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Fitz was so overwhelmed that he had to walk away from the computer and take a breath. When Jemma had asked him to retrieve the data on her phone, he'd expected a few pictures and voice notes, but there was nothing that could have prepared him for the way she poured out her soul into that video. She thought about him? About them? She thought about . . . she thought about things he never could have dreamed. He took a few breaths in and out, shaking out his trembling hand and wiping his tears with the other. It was the answer to the question he'd spent six months asking, and it hit him with so much force that the didn't know what to do with it.
As he gave himself time to let the truth of it wash over him, let it soak through his skin and seep into his heart, he felt a calm that brought his breathing back to normal. But it came with a strange kind of wanting that lead him right back to the computer screen. There had to be more than that; there had to be something else she'd said that would make this make sense.
It didn't take him too long until he found it: another video file, this one made minutes after the first one. He pressed play without thinking.
"Fitz," she said, still tired, still fighting, "I thought I could just turn this off, but this might be the end, and . . ." She squeezed her eyes shut, as if to cry, but her body would be too drained to make tears. "Fitz, there's just . . . there's something I have to say, and I'll never be at peace with myself if I don't . . ." She bit her lip and stared at the screen in perfect helplessness before she continued. "I said I think about our dinner, but the truth is . . . the truth is that we don't need all that. I don't at least. Do you remember that first Thanksgiving we had at SciOps? The Americans all left, and we were stuck there together. You, um . . ."
She paused as a smile crept from one corner of her mouth to the other. "You insisted on a big feast, of course, but neither of us knew anything about cooking, so we ended up at one of those twenty-four hour diners. We tried everything—turkey, mashed potatoes, yams. I remember the look on the waiter's face when you asked him what the cranberry sauce was for. And, um, it was cold that night, but you said it wouldn't be a holiday if we didn't see the stars, so we tried that. But it was cloudy, Fitz! And freezing! But you know, all I can see is stars here, and all I can think about is that night, sitting in some park on lawn chairs, looking up and imagining the stars we couldn't see. We talked until the sun came up." She averted her eyes, almost bashfully, but her smile only widened.
"I'd give anything to go back to that night, knowing what I know now." She took in a shaky breath and licked her chapped lips. "We could, uh, we could start over. Stop ourselves from wasting all that time. But I don't know if it's really wasted, Fitz, because we were together. That's all that matters, really, not the restaurant we go to or the food we eat, but that I get to be there with you." She winced when she coughed, and he could only imagine how dry her throat must be. "I meant what I said, Fitz, I mean all of it. And if there's a chance that you'll see this, even if I'm . . . even if it's too late. I need you to know that. I need you to know that I . . ." She looked off into the distance, seemingly lost in her own thoughts, and Fitz found himself at the edge of his seat, dying to know what she wanted to tell him. "Well, I think you know by now, what I want. Just y— just don't forget that. No matter what happens." She shrugged one shoulder. "It's just always been true, so I . . . nothing can change it, I think. Not even whatever I have in store for me." She gave a sad, weak smile, and the video stopped.
It took Fitz a good ten minutes before he ran out of tears.
"You know," said Fitz, reaching over her to grab a Lunchable, "you were right."
"Of course I was." She replied easily as a smug grin spread over her face. "But you'll have to be more specific."
Fitz chuckled to himself as he looked through a window to see a plane land on the tarmac. He felt a pang of jealousy pierce him. After all, how fair was it that other people could leave this miserable airport while their flight was delayed? But when she came into his line of sight, with her expectant eyes and a crumb at the corner of her mouth, he forgot about everything else.
"Well," he said, taking her hand in his, "you said that the best sort of date was just us being together." He ducked his head to hide his blush. "And it is."
She scoffed at him, still smiling. "Well I, for one, expect that it will be much more pleasant in the Seychelles, provided we ever get there." She looks him over, then snuggles up to him with her head on his shoulder. "But this isn't so bad."
No, it wasn't, Fitz thought, because the universe had tried to tear them apart, but here they were, side by side and closer than ever.
And that, he knew, was how it would always be.