Fitzsimmons

Paging Dr. Simmons

Quick note: I have a LOT of stuff in my archives whoops...

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The third time Fitz showed up in Dr. Simmons' office, she began to wonder exactly how idiotic the man was. First it was a fractured wrist. Two months later he came in limping, with a sprained ankle. Now, just over a month since his last visit, he presented a dark bruised torso beneath his grumpy cat t-shirt.

"It hurts to breathe," Fitz said, and it almost sounded like he was boasting about his remarkable tendency to breaking bones.

"Most likely a broken rib," Simmons replied, pulling on elastic clear gloves and bending a bit to better see the injury. "May I?" she asked, peering up to meet Fitz's gaze.

"Go ahead," Fitz blurt a bit too enthusiastically. Dr. Simmons nearly laughed. Instead, she began prodding at the soft skin around the bruised spot, slightly surprised at the muscle she felt beneath. No offense to Fitz, of course, but he always seemed like the type of guy who reclines in a gaming chair all day and immerses himself in virtual realities. Or the tabletop gaming type. Or the type that collects comics and goes to conventions and dresses up in unflattering spandex. Or all three.

Never had she expected him to have strong, well-defined muscles. Maybe it's because he was always wearing loose-fitting nerdy shirts or sweaters.

She soon realized her fingers had stilled, digging deep into the purplish patch of skin, right over where the fracture was. She looked up, and Fitz was wincing, biting his tongue hard, from the looks of it.

"Sorry," Dr. Simmons apologized, taking her hand off of him, then removing the gloves.

" 'S fine." He was smiling, but she could tell it still hurt.

"Well, it's definitely a broken rib, maybe two. Can I schedule you for an X-ray to be sure?"

"Um, yeah," Fitz replied, pulling out his phone.

"I can get you an appointment at five," Simmons offered, checking through the office schedule. She already knew the open times, but the feel of his skin was still burned into her mind, and she needed a distraction. What had just happened to the professionalism she'd taken so much pride in?

"Sounds great," Fitz replied with a grin, which showed off at least four chipped teeth. Really, how did he get himself into these messes?

"Um, I took the bus here, and I kind of need to save up my money, what with doctor's appointments and such, so could I just stay here?"

"There's a waiting room outside," Simmons pointed out, typing away at the form permitting Fitz into the radiology wing.

"I was wondering if I could stay sat in here," Fitz said cautiously, and Jemma diverted her eyes from the screen. Really? This was fairly forward of a patient. "I mean, I would appreciate not having to move much, what with my ribs hurt like they are."

Simmons just stared at him for awhile. Was this- all of this- just some twisted form of flirting? Was Fitz appearing in her office monthly, with a new injury each time, just to talk with her? That would be ridiculous, right? Yeah, Fitz was probably just an idiot. Or clumsy. He was the awkward type. Slightly attractively awkward, maybe?

Damn. The muscle memory again.

"Sure, you can stay," Simmons declared before she could stop herself, and covered up her regret by hurriedly finishing the form still open on her computer. What had she gotten herself into?

"Thanks," Fitz said appreciatively, then shifted his weight onto his wrists and swung himself into a better sitting position. He grimaced the whole time, and Simmons felt a surge of sympathy overtake her. She wasn't this sympathetic with any of her other patients. Not even the children with broken wrists from being pushed off the swing set at school. Everyone was just a patient, a fixer-upper. Worrying about the injured won't heal them.