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Leo is seven years old and just had to endure a stressful visit to the dentist.
One of his baby teeth had been stubbornly adhering.
The dentist had to remove it and Leo didn’t like that at all. He didn’t like how the dentist was inspecting the inside of his mouth with his cold instruments. He didn’t like the slight sting of the anaesthetic injection. And he certainly didn’t like the strange feeling of something being pulled out of his mouth.
When they’re finally back in the safety of his mother’s car, Leo presses his plush monkey George to his chest and buries his nose in the soft fur. His mouth feels strange. The corner where his baby tooth had been removed throbs from time to time. It feels numb but sometimes there’s a slight pinch of pain and he doesn’t like any of that. It isn’t supposed to feel like this.
“Mum. Feels not nice,” he slurs and grimaces.
His mother looks at him through the rear mirror and smiles knowingly.
“I know, love. I know. What about we go to your favourite ice cream place?”
Leo frowns. Today isn’t an ice cream day. Ice cream days are Monday, Wednesday and Sunday. Today is Thursday. Why would they go to the ice cream place today?
His mother seems to sense his confusion. “You earned it. You were very brave, Leo,” she tells him. “It’s a reward.”
A reward. Well that sounds great. He tries to smile but rather stops, when the corner of his mouth throbs again. But he isn’t sure if he really was that brave. He cried. And his father says that only weaklings do cry. But he couldn’t help it and his mother didn’t tell him to stop. She held his hand and told him it would be over soon. And that he was doing great.
Leo stops thinking about this, when his mother actually parks in front of their favourite ice cream place and he starts to bounc on his seat in excitement, almost forgetting the distant pain in his mouth.
They leave the car and Leo takes George with him, pressing him to his chest.
His mother takes his hand and squeezes it, smiling at him. “Banana?”
Leo nods eagerly. Always banana. She knows. Other than his father, who always tries to get Leo to pick other flavours as well, because apparently it isn’t normal to always eat the same things and never wanting to try anything else.
After they got their ice cream, they sit down on one of the benches outside and Leo leans against his mother just a bit, his head touching her shoulder. She runs her free hand through his hair and Leo thinks that it actually isn’t that bad to get a tooth removed. As long as it means there’s some extra ice cream in the end and alone time with his mother, he’s certain he can deal with it.
But he would prefer if it didn’t happen again.
*
It’s summer and they are studying for finals.
Jemma is laying on her back in Fitz’s bed, holding a book above her head. She sighs from time to time and throws longing glances outside the window, where the sun is shining from a cloudless sky and people are laughing in the distance.
Fitz sits slumped in his chair, trying to get as much cool air from the nearby standing fan as possible. He stares at his own book, trying to read the same page for the fourth time now. It’s just too hot … He feels the sweat prickling on his forehead.
“I can’t read anymore,” Jemma eventually sighs and puts her book away, rubbing her eyes. “It’s too hot to study.”
Fitz throws her a suspicious look. “Who are you and what did you do to Simmons?”
She rolls her eyes. “I guess she melted. Let’s go get some ice cream.”
“Yeah,” Fitz says relieved, throwing his own book away. “Great idea.”
They have a favourite ice cream place in the city by now, just like Fitz used to have one in his childhood. It’s small and cozy, situated between an old book shop and a Chinese restaurant. It has the most comfortable sitting areas Fitz has ever seen. Blue couches and white chairs with fleecy covers. The owner, Mr. Anderson, knows them by now. He smiles at them brightly and gives them a little extra ice cream every time.
Once they get there, Fitz has to wait forever, as usual, until Jemma decides.
She always tries new flavors. Of course. She has to make everything in her life into an experiment. She chooses even the most ridiculous, such as cucumber or basil. Pooh. And she laughs as Fitz pulls up his nose in mild disgust.
Fitz always chooses the same one. Banana. It’s the only ice cream he eats since his childhood.
Jemma doesn’t comment on it anymore. She’s used to it by now. As used as she is to his other eating habits other people would consider as strange. Like his aversion to cereals drowning in milk and getting too mushy, or to too much cheese on pizza. She doesn’t make fun of it or asks curious annoying questions. Which is a relief to Fitz, who had to deal with curious questions and strange looks for most of his life.
They sit down in their usual corner and devour their ice cream while watching people walking past the café. They play their usual game. One of them picks someone standing nearby and the other one has to invent a story about them.
The cool ice cream is like balm for their dry throats and the sweetness on their tongues is a marvellous treat for studying almost the whole day.
Fitz watches Jemma eating her ice cream and smiles.
Everything feels normal.
It’s perfect.
*
It’s just another day at the hospital.
From outside his room, Fitz can hear the usual noises. Hasty footsteps, urging noises. A way too cheerful laughter now and then.
He groans and carefully rolls on his back. Even the small movement causes his head to spin. He ignores the feeling. He’s used to it by now anyway. He closes his eyes and hopes to fall back asleep.
But the next moment, the door to his room is ripped open and a loud cheerful voice says, “Good morning Fitz!”
It’s Skye.
Fitz groans inwardly. He remembers that Sundays are her turn. Every day, someone else of the team is coming trying to cheer him up. It’s as if they feel they owe him that. But he can sense their discomfort. Their hesitance. He’s different now. He’s not the smart I-can-fix-this Fitz they know anymore. He’s damaged, stuttering Fitz. His hand is trembling and although his physical therapist tells him it will lessen, that he will eventually be able to work again, he doubts it.
Fitz hates changes. He can’t stand them. Now, he is the change. And he can’t stand himself. So how can he expect that from others …
Skye walks right to the window and pushes the curtains open.
The daylight that falls in all of a sudden is way too bright. Fitz covers his eyes with his arm and groans. His head begins to ache.
“It’s wonderful outside, Fitz. Let’s take a walk in the park. You can’t stay here in this murky room all day,” Skye tells him, still in this horrible cheerful voice.
Why, he almost asks. Why can’t I stay here, where no one has to look at me.
He can’t really take a walk anyway. His legs are giving way underneath him when he tries to stand on his own and his head spins until he feels dizzy and nauseous. He doesn’t want to leave this bed. He doesn’t want to do anything else but laying here, sleeping. Sleep is simple and undemanding. Sleep is forgetting. Peace.
But Skye is already pushing a wheelchair in front of his bed, beaming at him. “Have you taken your meds yet?”
Fitz shakes his head. He reaches for the pill bottles on the night drawer and narrows his eyes, when his hand begins to shake again, knocking over one of the boxes. It falls from the drawer to the floor and slowly rolls towards Skye feet.
“Fuck,” Fitz spits, gritting his teeth. It’s one of the rare words that come out without a stutter.
Skye stares down at the pill bottle and bites her lip. She bends and picks it up, handing it to him. He literally rips it out of her hand and spends the next embarrassing moments with trying to open it with his uncooperative fingers, while Skye is shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
When he finally succeeds, he looks up at Skye expectantly, the pills laying in his trembling hand.
“Oh,” Skye jumps. “Water. Yeah. Right.” She hurries to pour him a plastic cup of water and hands it to him. Fitz manages to drink without spilling half of the cool liquid on himself. He almost feels proud. But the heavy cloud of murky thoughts prevents the lighter feeling from breaching the surface of his mind.
Skye takes the empty cup from him and puts it into the garbage. After, she helps Fitz into the wheelchair. It goes surprisingly smooth. But he is still panting by the time he finally sits. Skye hands him a blanket and he puts it over his legs, knowing it’s still going to be a bit chilly outside. He definitely doesn't want to add a disgusting cold to all his already existing issues.
The late spring sun isn’t strong enough yet to breach through the wall of white clouds.
The air in the park is fresh and smells of flowers.
Fitz actually likes the breeze on his face and thinks it maybe wasn’t that much of a bad idea to go outside. While Skye is pushing the wheelchair, she tells him about what’s happening at the base. He doesn’t really listen. He can’t help anyway, so what does it matter?
“Hey, what about some ice cream?” Skye suddenly asks, glancing over at a snack stand nearby.
Fitz shrugs.
Skye buys them watermelon popsicles. He stares at his, while it begins to melt. A thin line of cold red juice runs over his hand.
He wouldn’t ever eat watermelon popsicles. He doesn’t like the texture of water ice.
Jemma would have known that.
Jemma …
Involuntarily he remembers Jemma and their favourite ice cream place, when they were studying at the academy.
He remembers the pure joy in her eyes when she was about to pick out the newest flavour, the tip of her tongue pressed between her lips. How she was slightly bouncing on her heels in excitement. He remembers how they used to invent stories for people standing outside. He remembers.
His eyes well up.
He can’t do anything against that or the feelings of loneliness and desperation overwhelming him.
Since his injury his emotions are constantly riding a rollercoaster.
He starts crying and he hates it.
Skye doesn’t react surprised. She’s used to his emotional outbursts by now. But some women walking past throw him concerned looks. He can’t stand them. He can’t stand this. This life. Himself.
He hides his face behind his free hand and sobs.
“Hey,” Skye lays her free hand on his shoulder. “Fitz ... I know it’s not looking like it right now, but it’s going to be alright.”
How, Fitz thinks. How can it ever be alright again. He told Jemma how he feels and he thought he would die. But he isn’t dead. He’s here, ice cream melting and dripping on his hand. He’s here, not able to walk or speak or work. He’s here, Jemma left and he’s tired.
*
It’s summer and it’s hot.
Fitz, Hunter and Mack are sitting around the only fan they have at the base and try to get as much of the cool air as possible, while simultaneously using some empty papers as hand fans.
“I would die for some ice cream,” Hunter eventually groans.
“Yeah,” Mack agrees. “Ice cream would be just perfect right now.”
Fitz hums. Despite the heat, he feels quite comfortable right now. He’s with his friends and there’s no actual mission. It took a while until he allowed himself to call Mack and Hunter friends. First he had to push through the everlasting feelings of insecurity.
He just couldn’t believe that they wanted him as company. After all, he still struggles for words from time to time and he’s … Well. He’s not a great talker. Social situations aren't his area. He knows exactly that he's acting awkward around other people.
But with the time, he lost his insecurity. He was interested in football just like Hunter and he could talk about engineering stuff with Mack. It was good to talk to them. Simple. They didn’t know him before the … before the accident. Maybe, that was just what he had needed right now …
“We could leave the base you know,” Hunter says, slapping Mack with his hand fan. “We could go and get some ice cream. I mean come on. We’re working all the time. I think it wouldn’t hurt the boss to give us a bit spare time and some pocket money.”
Mack raises his eyebrows. “But you ask him. I’m not asking my boss for pocket money for ice cream.”
Fitz chuckles.
Coulson indeed gives them some money and seems sad he can’t go with them. But he has things to do, he says gravely.
Just a few moments later, Fitz is on the search for a proper ice cream place with Mack and Hunter. It feels great to be with them. They talk and laugh and things feel wonderfully normal for the first time in quite a while.
When they found a place that has that blue ice cream Hunter claims to crave desperately, it’s early evening and the air is a little bit less hot. There’s even a slight breeze, tickling the skin on Fitz’s face while he devours his banana ice cream and listens to Mack and Hunter arguing over some football game.
The ice cream is delicious, and he feels good. Like he’s belonging here.
*
There’s no ice cream in space.
Actually, there’s almost nothing in space. Nothing but cold darkness, speckled with some just as cold lighter points in the distance.
“Do you remember our favourite ice cream place?” Jemma asks Fitz, laying her head on his chest.
“Yes. All the time,” He answers, stroking a hand through her hair.
They’re laying on their bed in their little bunk on Enoch’s ship. They are exhausted.
Jemma has just woken him up from his long sleep like he was Sleepy Beauty.
Her lips were on his when he still tried to focus. Her warm lips on his cold ones leading him back into reality. A reality where he doesn’t have the chance to save her and the team. A reality where they came to save him.
He’s still feeling numb.
It’s a mess.
The things that happened while he was sleeping, are now stored in Jemma’s memory. But not in his. She saw him doing things, saw him dead on a cold lab table, saw him being buried. He will never be able to put these things into pictures. They will always be vague stories for him. Vague, scary stories.
But Jemma … She has mourned him. She has crossed the universe and fought aliens to get to him.
It’s all different now. Again.
And Fitz feels that they will need a lot of time. To process.
“When we’re back on earth,” Jemma whispers, “I want to go there with you. I want to remember …”
“Okay,” Fitz says and nods.
She sighs. And she moves her head to press her ear on his chest, where his heart is beating. “Let me listen,” she says. “I need to listen …”
And he lets her, continuing to stroke through her hair.
*
They are back.
Earth is uncaring. Life is going on like nothing happened and Fitz and Jemma feel a bit strange. A bit out of place.
They find their old favourite ice cream place. Nothing really changed. They are relieved. Another change is the last thing they need now.
It’s still Mr. Anderson who serves them. He has more grey strands in his hair now and he looks at them for a moment, with something like faint recognition in his eyes.
Jemma chooses three flavours she hasn’t tried so far.
Fitz chooses banana.
They sit down in their favourite corner and watch the people outside for a while.
“We always tried to find stories for them,” Jemma says quietly. She smiles softly and scoops up some of her cinnamon ice cream. “We were different back then,” she adds thoughtfully.
Fitz nods. He looks at Jemma and feels the love for her blooming in his heart. He reaches over the table to lay his hand on hers. “We are different now. Everything changed. But this, us, we are the constant in this universe. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now.”
She smiles at him. It seems a little bit sad. “I know. But Fitz … I still need time. I … You don’t know how it was to see you … to live with the feeling you’re gone. I … Sometimes I’m still having nightmares. About losing you again. I know I want to spend the rest of my life with you, but I need time.”
She doesn’t specify for what she’s needing time, but he gets it.
He nods and says, “Take all the time you need. I’m there. I’ll always be there.”
She blinks at him, her eyes a bit teary, and runs her thumb over the calloused skin of his knuckles.
Their ice cream is melting but neither of them really notices it.
They just look at each other and fade out the world.
The first step is leaving Shield.
The second is finding a cottage in Perthshire.
The third is attending therapy sessions.
The fourth is healing together.
The fifth is building a home and a family.
And there are ice cream days, of course.