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The nightmares had struck again.
After finding herself safe, Jemma sat up: her chest was heaving and her palms sweating. With a sigh she gather her hair and pulled it over her shoulder, her brown eyes catching sight of the photos papering the wall beside her; her and Fitz with wide smiles and diplomas in hand, her sandwiched between her mum and dad on Christmas morning when she was 10, a photo of Trip with the cheesiest grin on his face, Fitz managing to hold both her and Daisy on his back at Coulson's birthday a couple years back. Her breath evened out and she pulled her favorite picture from the wall, May had taken it, much to her and Fitz’s surprise:
It was a sunny, September, Friday, and the B.U.S. had touched down in a field in the middle of nowhere. Coulson had decided they all deserved a day off, and though he didn’t say it, she knew he wanted time to appreciated having all his team, his family, safe and together after the stress and dangers of the past month. The sun was just beginning to set on there fun-filled day of picnicking, playing games, and telling stories. Coulson was starting up a bonfire, keeping his promise that there would be s’mores, while her, Fitz, and Ward had somehow started a game of Keep Away from Skye. Eventually, she had tipped away a pass to Fitz and sent him on a wild-goose chase for the ball. Fireflies began appearing and he figured his past chances of winning lie in Simmon’s lack of athletic ability, so he had faked a move towards Skye, allowing Ward to toss Simmons the ball. She caught it and Fitz sprinted towards her, she squeaked in surprise, running I the opposite direction, toward where May sat supervising the kids and Coulson. He had gotten the head start and it didn’t take long for him to reach her: wrapping both arms around her waist, holding her tight against him, she held one arm out, trying her best to keep the ball out of his reach, the other gripping his forearm where it rested against her stomach. Her curls were flying, her nose scrunched in laughter, Fitz’s own grin beaming at her.
Things had been so simple, so happy. No Hydra, no Hypoxia, no Monolith.
She slid out of bed, wrapping a spare blanket from the foot of the bed around her shoulder, and slid her pod door open. The lights were off, and unlike usual, there was no sign of anyone working late, or rather early.
She paused a moment, eyes fixed on the Fitz's pod door, left slightly ajar: she knew it was so he could get to her at a moment’s notice. And suddenly she longed for the days where Fitz could (and once did) sleep through a tornado. When she was satisfied he hadn't heard her stirring, she snuck down the hall, bare feet padding softly against the cold floor.
It wasn't their lab. But it was a lab. A place of science, curiosity, comfort.
"What are you doing?" She jumped, turning to find him leaning in the doorway, not bothering to whisper, "it's four in the morning."
In the past week she had studied his yawn, memorized the exact shade of lilac under his eyes, understood the exhaustion in his accent. He wanted to heal her, help her and she loved him so much. She loved him so much it hurt her to see him so concerned, so exhausted, so utterly devoted.
She wanted him to sleep. She wanted him to relax, to laugh. She wanted him to roll his eyes at her, play Xbox with Mack, laugh again, anything to heal the pain and frustrations she knew he was feeling, just as much as her.
"I've decided to go back to work. I want things to be normal again." She told him, ducking her head back to her microscope. Honesty was the best policy.
"You aren't wearing shoes, or pants, or a lab coat, Simmons. That's hardly protocol."
Simmons. She hadn't heard that in a while.
Sure turned to face him, ready for an argument she didn't want to have about resting and time. Instead she found him smirking at her, his hair a mess, and the Tardis pajama bottoms she had gotten him for Christmas six years ago, fraying at his slipper clad feet.
"I will make you some tea." He mumbled, as he turned, dragging his feet as he walked.
And she smiled, a truly full and genuine smile, something she hadn't done since before the stone.
Stepping away she made her way around the other work stations to the supply shelves. Shuffling through all the beakers, vials, and test tubes, she finally caught sight of the spare slides she needed: one shelf higher and towards the back. People had been reorganizing in her absence, she noticed, her most frequently used supplies being out of her reach. She pushed herself higher on her toes, her fingertips barely grazing the box. If she just pushed herself up on the bottom shelf the tiniest bit-
CRASH!
Just has her fingers had closed around the required container, the shelving unit tipped forward, sending all the clean rows of glass supplies raining down, smashing to sparking shards on all sides of her.
"Jemma!" He shouts just as the kettle began to, as well, but it is left screaming behind him as the scientist sprints down the hall.
She is standing in a field of glass when he finds her. Both hands clasped tightly around the box of slides as her shoulders shake with sobs, and tears rush down her cheeks and fall to her feet.
"Jemma, no, it's okay, you're okay." His voice is calm, masking the anger burning in his chest.
She has been making so much progress, this past week especially: she stopped sleeping with knives under her pillows, made the team pancakes yesterday morning, even took a short walk outside with him to other day. And all it took was some careless interns and loose shelving to send her back months' worth of recovery.
Taking long strides, Fitz made his way over to her, talking gently as he did so. The shards crushing to sand beneath the hard soles of his slippers.
"Are you ready?" He asked when he reached her, wiping away her tears with the pads of his thumbs, she nodded, arms winding around his neck, as he scooped her into his arms. He could still feel the sharp bones in her hips and the dips between her ribs, but it was better, he focused on the positive, she was still softer then when he had first pulled her from the stone.
He sat her down gently on the kitchen island, checking her for any cuts, scrapes, or embedded glass. She was completely calm, no more tears, no more gasping for breath. She sat quietly, honey eyes fixated on his face as he inspected her skin.
It was only when he tugged the box from where it was clenched tightly in her hands that she recovered from the shock,
"I'm sorry-"
"Don't apologize, Jemma." He said firmly, eyes locked steadily on hers.
"No, I am," she continued, "It was just loud and sudden, and it.." She looked away, wiping tears from her cheeks, but more came: this time they were hot and sticky with frustration at herself.
"Hey now.. You're doing great, you know." He leaned against the granite, hands on either side of her, "you are getting so much better every single day. You have got to stop putting so much pressure on yourself."
"I left you." She murmurs, but he hears her clear as day.
"Jem-"
"No, I need to say this." Her voice grew stronger, "You think I abandoned you, and you're right."
He was shaking his head, trying his hardest not to interrupt, not to shout to the world that he didn't blame her, that she wasn't guilty.
"But, Fitz, I was so bad for you." Her voice grew gentler, "I was making you so much worse; you would shake, and scream, and you couldn't form a word, much less a sentence." His eyes remained fixed on the floor, but he could feel her soft looking at him in earnest,
Vague memories of him punching tables, and sympathetic looks, flooded his mind. His shoulders hunched and his grip on the counter's edge tightened.
"It was like, every time you looked at me you were reminded of all the things you thought that you lost. And you couldn't move forward from that." She paused, taking a deep breathe, "Leaving you was the hardest thing I have ever done, harder thanthe past six months. It was something I never, ever, thought I'd do. You had been beside me the whole damn time, but this time.. This time, the only way to fix this was apart."
His eyes snapped up at the echo of his own words from so long ago.
"No."
Her eyes grew wide, and he knew she feared further blame or unacceptance, so he covered her hands with his.
"No, you were there, Jem."
Her brows knit in confusion.
"After you left, I still saw you. And maybe it wasn't healthy to hallucinate your best friend," he rolled his eyes, "but you never really left me, you always make me better.”
He felt her squeeze his hands, and she gave him a watery smile.
“You’ve been beside me the whole damn time.” He finishes, knowing that that was never going to change.
"Now, how about that tea?" She asks, her soul lighter than it has been in years, and more hope for the future than she ever felt possible.
The pair sip their tea between small smiles, and when they finish, Fitz pulls the broom out of the closet and she follows him back into the lab.
"Can I?" She asks, her gaze still fixed on the millions of crystal fragments on the floor. And, sensing her tone, he passes her the broom and steps back.
He watches her trace the bottoms of the workstations, going over the same strokes twice, guaranteeing the collection of every shard. She gathered all them into a solitary pile and the paused to study the little hill in the middle of the room. They were jagged and broken, but they sparkled like diamonds.
The next morning she would find the shelves stacked with new equipment, all the glass smooth and shiny, and the slides on a shelf within her reach.
But for now she gathered the crystal crumbs and tossed them in the trash. Brushing her hands on her shorts she returned to Fitz's side and slide her fingers between his and looked around once more: everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.