SUMMARY: "There you go again. Talking about.. things I don't know. Looking at me like you expect me to look back the same way. And I can't. I can't, Simmons!" Fitz can't find the missing memories.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was a prompt suggested to me, asking for a darker FitzSimmons one in where Fitz was hurt.. but I switched it around a little bit. I hope you enjoyed! Next chapter should be a Skye chapter, and the one after should hopefully be one of our two favourite agents.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Still the Same
"That was.. that was stupid."
They're in the small medical room, and Simmons is tucked up in the bed with a bullet wound in her side and a set of medical equipment strewn beside her. It's been a couple of days since she had been caught in the crossfire, but it's obvious that she needs to be kept stationary. Although Fitz is no doctor, he knows that well enough.
"It was right," Simmons says firmly, locking her jaw. It's the first time that he's seen her look so determined. Or at least.. it's the first time that he can remember. Threads and snippets of memories drift through his mind in tangles, but it all gets so muddled up, and just when he finds out how to unravel them, they disintegrate from his mind. And it's so, so frustrating. There's not a moment that Fitz doesn't want it all back. Not one.
"No, it wasn't," Fitz argues, shaking his head. "You were hurt. It could have been serious. It was serious." He's not sure why his hands shake at the thought of her being hurt, but he's gathered from snippets of conversations and accidental clues that once, Simmons had meant something important to him. He wants it back.
"Those people were in danger. Innocent civilians. They had no idea what was going on." Her amber gaze locks onto his. "There was a little boy, Fitz. Just like Ace."
Her eyes widen and she opens her mouth to say something, but Fitz can already feel the anger bubbling inside him. "There you go again. Talking about.. things I don't know. Looking at me like you expect me to look back the same way. And I can't. I can't, Simmons! Because whatever happened to me out there, it cost me my memories! And I can't.." Fitz's voice cracks. "I wish that whatever stupid thing I did to lose my memories had never happened." His breath is heavy when he finishes, and he feels the need to throw something. Anything. But instead, he tightens his fists until he can see his knuckles turning white, digging his nails into his skin.
Simmons looks like a deer in the headlights, frozen with her mouth slightly parted. They sit in silence for a moment, because Fitz honestly doesn't know what to say to her.
"Why did you jump in front? I know that it's our job, as.. as SHIELD agents," the word still felt weird in his mouth, "but.. how could you be so brave? How could you do that without a second thought?"
Simmons's eyes dart away quickly, and her words are quiet when she speaks again. "The Fitz I knew would have done the same in a heartbeat."
"I'm still Fitz. I'm still the same person."
"Yeah." But she doesn't sound quite so sure.
...
"What are you doing?"
"I'm just checking on some files. Nothing important." She says it like it's the most casual thing in the world, even though it's completely dark, save for the gentle glow of the lamp beside her and the security hallway lights that flood in through the gap of the door.
"It's half past two," he points out. "And I don't recall you being released from the infirmary."
Simmons pauses in her movements, twisting to give him a sheepish smile - something he doesn't see nearly enough, and somehow it makes his brain ache painfully. "I released myself."
"Uh, well.. I don't think that's how it works."
"I have the necessary qualifications to permit me to do that."
"It's still half past two in the morning."
"Yes," Simmons blurts out suddenly, her smile obviously strained. "Silly me. Yes, I'll go now." She gathers up the files and slips them under her arm hurriedly, returning everything back to it's normal position. She pauses as if something has only just occurred to her, looking up to meet his gaze. "What are you doing up?"
"Nightmares," Fitz admits quietly.
Simmons gives him an understanding smile, and it suddenly hits Fitz that maybe, it's been as hard for her as it's been for him. "What about?"
He pulls his lips into a small frown, trying to reach deeply into the recesses of his memory for the dream. "Something about.. Something about the first law of thermodynamics. And a monkey. There was definitely a monkey."
He's slightly scared to see Simmons tighten up suddenly, her eyes turning several shades darker as she turns away quickly and hurriedly bundles the papers under her arm.
There's something she isn't telling him, and he's going to get it out of her. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all. Don't worry about it, Fitz. You know me."
"Not anymore."
He catches sight of a very familiar name on her folders as she brushes past. It's his name.
...
"Who's Donnie?"
Simmons jerks back from the bench abruptly, her head snapping up to meet him. "Donnie," she echoes.
"Donnie Gill," Fitz nods, trying desperately to avoid her gaze, instead attempting to focus on the thread of wires that lie tangled on the table. No matter how much he tries, he can't get his fingers to work properly, the various tools slipping out of his feeble fingers like water. "I know him, don't I?"
"You did," Simmons admits carefully, a hesitant tone in her voice. "You knew him. It was on a mission."
"Don't.." He digs his nails into his palms as the wires slip through his grasp once again, gritting his teeth. "Don't talk about me in the past tense. I'm still the same person. I'm still Fitz. I don't like early mornings. I don't adapt easily to change. I have-"
"-an unhealthy obsession for monkeys," Simmons finishes. Fitz finally plucks up the courage to lift his head up to look at her. She's smiling, and although it's obviously strained, it's genuine. "I know you, Fitz. Maybe even more than you know about yourself at the moment."
"And yet I know nothing about you," he realises suddenly, and by Simmons's gentle look, he knows he's right.
"You'll get it in time, Fitz." He knows her words aren't entirely true, and judging by the shadows under her eyes, she knows as well.
"What's your favourite colour?"
"What?"
"Your favourite colour. What is it?"
Simmons looks surprised, but she settles down and leans against the bench. "Yellow. It's a happy colour. I've liked it ever since-"
"-I fell into a patch of daffodils on your birthday."
It's small - so terribly tiny in significance of everything else that he could remember, but her eyes shine so brightly that Fitz can't help but give her a sheepish smile.
"Well done, Fitz."
...
It's late at night, and the base is fairly silent. Skye, May and Triplett had gone off on a mission along with a few other agents that Fitz still had trouble remembering the names of. The security lights glow gently, but there's a more prominent light glowing under the gap of a door.
It's unusual, Fitz notes. He should know - he's spent more nights escaping from the pulls of sleep that he cares to admit. Slowly, he advances towards it. There's shuffling to be heard, but it's muffled and deliberate, almost as if someone inside didn't want to be heard.
His heart leaps in his throat and he pauses with his hand hovering above the door handle. What if it was a murderer? Or a spy? Should he run for Koenig and Coulson? He's about to turn tail for help, but he lingers for a moment longer. Fitz didn't want to be helped. He felt so useless in this base. Even Koenig was more help than him, and he spent three quarters of his time playing Call of Duty. Fitz was just known as the once-brilliant amnesiac who couldn't quite grasp simple tasks and seemed to distract Simmons from her work. He wasn't blind; he notices that she often drops everything just for him.
His hand gripped the handle and he twisted it, pushing open the door with a sharp shove. He's ready to defend himself (maybe he had learnt some kung-fu in his missing years?) but he's completely taken aback at the sight.
It's Simmons, rifling into a drawer with hurry. She whirls around guiltily when the door opens, and Fitz catches the quick movement of her tugging the bottom of her shirt down out of the corner of his eye.
"Fitz?"
"Simmons?" They speak at the same time, her with wide eyes and him with suspicion in his gaze. "What are you doing?"
"Oh.. nothing," Simmons laughs nervously, but Fitz sees her pushing the drawer behind her closed with a free hand.
"You're bluffing. Why are you sniffing around?"
"I was just looking for a.. for a button," she nods eagerly, and if not for the suspicion, Fitz would have laughed at her sore attempt at lying. "One of the buttons popped off my top, and I was trying to find another one."
"You don't have any buttons on your top," he points out.
Simmons winces, pulling her arms close to her sides. "Don't I?"
"I can't remember a thing about you," he looks up just in time to see her flinch, "but I can tell when you're lying. What're you doing?"
She spins and tugs open the drawer, pulling out a small bottle of medicine and showing it to him with a sheepish look.
"Painkillers? I thought you said that-"
"-I was feeling fine, honestly," Simmons defends. "But for the last few days it's just started to.."
"The last few days?" Fitz inquires accusingly, twisting the bottle around in his grasp. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"
"Everyone was busy. I didn't want to bother them."
"You could have told me."
Silence is all that follows, but Fitz has got his answer.
"You don't like me. This.. new Fitz. I'm not the same, am I? I'm slow and daft, and there's bits and pieces missing from by brain that I just. Can't. Grasp. You can't handle it anymore, can you? Old Fitz, Fitz with memories is gone. Your Fitz will probably never come back. You can't stand it, can you? You're giving up."
"No, Fitz.." But the look in her eyes says it all.
...
"What are you doing?"
Simmons looks up from the bench, a smile frozen into place. "Wrapping a present."
"A present? What for?"
"It's Skye's birthday. Well, actually.. since we don't know her actual birth date, we all decided on a date that she liked. That happens to be today," she explains.
"Aren't we a bit busy to be celebrating birthdays?" Fitz fiddles with the contraption in his hands clumsily, biting his tongue whenever his fingers don't cooperate properly.
"There's always time for birthdays, Fitz," Simmons admonishes, clearing the table away with one fluid motion. "You should come along."
He shifts uncomfortably, avoiding her earnest expression. "I don't think that's a good idea. I don't.. I don't even know Skye. I mean, I did, but.. I have to finish this anyway." He gestures to his work, a pathetic attempt at an excuse.
"Oh," Simmons smiles, disappoint obvious in her features. She pauses before she leaves the lab. "Well, you're welcome to join us."
...
It's a quiet evening in the lab, and Fitz can't help but watch Simmons and Skye talk through the glass doors of the Playground lab. They both look happy - an expression he doesn't see a lot on Simmons.
When she enters again, he offers her a tentative smile. "Are you two.. friends?"
"Yes. You were friends with her too, Fitz."
"Am I still friends with her?"
For a moment, they both watch as the pretty brunette laughs at something Triplett has said, rolling her eyes.
"I don't know, Fitz. That's up to you."
...
"Who is she? To me, I mean." Fitz is sitting at a table, with Triplett lazing across from him.
"What? You mean Simmons?" He raises an eyebrow, and Fitz gives a self-conscious nod.
"Yeah."
Triplett pauses for a long while, twisting the bottle cap of a beer round and round in his hands. "I don't know if I'm allowed to tell you that."
"Please. I'm tired of.. I'm tired of not remembering," Fitz pleads seriously, his hand reaching for the wires placed on the table. His latest project.. a simple little thing that he knows is child's play, but can't seem to get his head around. "I can't remember anything. I'm tired of seeing snippets of things I don't even get, the disappointed looks when I miss an inside joke. Dreams I don't understand."
Triplett leans back in his chair, setting the bottle down smoothly. "Simmons was your best friend. Your lab partner. One entity," he smiles, a hopeful glint in his eyes. "Does the word FitzSimmons jog a memory?"
Fitz tries really hard, digging into the dark recesses of his mind. His answer is disappointing. "Is it supposed to?"
"Here," Trip says finally, pulling a bottle of beer from the fridge and pushing it across the table. "You look like you need it."
"No, he doesn't." They both spin to see Simmons rushing in, her lab coat still on.
"Aw, come on, Simmons. One won't hurt him."
"It's okay," Fitz sighs. "I'm don't want it anyway."
...
"What if I never remember?"
Simmon stares curiously at him. They're sitting on the edge of the plane cargo hold, their feet dangling off the side as they stare out at the late afternoon sky. Fitz is briefly reminded of a memory, but it slips away before he can get a proper hold of it.
"Fitz.. Don't say that," she says sympathetically.
"But it's something that might happen, yeah? The longer I can't remember anything.." He looks over to her for confirmation, but she's looking away again, her head tilted to the pink tinged sky.
"It's a possibility. But I have faith in you, Fitz. You'll do it."
"And if I don't ever remember?" There. He's voiced his fears, and in that moment he finds that Simmons's eyes are full of sadness.
"Then that would be fine. Like you said.. you're still Fitz. Somewhere behind those fumbles and stutters, there's a brilliant mind. I've seen it perform first hand. Whether you.. remember or not, you're alive. That's all that matters, and no matter what happens, we'll be here for you."
"How did I lose my memory?" Fitz blurts out suddenly, because he has to know.
"You know I can't tell you that."
"Please." Somehow, he knew that Simmons couldn't say no to him.
"You were being brave. So very brave."
"I'm not brave." He shakes his head, because Leopold Fitz has always been a coward throughout his whole life.
"You're braver than you know."
"Simmons.. how long were we friends?"
"A long time," Simmons adds, and he can detect the wistfulness in her tone, and he feels guilt, even though it's not his fault. Or at least, he doesn't think so.
"And you know everything about me."
"Yes."
"In that case.. can we get a monkey?"
"What?" She frowns at him in obvious confusion, and Fitz feels his lips quirk up of their own accord.
"A monkey. Can we get one?"
Her laugh fills the empty blanks in his memory. "I'll see what I can do, Fitz."