Love Bombing the Splinter Bomber
This is set at the end of 2x19 The Dirty Half-Dozen (and follows on from my previous chapter entitled Careful) coz that's where we're up to in my part of the world. I love reviews but if you're ever so nicely going to leave one, please keep it spoiler free! I have managed to pick up the vague vibe that things are going to end pretty badly this season but for the moment here I am, in my blissfully ignorant bubble, plotting my way towards a happily-ever-after for FitzSimmons…
It wasn't until Jemma slid the heavy door closed, confining herself at last in her nondescript wood-panelled bunk back at the Playground, that she drew her hands out of her pockets and allowed herself to take in how violently they were trembling.
She reached up to shakily yank the elastic out of her pony-tail, hoping against hope that it was merely the long-unfamiliar tension of having her hair pulled back from her temples that was causing the pulsing pain in her head.
For so long now Fitz had sounded like some sort of broken record. You're afraid. You can't cope. You've changed. But none of his accusations could compare to the wide flare of realisation around Ward's eyes that she glimpsed through the cloud of mist (poof!) that had once been Bakshi.
And what had Ward said? How dare he! Him disappointed in her? The very nerve.
And yet… Her knees weakened. She half-collapsed against her bed. The righteous indignation she so wanted to feel, the unerring sense of justification, that opportunity to do the right thing turned to ash on her tongue.
She had nothing. Nothing beyond the desire for revenge that had burned in her from the moment she'd awoken in that compression chamber without Fitz.
Jemma had almost forgotten. All that rage, all that bitterness had been born out of her loss.
She let herself lay back against the pillows, kicking her shoes off just before she slipped her feet between the sheets, and pulled the covers almost over her head. What must Fitz think of her now? And what if he found out what she'd done, what she'd become? Then he would really be lost to her, and this time it would be because he chose to go.
The grief erupted from deep within her and Jemma found herself powerless to fight against the gasping sobs that shook her frame, tears streaming down her cheeks and soaking into her pillow.
ooo
Fitz was still wracked with curiosity about what had become of that missing splinter bomb and in the few hours since the team had returned Jemma hadn't volunteered so much as a hint. However, he was beginning to piece together a fairly disturbing narrative that ended with Sunil Bakshi. While Bakshi could never have been described as innocent, what exactly was he while under Ward's control?
Regardless, Fitz had already made his decision. Even if Jemma had callously blown a man to smithereens, if he left he to her own devices, he'd only watch her get further and further away from him. If it were compassion, forgiveness and love that she suddenly somehow lacked, he'd have to do his best to heap them all on her to turn her away from embracing the horrific alternative.
For starters, now that he could trust his hands to remain steady, he appointed himself man-in-charge-of-tea. It'll be just like back at the Academy, he mused to himself as he unearthed her favourite bone china tea cup and saucer from the mess. Back then he had never appeared anywhere without some sort of hot beverage or baked good to hand to her. In those days he had loved what he chose to perceive as her dependence on him – she certainly didn't seem to need him for anything else. Oh, to foster some semblance of that dependence again, to feel once more that she needed him, if only for tea and toast.
He carefully compiled this inaugural trust-rebuilding tea tray with all of the elements he knew Jemma most loved and set off towards her bunk wanting to whistle with joy at the unerring steadiness of his hands even as he navigated the long corridors. In the few days that he, Coulson and Hunter had been restored to the fold, he too had been assigned one of the bland Playground bedrooms in lieu of his beloved bunk on the Bus, now scattered in a million tiny pieces across the Arctic.
Fitz supposed he could make the best of it. It hadn't escaped his notice that his sliding door was directly across the corridor from his current destination. If he played his cards right, it could be the easiest thing in the world for them to eventually slip back into those old habits of sharing the one tube of toothpaste or keeping a chess game going on his bedside table or cuddling up to one another in front of their latest DVD series discovery. She might even get back into the routine of dropping by to borrow one of his cardigans late at night when she got cold. God, he had always loved the sight of her wrapped in one of his cardies.
He carefully manoeuvred the weight of the tea tray onto one arm and then held up his free hand to knock.
No response.
"Jemma?" he called. "I brought you some tea."
He heard a shuffling around behind the door so at least he knew she was in there.
"Can I come in?" he asked gently.
When at last she opened the door, Fitz almost dropped the tray in concern. Her eyes were red and her tears still flowed, though less frequently now.
She took one look at the tray in Fitz's arms and began to cry again, turning her back on him to flop once more onto the bed and hide herself under the covers.
Fitz gently lowered the tray onto her dresser and quietly slid the door closed behind him.
Comfortable in the confidence of his resolve to love her back to herself, he didn't think twice about lifting the covers and lowering himself onto the bed next to her, winding his arms around her quivering frame. He knew she'd never have opened the door to him if his presence wasn't welcome.
As if to confirm his conviction, Jemma rolled back towards him and clutched at his shirt, burying her face in his chest and weeping in earnest. Even in the midst of his concern for her, Fitz couldn't help the warmth that filled his body as she clung to him.
Jemma was never needy, she hated the very thought of it. He only ever saw her like this in the rare moments that her grief became too hard to hold in. Throughout the course of their long friendship it had been his unique privilege to be the one that she sought out in those few moments when she could no longer hold it together, just as she was once there for him in his emotional moments, which had always seemed to come about far more frequently.
In the hiatus between them, in which he had turned to Mack and also found himself embraced by Hunter and by Skye, Fitz's needs had been met elsewhere. But to whom had Jemma been able to turn as her world fell down around her? Perhaps that hand-squeeze and sandwich had been all she'd let herself show in all this time. Judging from the opening of the floodgates that was currently taking place in his arms, he assumed she'd been holding in far too much for far too long.
But he was here now and no matter what it would be that she confessed to, his reaction was predetermined. His fiercest loyalty had only ever been to her anyway.
By the way, if you want an addition to your soundtrack for FitzSimmons, you need to add When the War is Over by Cold Chisel. Available on Spotify and, if you must, you can find some live performances of it on YouTube. Just make sure that Cold Chisel or Jimmy Barnes are involved somewhere in order to get the full effect! And please review in a spoiler-free way!