A/N: Based on a prompt by Write World. I don't own Agents of SHIELD and no profit is made out of this.
Pairing: Fitzsimmons.
Spoiler alert:
It takes place after 1x22.


He doesn't remember.

The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is her. Considering the bright smile on her face he perceives as he blinks his eyes to get used to the bright light in the room, she was someone close to him. The problem was, he couldn't remember who. Was she family? Was she a friend? Was she a co-worker? He had no clue. Actually, he had no clue about anything. He doesn't know the reason he's here – probably some sort of accident, he's not gone idiot. He's just lost his memories. Hell, he doesn't know who he is. As the realization hits him, he can sense he's losing control: breathing becomes harder and he can feel his heart rate rising. There's a lot of noises around him, bleeping and screams and "Fitz, are you okay" and "help" and then the whole world goes black again.

As he's away, probably sleeping – he can sense he's not dead, if he were, he wouldn't feel this pain in his lungs and his apparently broken arm wouldn't itch – he tries to process what has happened, with the little information he could collect. He's named Fitz, or at least that how others call him. He's injured and people have apparently waited for him to wake up. But how long? He had no idea of the time that had passed since he first passed out and now. He feels he had a strong connection to the girl, he wished he could have told her he was ok and that's everything was going to be fine at some point. But hadn't even had the time to speak.

When he wakes up the second time, the girl is gone and he's alone in his room. Darkness surounds him except for the little lights on his heart monitor. Everything is silent except for the said heart monitor. He hears a noise as someone tries to open the door to his room, but no one came in. Light filters through the half-opened door and he can hear voices, snatches of a conversation. The voice of the girl asking question about him: was he fine? Would he recover? Did he suffer from any memory loss? Could she come in? He didn't hear the answers, though. And when the door finally opens and someone comes in, he pretends to be asleep.

The girl's voice echoes through the darkness of his mind, fighting to the dull world of his now absent memories and it triggers something. A blurred memory begins to resurface. He cannot decipher anything. There's no images, only sound. The voice of a girl, talking. It's something about the first law of thermodynamics and he can hear sadness in her voice. Sadness but also resignation and hope maybe. It's beautiful. He realizes she's talking about dying and as he tries to link it to why he's here, everything goes away. He's left alone with his blank mind, wondering about what it was. Had he made up the thing or were some memories really coming back? He falls asleep with a tons of questions running through his mind.

On the next morning, he's not far more advanced on his situation. He just discovered he was an insane worrier. But he's calm, as the doctor enters the room to talk to him. While he slept, he dreamt of the girl from the memory. She was beside him all along but he couldn't see her face. It had been like in a movie, when your whole life flashes back to you before you die but you just decipher some sounds or words or faces, not the great picture of your life in its whole. It had been nice, dreaming of a life that might have been his once – he was not sure it was memories, he preferred to think of it as a dream and not get his hopes up. He tells the doctor he dreamt about a girl when she asks how he feels and as she asks who it was he tells her he doesn't remember what her face looks like, but he remember the sound of her laughter on those spring afternoons and then he feels dumb for telling her that, for he's not even sure it was a real memory.

Later that day, the girl comes to visit him. He can see sadness in her eyes and it pains him. She's so beautiful and nice and also tired – he wished she wasn't wasting all of her time on him, she should have cared for her own health first. It's not easy dealing with the memory loss. He remembers things about her but he's not sure and doesn't want to ask because he doesn't want to pain her more if the memories are false. She speaks a lot, telling him about his life – their life apparently. They were always together, Fitzsimmons they were called. He says their nickname slowly as if it was a treasurable object he was afraid to break and he smiles. It sounds nice. She smiles too and he can almost see relief behind her eyes that he's not rejecting her.

In the end of the day, when she's leaving, she tells him she will visit again on the morrow and he says he cannot wait. It was nice having someone to talk to after all these months – three apparently – he had been out, even though he spend most of the time listening. He could listen to her endlessly, her voice was like music to his ears. And he didn't want to spoil her ears with his hoarse voice – it wasn't pleasant to her at all. He can see that she's hesitating, that she has something to ask and he tells her she can. She seems surprised he read her so easily but also quite pleased – he cannot explain how he could do it, it just seemed so natural.

"Does it help you? I mean, does it help that I tell you about your life? Is anything coming back or does it just feel like a vague story?", she asks in a small voice, biting her lower lips as she wait for his answer.

He studies her face, carefully. He wants to tell her it was helpful, that he feels less a stranger to himself, but it seems so wrong. He feels that he has so much more to learn about himself, so much more to rediscover and he doesn't want to tell anything, fearing he would jinx it. But as he sees her slowly looking away, he realizes that it's not only about him. It's about her too. It's about them or whatever they were. And because small steps are important, he opens his mouth.

"I really liked monkeys, didn't I?", he says warily, not sure if it's actually true but he has a feeling, like something clutching his heart, and maybe, just maybe, it is actually true.

He sees her smile widening, reaching her ears for the first time and it feels so familiar, he can't help but smile too. It feels like seeing a familiar face after a hard day spent away, it feels like sharing a bed on a cold winter night, it feels like coming home.

"Yeah, Fitz. You did."