Chapter Text
Two weeks had passed.
Two long, tiring, sleepless weeks. Two weeks since the smell of burning flesh (at his hands) was real, two weeks since he’d had to face her with the empty promises lost in his throat, lost back on Maveth. Two weeks since he witnessed his boss crush the chest in of their sworn enemy. It was a painful death. A horrible one.
At night, when Fitz didn’t smell the scent of burning flesh, like he was still on that planet, then he could hear the crunch of Ward’s chest as it caved in under Coulson’s hungry revenge.
Fitz wasn’t dumb, obviously. He knew Ward’s death was long overdue. He would never stop. He deserved it. But his stupid voice haunts Fitz now, too. I would never hurt you, Fitz. The words, his voice, play over and over in his head, like a dumb song he couldn’t stop singing. Logically, he knew there was no way back for Ward.
But Fitz wasn’t Ward. He never could be, no matter how much he may have wanted to be at one point or another. So, watching him die - something he’d fantasized about often, admittedly - didn’t leave him satisfied or feel avenged. He just felt sick . And empty. And sad. Sad for Ward, for the things he believed in, for any trace of good in him that was blown away, for anyone he had ever loved.
Fitz couldn’t be angry at Coulson. He just couldn’t. But that didn’t stop him from the small flinch every time he saw him walk down the hall with this long, distant look on his face. He couldn’t even bring himself to start on Coulson’s new hand.
And that’s another thing, too. As if the weight of Will’s death wasn’t heavy on his mind, the knowledge that he had played such a big part in the creation of the weapon that killed Ward was just something to add on top of everything else.
So now, Fitz doesn’t sleep. Instead, he lays awake, staring at the ceiling, waiting for his eyes to close and then the subsequent night terrors as his mind plays dirty tricks on him again and again.
He bloody hated it.
For all the wonderful things Fitz could do with his mind, he was also a victim to it. He was its prisoner. And he was just... tired.
One would think, maybe, that two fucking weeks without a proper amount of sleep would allow one’s mind to rest in peace for a few hours. Instead, it’s worse. Instead, he gets the haunting image of Will’s burning face, skin melting off as he screams at Fitz that he did this, that he deserved to go back to her , that she deserved to see him one last time…
Fitz’s eyes flew open and to his shock, he finds Mack, Bobbi, Jemma, Daisy and Hunter standing over him, looking horrified. His immediate reaction is to scream in surprise but then, Fitz realizes, he already is screaming.
Ah. That would explain the wake-up party. Fitz immediately stops, shutting his mouth. His friends stare down at him in concern, until Mack speaks up.
“Turbo, what’s going on with you?”
Fitz rubs his chest, as if that would help the powerful thud thud thud ding of his heart. “Nothing. I - bad dream. Go back to bed.”
Mack looks concerned but retreats, followed by Bobbi and Daisy. Hunter and Jemma hesitate, and Hunter speaks up. “You sure you’re okay, mate?”
“I’m sure. Really, it’s fine.” He forces himself to meet Jemma’s eyes, something he’d been avoiding for the last fortnight. “Really.”
Hunter glances at Jemma briefly before turning back to Fitz. “Okay. Well, for the record, some brandy will knock you out like a baby for a solid ten hours.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He forces a smile, holding it until the rest of them are safely out of his room. It fades immediately after. Fitz sits up, placing his head between his knees and taking deep breaths. Jesus.
He’s not sure how long he stays in that position - maybe minutes, maybe hours. Who cares, really? But it’s only when he hears her soft, tentative voice that he lifts his head - a little too quickly, and he feels lightheaded for a few moments before he can focus on her.
“Fitz?”
Jemma is standing at the entrance to his room, wringing her hands nervously. He stares at her, unsure what to do or say. He feels a now-familiar lump in his throat when she speaks to him.
“I’m fine, Jemma, really. You don’t need to check up on me-”
“No, that’s not - I - it’s okay.” She reaches up and presses her fingers to her forehead, frowning. “You don’t have to lie to me,” she says finally, looking up to meet his eyes. He stares back at her in slight shock, unsure of what to say. “I know you Fitz, I know you’re not sleeping well.”
He says nothing, and she swallows before continuing. “I may be able to help.”
***
“Jemma, you know I’ve never been much of a movie pers-”
“-will you just try it, Fitz? It’s not going to kill you.” Jemma looks determined as she pushes the movie into the xbox. “It helps you stop thinking. I’ve been dealing with this, just trust me. Will you?” She looks up at him, and he swallows hard.
“Okay.”
The corners of her mouth twitch, and Fitz’s heart stops for a moment because it’s almost like she’s going to smile, and he just doesn’t know how to deal with that Jemma. Not anymore. But it’s gone as soon as it begins, and instead she nods, uttering her own soft, “okay then.”
So he stays silent as she puts the movie in, hands him a cup of decaf tea (her insistence), and spreads a blanket over them - large enough to cover each of them without touching.
Only, it’s Jemma, so of course she sidles right up to his side, crossing her legs so that her knee is basically resting on his thigh. She holds her mug with both hands, eyes trained on the TV as the movie’s opening credits begin. Fitz kind of stares at her. She hasn’t been this close to him in weeks.
“Watch,” she urges, having felt his gaze. Fitz blushes and turns to the TV, forcing himself to pay attention to Kate Winslet miserably pining over some fellow she worked with.
It takes Jemma all of twenty minutes to doze off. Fitz is actually starting to get into the movie, watching Cameron Diaz struggle to sleep through a plane ride, so he doesn’t actually notice until he feels a gentle weight press into his shoulder. When he looks down, he finds that Jemma has melted into his side a little, eyes closed and breathing deeply, her empty tea mug abandoned on her lap. Fitz stares in surprise, but doesn’t move. At least one of them could get some sleep around here.
***
It’s around 6 in the morning when Fitz’s eyes fly open, and the first thing he notices is the smell of Jemma’s hair...which also happens to be where his face is buried. Well. That would explain things. He lifts his head slowly and glances around. Some time during the night, they had both sprawled across the couch, blanket twisting all around their legs haphazardly. Jemma was asleep in front of him, clutching her empty mug to her chest while Fitz had his arm around her, snuggled right up against one another.
He swallows hard. While she was fine with sharing a couch with him, Fitz is fairly certain she wouldn’t want to be seen like this with him. He very carefully removes his arm from around her, sitting up and slowly untangling his legs from the blanket. Fitz stops when he hears her make a little noise, but she only buries her face deeper into the cushion, sound asleep. He spreads the blanket over her and gently places her mug on the floor, before making his way back to his room.
Part of him expects it, but it’s still disappointing when Fitz crawls back into the cold, empty sheets of his own bed and closes his eyes, only to be greeted by the familiar dreaded images once again.