I know. I know. It's been almost 5 months since I last updated this and it has bugged me ever since. Unfortunately, real life and my own high expectations for this story got in the way of my writing and I realized that I needed to take a break from this story until I overcame those issues. But fear not, because this is the last chapter and I kept my promise! I hope you enjoy it :)

Also, kudos to the readers who can figure out what I did in the first part of the chapter (hint: tumblr users who know me as nerdlove4thewin and follow my blog may have an easier time guessing this). And please comment if you do so that others who can't see it will be aware of it too!

~December 10, 2015~

"Agent Simmons?" Coulson's voice rang through the lab.

"Over here, sir!" Jemma called out from behind the scanning electron microscope. Ironically, after she and Fitz had ceased doing research on the monolith rocks, Coulson had asked them to further analyze their results, citing that Gideon Malick had mini monoliths in his possession and planned to use them to return to Maveth. She scanned her sample one last time, taking note of the colored lines indicating the presence of certain elements in the rock particles, and took her goggles off as he approached her. "Is everything alright?"

"We're making progress with the hunt for Malick. Daisy and Mack are in pursuit with Joey and Lincoln tagging along as backup."

Jemma's eyes lit up. "Oh, the Secret Warriors!"

Coulson tilted his head. "Come again?"

A red tint flooded her cheeks and she smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, that's how Dr. Garner referred to Daisy's team when he was vetting the new Inhumans."

"It sure is catchy," he agreed. "But I didn't come here to discuss the mission."

Jemma's expression fell. "Oh, okay. Did someone get hurt?"

"No, no need to worry," Coulson reassured her. "I know your lunch break is coming up soon, but I need to talk to you about a...personal matter."

She froze, her arms hovering just over the box where she kept all of her samples labeled and sorted. "Sir, I don't think this is the time nor the place to-"

"It's not about you, Jemma," Coulson clarified. "Or me. But it does involve something personal in nature."

She frowned in confusion. "With all due respect, sir, I'm not sure where you're going with this."

"I may have seen one of your lab technicians run towards the broom closet. Her supervisor said she left hastily in the middle of an experiment and she seemed very...flustered. Irritated. A bit overwhelmed."

He said the last few words slowly, emphasizing them in a way that he hoped would convey his intent.

She paused for a second, and then her face relaxed with recognition, her mouth forming a small O. "I see. And...you want me to talk to her?"

Coulson sighed. "I know this is usually Dr. Garner's job, but with Lash on the loose we're a bit short-handed. We don't have time nor the available funds to hire another therapist qualified enough to take his place and this particular agent has refused all help offered to her in the past, stating, and I can quote-" He opened the folder he had been grasping and read a sentence from the bottom of the page. "'I'm fine. My grades are exemplary and my passion for my work is apparent in everything I complete. There is no need to worry about me.'"

Jemma glanced down at his folder. "Her psych evaluation?"

The Director nodded. "Taken after she was recruited a couple of months ago. Fitz and I scouted her out after she graduated from the Academy and I hired her, along with a few other outstanding candidates, to help Bobbi out with maintaining the science division while you were gone. See for yourself."

She carefully took the fat folder from him and her fingertips traced the name at the top. "Agent Bianca Whiteley," she read out loud. "Wait a second..." Her eyes widened. "I haven't met her in person yet, but I did read her dissertation on functional tissue engineering and antisense gene therapy. She's incredibly intelligent."

"Has two PhDs, just like you. One in human genetics at MIT, another in biomechanics at the Academy."

Settling down in a chair by her lab bench, Jemma continued to read the evaluation:

Bianca Whiteley

Date of birth: May 21, 1994 (21 yrs)

Residence: Angleton, Texas, USA.

Appearance: Strawberry blond hair, blue eyes, 5'3", 120 lbs

Physical health: Optimal

Field skills: Gymnastics, karate. Passed the field assessment (Attempts: 1), possesses enough skill to go on field missions.

"Two works presented at the American Society of Mammalogists 2014 and Genetics Society of America 2015 conferences," she read out loud, her voice descending to a murmur. "Wow...she's more than qualified for a lab tech position."

"And we're lucky to have her. But she's young, just like you and Fitz were at the beginning. She's still trying to find her place in a world that's growing weirder and more stressful by the minute and she's still very vulnerable to change. Flip to the next page."

She did as Coulson suggested and her eyes widened as they fell upon a list of doctor's visits, therapy sessions, and prescribed medications with glaring cancellation dates.

"My reaction, too," he commented, leaning casually against her bench. "For such a prestigious scientist, she has a bit of a hard time dealing with stress."

Why was she prescribed so many medications?

Jemma's question was answered upon skimming one of the therapist's comments: "Patient put on appropriate medication after claiming that the mental exercises given did not improve her mental well-being."

In that moment, she couldn't help but recall a time where she had once scoffed at Dr. Garner's exercises, claiming that there was no way drawing squares on a piece of paper and keeping a diary would succeed at re-wiring her brain. The psychiatrists and therapists assisting Agent Whiteley weren't steering her in the "right direction"... they were just helping her continue to avoid the problem.

Maybe, just maybe, the young agent needed some reassurance from a friendly face.

"It means a lot that you shared this confidential information with me," Jemma said as she closed the file and returned it to Coulson. "I can set aside some time to talk to her before my break."

"Thank you, Simmons." He tucked the file underneath his arm. "She's a good kid. You don't find a lot of people like her at this age. Normally SHIELD would suspend agents in her current mental state from work, but she has potential. She deserves a second chance."

Just like I did. The thought popped into her head before she could quash it. "I understand, Sir. If you don't mind..."

She glanced at the doorway and Coulson nodded as he stepped aside to let her pass. "Go ahead."

After taking a right down the hallway, Jemma halted a little ways down at a rusty metal door. She tried the handle, even though she suspected ahead of time that it would be locked anyway. She hesitated a second before knocking softly. "Agent Whiteley?"

She swore she heard a gasp on the other side, but otherwise her knock was met with silence. "It's Dr. Simmons. May I please come in?"

"Um...sure," a wobbly, unsure voice finally answered.

Jemma waited patiently for the lock to click before cracking open the door, and a tiny frame huddled in a dark corner met her gaze once her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting.

"Dr. Simmons!" Agent Whiteley exclaimed, brushing some dust that had fallen from the shelf above off of the sleeves of her sweater. Her embarrassment over being caught was evident in the way she held herself, slightly slouched with a determined refusal to look her superior directly in the eye. "It's an honor to meet you! I swear this isn't what it looks like, I'll get back to work immediately-"

"Bianca."

Clearly taken aback by the use of her first name and the gentle hand that now rested on her shoulder, Bianca fell silent. She chewed on her bottom lip and hung her head, and Jemma noticed how hard she was attempting to hold back her tears. "I'm not here to reprimand you," Jemma said as she noticed how the fear of judgment in Bianca's eyes reflected her own a couple of weeks ago. "I'm here to help."

"Wh-why would you possibly want to help me?" Agent Whiteley mumbled, sniffling loudly. "I'm just one of the lab techs and you probably have a lot of work to get done. We've never interacted before, even in the lab. With all due respect, what could you possibly know about me that I don't already know?"

Bianca's Southern accent intermingled with her words, and since she wasn't accustomed to hearing this particular accent, Jemma had to strain a bit to decipher the agent's blubbering.

"I'm going to tell you something and you have to promise me you won't get mad." The slight nod of Bianca's head gave her permission to continue. "With the Director's permission under full confidentiality, I may have read your psych evaluation."

As expected, the agent gasped and the color drained from her face. "But please, there's nothing to worry about! This is only between you, me, and Director Coulson, no one else," Jemma said quickly.

The shoulder underneath Jemma's hand vanished as Agent Whiteley retreated to her corner. "This is so embarrassing," she moaned as her back slid down the wall, and she covered her face with her hands. Soft sobs escaped her and the empathy growing in Jemma's mind was strengthening by the minute. Upsetting the young agent had not been her intention and the fact that it seemed like she was only making matters worse planted tiny seeds of doubt in her mind. How could she help someone who didn't want to be helped?

Patience. Of course. Thankfully, Jemma had plenty of that.

She walked over to where Bianca was sitting and sank down beside her. "I know it is. Nothing is worse than crying in front of your boss." The young lab tech curiously peeked at Jemma through the cracks of her fingers. "Trust me, I would know. I've done it a few times, and not just in front of Director Coulson. It happened at the Academy, too."

"Really?" Bianca asked. "Then clearly your reputation clearly precedes you. They talk about you all the time at the Academy- well, both you and Dr. Fitz, of course- and with all you've accomplished...I just can't imagine you acting like that."

Jemma nodded in understanding. "With people you look up to, do you tend to idolize them? Put them on a pedestal, I mean."

Bianca's posture strengthened as she paused for a moment to think. "Yeah...I guess. Doesn't everyone do that though, imagine their role models as people incapable of imperfection?"

Jemma couldn't restrain the bitter laugh that tumbled out of her mouth. "Unfortunately. But do you really think I'm perfect?" She pointed at herself.

"Um, yeah, pretty much."

"Have you even heard the 'Dr.-Simmons-got-transported-to-another-planet' rumors? That was the reason Coulson took you in, you know."

Bianca's expression change from one of disbelief to one of complete and utter shock. "Wait...that was actually true? You...you were swept off to another planet ?"

"Mhm." Now it was her turn to be candid, not just to Bianca but to herself as well. "It was one of the most terrifying experiences of my entire life."

Bianca bit her lip. "I...I can imagine." At least she appeared to be calming down.

However, while Agent Whiteley was now more invested now in Jemma's story than in her own emotions, Jemma's heart started to beat more erratically, but she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, calmed by the vision of a rustic cottage in Scotland that she conjured in her mind.

"Most of the time that I was there, I wasn't thinking; I was feeling," she explained. "I was feeling the adrenaline rush when the gust of a sandstorm or a roar of a monster echoed through the air. I was fixated on the dryness of my throat and the pang of hunger gnawing in my stomach. The only thing that kept me from going crazy was a picture on my phone. That picture, that piece of home and that sprig of hope, kept me alive. It- he, I mean- saved me."

She snapped out of her own daze and glanced at Bianca, who was hanging on her every word. "I know PTSD and what the doctors think you have aren't the same thing, but I'm sure whatever intensity of emotions you experience every day bears some resemblance to at least one of those feelings that I just described."

Bianca moved her head up and down vigorously. "Yes, yes it does. I feel like I'm stuck in this perpetual state of panic and I can't snap myself out of it. I interpret everything, everything , as a deadline. It doesn't matter if it's picking out clothes for the day or making plans with friends or executing a science experiment- if I don't do things perfectly, I automatically think of myself as a failure. And when all of those expectations combined with a set deadline are hurled at me all at once...I suddenly feel like..." She paused to wipe away the tears threatening to fall. "Like I'm suffocating. Or drowning. Or both at once, I don't know."

Jemma's face scrunched up as the unpleasant memories came flooding back. "I know those feelings, too. They're not pleasant at all."

They sat in the corner in silence in contemplation. "I'm sorry I pushed all of this on you," Agent Whiteley finally said. "Therapy sessions with your boss are not something I am used to having."

This prompted a laugh out of Jemma. "Well, Coulson has a rather extraordinary team on his hands. And he'd like you to continue to be a part of it."

"Really?" Bianca questioned as Jemma helped her up. "Even though I just screwed up an experiment that ruined two weeks' worth of the synthesis of a drug that could heal surface tissue damage within seconds?"

Pursing her lips, Jemma held her hand up. "One mishap at a time, Bianca. And everyone makes mistakes, especially when adjusting to new circumstances."

Suddenly, a thought popped into her head. It was a tad inappropriate, but it was a worth a shot if it would make Agent Whiteley more at ease with her work. "Tell you what: when you have succeeded with your next task, I'll buy you a drink and tell you about all the mistakes I made while working on Coulson's team, starting with how I got infected by an alien virus and tried to jump out of a plane."

Bianca froze. "Wait, what?! You did that?"

Jemma couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit embarrassed by Bianca's fascination. "It's a long story. Fitz was going to grab a parachute and save me, but another agent beat him to it."

Bianca eyed her warily, failing to hide her giggling. "Hold on...are you and Dr. Fitz a thing ? An item?"

Rolling her eyes, Jemma ushered Bianca out of the closet. Once the door shut behind him, she gave Bianca a stern look. "That's classified."

Unbeknownst to her, the way Jemma's face had lit up at the mention of his name had given her away. And as she turned on her heel to head back to the lab, Jemma heard a snicker and whispering echoing behind her. "I knew it! They're totally doing it."

At least Bianca wasn't anxious anymore. And both of them had gained a confidant in the end. Jemma would count that as a victory in her book.

~December 20, 2015~

Fitz's room was silent with the exception of soft snores coming from his side of the bed. Or, at least that was his status currently. Jemma had learned over the past couple of days that the few moments of peace Fitz experienced in his sleep nowadays did not last very long.

She glanced over at his stoic form, her eyes raking over him from head to toe. His knuckles clenching the corners of the pillow like it was his lifeline, his back hunched over his knees, his breathing staggered in uneven intervals as whatever nightmare he was experiencing flooded his senses. If her guess was accurate, he probably wouldn't be able to distinguish fantasy from reality if his sleep was interrupted.

Then came the whimpering. Although Fitz's back was facing her, Jemma could see the pillow folding as he clutched the pillow tighter and started rocking back and forth on his side. Witnessing his pain as he lived a silent nightmare that she used to know all too well, sent an ache of empathy through her.

She sighed and drew her covers closer to her chest. It shouldn't have ended like that. The tables shouldn't have turned that quickly. Fitz should have never gone to that planet instead of her, shouldn't have had to experience the horrors of the sand whipping around him as a chill, cold as ice and ominous as the devil, ripped through his soul. A leather necklace, the last remaining evidence that Jason had ever existed on that planet, was all Fitz had brought back to her, yet she could not imagine why he would risk his life just to bring her back a sentiment of the friend she had lost to Maveth.

Sure, both of their lives had been threatened. She would have been all but left for dead had she nor Fitz cooperated with Malick and his army of Hydra goons, but her death would have left a gaping hole in Fitz's life that he was not ready to bear, already proven by the efforts expended on her return from that dastardly planet. The scars of her torture were fading, merely superficial gashes and bruises on every limb of her body, but the memory of Giyera attempting to crush her organs with so much as a lift of his finger stuck with her. Her stomach turned at the mere thought of food most days, and she had to fight off panic attacks before falling asleep due to the ghost of a human hand squeezing the blood out of her heart.

However, she had learned how to heal both her body and mind from the traumas of the past, thanks to Dr. Garner's expertise. Fitz, on the other hand, hadn't been so lucky, as Dr. Garner had transformed into Lash and disappeared before SHIELD could bring him back into custody. He didn't possess the mental training Jemma had obtained, and his physical isolation from everyone wasn't doing him any good either. Over the past couple of days, Jemma only saw him during the nighttime, only because he needed someone close to help him sleep and soothe him from his nightmares. As someone who had endured the influx of nightmares and restless sleep, she was more than willing to help- and not just to provide him with cuddles and kisses if need be.

"Jemma."

Her name came out in a mumble, soft and vague enough for Jemma to question if it had been vocalized consciously. "Fitz?" she asked hesitantly.

"Jemma, no, I-I can't do this. I won't," he muttered. In a matter of seconds, his whole body was overcome with tremors and gasps. "You can't make me. "

Jemma's breath caught in her throat. "Fitz." Her nails clawed into his shoulder as she shook him more vigorously. "What happened? What did I make you do?"

His voice then descended to a low growl, the determination in his voice startling her. "You're. Not. Real!"

And then Fitz cried out, his scream jolting him upright. He ripped himself from Jemma's grasp and frantically looked around. "Jemma? Where are you?" he practically shouted, his voice ragged from sleepiness.

Jemma snapped into action, twisting his shoulders to face her. "Fitz, I'm right here," she said. Her thumb met cold, damp skin as she tenderly stroked his cheek. "Come back to me. It's just a dream."

Fitz's eyes widened, almost as if he had seen a ghost. "It's really you? You're-you're not-"

He flung himself into her unsuspecting arms, and Jemma inhaled sharply as he squeezed her tightly against her chest. "Oh thank god, I thought- well, I don't know what I was thinking, frankly-"

"Fitz." Jemma wriggled in his grasp. "My ribs."

"Oh, sorry," Fitz apologized, letting her go. "I just..." Jemma heard a smack as his head fell into his hands. "The whole thing felt so real and-"

"Fitz, slow down. You're not making any sense."

As Fitz calmed down, Jemma's concern grew. He told her about the events that happened on Maveth, but it was clear to her that he didn't reveal the whole story. What happened there that was causing him to have such bad nightmares?

"I'm sorry, Jem, I didn't mean to burden you with this-"

"The only reason it's a burden is because I'm worried sick about you!" Jemma burst out. "You didn't come out of your room for days after we rescued you, and now you're screaming in the middle of the night, calling out my name like I did something horrible to you."

"No, no, no, that's not it." Fitz pinched the bridge of his nose, his hand clenching into a fist at his side. "You...you were in the dream, yes, but it wasn't you ."

Jemma wrinkled her nose. "I...I don't follow," she said carefully, trying to piece the riddle out.

"You know how you saw a monster on the planet?"

She nodded slowly. "Well, I didn't see the monster on Maveth, but I saw something- well, someone - else." His eyes met hers, bleary and haunted. "You."

Jemma's mouth went dry. "How is that even possible?"

Fitz adjusted his position, leaning on his side so that he was directly facing her. "Did Jason notice anything...I don't know, strange about the planet? Besides the monster, of course," he corrected himself quickly.

Her expression became pensive. "He did believe that the planet had moods..." she recalled, and she couldn't help but bark out a laugh at the memory. "Which led him to compare it to a hormonal teenage girl."

"And the monster and the sandstorms...they often hindered your chances to escape Maveth, right?"

Jemma shook her head in disbelief. "What are you getting at, Fitz? You're saying that the planet is...alive? Like there was some sort of spirit or being trying to prevent us from leaving?"

"Don't act all surprised, Simmons," Fitz snapped, to which Jemma recoiled slightly. "Stranger things have happened to us. Portals between worlds, bodies floating and materializing out of thin air, the GH-325 serum guiding Inhumans and Coulson to the temple..." He looked at her pointedly. "It could have been anything."

Unnerved by his confession, Jemma shifted uncomfortably. "Alright then, I believe you. Continue."

Fitz took in a deep breath and settled himself against his pillow. "Coulson had just caved Ward's chest in and the portal had just opened. We had 90 seconds to jump through the portal before it closed. I was yelling to Coulson to hurry up, but just before I approached the portal...you showed up."

He gulped and stared down at his clasped hands. "I knew you weren't real, of course, that you weren't really on the planet with us. I almost thought that I was hallucinating you, actually, like I did the last time. But whatever it was blocked my way, said it couldn't let me leave. It said that the only way that I could leave...was to shoot it. Shoot it right between the eyes. Shoot you ."

Scooting closer to him, Jemma placed a hand over his, his fingers still interlocked tightly together. "You knew it wasn't me, though," she said softly. "I was in the control room until I freed myself and May found me outside."

Fitz's voice took on a harsher tone. "Yes, I was aware of that, but that thing was you ! It had your voice, your mannerisms, your personality, almost like a complete replica. And..." He gestured to her pajamas. "You were dressed in the outfit I found you in, on Maveth."

Jemma felt his hands clench tighter (if that was even possible) underneath her touch. "After all we've been through...after seeing that video of you on Maveth, after hearing how much you had to suffer through on that planet, after everything we've been through over the past couple of years...do you think I would want to shoot you, even if it wasn't actually you standing there?"

She cringed inwardly as the gravity of the situation hit her. "I see what you're saying," Jemma whispered, lowering her eyes to the mattress. She traced a stain in the sheet, probably left over from one of their past movie nights, she assumed. Fitz did have a tendency of knocking drinks over when he was emotionally invested, usually into her lap, to which she would scold him and clean it up before it made a permanent stain. Unfortunately, it didn't seem like this one was fading away anytime soon.

"But I had to do it," Fitz said after a pause, and he could barely get the words out of his mouth. "I shot the gun, with real bullets, at you. And you collapsed. Your body was twitching as whatever gave you life bled out of you...and I-" He choked up, failing to stifle the tears dripping from his eyes. "I can't get the image out of my head. It haunts me every night."

The pang that subsequently ran through her chest was too much to bear. If there would have been any option to spare Fitz from living her nightmare, lost and disillusioned with no easy way out but to deal with the constant pain and guilt running through every facet of his body...she would've done it, no matter the cost. Is this how he felt, watching her writhe and cry out in the middle of the night? Helpless, powerless, only capable of serving as a shoulder to lean on as he relived those horrific moments over and over again, like a tape recorder stuck on repeat?

No. She was a survivor. And a survivor would use the skills he/she acquired to prevent others from suffering. Fitz was technically a survivor, of course...but he was so much more than that.

He was hers : her favorite word, her favorite person, her favorite song to fall asleep to at night. And nothing but love roared through her veins when she swooped in for a kiss, lingering long enough for an impression to sear upon his immobile lips. "Fitz," Jemma accentuated, and her thumb moved to wipe a tear off of his cheek. "You will get through this. I know you can."

"I'm damaged , Jemma," Fitz whispered, resting his forehead against hers. "I have been for a while now. This just adds on to the laundry list of things that scream 'pity me 'cos I can't do anything right. You've witnessed it before. I'm not going to push you away by thrusting this onto you."

"There's one thing you misconstrued, Fitz."

His lip trembled but stopped as Jemma ran her fingers through his hair.

"Who says I'm going anywhere?"

"Jemma, no-"

"Why not? I've been where you are now, Fitz! Trust me, you don't want to be alone. And you're not damaged, Fitz. You're different." She poked him lightly on the shoulder. "And there's nothing wrong with having a couple of extra idiosyncrasies here and there, right?"

Fitz managed a watery smile to accompany her laugh. "Yeah, I s'pose so." One of his hands relaxed and moved to join the one cradling his cheek. "I seem to recall a very wise person reminding you of the exact same thing."

"Oh yes, that person was incredibly smart," Simmons gushed. "Handsome, too. " She flashed him a wry smile and couldn't resist prodding his shoulder again. "Though I don't want to puff up that big, pasty head of his with millions of compliments."

This time, it was Fitz who pulled her in for a kiss. "You know I love you, right?" he breathed against her lips. "That you're the best thing that has ever happened to me?"

"I-" Jemma struggled to speak amidst the elation coursing through her. "I may have been vaguely aware of that." She leaned in again, savoring the way the comfort of his lips felt like home, a place she never wanted to leave. "We'll get through this together. I promise."

Pressing a kiss to his temple, she burrowed herself under the covers once more, receptive to the arm that Fitz snaked around her, pulling her close to his chest. "Stay with me," he pleaded, though Jemma couldn't discern exactly why. "Please."

She relaxed in his embrace and threaded her fingers through his, pulling their entwined hands close to her heart. "Of course," she murmured against his knuckles. "Always."

~May 20, 2016~

Jemma stared at the rows of filled seats in front of her in disbelief. Never had she seen the auditorium of the Academy so full for a presentation or lecture for which attendance wasn't mandatory. She had assumed that the students, burnt out from final exams but somehow energized enough to anticipate summer break, would have taken one look at her talk on the flyer and discarded it immediately, scoffing at the mere possibility of engaging in yet another assembly after the numerous ones they had to attend during the year. But this, the fact that 100 students and faculty were crammed into this relatively small space and climbing in number, was truly unexpected.

Did Agent Weaver bribe them with graduation perks if they came to her presentation? Or maybe her reputation preceded her more than she thought it did. Students and alum from the Science and Technology division did tend to ogle her a bit more when she introduced herself, one of the benefits of being one of the youngest students to ever graduate with a borderline-perfect transcript. Perhaps it was the word "survivor" and not "scientist" in the flyer title that intrigued them, and Jemma took pleasure in providing them a potentially fresh perspective on the challenges that come with being a scientist thrown into the unexpected position of a field agent.

"Think about it, Jemma," Daisy commented from behind, and Jemma couldn't help but smile when her friend patted her on the arm. "All of these people are here to see you . You really were one of the popular kids, huh?"

Jemma rolled her eyes. "If you count being the kid that everyone begged to do their homework for them, then yes."

"Oh, she's just being modest," Fitz interjected, sliding an arm around Jemma's waist. "She would chat with all the other cool biochemists after lunch before leaving to work with the lonely engineer."

The eyebrow Jemma quirked at him was to be expected. "If you didn't spend every waking hour in the lab and dragged yourself from your dwarves to join our discussions, we would've gladly accommodated you," she countered.

"But they were my creations! They had to be nurtured daily."

"Tinkering and daily modifications, I can understand. But really, Fitz, I don't think a 'designated nap time' was necessary just to charge them."

"If I remember correctly, 17 year-old Simmons thought that was quite adorable ."

Before Jemma could respond, Hunter and Bobbi emerged from behind the screen. "Alright, what are you two squabbling about this time?" Hunter asked. They couldn't help but snicker as FitzSimmons brushed it off with a simultaneous "Nothing important" while Daisy's "Nerd stuff" was pushed into the background.

"Coulson and May are double-checking security measures while Agent Weaver is making sure everything is ready," Bobbi chimed in. "After that, you are ready to go."

Although her nerves were already starting to intensify, Jemma sent her a grateful smile. "Thanks, Bobbi. And thanks to all of you, actually," she added, gesturing to the auditorium. "I couldn't have summoned the courage to do this without your help."

The warmth emulated on their faces was overwhelming and Jemma's heart swelled. Whatever she did to deserve such a talented, caring group of agents (well, friends, really) at her side, escaped her, but she was incredibly grateful that they had come to offer their support.

"Well, we know how hard you worked to get to this point," Bobbi replied, embracing Jemma around the shoulder, and Fitz released Jemma so that she could hug Bobbi back. "And we just wanted to see how far you've come. We're proud of you, Simmons."

Daisy awed and cooed at Bobbi's words and Fitz beamed at her with a twinkle in his eyes. Hunter's unwillingness to join in, however, was apparent by his groan.

"What is this, a reality show?" he complained. "Enough with the sappy speeches! Break a leg, mate, that's all that needs to be said." He couldn't help but waggle his eyebrows. "I'm sure you'll be getting a lot of love afterwards anyway, if you know what I me-"

"Yes Hunter, w e know ," Bobbi and Jemma both groaned while Daisy smirked at Fitz, making his face flush a bright pink.

The team dispersed once Agent Weaver walked up to the podium, which signaled that the talk was about to begin. Fitz kept Jemma company as Agent Weaver gave her introductory speech, his thumb swirling in reassuring circles on her knuckle, while Daisy and the others sat in the front row.

"Do you need anything?" Fitz murmured in Jemma's ear. "Water, tea, biscuit, or..." He shrugged his shoulders as he ran out of items to list.

Jemma smiled. "I'm fine, Fitz, thanks. I'm not nervous." Why should she be nervous? She had spoken in front of large crowds of people before! With the numerous lectures, conferences, and meetings she has participated in over the years, this one should be a piece of cake.

But this talk was different. It was personal in nature, revealing all the inadequacies she had acquired over the past year or so. What if this somehow tarnished her flawless reputation? Imperfection did not come easily to Jemma, and she reveled in her stellar academic standing as Dr. Simmons, biochemist... not as Agent Simmons, the girl afflicted with PTSD. She could only hope that the speech she had devised would communicate her message to the audience.

Psychic link or not, she was still a terrible liar. "Jemma," Fitz deadpanned, his eyes immediately darting to the fingers of her free hand, which was fiddling with a strand of hair at quite a rapid pace.

Sighing, Jemma tersely put her hands on her hips. "Okay, just a little bit nervous. This is a very...different kind of talk than what I'm used to."

Fitz raised a finger to his chin, stroking his stubble thoughtfully. "No, it's not."

Jemma blinked. "Come again?"

"Sure, you're talking about your own personal experiences, but present this like your thesis," Fitz reasoned. "Introduce your topic, talk about your thoughts as if they were hypotheses, list your observations, and-"

"-use my results to emphasize my conclusion!" Jemma finished. "Brilliant, Fitz! I don't know why in the world I didn't think of that before..."

He shrugged, moving a hand to lightly massage the back of her neck. "You'll be fine, Jemma. I'll be right here if you need me."

She leaned back slightly into his touch, relishing in the feel of his fingers smoothing out her tense muscles, and then placed a kiss on his cheek. "Thanks for being here for me."

"Of course. I wouldn't miss this for the world."

They both froze in place as Agent Weaver's voice strengthened. "And now, I would like to welcome Dr. Jemma Simmons to the stage to speak about her life out in the field."

The applause was polite, and Jemma was relieved that the clapping wasn't more thunderous; it made her undertaking feel less like her acting out a play and more like the lectures she used to attend at the Academy. Fitz gave her one last squeeze before she approached the podium.

Her fingernails traced the wood, a reminder of what she was about to do, and she took a deep breath. The faint trickle of sweat down her temple made her grimace internally, but she ignored the distraction, instead choosing to let her prior mental preparation guide her.

"I remember as a little girl that I dreamed of being held in such regard." She kept her gaze focused on her folded hands, smiling shyly. "My parents always told me I would make a better adult than a kid."

A few laughs echoed through the auditorium, and that is when she chose to look up, attempting to channel a somewhat-feigned confidence to the audience.

"For those of you who are not familiar with my work, I am Dr. Jemma Simmons, biochemist. I have two PhDs in molecular biology and chemistry and I am currently an agent of SHIELD, where I am one of two heads of the Science Division. I have won many accolades for my work with neurotoxins and how they can be used effectively to capture high risk targets while reducing the amount of fatalities. I've been with my team for a couple of years now and my time in the field...well, let's just say that it has been quite an interesting experience."

More soft fits of laughter erupted from the audience and she glanced over to see Daisy, Bobbi, and Hunter smiling and shaking their heads. "See, when I introduce myself in this way, respect is instantly garnered. When people hear the words 'doctor' and 'accolades' and "PhD,' a perception is formed of me in their minds. I may be a scientist and the other half of 'FitzSimmons'...but there is much more to me than my academic reputation."

She stepped onto the stage and shrugged off her blazer, revealing a torn, sodden blouse that was clearly missing its sleeves. "What if I had presented myself in this shirt, with hair crackling from buildup of sand and dirt and long, dirt-filled nails to match? What if I had a cut on my forehead, a scar that I kept stroking every time I noticed it was there? What if I said that I had done the unthinkable and had survived six months on a desert planet, in another solar system, on scarce amounts of food and water? You would all probably think I was going nuts!"

A collective murmur met her in response. "This, what I just described, believe it or not..." She gestured to her blouse as she stroked the fabric fondly. "Was me just a year ago. Sucked into the ebb of a liquefying, ancient monolith with no evident way of returning home. I suffered PTSD upon my return, and nightmares have haunted me ever since."

Straightening her back, Jemma slid her blazer back on and returned to the podium. "Now, if you had no idea who I was and I had started my talk saying that I was a PTSD survivor, not a renowned scientist...would you think of me any differently?"

A thick fog of silence spread as the gravity of her statement settled over her audience. "Exactly. We don't share this information because society has taught us to be ashamed of it, to hide even the littlest of flaws. We're taught that depression renders a person incapable of happiness, chronic anxiety makes us 'cowardly' and 'unreliable,' and the combination is pretty much a death sentence if you're hoping to get hired. But underneath all of that, we are normal people. Or however normal is perceived these days." She mutters the last sentence under her breath.

"I am here to tell you that there is a way out. It's not a cure, but it's a way to communicate to people that no obstacles will stand in the way of who you want to be and what you aim to accomplish in life. All it takes is a well-established support system-" Jemma's eyes fell upon Daisy and the others as she beamed at them. "-people who will be there for you no matter what."

With this, she flashed a shy grin at Fitz, who gazed back at her in awe. "And a determination to surmount the odds stacked against you. If you think you can't succeed...you won't. As simple as this mentality seems to follow, I have fallen into that quicksand too many times to count and I can tell you now it is hard to break yourself free from that vicious cycle. But it is possible to escape. It is possible to ignore the stigma of mental illness and process all of that negative thinking in another way. Mental illness does not control you, and it certainly does not mean you are damaged. In fact, it shows that you are stronger than ever, perfectly capable of overcoming the obstacles in your way."

Shaking her head in contemplation, Jemma reached into her pocket to pull out her clicker. "With that being said...My name is Jemma Simmons. I am a scientist, an agent, and a conqueror of mental illness. And this-" A picture filled with two moons, an iridescent blue sky, and a rocky terrain popped up suddenly on the screen. "is my story."

I'm hoping to eventually clean up the other chapters (if I remember to do so) and add bolded dates so that a set timeline can be defined and followed throughout Jemma's PTSD arc. Thanks for reading!

And a special thanks to Paige (a.k.a. superirishbreakfasttea on Tumblr) for beta-ing this last chapter! I hope my recreation of Jemma's PTSD arc lived up to your expectations :).