to hug an incredibly relieved Skye. For the briefest of moments, things felt okay. Then Coulson put a hand on her shoulder and Skye asked the question Jemma had been dreading.

"Fitz? Is he okay?" Skye's face searched hers, and Jemma recognized the desperation. "Please tell me he's okay," she said.

Jemma pulled back to look at each member of the team. They all cared for Fitz. They'd want some kind of hope.

But lying had never been Jemma's strong suit. So with the biggest smile she could muster, she answered:

"He's alive."

And for now, that would just have to do.