A/N: Next week, we'll change our posting dates: the last two chapters will be up on Wednesday and Saturday. We hope to read more of your comments and thoughts; we really love reading them.

CHAPTER 10

"How do you-?" Fitz looks up abruptly when she mentions the medpod and his theory about resonance. His eyes widen when he sees the pain in her eyes. It's achingly familiar: he's had that look for the past few months.

His previous thoughts come back to his mind. Could it be-?

"Er- yeah…" He clears his throat. "Wh-what happened to your Fitz?"

His question hangs in the air, unanswered. Jemma wants to reply but it's as though it chokes her, awakening a nightmare she'd attempted to bury.

The doctors had warned her that in time, the memories would surface again, that there'd be triggers she couldn't predict and that they might be visceral and painful. They'd offered her prescriptions that could dull the pain, but she'd refused them; she'd felt she deserved whatever came her way.

A part of her had hoped she'd be the exception to the rule.

She and Fitz had always been the exception to every rule.

When the images appear, so do the sensations. She can taste the salt against her lips and she can even hear his breath fleeting with every given instruction.

"One breath?" She repeats, stunned. "But there's two of us."

Time is running out, that much is clear. She already feels her lungs beginning to struggle; she's practically breathless, each inhale shallower than the one previous.

"I know," Fitz says handing her the manual resuscitator, forcing it into her hands. "I've done the math. That's why you're taking it, you're the better swimmer."

"I am not," she insists, defiant. They are both so stubborn, even at the worst times imaginable. "You're the one that-"

"-I couldn't live if you didn't," he interrupts, the words spilling from his lips. Her gaze snaps to meet his. There are tears heavy in the corners of his eyes and he breathes just as weakly as she does. "You need to take it, Jemma. Please."

"Why?" She demands; she doesn't understand. "I feel the same. You're my very best friend. You're my family." Why must he be so impossible?!

"Because it's always been you." The words shudder from his lips and she can tell that he instantly regrets his outburst.

"Wha-what?" Jemma shakes her head. No, not now.

He can't meet her eyes, she thinks he's embarrassed. "I've loved you from the day I caught you red handed holding the beaker of nitrogen triiodide."

"But- But…" she stutters, disbelieving. "The ice… the note...you'd agreed...you said-"

He shrugs sheepishly. "I know what I said, but I lied. I did it because I thought that's what you wanted. I've been lying to you for twelve years, Jemma."

Her arms reach for him, pulling him tight against her. Her sobs choke her and her tears streak against her cheeks. "No…" She grips at his collar, shaking her head against his shoulder. "No…"

The words stick in her throat, she can feel them bursting at the surface but she's panicked into silence. They have only seconds, she can feel it in her chest. Her heart orders her to say what she feels, to ensure that he knows before…

The world around her turns black.

Something (or someone?) forces the mask against her mouth and with her free hand she reaches for Fitz. She knows he must be near but she can't see him for all the blackness. She pumps the resuscitator, forcing oxygen into her lungs; they burn and the air salves. With renewed strength she flails into the darkness a second time, reaching, hoping, desperate to find him.

Her fingers grip what she believes is the fold of his collar and she takes hold tightly like she'd done seconds earlier. With every ounce of strength she pulls herself forward and upward, toward the surface.

She will not let him die.

She refuses to allow him to sacrifice himself. Not without knowing…

Fitz knows that something is wrong when she doesn't reply immediately but he waits, giving her time.

Jemma stares at the beer in front of her, without really seeing it; he sees how her eyes are unfocused, the clear amber suddenly clouded and lost.

Whether she's lost in her thoughts or in some memory, he cannot say, but it must be painful and still very raw for her. He can relate to that sort of feeling.

"Hey," he whispers after a few moments, her forced silence making him uneasy. "You don't have to-" The words die in his mouth when he sees the first tears trickle down her cheeks.

He's standing up when the trickles become twin rivulets and he is by her side when she starts trembling, silent sobs wracking her body.

She's restraining herself from making any noise, her teeth bite into her lower lip and her hands curl tightly into fists. But the tears still flow down her face, her features contorted in grief.

Fitz sinks to his knees next to her, heart twisting painfully in his chest. He has always hated seeing Jemma in any sort of pain but seeing her cry? It just hurts him. He slowly moves his hands up to her face, brushing away a stream of tears, forcing her to turn and look at him.

Her eyes are a sheen of liquid honey, full of pain and despair. Seeing her like this shatters something inside him.

"Jemma?" He whispers and she sobs again, a fresh wave of tears cascading down her face and on his hands.

"F-Fi-tz..." She stutters, awakening from her trance. She leans forward and wraps her arms around his neck.

He feels her tears and breath against his skin and hears her muffled sobs. It brings back memories of his last goodbye to Jemma and his hands move on their own accord, tightening around her, fingers drawing soothing circles on her back.

"It's...Everything will be fine," he whispers in her hair. "It's okay..."

She pulls back suddenly and takes him in more fully and shakes her head. She's a mess both mentally and physically. She doesn't belong here, she doesn't deserve his kindness.

"I need to go back," she chokes out, her hand wiping at her tears as she looks down at him. "I need to go home. Please, take me back to the medpod."

Fitz moves away and stands up immediately, swallowing dryly. He tries to ignore the way her words affect him but it's useless: his chest clenches hard, forcing him to take a shuddering breath.

He messed up. They were doing well: they were talking, even laughing and he messed up. He must have overstepped some invisible boundary or asked too many questions she wasn't prepared to answer. She'd rather leave and go back to her world than stay there. With him.

And here he'd hoped that-

Fitz clenches his trembling fingers.

What? That she'd stay? That she'd forget her world, her life and stick around with him?

The other Fitz might be dead -he's quite sure about it now- but he is not him. And as much as he yearns for it, this Jemma is not his.

She wants to go home and he has to help her; he will always help her.

Jemma has been his home for as long as he can remember; he lost everything when she died. And now that she's here again (alive) asking him to leave, he knows that he cannot force her to stay.

He has to help her...

"I should probably explain," she offers weakly. "I just… I just can't." She shakes her head. She's scared. She wonders absently if this is what Fitz felt like back in the medpod, back when she'd let him die without-

"Y-yeah… I-I understand," Fitz takes a few steps back, fighting against the emotions that are suddenly choking him. "I'll go get- Need it to go down." His mind is reeling but he has one clear thought. She doesn't need him, otherwise she wouldn't want to leave.

"I-I- Wait... a moment," he motions her to stay there as he walks out of the kitchenette to his room and grabs his tablet. Fitz doesn't really realise what he's doing: his body moves on its own accord and his mind is just... blank.

"Fitz?" He turns and sees Jemma, staring at him with soft eyes. It's his mind-Jemma with her long hair and blue jumper.

"Everything will be alright," she says softly, approaching him. "Ask her to stay. Tell her you want her to stay."

He shakes his head and turns away from her. The last thing he needs now is his own mind trying to trick him.

He returns to the kitchenette and gestures for the real Jemma to follow him and he feels hollowed out when he enters the security feed and modifies the video streaming as he walks.

Fitz is about to turn the corner that leads to the common room when he sees a shadow lurking in a doorway. It's Skye, staring at him with wide eyes.

There's something in her gaze that makes him blink: she looks shocked rather than cautious as she usually is around him. It suddenly occurs to him that he's not alone and that Jemma is walking, head down, just steps behind him.

He doesn't stop walking but keeps his gaze on Skye as she continues to stare. He sees her open her mouth, ready to take a step forward, probably wanting to get closer and talk to him -or to Jemma because it's been a painful few months for the hacker as well- but Fitz shakes his head.

Not now, he pleads in his head and hopes that the message is conveyed in his expression. This isn't the right moment; not with Jemma wanting to leave and him with his shattered emotions. He knows that he's asking a lot from Skye but she has to leave them alone for now.

The hacker just stares and slowly nods; she has always been empathic and Fitz is glad of her tact. Jemma doesn't notice the silent exchange and Fitz simply nods in gratitude before walking away. He has no words; he's certain that he wouldn't be able to string a short sentence together without either breaking down or failing entirely.

He's broken and damaged; Jemma has every right to want to leave him.

What Fitz doesn't realize is that Jemma had wanted to stay. A part of her had hoped that her journey to Fitz's world could be a one-way ticket, a way to perhaps make up for her mistakes. In effect, she'd hoped that this universe's Fitz would be able ease the burden upon her conscience. She'd wanted a do-over.

But she's come to realize that it's not right; she's using him in a sorry attempt to heal her own broken heart. It wouldn't be fair for her to do this to Fitz. He'd been nothing but kind to her from the start. There is such love and tenderness in his words, looks, and gestures; but he'll never replace her Fitz and certainly she could never replace his Jemma.

Her Fitz had been her heart- her world-and if he feels even a fraction of what she does, she can not even begin to justify her place here...

When Fitz opens the heavy door to the vault, they both blink, allowing their eyes to adjust to the little light. Everything's there as they'd left it earlier: the generator, the sensors and the medpod. Fitz feels a soft touch on his shoulder and he turns to find mind-Jemma's hand softly laying there. She's smiling kindly but it doesn't give him any solace.

"Tell her," she says again.

He shrugs the imaginary hand off without saying anything and grits his teeth, choosing instead to check the generator rather than acknowledge the image and voice that his mind has produced.

When he looks up again, he notices a few boxes in the far corner behind the rusty container and his already hurt heart twists again.

Jemma's things. All that he'll ever have of her: scattered objects, lost memories, regrets…

The tension between them is thick; Jemma knows that he's upset, she can read it on his face and in his movements. His shoulders are rolled forward and he mutters under his breath, talking to… himself, she supposes. For the second time since she'd arrived she wonders if he also guards a damaging secret.

Her fingers run along the old generator which is patched in areas that have long rusted away. The machine is no different than her own on the other side of the wormhole and when she looks down at him, tinkering away at the compressor her heart tugs. His hands are shaking and he mutters curses at them, daring them to defy his will. She wants to steady his hands, wants to press her own upon his and guide him, wants to work with him like she'd done for so many years before.

But she can't.

He is not hers.

Her Fitz has long left her.

"The Asimovian is out of Ruang solution," she notes, her voice cracking slightly as she breaks their silence. She moderates her voice, wanting to sound cold and detached- but in reality, she is desperate. Everything has become too much. "Did you have any in reserve?"

Fitz doesn't look up until he hears the word 'Ruang'; it's the only thing that allows him to understand that it's really Jemma speaking and not his imaginary partner. That and her cold, empty tone.

He stares at her as she stands rod-straight in front of him with a cautious look on her face and he feels his chest twist painfully.

"Er... no, I- I..." He swallows and stands up; he used his last vial of solution before and doesn't have any left. It had taken quite a bit of ability to get past Melinda May's attention and make two vials rather than just the one.

He realises that the only option they have is to go downstairs and make another vial of solution in the lab. The thought of walking into the lab (their lab) with her makes his stomach clench: he cannot do that.

He works there even though it's no longer a lab but a makeshift garage, yet he cannot go in there with Jemma. It would just... hurt.

"Look in there." He turns to his left side and sees his mind-Jemma, pointing at the boxes behind the medpod. He looks at her oddly, eyebrows arching. She rolls her eyes at him.

"Come on, Fitz," she chides him. "I always kept samples of my experiments to study when I had free time. That solution was one of my older projects: I'll surely have a vial of it."

His eyes widen at the truth behind her words. Those boxes contained all of Jemma's things from her bunk, but also all the material from her side of the lab.

"You're right," he mumbles. There is a chance that she might have made a vial of solution for future testing.

"What's that?" Jemma dares to ask, raising her eyebrows curiously. "Did you say something?"

Fitz turns and nods, pointing towards the boxes. Perhaps, between the two of them, she's the one that can easily find the solution among all the samples.

"Maybe try over there," he suggests, crouching back down to finish preparing the generator.

She nods and moves toward the boxes in the corner. The pile is small and organized neatly, most of which are banker boxes. Jemma wonders absently if they contain files or more research notes to help set the Asimovian in motion. She reaches for the first box and lifts its lid. Inside, rather than files or notes, she finds women's clothing folded and stacked neatly. Confused, she lifts a shirt from the top of the pile and holds it up to get a closer look. It's a lovely black and white polka dotted blouse, one that likely belonged to someone her own age and size.

"Fitz?" She calls out, turning with the shirt in hand. "Who's stuff is this?" She's not entirely certain why she's asking, she knows who the shirt must belong to.

He looks up and sees Jemma holding a familiar blouse. It's one that he's seen on multiple occasions along with a thin maroon jumper and a black tie: it brings back memories ("I have to look professional, Fitz!").

The honest answer that almost comes out of his mouth is 'Yours' but he swallows back the words. She doesn't even recognise the clothes and objects. Who is he even kidding?

She's not… her.

"Je- My Jemma's," he says, looking back at the generator. His hands are shaking again and he realises that he hasn't taken his medication yet. Damn it...

"Look in the boxes: there should... with her work supplies." He clears his suddenly dry throat. "Solution for the gen- generator." And you can go.. and leave...

Jemma had never been very good at reading people but there is something… definitive in Fitz's look and voice. Before the incident in the medpod she would have insisted that she knew Fitz better than anyone else, but in the months since she's come to realize just how blind she really was and is.

Something within her pushes her to question him further, to ask why the softness in his voice is so achingly familiar… Why he seems so lost. Afraid, even. Instead, she chooses to ignore the press upon her heart and lets the blouse fall back into its box as she decidedly moves on to the next carton.

The boxes as a whole are filled with mostly personal effects: a few textbooks, some more pieces of clothing and several DVDs. It tells her a little about the ghost of a woman that is so like her, yet must be so very different at the same time.

It's in the last box near the back of the room that she finds what she's looking for. Within a small metallic carrier she discovers several vials marked with amser energy levels. She recognizes the familiar chemical notations scrawled along its length and closes the lid to the carrier, lifting it carefully from the box. She's about to replace the cardboard lid when something catches her eye.

Tucked between two empty beaker trays is a mason jar filled with water. Melted ice?

Her heart skips in her chest, thumping quick and anxious, urging her forward. Her fingers shake as she reaches for it, recognizing the yellow paper that floats at its center.

But it's not her jar.

Hers has a short note, hastily written by two extraordinarily foolish people, floating at its center. Hers is lost in her world, likely sitting in a landfill after being tossed out by an annoyed landlady who hadn't been paid her rent.

No. This mason jar is different.

This jar's note reads only one word: Fitz.

"Fitz?" She calls out, her voice cracking slightly as she rises to her feet and turns toward him. He looks up expectantly. "Did...Did you and yo-your Jemma date?"

He blinks at her, processing the words but not really understanding them immediately. What-? Where did that even come from? Has he said or done something to-?

Fitz opens his mouth to speak but the words are suddenly all lost to him again as she looks at him with those hauntingly familiar eyes and the medpod at her back.

He shakes his head, heart thumping in his chest as he stands. He hears ringing in his ears and the sudden rush makes him dizzy as the vault becomes suddenly darker.

"Fitz?" He cannot be sure which Jemma is talking: the real one or the imaginary?

"Calm down." There's a soft touch on his shoulder. "Tell her; she'll understand!"

She's not soothing him; he just feels the influx of feelings and memories overwhelming him.

He shouldn't have said anything back in the medpod with Jemma. He should have kept it to himself, like he had for months...

Jemma wouldn't have felt any obligation to save him.

She would be alive.

"And you're more than that, Jemma."

Fitz is by the vault's door and has to lean against it, his forehead touching the cool metal. His breath comes out in heavy puffs.

"You're not here," he mutters through gasps of air. "You're not here... you're not her- Go away…" He doesn't know if he's referring to mind-Jemma, his thoughts or… everything.

"Fitz?" She calls again, her free hand shaking nervously upon his shoulder as she presses down more surely. "What's wrong? Tell me," she begs softly at first. "I want to know." She does. She may try to deny it but there is something about this world that takes hold of her, something about him that draws her in. It's not just because he looks like him. There's something more.

Something familiar.

The stronger grip on his shoulder startles him and he hastily shrugs the hand away.

"No," he says sharply, shaking his head and running a hand across his face. "I can't tell her!" It won't change anything...

Jemma frowns. "Tell who?" She pulls his shoulder back so that his head pops upward. The action forces him to look at her more fully. "Who are you talking to?"

His eyes widen, it's as though he's realizing his mistake because his face reddens and his gaze drops to the floor.

She holds the jar out in front of him. "Did you date her?" She asks again, more assertively. The water in the jar stirs with her movement. "Is that what this is about?"

His gaze falls to the small jar in her hands and his previously embarrassed and mortified mind is filled with bewilderment.

"What is-?" Fitz glances at her and is surprised to see the mingle of emotions dancing in her eyes. She looks desperate to get an answer from him.

"No," he whispers, feeling his heart crack once again. They could have; everything might have turned out differently... But it didn't. "No, we never- I didn't."

To be continued...

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