Fitz knew before she’d explained her story. Perhaps he’d always known. Jemma would find happiness with someone else. But she was alive and he could help keep her safe, that had to be enough.
The uncertainty had been a cancer and he had been trapped, every moment, every word analyzed, searching for a cure. But he was now the terminal patient, the stress in his chest releasing – at least now he knew he’d have time to say goodbye.
They worked mostly in silence, falling back into old patterns, anticipating one another’s movements and thoughts like a well choreographed dance. Words were useless now, the pressure to speak gone. They were the same together – and different.
Between the lines, Fitz slowly erased himself from the lab, secret stashes of pretzels disappearing, his signature trail of gadgets slowly lost to permanent homes.
They would rescue Will and Fitz would leave. They would become Fitz and Simmons, if they weren’t already.
Jemma had been back for months and she still had nightmares, the heat of them lingering on her skin after she had been thrust awake. By now she knew there was no falling back asleep so she kissed Will’s warm shoulder and left him softly snoring as she plodded to the kitchen.
Sometimes it was nice being the only one awake, silence penetrating every corner, leaving Jemma alone with her thoughts. She would never stop expecting to look up and see Fitz, arms crossed around himself, soulful eyes piercing into the very core of her. Somehow he’d always been there when she couldn’t sleep, forcing a warm mug of tea into her hands. She missed that – their habit of knowing without speaking, the familiarity of him in her space.
She’d been split apart, Fitz with half her heart, starting over in a new lab, and Will with the other, asleep in her bed. She would have cried if there was enough left of her to make tears.
Jemma hadn’t asked him to leave, hadn’t wanted him to, but she understood. It was time he did something for himself.