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“Come on, don’t you dare give up now!” Jemma breaths through gritted teeth, pressing down hard on Fitz’s chest, feeling it giving way under her hands before she relaxes again, and repeats the movement. “Come on,” she says again, sweat building on her forehead and threat making her lungs feel tight. “Please …”
Please Fitz. Please don’t die. Please come back. I can’t lose you. I can’t …
The thoughts are racing. But one is stronger than the others. And it echoes in her mind again and again …
I made him go into the field. If it wasn’t for me, he wouldn’t been there. He wouldn’t have almost drowned. He wouldn’t almost die under my hands. Oh God. Fitz, I’m sorry …
She sobs and bends over to press her lips against Fitz’s, to share her breath with him, to send it through his lungs. It feels more like a kiss … Oh if only it could be the kiss which gives him life, she would be alright if it remained the only one, if only he would finally start to breathe again …
She has imagined kissing him a few times already. Imagined him making a surprised noise but then returning it, his hand coming up to rest on her cheek, warm and solid … She didn’t imagine it like this.
Fitz on the ground, unconscious, his heartbeat gone, his breathing gone, his … God, he’s so pale. His skin looks like paper. Water pearls are still dripping from his face and a puddle formed around him.
When Jemma’s lips hit his, it’s a shock for her how cold they are, how sharp the contrast is. She breathes into his mouths as strong as possible.
After, she continues the compressions.
Please …
Right when she feels the first violent and painful wave of hopelessness, when she feels like giving up and crying, Fitz makes a choked noise. He sputters and a thin stream of water flows out of his mouth. His head lolls to the side weakly and he doesn’t open his eyes, but he’s breathing.
He’s alive.
Jemma sits back on her heels, staring down at him and feeling tears running down her cheeks. She can’t even feel the relieve through the layers of different emotions clutching at her heart.
“Fitz,” she whispers.
She can hear voices in the distance and figures they aren’t alone anymore. But she doesn’t take her eyes off Fitz’s face. She reaches out to touch his cold cheek and runs a finger over his skin. God. She loves him. The realization is sudden and sharp. As clear as the sunlight falling on them, warming Jemma up slowly.
I love him.
And she’s going to tell him. When he’s awake and well and safe. She has to tell him. Almost, she would have never had the chance, and she realizes, how quickly everything could be over. How quickly they could lose each other.
She wants to take his hand and lead him away. Somewhere, where they can live in peace and be happy.
Instinctively, she gives him another kiss, this time on his cheek. Her kiss of life that hasn’t really been a kiss has been different. Urgent and hasty and pleading. This one is soft.
She holds Fitz’s limp hand until someone shakes her shoulder and asks her questions. Until someone wraps a blanket around her and someone examines Fitz, calling out instructions. She refuses to let his hand go and they let her hold it.