Sharon dabbed at her eyes with Triplett's tissues as her gaze returned to her son's face. "I guess it's just the two of us now, Leo," she whispered. Some people who wake up swear they could hear their mothers talking. "That's all right, though, that's how it always was, wasn't it? Just you and me. Thick as thieves." But what do you say at a moment like this? "If we were believers, I'd probably want to pray over you right now." But we're not. "I suppose I'll just try to make some small talk, then? Is that all right, baby?"
He didn't answer. Of course not.
Sharon instinctively reached to tuck the blankets around him more securely before continuing. "I've been at my share of bedsides, you know. I can tell your vital signs look all right. I imagine that's what all these tubes are in you for. I hope they're not too uncomfortable?"
Silence. Of course.
"You've missed some of the news from back home, with all your gallivanting. Jenny from next door is in the family way, due in the fall. And your old school friend John Worth is engaged…"
After about 10 minutes of one-sided gossip, Leo's neuropsychologist came in. His surname sounded like far too many syllables to Sharon's jetlagged ears, so they settled on his given name of "Chris." Chris was working hard to be kind under the circumstances, Sharon thought. Frustration still set in when she realized that he wouldn't give her any guarantees. Still, he explained the case, and he laid out some of the steps that had been taken and the treatment plans he had in mind, like any good doctor faced with a frantic mother and a seriously ill son. When she asked for the odds, he retreated to vagaries. "Impossible to say" and "every case is different" and "we're doing all we can" all put in appearances.
Just tell me he's going to be all right. Just give me some hope. That was all she could think while he was in the room.
When he left, though, she forced herself to admit that what she really wanted to hear was, please tell me that a secret underground base in a developing nation, sponsored by a nonexistent agency that's been labeled a terrorist organization, is a sound medical environment.
That, of course, would be too much to hope for.
Agent Triplett came back after about an hour. "Jemma is sound asleep," he reported, "I can't thank you enough. I've been trying to convince her for days to try to get her mind off of things." He smiled and added, "You'll have to teach me whatever it is you did to get through to her!"
Sharon didn't have to force the smile that came to her face. She squashed it, though—How can I smile with my Leo lying here in this state? "I'm afraid that's just a trick of the trade. I'm a social worker and a grief counselor, you see."
"Oh." She saw Triplett grow uncomfortable as he realized the unspoken question—do we need grief counselors for Fitz already?
How many patients . . . "Have a seat, Antoine, you've earned that much." He sat, but was plainly not at ease. He leaned forward as if he might jump up and dash off at any moment. Sharon's trained eyes also noticed that he couldn't look at the man in the bed for very long. How many patients indeed. "You've not been in many hospitals, have you?"
He shrugged. "I've seen my share, but I'm not usually standing vigil when a person is dy—I mean, is this sick."
The slipup stung but Sharon pushed through it. "Are you and Leo close?"
"Not really. I actually had only worked one joint mission with his team before things fell apart. But I found out that my superior officer was Hydra, and in the scramble to go underground I kinda just…fell in with Coulson's crew." He paused. "Actually, I'm not certain your son liked my being there, very much."
"Now I find that hard to believe," Sharon said, "Leo's always got on with everyone he met!"
Triplett shrugged. "What can I say, we just didn't hit it off. I'm not sure if it was the stress of the takeover, or if I did something wrong, or if it was about—well, maybe we just weren't destined to be best friends." He hesitated, but continued: "I'm not sure whether I was stepping on his toes, so to speak."
Sharon absorbed that thought for a moment. Leo always had a competitive streak, she had to admit, probably had something to do with how much he accomplished so young. "Were you rivals professionally? I would have thought that S.H.I.E.L.D. scientists and field operatives were, well, out of each other's way."
"Oh, we are. This wasn't about work."
"Then what was it—oh." It all clicked. Coming to check on us. Knowing when she last ate. Sitting until she fell asleep. "Jemma?" she asked, waiting for confirmation.
Triplett gave a slightly sheepish smile and nodded. "Yes, Jemma. We hit it off as soon as we met. I didn't realize she and Fitz had something going on until—well, until I saw her at his bedside. If one of them had said something, I would've stepped more carefully."
Crazy, mixed-up kids, the lot of them. Should I even try . . .? Not my business, but, well, a mother's intuition . . . oh, hang it all. "If it makes you feel any better," she said slowly, choosing her words with great care, "I'm not certain either of them knew there was something to say."
That got his attention. "Really?" he asked, sitting up straighter and smiling hopefully.
"Indeed."
Triplett suddenly remembered where he was, glancing at Leo. The hiss of the breathing machine was the only sound for a few moments, but finally he said, "I appreciate that this may not be the right moment for that conversation, Sharon. But I'm in the dark on this. Jemma's in no mood to discuss it."
Sharon's eyes stung again at the fresh reminder of their surroundings, of the circumstances. It wasn't as if she could've forgotten about her son, but for a moment the subject had seemed so . . . ordinary, so much like a chat two new acquaintances might have over tea or while attending a dull party. It had been a brief respite, and now the wound was opened again.
"It's all right," she said, "I don't mind a moment's distraction. I'll even tell you the whole story someday. In fact, I—I want to ask a favor of you, Antoine."
Triplett smiled. "Name it, Sharon, I want to help."
How many patients. "I'm a counselor. I help other people through difficulties. It's what I do. But now I'm a frantic mother at her son's bedside, and I'll run myself ragged if I don't have a care. Will you look out for me, like you've been looking after Jemma? Point out times when I haven't slept or I've forgotten a meal. I've seen far too many loved ones make themselves ill with worry. It's only human, yet it doesn't help anyone in the slightest. And I know we've only just met but I don't know a soul in this place except Jemma and, well, you've seen why she's in no condition to help me." Sharon finally managed to stop babbling and took a deep breath to steady herself.
"Absolutely, Sharon," Triplett replied. "I can't promise to be your babysitter all day long, but I'll do what I can. You have my word."
"You're a good man, Antoine," was Sharon's only reply.
"In fact," Triplett began as he got to his feet, "let me be the first to point out that you've just had a long trip, and should probably at least have a snack and a nap before the jetlag catches up. It's almost ten o'clock in this time zone, and I don't think you've had dinner yet."
Sharon started and looked at her watch. The pilot had announced the local time when she landed in San Diego, but she hadn't realized how quickly time was flying after she got to the base. "My goodness, you're absolutely right. I shouldn't have promised Jemma I'd sit here until she got back."
"If you're worried about leaving Fitz alone, I can sit with him for an hour or two longer, and our friend Skye will probably come in later. She's working on a major project right now."
I picked the right babysitter. Sharon had to admit that sleep sounded nice. "That seems fair. Give me one moment, though." She looked longingly at her Leo, then stood and bent to give him a kiss on the forehead. "Mommy loves you, honey. I'll be back soon," she murmured, before following Triplett towards the kitchens.