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On a Sunday in October, the familiar and delicious scent of baking dough is floating through Jemma’s kitchen which is covered in flour and sprinkles.
She spent most of this morning baking Halloween themed biscuits. Bats, pumpkins and ghosts. It is fun to draw eyes and mouths on the biscuits with food colouring in different flavours and the time passed quickly.
When she pulls the last sheet of biscuits out of the hot oven, Jemma looks at them critically, her brows raised. Well. They could certainly look better, she thinks sullenly, but immediately tries to shove that thought away. Jemma has always been striving to be the best in anything she does, and it’s only since she had a terrifying car accident and a therapist came to speak to her, that she realized she is stressing herself too much, with not putting her own well-being in the first place. She’s trying to do better, to allow herself to say no and to rest if she needs to. It’s not easy to change old habits, but she’s getting there. At least she thinks so.
When Jemma painted the last biscuits, she carefully puts them into a box and prepares to visit Fitz, feeling excited already, at the thought of sharing her creations with him.
The bus is almost empty, and the drive is calm. Sometimes, Jemma has to fight to stay awake, her eyes getting heavy.
When she arrives at the hospital, she doesn’t find Fitz where they usually meet at this time: their bench under the cherry tree.
But it’s too chilly to sit outside anyway. The grey clouds are driven above the sky by a fierce and sharp blow. The colourful leaves are dancing through the air in a wild and hasty way, ending up on the ground crumpled and limp.
Jemma is glad when she can go inside. Her cheeks are cold and her nose is dripping slightly. She sniffs. It really feels more like winter than fall by now … She walks the familiar way to the psych ward, greeting some nurses and doctors she knows from her internship a few weeks ago.
When she arrives at Fitz’s room, she can already sense it’s one of the “not so good” days.
The light is dim and the air heavy. Fitz is laying straight on his back, his eyes closed. They flutter open when Jemma enters quietly, trying to make as little noise as possible, in case he is having one of his bad migraines.
“Hey,” she whispers, sitting on the chair beside the bed.
Fitz blinks. He doesn’t seem up to talking. His face is very pale, and he seems utterly exhausted. Jemma almost considers leaving him alone to rest, when he finally sighs and reaches for a note pad and a pencil laying on the nightstand, his movements slow and sluggish. Head hurts, he writes. Sorry I wasn’t outside.
Jemma smiles and shakes her head. “Oh, you don’t have to apologize for anything. Have you taken a look outside? The weather is awful. Uhm …” Jemma hesitantly gets the box out of her bag, biting her lip. “I brought you something … I felt like baking and discovered a recipe on the internet and … Well. It’s nothing special.”
She hands him the box and he takes it carefully, his hands trembling slightly.
Jemma watches as he opens the box and looks inside, at the little bats, pumpkins and ghosts. His eyes widen.
“Well,” Jemma hurries to say. “They are not … perfect. I didn’t get the eyes of the spiders right and the wings of the bats look like someone chewed on them, but … I hope they are at least good enough to eat.” She chuckles.
Fitz takes a pumpkin out and bites into it. He chews for a moment and Jemma watches him, feeling the nervous urge to explain why it most likely doesn’t taste as good as it could if she only didn’t put that much flour into it, but before she can say anything, Fitz looks at her and breathes a very quiet “Thank you.” His lips twists into a weak, barely noticeable smile, before he continues to eat quite eagerly. When he’s finished, he hesitates, but reaches inside the box to pull out a ghost. He looks at it with a slight glimmer in his eyes and eats it too.
The smile still lingers in the corners of his mouth, and Jemma feels her insides warming up. She knows Fitz doesn’t eat much due to the depression and to see him devouring the biscuits like this is making her happy. She’s glad she could brighten up this “not so good” day.
Fitz takes another biscuit and hands her the box, raising his brows. Jemma understands and takes a little biscuit bat too, managing not to look at it critically from all sides but instead biting into it and thinks surprised, that it’s quite tasty. She starts to feel proud. Which is a good feeling.
They eat the biscuits together, while the rain is beating against the windows. They don't talk much this day, but they don't need to talk a lot anyway. When they're together, even silence feels comfortable.