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It wasn’t that he couldn’t sleep.
No, both his body and his mind were so exhausted that he’d been nearly drifting off at his desk for days.
But he wouldn’t let himself sleep. Not if it meant revisiting the death planet in his dreams. And there was no question that he would.
It seemed every time Fitz shut his eyes, he saw Will. Saw himself raise the flare gun, saw Will’s body engulfed by flames. And he felt the panic rise in in his chest as the portal’s opening shimmered and faltered—it was going to close any second, and he would never make it back, and Jemma—
Fitz shook his head to clear it. He needed to get out of his room and out of his head. Shivering, he pulled on a sweater and crept softly into the corridor. It must be at least two o’clock in the morning. There was always someone on duty, watching the halls on the security cameras that lined the ceiling. But there were no rules against wandering aimlessly through the base in the middle of the night. He put a hand to his pocket and tapped the reassuring shape of his lanyard.
He passed Bobbi’s room, then Daisy’s, then May’s. Every one of his friends had seen and done so much. How did they cast all of that aside and lay down at night to sleep peacefully? Or maybe they didn’t. Maybe each and every agent was lying awake, playing through their memories in an endless loop.
Still, Fitz moved slowly and quietly, trying not to wake anyone. But his nose was making it difficult to stay silent. The faint itch that had been building there all day was growing into a strong tickle, and Fitz stopped to lean against a wall, taking shallow breaths through his mouth as his eyes fluttered, then suddenly squeezed shut.
“H’nngt!”
He stifled a nearly silent sneeze into the crook of his arm, then sniffled softly. He continued down the hall, moving more quickly now, wanting to get away from his sleeping teammates in case the tickle came back.
Fitz reached the kitchen and absentmindedly started filling the kettle. As the water boiled, he got out a bright red teapot, a mug, and a tin of tea leaves that was kept in the back of the cupboard. Normally he didn’t have time to make a proper cup of tea; he usually just grabbed a teabag and hurried to the lab in the mornings. But he enjoyed the meticulous process of doing it this way, appreciated the minor ceremony of it all. He relaxed as he went through the motions, carefully measuring out the tea leaves in the quiet kitchen.
As he poured freshly boiled water into the teapot, Fitz felt the tickle return to his sinuses. His eyes watered slightly as his breath began to hitch. He was alone in the kitchen; there was no need to hold it in.
“Ah’dcchssh!” A sniffle and a small groan escaped as he recovered, leaning with his arms on the counter.
“Fitz?”
He gave a small start and straitened quickly, turning.
Simmons. She looked surprised and a little wary, hesitating in the doorway.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know anyone was here. I’ll just leave you al—”
“No!”
Fitz took a step towards her, then looked away, rubbing a hand behind his neck.
“Er, I mean, stay. You can stay. If you want. I was just making tea, if you—”
“Oh, yes please. Great minds think alike, I suppose.” Jemma smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She stepped gingerly into the dark, cavernous kitchen, her footsteps echoing softly off the walls. Her hair was pulled back into a low bun at the nape of her neck. She’d changed out of the clothes she’d been wearing during the day in favor of comfortable pants and a threadbare grey sweater she’d had since their Sci Ops days.
Fitz reached for another mug from the cupboard.
“Oh no, Fitz, not that one, the color is ghastly.” He couldn’t help but grin as he chose a more muted mug. For a moment she had sounded like the Jemma he knew. But when he turned back, the voice didn’t match the woman before him, curled in on herself as she perched on one of the stools that surrounded the counter.
Thoughts drifted into his mind of a few days before, when Coulson had called them all together for debriefing after the mission. Fitz hadn’t been able to look at Jemma, and when the director had reached the part about what Fitz had done, what he had to do, he’d nearly gotten up and bolted from the room.
He poured the tea, adding sugar to his mug and milk to Jemma’s, just the way he knew she liked it. She accepted the mug gratefully and wrapped her hands around its warmth. Fitz sat, too, sinking onto a stool.
During the debriefing, Jemma had been a consummate professional. She’d kept her face passive and unreadable but for the glistening tears that threatened to spill from her eyes.
He’d wanted desperately to explain, to tell her he was sorry, to fix it somehow.
But he hadn’t had the strength to face her.
The quiet of the empty kitchen settled around them. They sat in silence, sipping tea. Fitz glanced occasionally at Jemma, both wishing that he could read her mind and feeling grateful that he couldn’t.
“I know it’s strange,” said Jemma suddenly. She spoke to her teacup, eyes lowered. “But this reminds me of my first year at the Academy. My residence hall had a common area with a small kitchenette. I was always up later than the others, working on one project or another. I just couldn’t seem to put the work away. Everything we were doing, all of the technologies available to S.H.I.E.L.D. that I had never dreamed of, it was all fascinating to me.
“Anyway, it would get quite late and I simply wouldn’t be able to think anymore, but I’d be so wired that I couldn’t sleep, either. I’d go to the kitchen, make myself a cup of tea, and just sit there in the quiet and the dark. It was…peaceful.”
Fitz gazed at her, watching her fingers wind around the mug. It was the most she had spoken to him since he’d returned from Maveth, the most she had said to him beyond what was required to do their jobs. He couldn’t be sure that she really was speaking to him, or simply filling the space between them with words. He didn’t care either way.
Jemma’s face was hidden in shadow, and he couldn’t read the expression in her eyes. His mind supplied the image of her searching face as he’d stepped out of the containment pod, her eyes asking a thousand questions that he couldn’t answer. He remembered the way her body had felt as she collapsed against him in tears. Heavy. Like she couldn’t hold herself up anymore.
You’re back. You made it back. Thank god, thank god, thank god.
Fitz had held her until her tears slowed, until the rest of the team had left and they were alone. And all the while he wondered: did she wish it was Will who had made it back? If she had been able to choose, is this what she would have chosen?
The dull itch plaguing his nose chose now to make itself known. His nose tickled fiercely and he sniffed, trying to curb the urge, but the insistent irritation made his breath falter. He brought the crook of his arm to his nose and stifled a forceful sneeze.
“H’nngck!”
“Bless you.”
He sniffled, nodded thanks, and searched unsuccessfully in his pockets for a tissue or handkerchief. Noticing his need, Jemma pushed a stack of paper napkins closer to him.
“Thanks…” But he wasn’t quite done. “Heh…Ah’dccsh!” He caught the second sneeze in a few napkins. “Sorry. Thanks.”
Fitz repressed a shiver. The longer he sat, the heavier his head felt. And the longer he watched Jemma avoid his eyes, the more exhausted he became. The kitchen at two o’clock in the morning had not been as peaceful as he’d hoped and, for the first time in days, the thought of bed sounded appealing. He got heavily to his feet.
“More tea?” Jemma asked, reaching for the pot.
“Not for me. I should…be getting to bed.” He began piling the tea things in the sink.
“Oh, I can do that,” Jemma said, starting to rise. “You made the tea, I’ll clear it up.”
“No, no, it’s fine. It’s not a problem,” said Fitz, running the water to rinse the spoons. “You should get to bed, too. You’re meant to be analyzing those soil samples tomorrow. Could be a long day.”
“Bed. Yes.” The look on her face sent pins and needles through his chest. It was the same look she gave her projects when the results didn’t turn out how she expected—eyebrows knit together with a slight frown tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“Thanks for the tea, Fitz. And the company. Much better than sitting in the dark by myself.”
He picked up a dish towel, wringing his hands in its folds.
“Any time. Really.”
She smiled, and suddenly he felt warm from the inside out. And then she was leaving, walking so slowly her feet were almost dragging. She wouldn’t be sleeping any time soon, he thought. Just being around him had probably brought back too many terrible memories. The thought made him shiver even more.
His nose tickled fiercely, and before he could think, he was muffling a sneeze into the dish towel.
“Ah’dcchsh!” His head gave a small throb and he resisted the urge to let out another groan.
“Fitz.”
Sniffling, he looked up through watering eyes.
“Get some rest. Please.”
He gave a small smile.
“I will, Jemma. Thanks.”
He turned back to the sink and finished the washing up, replacing the teapot, spoons, mugs and tin of tea leaves just where he’d found them. It looked as though they had never been here. Jemma already seemed miles away.
Fitz moved just as slowly through the corridors as he had on his way to the kitchen, trying not to sniffle too loudly. But he sped up as he approached his own room, noticing something lying on the floor in front of the door. He reached down and picked it up.
A small bottle of bright red Nyquil. And a piece of notebook paper with one word written in tidy script.
Sleep.