Chapter Text
He’s sitting on the bench under the cherry tree, like every afternoon.
A soft breeze is blowing. The pink blossoms are raining down like snow. Some of them land in the young man’s curls. He doesn’t seem to notice. He stares down at his feet. His hands move restlessly. They stroke over the smooth surface of the bench, fumble with the buttons of his crumpled light blue shirt, form into fists, unclench to repeat their way. Eventually he runs one of his hands through his curls and some of the cherry blossoms entangled in his hair fall to the ground, circling softly in the air.
Jemma watches the man’s every move from where she’s sitting on her jacket on the soft fresh-smelling meadow, barely listening to the voice of her friend Susan who has been rambling about some attractive man from the cafeteria for almost half an hour now. It’s their daily afternoon break and they spend it in the little park of the hospital. The sun is finally strong enough to break through the clouds and spends a mild warmth. A lot of people are passing by, chatting and laughing. Some are in a wheelchair, a leg or an arm in a cast. Some are pushing an IV with them, looking pale but glad for every little beam of sunshine falling on their faces.
A barely touched box of salad stands beside Jemma and she figures if she doesn’t eat it soon, it will be invaded by ants. It’s the time of the year again where insects are everywhere, and she smiles when she notices a ladybug crawling slowly over her leg up to her knee.
Somewhere a dog barks loudly. The man on the bench perks up. For a moment Jemma can see his face. There’s a faint stubble on it. He’s pale. And he looks exhausted. He’s squinting into the light and rubs his eyes, his movements somewhat sluggish. He’s young, Jemma thinks. He can’t be much older than her. He lowers his head again, his fingers starting to pick at the hem of his shirt. Jemma wonders if he’s a patient or a student like her, taking part in an internship or doing a research study. Either way, there’s something about him, that transfixes her …
“Jemma, are you even listening?”
Jemma flinches at Susan’s question. Her friend’s voice sounds half amused half irritated. Jemma feels caught. “Sorry,” she murmurs, looking back to Susan, who shakes her head and sighs. “What’s on your mind today, Jems? Seems like you’re having your head in the clouds.”
Jemma shrugs. “Nothing in particular.” She starts to pick at the daisies around her and watches the ladybug which reached the top of her knee, sitting there like it’s enjoying the view. “Maybe it’s the exam.”
Susan groans. “God, the exam. Don’t remind me … I haven’t done anything for it so far. You don’t need to worry though, Jems. You know that … You’re going to get your straight A no matter what.” She sounds slightly bitter. Jemma is used to that tone by now. She hums quietly and looks back to the bench. There’s a nurse now standing beside it talking to the man with a bright smile on her face. The young man doesn’t react to her, but eventually he gets up. He’s moving slowly, like he’s in pain. Jemma can see his face again. There’s a lost expression on it. When he’s up he sways momentarily and the nurse reaches a hand out to him, but he flinches back and crosses his arms over his chest defensively. He looks down and the nurse says something to him, walking away. The man follows her with slow, unsteady steps.
A patient, Jemma decides. She looks after him and chews on her lip. He looks way too thin, she thinks.
“He’s cute, isn’t he,” Susan says and Jemma flinches, interrupted in her thoughts. “Too bad he's a patient. I would date him just to be able to stare into these blue eyes for a while." She smirks. “Now I know where your mind has been.”
Jemma frowns. “Don’t be ridiculous. I was just wondering … He’s sitting on that bench every afternoon. Do you know him?”
Susan frowns. "Not really. I was in his room once, when he got his meds. And when I was in the psych ward yesterday, to talk to a doctor, he started screaming. Nightmares. The doctor said he has them almost every day. It’s so bad that he has to be sedated sometimes,” she swallows und looks down at her hand which is stroking through the grass. The usual carelessness disappears from her face for a moment. “It was terrifying to hear someone scream like that, Jems.”
Jemma bites her lip. She connects that bit of information to his sluggish movements and the tired expression on his face and feels sad. He’s so young … “Do you know why he’s here?”
Susan shakes her head. “I don’t know the story. But I heard something pretty awful happened to him. Problem is, he’s not talking to anyone. Just gone silent. From one day to the other. And I heard he tried to kill himself. Guess that’s why he can’t be left alone out here for long.”
Jemma swallows.
Susan sighs. “You know what, Jems? I’m glad this is just an internship. I wouldn’t be able to do this every day for the rest of my life … It would destroy me.”
Jemma nods. She knows what Susan means. The ladybug on her knee spreads its little wings and flies away.
It’s early evening when Jemma prepares to leave the hospital, folders full of papers pressed to her chest. She has decided to study for the exam in the little break room in the psych ward. It is way more silent than her flat. Her roommate Milton loves unannounced parties. Jemma has thought about moving out a few times already, especially after Milton started to flirt with her – at least she thinks that’s what he’s attempting to do … - but she neither has the money nor the energy to search for a new flat right now.
First, she has to finish this internship and the impending exam next week. When she thinks about the exam, her stomach is actually clenching. Despite what Susan is thinking, Jemma hasn't learned as much for the exam as she would have done if she didn't also have to do a whole bunch of work for the internship. She doesn't feel well prepared at all. And she hates to not feel prepared. Faintly she knows she shouldn't be so focused on being perfect. That she shouldn't be so hard on herself and that she definitely shouldn't try to stay awake and efficient longer with the help of too much coffee. But that's how she's done things since she decided to start studying three subjects at once because two weren't enough. Now she just has to battle through it somehow ...
Jemma walks through the quiet hallway of the ward and yawns. This internship is making her really tired. Mostly because of all the new impressions she guesses. Sure, it’s fascinating to get to see the work of a therapist up close, but sometimes it’s also a lot to take in. She really hopes Milton didn’t invite his friends over to play Xbox the whole night.
Right when she’s about to let herself out the closed ward with her personal chip card, she hears a quiet noise. It sounds like a barely suppressed sob. She freezes and turns around, scanning the dim hallway.
She discovers a huddled figure on the floor. She also sees a mob of tangled curls and realizes a moment later that it’s the young man from under the cherry tree. He seems to be terrified. His whole body is trembling, his knees are drawn to his chest and his arms are wrapped around his chest tightly. He’s slowly rocking back and forth, and his breaths come in hectic shaking gasps. He’s having a panic attack, Jemma realizes. A pretty intense one, it seems.
She hesitates, looking around for a nurse or a doctor. But the hallway is empty. She looks back to the shaking young man and swallows. She has to do something. She can’t just let him sit there, caught in the clutches of his panic attack. She takes a deep breath and walks towards the young man.
When she crouches down in front of him, she sees his eyes. They are wide open, staring into the void. The ocean-like blue in them is blurred by upcoming tears. His breathing is even more erratic now. It sounds like he’s hyperventilating. There’s a fine layer of sweat on his forehead. He’s gripping his own arms so tight she can see that his fingernails are piercing flesh. It has to be painful.
Jemma clears her throat. “Hey. Uh. I’m Jemma,” she starts in a – hopefully – gentle voice. “I … I saw you in the park today. On that bench under the cherry tree. Actually, I’ve seen you there every afternoon. Uh. I hope you don’t mind if I’m talking to you. I don’t know what you’re going through, but well, I’m here. I’m … well. I’m not a professional. I’m just doing an internship. But … I know that sometimes things are better when you’re not all alone. So, please know that I’m here. And I care.” She waits, looking at the young man to see his reaction.
She’s not sure if she’s just imagining it, but she thinks his breathing slowed down a bit. She shifts on her knees and tries a gentle smile. “Yes. I’m here and you’re safe. There’s nothing to fear here. Maybe … can you look at me?”
The man’s shoulders twitch. He lets out a trembling sigh. The next moment he raises his head just a tiny bit and looks up at her. His eyes lock with hers. There’s a single tear running down his cheek to his chin.
“Yes,” Jemma whispers. “Okay. And now, try to take some deep breaths for me. Here. I’ll do it too. You can just … just do it like me.” She starts to breathe in deeply, holding her breath for a moment and releasing it from her lungs all at once.
He’s staring at her, some more tears running over his pale face. His hectic breaths change to slightly longer, calmer ones. She nods, feeling relieved and amazed at once, and smiles at him. It’s working. She’s actually managing to calm him down. “That’s it. The steps you take don’t need to be big, you know. They just need to take you in the right direction. My mother always used to say that …”
She goes on talking, never letting her smile falter. She knows he’s listening. She simply knows. His hands stop gripping his arms. Instead, they are moving restlessly. He starts to scratch the back of his right hand. Red stripes appear on his pale skin. Although his body is still trembling, the tension leaves it a bit and now he seems more exhausted than fearful. His body slumps. But he’s still looking at her, with half-lidded eyes.
Suddenly, steps are approaching them, reverberating loudly in the hallway, and Jemma looks up, relieved to see a huge man in nurse clothes walking towards them quickly. There’s a worried expression on his face. He throws Jemma a volatile glance, then he crouches down, focusing on the shaking young man in front of him.
“There you are Turbo,” he says softly. “I was searching for you. Wanted to give you that DVD I was talking about the other day. That monkey documentation, remember?” He reaches out to touch the trembling man’s arm gently. “What about we get you to your room now, Fitz? It’s almost time for your meds.”
Fitz. So there’s a name now. It sounds a bit strange but also somehow fitting. Jemma watches as Fitz looks up at the nurse, rubbing his reddish eyes. He takes a deep breath that sounds like a sigh and the next moment, he struggles to get up. But his legs tremble like leaves in a strong autumn gust and give way under him immediately. The male nurse quickly grabs him under his shoulders and pulls him up. Fitz lets him do it, even holding on to the strong arms of the other man for a moment. “That’s it,” the nurse mumbles, stroking a hand over the young man’s heaving back. “You’re going to be alright. Come on …”
He looks at Jemma, smiling. “I’ll be back in a moment. Wait for me?” He asks quietly.
Jemma nods wordlessly. Fitz throws a glance at her. It's fleeting. But the second their eyes meet, it feels like time is standing still for a heartbeat. She sees a lot in his eyes. Pain and sadness and confusion - but also a glimmer of light. He averts his gaze when the male nurse gently rubs his shoulder, murmuring something about well-needed rest. He doesn't look back at her for another time. The nurse leads him away, supporting him and mumbling to him softly the whole way, until they disappear in a room to the right together.
Jemma watches after them, feeling very agitated. Her heart is beating wildly in her chest and her throat feels tight. After a moment in which she doesn’t quite know what to do with herself, she sits on one of the uncomfortable chairs standing around, crosses her legs and waits, worrying her lip.
The male nurse comes back after what might have been fifteen minutes. He smiles at Jemma warmly and reaches out a hand. “Sorry. I didn’t get to introduce myself. I’m Alphonso Mackenzie. But you can call me Mack. Everyone here does.” His voice is pleasantly calm, and Jemma immediately feels herself relax. She returns his smile and squeezes his big hand. “Jemma Simmons. Please call me Jemma.”
“Can I invite you to a coffee, Jemma? Think you could need one now.”
Jemma nods. She thinks she already likes Mack. He radiates warmth and a certain calm kindness.
A moment later they’re sitting at a table in the otherwise empty break room, both with a plastic cup of hot coffee in front of them.
“So, you’re new here Jemma?” Mack asks.
“No. I’m doing an internship here at the hospital. For my studies.”
“I see.” Mack scratches the back of his head. “This must have been a pretty intense situation for you.”
“Well, yes. And I guess I wasn’t helping much,” Jemma murmurs, looking aside.
“No, you did very well,” Mack tells her, smiling gently. “That you managed to make Fitz actually listen to you is great. He’s … pretty caught up in his own head most of the time.” He sighs and rubs his arm. “To be honest, I was shocked to see him this way. He didn’t have an attack like this for a while now. Nightmares, yes. But not actually a full-blown panic attack on the floor.”
Jemma swallows and taps her finger against the warm plastic of the cup. “I hope you don’t mind the question, but … why is he here?” She asks. “My friend said something awful happened to him.”
Mack sighs. “It’s a long story. He really didn’t have much luck in his life. His mother died when he was ten and he lived alone with his father, an alcoholic. That bastard used to insult and beat Fitz until he broke his arm one day and someone at school fortunately decided to not believe the lie Fitz was advised to tell them. The classic I tripped on the stairs-story,” Mack scoffs. “Well. Fitz was taken away from his father and grew up in foster care. At least he had luck with the guy responsible for him. Phil Coulson’s a great guy. Really great. But the things Fitz's father said and did to him, they are haunting him. He never managed to get a lot of self-esteem and he's lacking social skills. There’s definitely childhood trauma.”
Jemma bites her lip. Child abuse. She stumbled over a lot of such cases since she’s been here. Broken bones. Burnmarks. And the everlasting shadow of screamed insults in the back of the mind. Unforgettable. Bruising for a lifetime. She can’t believe what parents are able to do to their children. She comes from a harmonic family. Sure, there were arguments from time to time. But that’s nothing compared to what Fitz or other people here had to go through.
Mack takes a sip from his coffee before continuing. “Fitz’s pretty smart, you know. A genius, really. He finished school earlier than his peers and was studying engineering, thanks to Coulson who managed to convince him he's not going to fail. And Fitz got the best grades in his year. Well. Then the accident happened. He’s just been to the wrong place to the wrong time. Drove over a bridge, got hit by some drunk driver who lost control over his car. It was a bad crash. The other man died later in the hospital. Fitz’s car fell into the water. He was unconscious because he hit his head pretty hard. Some passengers fortunately saw what happened and dived after him. They managed to pull Fitz out of the water and called the ambulance. But … he was underwater for too long. There was brain damage.”
“Oh God,” Jemma whispers, feeling her throat tightening.
Mack nods grimly. “Fitz was in a coma for nine days. He was actually laying here, in this hospital. On the ICU. After Fitz woke up, he had troubles with speaking and fine motor skills. He was also having seizures and bad migraines. So bad he couldn't move and was vomiting. He still has the migraines from time to time. He had to go through weeks of rehab just to gain some control over his body back. And his wounds healed slowly but … his mental state started to worsen with every passing week. He got severe depression and stopped taking care of himself. Eventually, he also stopped talking. Well. And someday he was found on the floor of his room with his right wrist cut open with a scissors.”
Jemma gasps. Her stomach clenches painfully at the image.
Mack sighs. “He was transferred to the psychiatric ward afterwards. And now he’s been here for almost a month, not making any noticeable progress. Life isn’t fair,” he adds in a bitter voice, taking another sip of his coffee. “I still hope he will start to talk again someday. And that he will find his will to live again. It’s pretty unsettling to see him sit in his bed half of the day, staring into the void.” Mack sighs. “I try to be there for him as much as I can, you know? Because he seems to do fairly well when I’m around. But … he’s not the only patient here of course. And Coulson can’t be here the entire day either. He has another foster girl to take care for.”
Jemma stares into her coffee. She remembers how Fitz looked at her. Remembers that glimmer of light beneath the dull exhaustion and hopelessness in his eyes. “Can I visit him tomorrow?” She asks abruptly.
Mack looks at her surprised. “Of course, you can. He has his therapy session around half past eleven, and in the afternoon …”
“He’s outside. Sitting on the bench under the cherry tree,” Jemma says quietly.
“Yes,” Mack nods. “He does. I always take care he gets this half hour of fresh air. Even if someone has to watch him for safety reasons. He doesn't have much energy and doesn't leave his room often due to his depression. But on most days he seems to like to sit on that bench for some reason. Fortunately."
That’s where I’m going to talk to him, Jemma decides.
She doesn’t know what she’s going to say. She doesn’t even know if he’s going to listen. But she feels it’s the right thing to do. Somehow.