FitzSimmons + K. On the edge of consciousness please?
Wow, so many options. Sorry this has been in my inbox/drafts for sooooooooo long because I didn’t know whether to do fluff or angst. Rubs hands together.
—
The first thing she noticed as she woke was pain. Her whole body was stiff and heavy with the type of dull ache that could only come from being slammed around inside a box as it plummeted into the ocean. Ward. Ward had done this. She and Fitz were… Fitz. Was he okay? She felt the need to panic starting to build within her chest. She lifted her head and the second thing she noticed was Fitz, sitting next to her, watching over her even with his arm in a sling. The first wave of panic subsided, even if only a bit. They were lucky to be alive. Then he delivered the news that they wouldn’t be for long. At first it crushed her spirit, but somehow sitting next to Fitz, talking about the universe, she could accept it. Funny, she was less afraid to die when he was there.
—
Breathe.
This couldn’t be happening.
Fitz had pressed the button.
Just breathe.
“And you’re more than that, Jemma.”
His words still echoed in her head. He saw her as more than a friend? She knew what he was saying, but the words might as well have been in Russian for as long as it took her to register what he meant.
“I couldn’t find the courage to tell you.” The ache in his eyes and the softness in his voice would be etched into her mind forever.
“Let me show you.”
Of course he would choose to tell her seconds before sacrificing himself to the ocean, instead of picking some happier moment perhaps over tea one morning or during a Harry Potter rewatch right before she fell asleep on his shoulder and he walked her to her room, or maybe on her birthday just after cake and gifts when they found a moment alone or in the middle of an argument about the scientific properties of-- No, the fact of the matter struck her just then. He would never have told her. That begged the question: how long? How long had he felt this way? It certainly explained his disdain toward Trip. But then again, she had been sure Fitz had developed a crush on Skye. Then again, maybe her observations weren’t to be trusted.
All she knew was that she had to keep breathing. Stay awake. Stay focused. His life depended on her now. And she couldn’t picture a life without hi. The thought was too terrible to imagine so she shut the door on that idea and locked it away.
Keep. Breathing. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t breathing. Was he even still alive?
Between pants for air, she urged Fitz to be alive, “Come on, Fitz. You have to...” She felt the emotion rising in her voice with every plea. “You- you- You can’t-” she whimpered. “Just... stay with me.”
He had told her that… And then he had… And the look in his eyes… the sound of his voice… the sound of her own scream and the water rushing in around her…
Focus! He had to be alive! Breathe!
Jemma had no idea if she was in the ocean 5 minutes or 5 days. For all she knew, it felt like 5 years. Her adrenaline was wearing thin. She was physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted and ready to collapse. But she couldn’t.
But then she saw the helicopter, and they were rescued. Her mind, fixated on Fitz, tried to resist sleep. Safe. She had to keep him… They were safe now. But Fitz… At last she succumbed to unconsciousness, with a little help from the meds pumping through her veins. Her sleep was dark and almost empty, but his voice played on a loop as she cried out for him to stop.
Sleep couldn’t last for long. When she awoke again, dazed and confused, Fitz wasn’t there. She panicked. Hearing that he was alive was the only thing that calmed her.
Once again, she was left to sleep–left alone to think about every terrible thing that was happening, left to think about Fitz–whether she wanted to or not.
