Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize.

Just got done watching T.R.A.C.K.S. and had to do some processing of my own. Fitz and Simmons are my favorites, so they are the ones processing for me. Hope you enjoy. :) Please leave a review if you are able to! I'd love to hear it!

Shaken

"Until then, I will do everything in my power to keep her alive."

Jemma wheeled and walked out of the room, her mind as numb as her tone of voice. Storage room, storage room, she thought. Her thoughts wouldn't stop swirling, and it was very disconcerting. Not to mention inconvenient. Usually, when faced with a medical emergency, her mind clicked calmly into checklist mode, with the certainty of knowing what to do next. This...this was completely different.

She opened several drawers. What was it she was looking for? Gauze. Gauze to pack the... The image of Skye's bloodstained shirt and pale complexion flashed before her, and her hands fumbled with the package. Gauze. Gauze. She glanced down and was suddenly horrified to see the blotches of Skye's blood all over her own hands. Gauze. She ripped off a piece and began scrubbing at her hands vigorously, her head spinning.

Fitz's hand on her shoulder suddenly brought clarity to the maelstrom of her emotion. The overwhelming fear and grief she'd been fighting down since Coulson first called her name - oh, God, she'd known what that tone in his voice meant - came bubbling up and engulfed her. She collapsed into Fitz's arms, trying to keep her bloodstained hands away from his clothing as she broke down.

Fitz had watched her walk out of the room and knew she was on the verge of breaking. Simmons faced with a medical emergency was usually upbeat - serious, yes, but full of optimism and excitement to use her latest tool or technique to fix the problem. But they both knew this was bad. Fitz knew how much Skye had begun to mean to Simmons. And after watching Seth die in front of her just a few days ago... This was more shaken than Fitz had ever seen his best friend.

After a moment, he turned wordlessly and followed her to the supply closet. He found her desperately scrubbing at her hands - the way he had once when he'd accidentally stuck his fingers into one of her dissection projects. Without a thought, Fitz enfolded her in his arms. He wasn't much for physical contact - it usually made him uncomfortable - but he didn't matter in this moment. Skye did. And Jemma. And he wasn't just concerned about her for Skye's sake.

It seemed like a long time before Jemma's sobs quieted, though in reality it was only a few minutes.

She pressed into him, drawing strength from the stability of his arms around her. Fitz. Fitz was solid and stable in the midst of all this insanity. Fitz was safe. He was here. And they were going to fix this - together.

She let out a last gasping sob and then heaved a shuddery breath. She tried to pull back, but he knew she wasn't ready and held her gently for a moment longer. She heard his low voice just beside her ear.

"Jemma. I'm so glad Skye has you. If anyone can keep her alive until we get to a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, it's you."

He paused.

"I'm here," he continued. "You're not alone. We can do this. Together." He squeezed her against him a little more tightly, reassuringly.

Jemma looked up into his blue eyes, wavy from the tears still standing in her own. She managed a small, tight smile. They both knew Skye's condition was grievous. She had lost so much blood, and... But Fitz's eyes held her, kept her from allowing herself to tumble into despair. It was as if he threw a lifeline deep into her soul that enabled her to get atop these tempestuous waves of emotion.

She drew a deep, ragged breath and nodded. Fitz nodded back and dropped his arms from around her.

"Right, then," he said. "What do you need?"

With that, Simmons' thoughts clicked neatly and blessedly into place, and she began running down the list of necessary supplies and tasks for Fitz to complete. She filed the critical medical interventions into a tidy chronological checklist in her mind, grabbed the first few tools and a good pair of gloves, and headed back into the lab. Fitz wasn't far behind.

As Jemma completed her work on Skye some time later, she felt fatigue tugging at her composure. She knew she didn't have much time before her emotions again overwhelmed her capacity for rational thought. She addressed Agent Coulson, who was standing beside the hyperbaric chamber, knuckles still white as he gripped it and mouth firmly set in an unreadable expression.

"Sir, I've stabilized her for the time being. She is..." Simmons's voice cracked, and she took a deep breath before continuing. "She is very close, sir, and she certainly doesn't have long. But if we can get her to a medical facility within the next hour or two, she has the very best chance." Her voice wavered again, and she looked over to Fitz, whose steady eyes were fixed on her. He nodded. She went on. "There is nothing more we can really do for her at this point, sir. Only wait. And..." - she swallowed hard - "and hope."

Coulson nodded. He didn't look up from Skye. "May said the plane should touch down in about forty-five minutes. We'll take it from here. Go get some rest."

"Sir, is there anything I can do for you?" she asked.

"No, Fitzsimmons. Thank you." Coulson's voice was strained, and his edgy body language evidenced the depth of his concern about Skye.

"Sir, you should rest as well," Jemma implored. "The instruments will alert us to any change in her condition."

Coulson simply shook his head. Simmons knew better than to push it, so she turned to leave.

Fitz was immediately at her side, and she was glad of it, for her knees buckled on the way out of the lab, and she would have collapsed had it not been for his hand at her elbow, steadying her. He half-carried her upstairs and toward her bunk. Her eyes were blinded by tears again by the time they reached the top. She was thankful that he was navigating.

Fitz opened the door to her pod and lifted her inside, setting her carefully on the little footstool she kept there. He tilted her head back to rest against the wall, kissed her on the forehead, and mumbled "I'll be back" before disappearing down the hall. He returned a moment later with some disinfectant wipes, with which he began gently to scrub her hands. Jemma closed her eyes and wept silently, feeling the tears trace lines down her face, carrying away the stress hormones that had coursed through her body for the last three hours. She let the tears flow quietly until the first hiccuping sob slipped out, and then tried vainly to calm herself.

Fitz touched her cheek gently and said shortly, "Don't hold it in, Jemma. Let it out."

Then the floodgates were opened again, and she crumpled over, her face buried in her knees, shoulders shaking and every breath heaving. Minutes passed. She cried until her knees were soaked through with tears and trails of snot ran from her nostrils. She was vaguely aware that Fitz had stopped scrubbing her hands, and then she felt something soft stuffed into them. Tissue. As she wiped her eyes and nose, Fitz knelt close and rubbed her back.

"It's ok," he said. "It's ok."

They both knew it wasn't necessarily true. But Jemma clung to his words anyway. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then opened them and looked up at him.

"Oh, Fitz. What if she...?" She couldn't finish. Her sight clouded again and the pressure inside her chest threatened to intensify into sobs once more.

Fitz had no easy answer. He wrapped his arms around Jemma's shoulders. "Thank God you're here," he repeated huskily. "I don't know anyone more qualified to give Skye a fighting chance." He swallowed hard and fought down his own sense of culpability. Simmons needed him right now. If he couldn't be a hero for Skye, he could be a hero for Simmons. Right now.

Simmons nodded. "Fitz, I'm...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I wish we were back at Sci-Ops right now. Then we wouldn't..." Her voice broke and she buried her face in her hands.

His voice rumbled in her ear. "If you weren't here, Skye might be dead already, Jems," he said tenderly but firmly. "And I..." He paused and thought, then added quietly, "I wouldn't want to be anywhere that you're not."

He kissed her on the crown of the head and tilted her face up to look in her eyes. "You need to get some rest," he said firmly. He gestured toward her bed, where he had laid out some of her favorite pajamas. "Get changed. I can take your things down to laundry. And tuck you in when you're ready." There wasn't a hint of mirth or irony in his suggestion to tuck her in, and Simmons was glad.

When he shut the door, it took a moment for her to summon the strength to stand and change. She pushed her dirty clothes out the door and pulled back the covers on her bed, climbing up to lay her head on the pillow.

When Fitz returned from the laundry area, he found her fast asleep, breathing deeply and peacefully, jaw slack and lips parted. With a strained smile, he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and arranged the covers around her.

Satisfied that she was comfortable and would be adequately warm, Fitz knelt beside the bed and studied her face. Lovely arching eyebrows, full lips that, he was glad to see, had lost their grimace of worry in the peace of sleep.

He thought back to that moment in the luggage car where he had thought for a split second that he'd lost her. Despite his own gnawing guilt and worry over the young woman who lay brushing up against death in the lab, he was deeply relieved that this young woman was safe. He leaned in close to kiss her hair and rested there for a moment, breathing in the scent of her before mumbling, "Good night, Jemma."

Then he headed quietly to his pod to wrestle with his own demons until fatigue overtook him.