AN: This story, while for the most part AU, will still probably touch on themes/plots canonly present in the show post Season 1. So, if spoilers aren't your thing, then this might not necessarily be the story for you. I by no means consider myself a writer, let alone a good one, so please do not hesitate to throw any constructive criticism that you have about this story in the comments section. I'm always looking for ways to improve my writing! Most chapters are probably going to be told from the point of view of either Fitz or Simmons but, honestly, I've always been a sucker for venturing into the perspectives of others. ALSO... If you're expecting FitzSimmons to be anything other than endgame in this story then, coughs, this definitely isn't the story for you. In saying that, however, I'm utter trash for angst so don't expect this to be an easy journey either.
All rights reserved to those who legally own and hold claim over the television program "AGENTS OF SHIELD" and the characters made as an extension of the media. I do not hold claim or ownership over any characters, settings, or canon plot lines present in this story.
Jemma Simmons couldn't for the life of her remember the last time that she looked this bad.
She supposed it must've been when she was exposed to that pesky alien infection, and was just moments away from becoming a rather unappealing floating body. However, even with that memory at the forefront of her mind, the scientist was still willing to wager that she looked far worse than she had ever looked in her life.
The flesh beneath her unsurprisingly dull walnut eyes was drastically sunken, the skin of her cheeks paler than usual, a series of trivial lacerations providing the only real sense of colour to her otherwise stonewashed visage. Under the horrendous incandescent lights of the infirmary room's lavatory, not that Jemma was bothered by something as unimportant as poor lighting when there were obviously more pertinent issues to be worried about, she could've sworn that she looked at least twenty-five years older than she actually was. With a sigh escaping her distinctly arid brims, her hands smoothing against the coarse material of the sheet of paper towel that she had just torn off the wall, Jemma cast her reflection one last fleeting glance then turned to pull the heavy door lining the east side of the confined room to an open.
The unobtrusive sound of beeping machinery instantly filled her eardrums once she had stepped through the threshold. It urged the hollow sensation to return to the pit of her stomach; akin to the feeling that people were susceptible to facing after a long ride on a rollercoaster. And, for the umpteenth time over the course of the last week, her faded scrutiny shifted to take in the sight of Fitz reclined unconsciously on the bed in the middle of the room. As a doctor, she should feel unaffected by the sight of a patient undertaking recovery by the means of an induced coma... But, viewing the circumstances as simply herself only seemed to cause the all too familiar sting to prickle at the junction of her almond shaped orbs again. Blinking furiously, in hopes of ridding her eyes of the urge to cry, Jemma took the necessary paces to approach the bed.
It wasn't as if Fitz physically looked any different, for all intents and purposes the engineer looked arguably better than she did, but seeing him laying so lifeless was disconcerting to say the least.
While the scientist had always been the more excitable of the pair, a fact that the male rarely let go unstipulated, Fitz was never one to leave a room silent for very long. He was just as talkative as she was. And, out of all the times that Jemma had sought out his opinion for experimentation purposes, she had never wanted to hear his voice more than she did in that moment.
"I'm afraid you're looking better than I am these days," her words lavished in their usual ornate afflictions filled the air as she finally lowered her frame into the chair positioned beside the bed. "I look worse than I did during our topography exploration training back when we were at the Academy… And that ordeal had left me fishing sand from my hair for weeks."
They had spent three days in the Namib desert, all for the sake of an exercise protocol that specified all agents be equipped to endure difficult terrains, and just as expected they fared rather poorly.
Actually, poorly was an understatement. If not for Fitz devoting his expertise to finding them water, and Simmons remaining as positive as she possibly could with sand up to their knees… She was almost certain that the extraction team would have been forced to complete a recovery mission rather than a rescue. It was how they naturally worked. In spite of their frequent bickering, the pair survived because of each other. Each bringing something to table. Whether it was professionally speaking or merely disposition wise, they filled the spaces that the other couldn't, and the notion of losing that frightened Jemma more than she was willing to admit.
"Fitz," she choked out finally in a voice that sounded drastically unrecognizable to her own and reached one of her dainty hands across to slip around the warmth of his unmoving vices. "I know that I'm probably sounding like a broken record at this point…"
Jemma blinking once more in an effort to keep her tears at bay, steadied her darts on his insentient miens, and brushed her thumb across the purpled skin of his knuckles. "And, you've always hated anything resembling conventional platitudes especially in relation to wishing someone a speedy recovery, but I need you to wake up."
She was far from someone who had unrealistic expectations when it came to medical recoveries. It wasn't in her protocol to believe, or even entertain, the concept of miracles. Statistics very rarely lied and, from what Coulson had let the registrars disclose to her and the calculations that she had liberty of making on her own, the figures were pointing to a relatively high odds of Fitz making a full recovery... Oxygen deprivation, whilst likely to cause an individual to sustain cerebral damage, was certainly something that people walked away from. Especially when those said people were as horribly stubborn as Fitz. His comatose state, apart from being desperately unnerving, was a good sign and something that the scientist found herself holding onto when she let her emotions get the best of her.
"You and I both know the data, Fitz. Which means that we both know that you're going to come out of this, and when you do, I'll be waiting right here with you." A seemingly tenacious tear pushed passed her efforts to remain buoyant and trickled down the course of her pasty cheek. Her free hand, the other still steadily enfolded around his, lifted to brush the trail of moisture from her face.
Fitz hadn't let her ever give up, certainly not when she was confronted with a rare subpar grade back at the Academy or even when she was facing an assured death at the hands of a Chitauri infection, he had remained by her side. Steadfast, reassuring, and holding onto hope... And, now that he needed her, Simmons intended to do the same.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sudden reverberation of her phone vibrating in the pocket of her jacket. It was likely Coulson, or at the very least Skye, completing what had become routine check ins.
She guided herself to her feet and moved to fish the buzzing device from the recesses of her jacket draped over the back of the chair. The corners of her brims twitched at the sight of Skye's name present on the illuminated screen. Part of her was laughably eager to hear the sound of the hacker's exuberant voice. Of course, she was aware that it was nothing more than a frontage that most people felt it was necessary to adopt when speaking to someone facing a harrowing situation, but Jemma was thankful for it nonetheless.
"Skye," Jemma greeted into the device once it was pressed against her ear.
"Jemma, hey… Coulson wanted me to check in, not that I wouldn't have called otherwise, but how's everything going?"
The rest of the team, what was left of them anyway, had been busy dealing with the aftermath of everything that had happened. While it would be nice to have them nearby given the circumstances, although Trip had volunteered to stay behind and had been a lovely form of support over the last few days, it wouldn't be fair to expect the world to stop turning... Coulson was undertaking damage control, dealing with the detention of Grand Ward, and overall trying to keep himself busy in light of both S.H.I.E.L.D. and his team crumbling under the weight of Hydra.
"Fitz is doing well... I took the liberty of looking over his charts and, while the doctors aren't saying much, all of his scans are showing indications of brain activity which anyone with half a doctorate knows is a tremendous sign in cases like these."
"That's great," Jemma could almost hear the smile plucking at the corners of Skye's brims and it made the heaviness in her chest subside ever so slightly. "What about you? Are you… okay?"
It wasn't an odd question, concern about her wellbeing had been a standard practice during these conversations, but it still made a resolute lump form in the cusp of her throat that she couldn't seem to gulp down. The scientist, not entirely sure of what was going to come out, opened her mouth to speak when the sight of Fitz slowly fluttering his bleary eyes to an open caught her attention.
"Fitz," Jemma breathed out in a rasped tone and incidentally lowered the phone to her side before once more rushing back to the bed. "Fitz! You're… I can't believe it."
His azure pools, seemingly as dull as she had expected them to be after he regained consciousness, settled on her miens. A wave of confusion flashed behind them. It wasn't out of the question that he would feel a little muddled, although most reports implied that comatose victims were mostly aware of their surroundings when unconscious, but his brain needed to undertake an overhaul of information that likely felt out of reach up until this point.
Fitz's unsteady hand, now pressed against the firm mattress of the bed, pushed against the surface until his frame was bolstered upward into a more comfortable position. A series of coughs, roughened and spluttering at the same time, spilled from his brims. Jemma, finally coming to her senses and still ignoring the distant sound of Skye's panicked voice on the other line asking her what was going on, immediately moved to fill one of the plastic cups on the bedside table with the stale water that had been sitting in the jug alongside them for a questionable amount of time.
Once she returned to the bed, easily holding the cup to his lips so that he could ingest some of the liquid, Jemma realized that her cheeks were wet from a stream of tears she wasn't even aware she was spilling. After the water had been drained, and Fitz was now lightly panting into the air as if he were trying to intake as much oxygen as he possibly could, the scientist was about to move to retrieve more water when the engineer shook his head as if panicked and stuttered out a series of words that made Simmons sick to her stomach.
"I don't… W-w-who are you?"
AN: DUN DUN DUNNNN. Thanks for reading! My crappy writing aside, I hope that you enjoyed it, and are willing to come on this hella angsty FitzSimmons journey with me.