Fitzsimmons 2

Soft

Quick Note: I love cuddly Fitzsimmons more than kissy Fitzsimmons so...

Post 3.10

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There was a time for heat and passion, and there was a time for quiet and calm. Fitz had known the second he'd seen her heartbreakingly desperate face crumble with relief at the sight of him, that it was going to be soft, quiet time for awhile. He preferred the soft quietness over the angry, too-fast kiss they'd shared, and there was no way he'd wish more was happening between them than her arms wrapped around his shoulders, sheltering him from everything she could.

Jemma hadn't let go of his hand the whole ride back to base, and her pasty little face, marked with red spots that made his stomach churn, rested against his shoulder, her eyes closed, as they hung in the air, in in-between space. Not yet escaped from the shock and pain from the castle, but already beginning a hurt-filled recovery at HQ. He could see her physical pain in the way she breathed carefully, stuttering when a bruise was pressed too sharply. He could see her emotional pain through the trembling of her lips every few minutes and the smooth, shimmering trail of moisture spreading across her cheeks.

Fitz just wanted to hold her, help her to feel safe and loved. He wasn't sure that she'd ever fully recover from all she's been through, but maybe he could help her feel less guilty.  Jemma blamed herself for anything and everything.  Maybe he could help her to forget.

He walked her to the lab when they reached base, putting some distance between their shoulders yet keeping their fingers intertwined.  One of the lab techs helped bandage her up, applied some ointment to the bruises on her wrists and the ugly gashes torn up and down her back.  He fixed up himself with the kit while he watched her shudder under each touch of a bandage, bending away from the sting of the white cream.

He helped her to her room, asked if she needed help with her clothes, her shower, anything.  She shook her head no.  He told her it was okay, that he'd wait for her outside if she wanted.  She nodded.  He leant against the brick wall of the hallway as the water played behind him.

When she knocked on her side of the door a few minutes later, he entered the room to see her wearing a big loose shirt and athletic shorts.  Just as he opened his mouth to speak, she coiled herself around him, arms around his torso and fingers dug into his lower back as she tried to hold in sobs.

Fitz stepped further inside and closed the door gently before winding his arms gently around her back, lightly smoothing his hands over the cotton shirt, ghosting over the tough scabs already formed there.

"I'm so sorry, Jemma," he managed to whisper through a tight throat and the top of her head resting against his lips.  He left it at that, not sure what to say sorry for.  Sorry that Ward hurt her, sorry that he wasn't strong enough, sorry that Will didn't come back.  She let out a constricted sob against his chest, and he nearly pulled her tighter before remembering her fragility.

They stood that way for awhile, Jemma's arms slowly loosening their grip at his waist, Fitz nuzzling her hair and tracing gentle patterns into her spine.  He always thought her crooked, scoliosis-ridden backbone was one of her many beautiful quirks, and to see her flinching at the smallest touch now had him in tears.

"You never deserved any of this, Jemma.  Not the torture, not losing Will, none of it," Fitz whispered, voice breaking so weakly.  He hated that he couldn't shoulder this for himself, much less for both of them.

She quaked softly in his arms before the sob escaped her, and this time he shifted where his arms were and did pull her close, anchor her to his chest.  He wanted to tell her that he loved her, that he'd always be with her, but he didn't want to upset her more, so instead he asked if she wanted him to stay.

"Please," she said like she had to beg him.  Like he was the only person left who hadn't left her.  And then he was crumbling, his tears coming quicker.  Jemma stretched up and kissed them away while Fitz tried to recompose himself for her.

"Fitz," she called to him, eyes only a few inches from his.  "I know I'm being so completely selfish by asking you this-" He shook his head no, never, then leant forward and placed fleeting kisses to her wet cheeks, her soft temples, her hairline, her nose.  Her breathing picked up, and she rested her chin on his shoulder, too emotionally spent to keep up.

"Stay with me.  Forever."

Fitz nodded, managing a small, sad smile curved up against her shoulder.  "You're my everything," he breathed, hoping to reassure her that he'd stay as long as she needed.

"I'm so glad it wasn't you," Jemma broke against him, letting her cries carry her away.  "And it sounds terrible because I miss him so bloody much, and I should be grieving and letting my sadness consume me, and I know it's what I deserve after all the blood on my hands, but-"

"I'm not letting you, Jemma," Fitz finished for her, letting her waves of sorrow break upon him.  He'd drown in her if she asked.  "You'd never deserve that, no one would, and I'm not letting you blame yourself, because none of it was your fault, do you realize that?  None of it."

"I killed him," she insisted, shaking against his chest.

"No you didn't, and neither did I.  That thing did, and it's dead and gone now.  Never hurt us again."

He knew she'd never believe it on her own, so he laid heavy kisses to her head, wanting to wash away the guilt fraying at her pretty mind.  She relaxed into him, never really stopped crying, but he gently nudged her towards her bed.  Sleep and time could fix almost any problem.  She'd be better off in the morning, better off next week.

But for now, he'd hold her and she'd hold him, and they'd drift off together.