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Sterilize, organize, label, secure. Simmons walked into the lab where they had used the memory machine, reciting the list of procedures she'd followed since she started handling real chemicals at the Academy.
If she and Fitz were still speaking, he'd joke that she'd probably followed the procedures since she played with Play-Doh as a toddler, Simmons thought wryly.
Breathing in a staggering breath in an effort to prevent another disastrous breakdown like she'd had the other night, Simmons forced herself to clear her mind of all thoughts of her lab partner. Former lab partner? Future boyfriend? Former best friend? Future stranger?
"Focus, Jemma," the biochemist whispered to herself, starting to gather some of the lab supplies discarded around the lab. Sterilize, organize, label, secure. Sterilize, organize, label-
"Jemma?" A soft, familiar voice called to her from the other side of the room.
Simmons whirled around, a hand on her heart. "Oh, Fitz! You startled me!" She said, spotting Fitz sitting in the corner, hunched over in a chair next to the machine. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were in here!" She apologized, blushing furiously as she quickly ran over all of her actions since walking in the room. Fortunately, she didn't think she had said anything about her inner turmoil out loud.
"Yeah, I, uh…" Fitz stuttered, stuffing his hands in his pocket. Simmons had noticed that while she was gone he had developed a habit of tugging on his shoulder with one hand. But once she commented on it, he seemed to stick his hands in his pockets, or on his hips, or even crossed in front of him, whenever she was around. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he said, quietly. "I know you're para…. On high alert. Since your time with… Um. Since you-"
"You didn't want me to pull a gun on you again, because I'm hyper vigilant since I left to be undercover with Hydra," Simmons said bluntly. No use beating around the bush.
"Um…." Fitz said, staring at her in surprise. "Yeah." He finally agreed. His hands had escaped from their pockets and he was massaging his bad hand unconsciously. Even in the middle of the overwhelming awkwardness, Simmons was satisfied to see that he had taken her massage instructions seriously.
"I was just coming to clean the room," Simmons explained, suddenly feeling like she was somehow intruding. What an odd feeling to have around Fitz. She hated it. "I'm sorry to bother you. You know how I can be..."
"A place for everything and everything in it's place," Fitz said softly, parroting back something Simmons had said to him dozens of times during their years at the Academy and Sci-Ops. The engineer smiled wistfully, the meaning of the phrase in Simmons' life remaining unspoken.
She only felt the need to obsessively organize when a seemingly unsolvable problem was weighing on her mind.
He was the unsolvable problem.
"Yes," Simmons agreed quietly. For a moment they simply looked at each other, reflecting on the situation, the light from the panel on the memory machine casting an odd blue light on half of Fitz's face.
Wait. The light from the panel. On the memory machine...
Simmons suddenly snapped out of her reverie to take in Fitz's stance and surroundings for the first time. He was wedged into the corner of a room, sitting directly in front of the instrument panel, which was lit and, judging by the flashing text, awaiting an input command. There was a 3-ring binder bursting with papers sitting open on Fitz's lap.
And Fitz sure was massaging that hand an awful lot, which she'd started to learn was a bit of a nervous tick for him.
"... Fitz?" Simmons asked softly, taking a step closer to get a better look. "What are you doing in here?"
Fitz's eyes suddenly grew wide, flashing with guilt as he glanced down at the notebook and then back up to her. "I... Ah..." He stuttered, seemingly unable to come up with a response.
"Were you..." Simmons continued walking until she was close enough to see the screen, which was still flashing. ERASE DATE?
She sucked in a sharp breath. "Fitz!" She said quickly, admonishment and fear coming out in the word.
"I'm not gonna do it, Je- Simmons," Fitz said quietly, turning his attention to the screen she was staring transfixed at. "I thought about it, 'sall. I'm not gonna lie about that. But I'm... I... Don't worry about me."
"But... What would you... What..." Simmons stumbled, not sure how to phrase the millions of heartbreaking questions she had ripping through her brain right now. But, as usual these last few weeks, she didn't know what to say to Fitz. The thought brought tears to her eyes, and she hurriedly wiped them away. She couldn't melt into a puddle of emotions every time she was around him.
"Because it's hard, Jemma," he said even quieter, gaze still fixed on the screen. Simmons sucked in another quick breath, surprised to hear him call her Jemma again.
"It's so hard, knowing what I used to be, co- compar - compared to what I am.. Now."
Simmons looked at him, his gaze still not reaching hers. "But you're getting so much better!" She insisted, quietly, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder.
He froze before she could reach him, so she retracted the arm quickly. "I know," he said. "But it's not just my... My injury. It's everything. The hypoxia. Ward. Hydra... The pod... You."
Fitz finally looked up at her. "Us," he nearly whispered.
Her tears threatened to spill again, so Simmons quickly sniffled and wiped her eyes. "But... You would have erased everything before? All of... All of it?" She asked quietly. All of us?
Fitz shook his head, quickly. "No. Never. That realization made me stop." He said. "Still. Sometimes I think it would be easier."
Simmons nodded, "I suppose that's true," she said, trying to shift the tone to a purely science, hypothetical conversation, like so many they'd had before. "It brings to mind the old debate; what's better: to have and lose or never to have had before?"
Fitz hummed in agreement. "What would you erase? From your memory?"
"Your coma," Simmons said instantly, before she'd even given herself a moment to think.
Fitz looked up at her quickly, "Really?"
Now it was Simmons' turn to avoid his gaze, straightening up and lifting the notebook from his hands. "Really," she said clearly and firmly, leaving no room for a follow-up question.
"What would you say to a nice cuppa?" She asked, turning off the machine and helping Fitz up.
"Weren't you going to clean up the lab?" Fitz asked, taking her comments for what they were - a closing of the conversation. He stood and stretched, running his hands over his face.
"That can wait," Simmons said, waiting at the door.
Fitz glanced from her to the messy lab table as he approached the door. "You don't have to rush me out of here," he said quietly when he reached her. "I'm not going to do it, Jemma."
Simmons pressed her lips together and studied the ground. "Promise?" She whispered, knowing she had no right to ask him to promise anything.
"Promise," she heard him say. She nodded and waited until he passed her before closing the door behind them.
