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He knows that it’s neither the time nor place, but as he’s watching her take off her shirt he catches a glimpse of the scars that congregate around her lower abdomen.
He’s seen them before, obviously. He’s traced those scars with his fingers, kissing them gently as if his lips and his touch and his love could somehow erase them from her skin and her mind.
But this time, it’s different.
And so although it’s neither the time nor the place, Fitz decides he’s going to tell her.
“Jemma,” Fitz murmurs, hoping that she hears him and doesn’t hear him all the same.
It’s only a whisper, but to him her name rings in his ears like thunder- roaring and bellowing with torment and pain, and it’s suddenly like he’s back in that room strapped to the chair and listening to her screams.
He has to focus on his breathing, remember that it’s not his whisper that booms in his ears, but the waves that crash against the sand below, and he’s not sitting tied to a chair but in their bed, leaning against the headboard.
(and, like always, her voice brings him back)
“Yeah?” Jemma questions, rummaging through the drawers and her back towards him. Twisting the sheets in his hands, Fitz looks at the white ceiling and blinks slowly before he says it:
“I killed him.”
He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and willing the strength to look at her. Jemma turns around, a pajama shirt bunched in her hand and her eyebrows narrowed, head cocked to the side.
Her eyes meet his, and he hears her inhale before she responds and her voice is soft and patient. “Killed who, Fitz?”
His eyes don’t leave hers when he answers.
“Giyera.”
Fitz doesn’t know what he expected, telling her that he killed the man who tortured her for hours leaving her with mental and physical scars. He wanted to tell her as soon he saw her after, but in the wake of Lincoln’s death it felt dishonorable to speak of how he himself had ended a life.
And its seems dishonorable and disgusting to Fitz now, that everytime he thinks of Giyera’s face as the bullets tore through his chest, he feels satisfied.
(she always says she feels better with him as her second pair of eyes. Well, if that’s true, then she’s his first)
He watches as Jemma quickly pulls on the shirt, not even bothering to shut the drawer before she bounds to the bed, the mattress squeaking as she clambers over to him, finally wrapping her arms around his middle.
“Good,” Jemma declares in a whisper, nuzzling her head against the curve of his neck, “I’m glad he’s dead.”
Taking his hand in hers, and intertwining their fingers, she shifts closer to him, lifting her face slightly to catch his eyes.
Jemma’s voice rings with conviction.
“He deserved to die.”
(but that wasn’t the question)
“Jemma,” he reaches up and twirls a strand of her hair, and she rubs her thumb against the back of his hand. “Jemma, it was in self-defense, but… but a part of me liked it.”
At first she doesn’t say anything, and then she says everything.
“Of course you did, Fitz. As you should. This was the man who, before being controlled by Hive, killed Mr. Banks and those other agents, tortured me and therefore by extension you, hurt god knows how many other people and the list just goes on and on and on,” Jemma unlocks their hands and places hers on his cheek, directing Fitz to look at her and her eyes are aflame with a ferocity he’s barely seen and for a moment it takes his breath away.
“I’m glad that he can’t hurt anyone else anymore. I’m glad that no one else scars on their bodies like me, or have scars on their mind like you. I’m glad he’s dead.”
Fitz nods, and Jemma’s fingers stroke his cheek before she lightly kisses him, somehow channeling so much love into a small kiss before she drops her hand and snuggles closer.
He feels better already, though he doesn’t know if it was her words or her presence that calmed his thoughts and his guilt, or if it was a combination of both.
Before he knows it, light filters through the blinds and Jemma’s still asleep on his chest and he realizes that they might both have scars but the wounds don’t hurt so badly when he’s with her.
(and they don’t hurt so bad when she’s with him, either)