Work Text:
Jemma likes to be prepared. She likes to know what’s going to happen. Likes to go through all the possible scenarios. She plays them in her head like a playlist. On shuffle.
She likes to be prepared. It makes her feel safe.
But there are things in life you can’t be prepared for.
Things like one of your teammates - someone you watched a movie with, someone who saved your life, someone who protected you, who told you things would be alright - turning out to be part of a fascist organisation operating within Shield.
Or things like finding yourself in a pod on the bottom of the ocean because of said traitorous teammate. On the bottom of the ocean, with your best friend who confesses his love right before he pushes a button that changes everything. You scream and choke on the water rushing in. In such a moment, you can’t be prepared. You have to act on instinct.
Jemma’s instinct was to grab Fitz and pull him up to the surface.
Everything after is a blur.
She is sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair, still shaking from the icy water. A rustling orange shock blanket is wrapped around her shoulders. She sits and prepares for the worst. She sees it all in her head. The doctor, looking tired and sad. The doctor, shaking their head. The doctor, telling her they did what they could. But he just wasn’t strong enough.
Not strong enough.
When someone comes, it’s not a doctor. It’s Fury. He looks thoughtful and calm, but not sad or apologising. Jemma looks up at him, waiting. Fury clears his throat. “He’s going to survive.”
Jemma exhales. She didn’t even notice she hold her breath. Slowly, carefully, relief is warming her up. But there’s something on his face … Something that tells her, there’s more. “But?” She asks weakly.
“He was without air too long and suffered brain damage. It caused amnesia.”
Amnesia.
Jemma’s stomach drops. She looks down at her carefully folded hands.
“He might or might not recover from it.” Fury momentarily lays a hand on her shoulder, than he leaves. As sudden as he always arrives.
It’s strange. They tell her Fitz does remember his own name, his mother and father and most of his childhood. He doesn’t remember anything Shield related. Anything that has to do with the academy. With the team. Or … With Jemma. It hurts. It’s like she lost him although he’s still there. They tell her there are chances. He might get some things back. Even all of them. But they don’t know. They can’t know yet.
When they let Jemma see him, he’s facing the window. There’s a bandage wrapped around his head, making him look so young. It’s silent in the room, apart from the steady beating of the heart monitor.
Jemma approaches the bed and finally stops, when she starts to feel unsteady on her feet. A part of her still hopes. Hopes that when she says his name, he will remember … “Fitz?”
He slowly turns his head to look at her and frowns. “Do I know you?” He asks softly.
Jemma exhales shakily. The hope shatters like a glass on the floor, shards flying everywhere. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry. I … I hurt my head,” Fitz says, smiling weakly and pointing at his bandaged head. He looks really sorry. Somehow, that’s making everything even worse. “They say, I don’t, uh, remember things.”
Jemma tries to smile back and hopes it’s not a grimace. “I know. It’s alright.”
Fitz looks at her and she can tell he has troubles keeping his eyes open. But he’s trying. “Who …” He starts, his voice breaking after the word.
“Jemma,” she hurries. “I’m Jemma. Simmons. We are …” What? What are they? She bites her lip. Remembers all the times she asked herself if she should tell Fitz that she felt like there was more. When she wore his clothes and he slept in her bed after studying and they watched a movie, their knees brushing against each other. She remembers “You are more than that.”
But Fitz doesn’t remember. He might never remember anything of it. It doesn’t feel fair to tell him something they couldn’t ever really discuss.
“Friends,” she says quietly. “We are best friends.”
“Oh. That’s nice. I always wanted a friend,” Fitz murmurs, smiling while his eyes slip shut.
Jemma swallows heavily. It feels like something is slowly crushing her heart.
The next days, next weeks, are tough. The team learns about Fitz’s condition and is shocked. Fitz is just as shocked as them, when he learns he should be able to remember them. He gets sad, then angry and finally he’s so frustrated and overwhelmed with all the things he should know but can't remember at all, he throws a plastic cup of water against a wall. Jemma gets it. She gets how he’s feeling.
She finds it hard to cope herself. She visits a therapist in the end. It feels good to have someone to talk to. Someone, who doesn't know what happened. Who doesn't know how they used to be. She breaks down in these sessions. Breaks down and sets herself together again. Sometimes, the words burst out of her like a waterfall. She talks about the loss of trust Ward caused with his actions. How she feels chased when she walks down the base. How she fears someone else might be Hydra. She talks about how she used to love to take a bath and how she hates to be surrounded by water now. It always gives her flashbacks - water everywhere, dark, cold, Fitz's body heavy and lifeless, no air, no light, the surface so so far away ... - and makes her sob. She talks about how she wishes Fitz would remember, so that they can pick up where they left off. But apparently, they can only move on and be something completely new.
Fitz talks to a therapist too, but he doesn't talk about it with Jemma. She doesn't mind. She keeps her sessions to herself mostly too.
Fitz's body recovers slowly. He gets out of bed, gets out of the wheelchair, gets out the hospital. But his memory doesn’t recover. He glides his hands over his inventions and shakes his head, astonishment and tears filling his eyes. “I did this?”
“You did,” Jemma smiles. “We did. We’re a team.”
Fitz looks at her and swallows. “A team. I … I wish I could remember. It sounds too good, too nice, to be true.”
“It is true. It can be true again, Fitz.”
“You still want to be my friend, although I’m broken?” Fitz asks sadly, his shoulders slumping. “Although I’m useless?”
“Yes.” Jemma goes to him and lays her hand on his, leading it to his papers, to scribbles of new things. “You’re not broken. You’re just missing pieces. If they not come back, you have to find new ones. Let’s go to work.”
Fitz swallows, but nods.
One day, Jemma enters the lab and he sits there on his chair, looking like he’s deep in thought, his blue eyes distant and his smile dreamy.
“Fitz?” She asks.
He looks at her. “I dreamt about you last night.”
“Oh.” Jemma smiles. “What was I doing?”
Fitz scrunches his nose. “You, uh, were packing a suitcase. You said we were going on an adventure. I said I’m not sure if this was a good idea, but you smiled and hugged me, and told me we would always stay together, never leave each other’s side and that sometimes, being brave is worthwhile.”
Jemma gasps. “I … That was when we were accepted for Coulson’s team! The night before we left home and went on the Bus. Oh Fitz! You remembered.”
Fitz smiles carefully. His eyes sparkle and he looks at her like he loves how happy she is. How excited. “I liked how you hugged me,” he says quietly.
And Jemma knows she shouldn’t start to prepare for a miracle, but something inside her prepares to fall in love all over again.