Disclaimer: Despite my best wishes, they don't belong to me.

He's alive. He's alive. He'salivehe'salivehe'salive. The words blurred together in her mind. Staring down at Fitz's motionless body, his hand limp in hers, it was all that she could cling to. He's alive and his heart is beating.

She blocked out words like brain damage, reduced motor function and amnesia. He's alive and his heart is beating. She would refuse to accept anything else.


After two weeks with no change, she started to get angry. Angry at the team for their pitying looks. Angry at Ward for causing this, angry at the doctors for not fixing him. Just fix him dammit!, she screamed at them before breaking down. And angry at him.

Angry at him for making her function (barely) without him. Angry for not being a better swimmer (he would take lessons when he woke up, she swore to Darwin). Angry at him for doing the math and for pushing the damn button. But mostly, angry at him for refusing to believe the worst of Ward until given a good reason. Is this reason enough? She had shouted at him one night after all the doctors and nurses had left.


She still hadn't left his bedside. The stack of medical journals on anoxic brain damage grew by the day and as she read through them, she shared her findings with him.

I mean really Fitz, if you wanted a monkey assistant that badly, surely there are better ways to demand one. But if it's that important, I'll make Coulson get one for you. You just need to wake up.

Three weeks and he still had shown no signs of improvement. These things take time, a nurse cheerfully reminded her. At least he's not getting worse. Jemma swore Skye was rubbing off on her because she never wanted to punch anyone so badly as she did in that moment. Ok, so maybe she was still a little mad.


Four more weeks had passed with no change. If she thought sleep was difficult to come by in the beginning weeks, it was damn near impossible now. Every time she drifted off, her body would violently jerk itself awake, her mind racing, terrified that he would slip away while she was not paying attention. She had large bags under her eyes and her normally pale flesh had become nearly transparent. She couldn't remember the last time she showered, let alone ate properly.

It had been nearly two months ago, but Jemma could recall their last movie night vividly. They were huddled close in her bunk, a large bowl of popcorn between them, cold beers on the nightstand. You jump, I jump, Jack, Rose declared to Jack onscreen.

She traced errant patterns on his cool palm before laying her head next to his. You die, I die, Leo.


Two more weeks passed. The warm summer air was giving way to fall's crisp evening breeze. Finally, she took his hand and threaded her other into his tangled curls. "You're more than that too Leo," she whispered. "Please," she kissed his cheek, her tears splashing against his face, "please come back to me."


Note: I haven't written anything in years, so hopefully this isn't too terrible.