Chapter Text
“Fitz!”
He barely registered Skye’s cry of warning before the window beside him shattered and blasted outward. Crying out in pain as the shards sliced at his skin, ears ringing with the gunshots now being exchanged, Fitz ducked down, awkwardly crawling into a corner behind some crates. Out of the way and easily overlooked - so he hoped - he took stock of the damage. Nothing seemed to be bleeding too terribly badly, but fuck he wished he’d had his tactical gear on.
May had brought him, Skye and Bobbi to another of Fury’s secret bases to raid the supplies. How had HYDRA even known it was here? Or that they would be present today? He didn’t have any of his tech besides the triptych tablet much less a weapon on him, although he was sure the women did, purely by habit.
He was pulled from the inevitable questions by pain. The cuts might not be life-threatening, but his skin was still sliced and oozing blood in numerous places, some of which might actually need stitches. And there was the slight, very unimportant issue with his particular aversion to blood, especially the sight of his own.
Feeling nauseous, his head spinning a bit, Fitz squeezed his eyes shut and kept his head down, for once sure he’d only be a liability if he attempted to insert himself into the situation.
~*~
Jemma paced through the lab, wearing a path into the floor as she did everything she could possibly think of to avoid staring at the clock on the wall. When Coulson had first proposed the raid as a solution to their dwindling supplies, it had been well received. After all, it wasn’t as though they could just go to the market without drawing all kinds of attention to their location; and a secret base wasn’t any good if Hydra could find them at Walmart and simply follow them home.
But when he had proposed that May take Skye, Bobbi, and Fitz on the raid, Jemma had felt her gut clench, and she had struggled to stay silent. She had no doubt that those three could keep him safe, but it was second nature for her to worry when it came to Fitz… even if they hadn’t had anything more than perhaps two incredibly stilted conversations in the past two months.
Jemma groaned at the thought, hating that there was no easy solution for that particular problem, and ripped open the nearest supply cabinet. She could at least do inventory in the meantime, instead of sitting there and counting the minutes until the team came back to the Playground.
That plan was shot to hell mere moments later, when the doors leading from the cargo bay slid open and May’s shout forced her upright once more. Jemma’s eyes went wide as she surveyed them; each of her teammates looked far worse than they had that morning, although May and Bobbi seemed the steadiest. They had Skye slung between them, clearly helping her keep her weight off her left leg. Someone, May most likely, had applied a field dressing to a rather large wound in her thigh, but it was already bleeding through.
Jemma rushed to clear a space on the table nearest to her, and patted the cool surface. “Here. Get her up here so I can take a look.” Her eyes darted over to Fitz only to widen a bit more when she saw the tattered state of his shirt and the bloody lacerations that were showing through. She wanted to go to him, to get her hands on him and reassure herself that he truly was okay, but stopped herself; Fitz was upright, and while he looked weary, didn’t seem to be in danger of collapsing at the moment. He’d have to wait.
Tugging on a pair of gloves, Jemma forced her eyes away from him and back to Skye. She’d take care of her, first, then worry about Fitz.
Watching Jemma dig into the wound on Skye’s leg made Fitz’ stomach turn, a slow and sick roll. Skye’s accompanying whimper of pain, despite the anesthetic Jemma had injected, was even worse. Between that and the blood drying and crusting on his skin, making it crawl as well, Fitz found he couldn’t wait for Jemma to finish up - he needed to get this shirt and the blood off his body. Jemma would have to do it otherwise, to tell which cuts needed to be stitched shut, and that made him wince, too.
“‘M gonna take a shower,” he mumbled to no one in particular, but by the shift of Bobbi’s head he knew he’d been heard, even if her eyes didn’t leave Skye.
Once he made it to his room and got a good look at himself - god that seemed like a lot of blood - showering was a necessary, painful evil. Fitz flinched and hissed through it, soap getting into the cuts and stinging him. It burned in the worst of them, and he could probably point them out when he got back to Jemma to have them stitched. He got the blood off himself at least, although some of the wounds were bleeding again by the time he cleared all the dried stuff off, including one behind his ear that Fitz hadn’t even noticed originally.
He’d just padded out into his room to find clothes when there was a knock on his door, followed by the sound of Jemma’s voice. She sounded irritated and Fitz braced himself before he flipped the latch on the door, backing away quickly before anyone else got a flash of him in nothing but a towel.
As soon as she heard the latch click open, Jemma pushed her way into his room, her mouth pressed into a tight, thin line. She was livid, but trying to control herself; it was terrible bedside manner, after all, to yell at one’s patients. Even if said patient knew better than to leave the med bay before receiving proper attention.
She spared Fitz a glance as she entered his space, eyes glancing over his bare torso. She felt a vague ping of regret; she would have liked the opportunity to enjoy the view, but the anger roiling in her gut simply wouldn’t permit it. Particularly not when she noticed how deep some of the cuts were, and that they had resumed bleeding. Setting her field kit down on his desk, Jemma reached out and laid her hand on his shoulder so she could turn him and fully assess his injuries. She gave a sound of alarm when she spotted the wound near the base of his skull, just below his ear, and pushed him toward the desk.
“Here, into the better light, please.” Jemma did her best to not allow her anger with him to show through, her tone nearly robotic as she began her examination. Opening her kit, she pulled on a fresh pair of gloves and then reached for cotton and the bottle of antiseptic. “This is going to sting,” she murmured before pressing the damp cotton against his ear. Her heart went out to Fitz when she heard him hiss at the pain, but her hand remained steady. The faster she could work, the sooner this would all be over for them both.
Fitz could tell immediately that she was angry with him. Once upon a time she’d have remembered how much Fitz hated blood, especially for it to be on him, and given him at least a little slack. This Jemma, on the other hand, didn’t seem so inclined. After she pushed him down into his desk chair, Fitz curled his uninjured arm over the wide surface and laid his head down on it, leaving his head and back and his other arm free for Jemma to work on.
Even with Jemma’s warning, Fitz flinched at the bite of the antiseptic. It was worse than the soap had been, even, and he bit his lip to keep from whining about it, knowing she’d likely only scold him instead of teasing him about it. Eventually though, her impersonal touch and the flat, emotionless tone of Jemma’s voice got to him. On top of everything else today, it was simply too much. And Fitz was certain enough that he’d already lost her - he didn’t think confronting her could make things any worse.
“Is this how is goin’ t’ be now?” he said, turning his head enough to peer at Jemma over his shoulder. “We’re goin’ t’ pretend like nothin’ happened or tha’ we didna used t’ practically live in each other’s heads? Or tha’ we were best friends?” His voice broke against his will, cracking sharply, and Fitz closed his eyes against the welling of tears in them. He wasn’t broken, not like he thought he was when he’d first woken up, but losing Jemma had left him fragile emotionally.
Jemma counted as she worked, tallying lacerations and future scars, wondering how close she’d come to losing him. She kept counting, breaths in and out, trying to keep herself calm and collected as Fitz spoke. Silently, along with her counting, she tried to remind herself of everything he’d gone through, how far he’d come in so short a time, how lucky she was that he was still with her, was still Fitz (even if he’d been a little changed).
But the jab about their friendship, the statement that there was no friendship there any longer… that was too much for her. She slammed the cotton pad she’d been using down onto the desk, near enough to him to make him flinch. It was childish, Jemma knew that much, but there was more than a little dose of personal satisfaction in seeing it. She took a step back, allowing Fitz room to turn to face her if he wanted it, and leveled him with her gaze.
“Apparently, it is.” Her monotone was gone, and now Jemma found herself fighting back her emotion, her voice wavering between anger and sorrow. “That’s why you left the lab, isn’t it? You wanted a clean break from me? From us?”
“Never,” he blurted immediately. Fitz didn’t even have to think about his response to that question. “Y’ think I wanted to leave?” In a way, he was happy she was angry. It felt like the first time he was seeing true emotion from her since he’d woken up after the med pod. Everything since had been falsely bright smiles and constant reassurances that she was fine when she clearly wasn’t. Fitz had seen it all over her and had tried so hard to be who she needed him to be. And then she’d lied to him and left - for HYDRA, as it turned out - and she’d come back seeming even more brittle and avoidant than before.
He stared up at her, eyes glossed, his good hand tugging at his fingers on the bad hand, willing them not to tremble so much that she’d notice. “I can work for you. I canna work with you. I’m no’ the same, Jemma. I willna ever be the same again. I know tha’. I- I- I canna say I’m h- happy about tha’, but is the truth an’ I’ve got t’ face up t’ tha’. I did it t’ myself, after all. B-bu’ I dinna think you’ve accepted tha’ yet, an’ it bloody hurts every time y’ l-look a’ me like I’m no’ g-good enough anymore.” Fitz’ stutter made an unwanted appearance as he spoke to her, and he had to slow down to keep it under better control.
“It seemed like the b-best thing t’ do. Get out o’ your way so y’ could ge’ on with bein’ b-brilliant and doin’ all the things Coulson needs y’ to, and I could be in the garage where I canna do so much d-damage,” he added. Fitz knew she was angry, and he could see the sadness in Jemma’s expression and he found himself praying to a god he didn’t believe in that she’d stay and actually talk to him for once. He’d take yelling over silence, any day.
Jemma could feel her own tears welling on her lower lashes, impossibly hot as she listened to him. Listened to the way he so neatly laid out why he’d asked to leave the lab, her, and their nearly decade long friendship. She flinched, more than once, at the reminders he dropped about why he was struggling, and not for the first time, a part of her sincerely believed it would have been easier if she’d been the one who had nearly drown that day.
“I have never, ever, thought you weren’t good enough, Fitz.” She sucked in a deep breath and tried to bring her heart back under control, but it was no use. Jemma was on the edge of collapse, and part of her didn’t care who or what she took down with her. Perhaps, when all this was over, she’d have the chance to use that resignation letter she’d slaved over while she sat vigil at his sick bed. “And it’s not fair that you made that kind of decision without ever asking me! It’s our partnership, Fitz, if nothing else! I had a right to weigh in on that, too! But you went and made another unilateral decision without me!”
“Like y’ did when y’ left for HYDRA? Tha’s no’ p-partnership either, Jemma!” Fitz blurted out. “An’ wha’ was I supposed t’ do in the m-med pod? There was only enough oxygen for one of us. We’re geniuses, but neither of us could have m-magically made more air to b-breathe. I had a b-broken arm, there was no way I was going to make it up n-ninety feet. Nothin’ has been righ’ since, so it had t’ have been somethin’ I d-did. Whether it was w-what I said, or because I’m no’ all righ’ in the head anymore, it came down to the same b-b-bloody thing - I lost y’. Which was the last thing I wanted an’ the w-worst thing for me t’ try an’ deal with on top of everythin’ else.”
He sucked in air, chest heaving from having rambled all that on one breath. “Y’ havena been able t’ look me in the eye for w-weeks. Months, even. An’ I’m sure someone has told y’ by now what h-happened while y’ were gone, so I’m sure tha’s no h-helpin’. Crazy Fitz, went cracked an’ started h-h-hallucinatin’,” Fitz said, a bitter tone creeping into his voice. His own tears spilled over and he swiped at them. “If y’ still wanted t’ be my partner, y’ could have said somethin’, or at least acted like y’ wanted t’ be, Jemma.”
Fitz’ voice went soft and defeated at the end, his chest tight and aching as he glanced away from her. He felt terribly vulnerable, laying his emotions out for her to see, while physically wounded and mostly naked.
“You left the lab. I thought- I thought you didn’t want me around. I thought my being gone was making it easier on you. You just… you weren’t getting better with me around all the time. And Fitz, I- I couldn’t be away from you, not after what happened.” She took a tentative half-step closer to him, hands clasped in front of her to keep them from shaking too badly.
“No one said a word about any hallucinations.” Jemma’s words were soft, but that didn’t keep her heartbreak from showing through as she realized what had happened while she was away. She’d already felt guilty leaving him; the only reason she’d been able to had been because she was convinced it was the only way to help him in the long run, but clearly she’d been wrong about even that. “Fitz… Fitz, I have never wanted to be anywhere but with you. Since we were first paired at 17, you-” She swallowed heavily, fighting to force the words up and out of her throat. “You are dearer to me, mean more to me, than anyone else. And when you went and told me… when you decided…”
Jemma could feel the tears begin to fall down her cheeks, and she blinked rapidly in a poor attempt to keep them at bay. “God, I shouldn’t say this, not after the sacrifices others have made, but Fitz… the idea of living without you… of you dying… I would have rather we’d gone together than live without you.” As soon as the words finished tumbling out, her hand shot up to clasp over her mouth, as though that would be enough to muffle the anguished cry Jemma let out.
His stomach clenched when Jemma admitted she hadn’t known about what happened when she was gone, and Fitz could see the moment it truly sank in and Jemma understood. He flinched away, unable to meet her eyes with her knowing just how broken he really was. And yet, her next words broke Fitz’ heart all over again. It almost sounded like Jemma was trying to say she felt the same way he did, that maybe, by some miracle, she could love him.
Her tone shifted though, and something in it - some hint of sorrow or guilt or pain drew his blue eyes back up to her face. It took him almost too long to understand what she was saying, to realize that she’d had the same thought Fitz had - that if he’d known it would cost him their friendship, he’d have preferred they both died down there. It was an insidious thing that had lurked in the back of his head for months and Fitz had never admitted to anyone. It was so selfish that it was simply unthinkable, but here Jemma was, proving their synchronicity one more time. Perhaps one last time…
That thought had barely slipped into his head before Fitz rejected it. She was talking to him, they were getting this all out. There was hope now - there had to be. Jemma stumbled backward, away from him, breaking into racking sobs. He abruptly wondered if she’d cried at all, since all this happened - he hadn’t, and he knew Skye hadn’t seen her break down. Heedless of the wounds she had yet to patch up or stitch, uncaring of the boundaries they’d drawn between themselves over the last months of hell, Fitz stumbled across the space between them and drew her close. His arms closed around her, giving all the love and support she hadn’t let him share. “I know, lass, shhh. Me, too,” he murmured into her ear. “I’ve though’ the same thing. More than once.”
Jemma sobbed at his quiet admission, her whole body shaking even though she was relieved beyond words that she hadn’t been alone in thinking that way. She had felt like such an ingrate, wishing even in passing that they’d both died beneath those waves, that she’d never dared to give the thought life by speaking it aloud. It may have been a small relief, but it was soothing nonetheless. Jemma clung to Fitz, fingers pressing in against his shoulders as she attempted to cry herself out into his neck.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I thought I was helping, but I wasn’t, and then it was too late, and I- I just didn’t think…”
Her words were jumbled all together and nearly impossible to decipher, thanks to the way she’d burrowed in against Fitz, but the spilled out anyway, each one lightening her burden a bit more. Eventually, when she realized she was merely repeating the same phrases over and over, she cut herself off by pressing a kiss to his cheek. His stubble scratched at the delicate skin of her face, but Jemma didn’t care; it simply felt too good to be in his personal space like this once again.
Fitz took aching comfort from the way Jemma clung to him, sobbing as if her heart was breaking. And perhaps it was, he considered, if she hadn’t vented any of what she was feeling about all the events since the med pod. He simply held her, not really saying much, but letting his hands stroke her hair and back while she cried herself out. When Jemma eventually shifted to kiss his cheek, Fitz was startled enough he forgot to hide the hiss of pain when her arms snugged tighter around him, aggravating the cuts still littering his body.
He hadn’t even thought about it - Fitz’ focus had all been for Jemma, not for himself or for her shirt, which was likely ruined now. Wincing at the thought, he gently drew back from her and glanced down. Not only was her shirt ruined, but he’d bled onto the towel still wrapped around his hips. Fitz could already see the apology forming and shook his head. “Is okay, lass. I- I’d much rather we talked this ou’, even if it means I’m uncomfortable,” he said, preempting her. His voice was soft, diffident, and Fitz bit his lip for a moment, chewing it as he considered his thoughts. “Once y’ finish up with this… will y’ stay? Really try t’ figure everything ou’? I- I dinna know if I can take much more o’ this mess between us.”
Her eyes went wide as she took in both his battered chest and the state of her blouse, embarrassed that she’d allowed herself to be drawn so far off track. Granted, they had needed the moment to get them speaking again, but she really should have finished patching him up first. “Uh, yes, yes, I’ll stay, but let’s get you cleaned up first, yeah?” Jemma’s words were still watery, but much stronger, as she guided Fitz back into his desk chair.
With him back in the stronger light, Jemma took up her task once more, cleaning away blood and grime as she bandaged and stitched as needed. This time around, however, she managed to keep her touch light and her words gentle, doing her best to distract Fitz as she tended to him. She hated to cause him more pain, but unfortunately knew it was a necessary evil. The best she could do was hope to make quick work of it, and make him comfortable enough so he could rest easily.
Fitz watched her as she worked on him, reassured that things were actually on the mend by the way she kept glancing up to check on him. He’d never been fond of blood, probably never would be, but Fitz was more worried about his best friend than he was about the stitches she was inserting in his skin at the moment.
Once she was done, Fitz slowly stretched, pleased to find that the stitches didn’t pull much. He’d only have to be careful about lifting his arms over his head, really. From there, he glanced at Jemma and nodded toward the only other place to sit in his little room. “Go on, lass. Get off your feet for a minute. I’m goin’ t’ get dressed. Ah- do y’ want another shirt? I canna imagine tha’s very comfortable a’ the moment,” he said, nodding at her bloodstained blouse.
When she nodded, Fitz tugged an extra t-shirt from his drawer along with his own pajamas and tossed it at her with a little smirk. “I’ll change in the bathroom. Jus’ tell me when is safe t’ come back out,” he suggested, slipping into the smaller room and shutting the door behind him. He spent a moment leaned back against the door, wincing when he momentarily forgot his injuries, before pulling on flannel pants and an old, worn t-shirt. The soft cotton was probably the most comfortable thing he could wear over the bandages and stitches.
It was an odd sensation, to have these familiar interactions with Fitz after spending so many months tiptoeing around each other, but Jemma was glad for the opportunity. She had been beginning to think that they’d never be able to work it out, and to have it happen so suddenly was something she hadn’t dared to dream. She waited to hear the soft snick of the bathroom door latching into place before she undid the buttons on her blouse, allowing the silk garment to flutter to the floor before pulling on the worn t-shirt he had given her.
Jemma grinned when she recognized it as the SciTech Academy class shirt she’d talked him into buying, the cotton worn and soft after years of wearing and washing it. It had been a favorite of hers to steal when they’d first moved in together, and she was inordinately pleased that he had offered it to her now.
Toeing off her shoes, Jemma tugged back the covers on one half of his bed and slipped beneath them. “Fitz?” she called, pitching her voice so he could hear it through the bathroom door. “I’m ready when you are.”
He padded back out to join her, and there was a moment when if it wasn’t for the unfamiliar room surrounding them, they could have been those old versions of themselves, a much younger Fitz and Simmons from back at the Academy or when they’d lived together at SciOps. Except Fitz was sore and sliced up from an unexpected encounter with HYDRA, Jemma was red-eyed and looked exhausted from her earlier crying jag, and they hadn’t actually spent time together like this in months.
Wary of making her uncomfortable, Fitz laid atop the blankets rather than sliding under with Jemma, carefully stretching out on his stomach and folding his arms under his head. He’d taken a few paracetamol tablets while he was in the bathroom to take care of the lingering pains now that Jemma’s anesthetic was wearing off. Fitz tipped his head to look at Jemma, a shy smile on his face. “Hi, Jem,” he offered, deliberately choosing the diminutive he’d only used for her in private, and hadn’t crossed his tongue since well before the med pod. “Are- y’ okay?”
The sound of her nickname rolling off his tongue was sweet, and she grinned right back at him when she heard it. “Yes, I’m fi-” Jemma’s reply was automatic, the response of someone who was used to caring for parents and siblings and friends, someone who was used to carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders without raising her voice to complain about the burden. But this was Fitz, the only one she really liked having call her “Jem,” and if there was anyone she could answer honestly, it was him.
“No, not really. I mean, I feel better than when we first came in here, but… I haven’t really felt all right for months.” She saw Fitz’ eyes darken a bit at her words, and knew instantly he was right back there with her, trapped 90 feet below water with only a slim hope of survival, thanks to a man they had once counted as one of their nearest and dearest friends.
Fitz gaze dropped guiltily, his fingers picking at a stray thread on his comforter. “‘M sorry. I know I havena made things any easier on y’. Both things I had some control over an’ the ones I didn’. I jus’- I wish we’d talked before now, y’ know?” He snuggled a bit deeper into the pillow he’d drawn in under his head and managed to look over at Jemma again, his expression sad.
“Y’ told me tha’ one thing… What else have y’ been keepin’ locked up?” Fitz asked gently. “I think you migh’ have even more hidden away righ’ now than I do, an’ tha’s saying somethin’.” He’d listen to whatever Jemma wanted to tell him, however much she wanted to say. That had always been true, but it felt especially important right now when Jemma hadn’t been trusting anyone with her inner thoughts and turmoil.
Turning onto her side to face him fully, Jemma gave him a small shrug. The truth of the matter was, she had no idea where to even begin. A year ago, her life had been blissfully simple: follow orders, use science to solve the world’s problems, and cap everything off with a movie night with her best friend. Now, she was the science head of a secret, fugitive organization, people were looking to her to make decisions in which lives hung in the balance, and she and her best friend hadn’t spoken, truly spoken, in months. Life was, to put it simply, suddenly complicated.
“Honestly, Fitz… I couldn’t even begin to tell you. It just seems like every day brings a new life-or-death decision, and I’m terrified that I am constantly making the wrong call. That one day, a decision I make, even with something as simple as triage, will cost us one of our teammates.” She thought of Skye, of how she had first pumped her full of GH-325 to save her life, then hadn’t been able to blow the tunnels in time to keep her out of the temple, and her expression darkened. “That is, if it hasn’t already.”
“I think we’re all facin’ tha’, though,” Fitz pointed out. “If Coulson asks me for tech- wha’ if I canna come up with what he wants? Or it backfires? Wha’ if May gets taken out in a figh’ an’ someone else gets hurt? Skye made a mistake, goin’ down in the tunnels - she feels like she got Trip killed, even though he made the choice t’ go after her.” He sighed quietly, but his eyes were fixed on Jemma, expression serious. “We’re all under too much pressure. Is no’ just you… I think mos’ everyone on the team would understan’ if y’ wanted t’ talk t’ them about it. Well. Excep’ Coulson.”
Fitz wasn’t at all happy about the way the new Director had pulled away from everyone and become so much less concerned with everyone getting home safely. He knew it had to be difficult, trying to rebuild SHIELD, but Fitz didn’t want to work for another Fury. There simply weren’t enough loyal SHIELD agents left to risk them the way Coulson seemed to be doing lately.
He hesitated over his next comment, but Fitz needed to say it. “Jus’... just so y’ know. Abou’ the med pod. I wish we’d had other options. Bu’ we didn’, an’ I dinna regret wha’ I said or wha’ I did. I know you’re angry with me for makin’ the choice I did, bu’ the longer we waited the harder it was goin’ t’ be an’ we were usin’ up the air we had lef’. I wanted y’ t’ have the best chance y’ could. An’... I was terrified,” Fitz admitted. “I mean- who wants t’ know they’re effectively about t’ commit suicide? Wakin’ up a’ the Playgroun’ was… I never expected tha’ secon’ chance. Even with the- the-.... shite.” He swore at the realization he’d completely lost the word he was looking for. “Y’ know wha’ I mean. Even with me forgettin’ things an’ bein’ so shaky- If you’re goin’ t’ take credit for somethin’- Is your faul’ I’m still here. No’ your faul’ tha’ I’m no’ the same.”
His words caused her to tear up once more, and Jemma ducked her face into his pillow in an attempt to calm herself before she even considered answering him. All that did, though, was give her the opportunity to breath in the lingering scent he’d left on the pillow, that same cologne-soap-and-solder smell he’d had since the Academy, and she found she only wanted to cry even harder.
“I was mad, am mad, because it meant you were leaving me behind.” Jemma’s first words were nearly lost in the down pillow, and she forced herself to look at Fitz. He deserved to hear what she had to say, and all of it, not little bits and pieces. “I understand, logically, why you did what you did, Fitz. But the idea of a life without you terrified me. Still does, even if we don’t talk as often.” She found she could help herself, and her hand reached out so she could ruffle her fingers through his curls as she spoke, seeking out any small comfort she could find.
Jemma stifled a small sob when she felt him lean into her touch, still disbelieving of the fact that they were still in the same room, and neither of them had tried to cut and run. “I owe you an apology, Fitz. When Coulson asked me to leave, to infiltrate HYDRA, I should have told you the truth. I told myself it was because I didn’t want you to worry, and that was true on some level, but… I was mostly afraid. Afraid of how bad it would be when I did eventually lose you, if we were still so wrapped up in each other. I thought… I thought that distancing myself from you would be best for both of us. I was wrong, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied and I’m sorry I pulled away. You deserve so much better than that.”
Her tears had begun to fall anew, and Jemma was forced to withdraw her hand so she could swipe at her cheeks. Not that it did her any good; they were falling faster than she could get to them, and soon, her cheek was pressed against a damp spot on the pillow case.
Fitz didn’t even try to resist his reaction to her willingly touching him again. He was so tired of having to hide how much he cared for her, knowing she didn’t return his feelings, but he’d missed her. And here in the quiet and privacy of his room, with the two of them finally talking things out, Fitz didn’t see the point. They were going to have to deal with his feelings one way or another.
He shook his head at her words, his mouth twisting into a frown. Fitz hated that she’d felt the need to get away from him. “I never meant t’ make y’ feel tha’ way,” he said, his eyes stinging with tears. “I though’-” Fitz was sorting through what she’d said, his mind catching on things and trying to make sense of them. “Did- do y’ no’ want t’-”
Steeling himself against her tears, Fitz bit his lip sharply, willing himself not to cry, but he had to ask. “Are y’ tryin’ t’ tell me y’ dinna want t’ try t’ get back t’-” His breath caught and Fitz found he couldn’t finish the question. Saying it aloud would make it real and Fitz wasn’t prepared for the possibility that Jemma didn’t want to be FitzSimmons again, that their close call had scared her so badly that she wouldn’t want to risk getting hurt that badly again. This time Fitz was the one to duck away, burying his face in a pillow to hide his reaction. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.