Summary: "His skin glistens against the white sheets and blank walls; he looks paler than usual, strips of his messy hair stuck to his forehead." Simmons visits Fitz in the hospital.
Warning/Spoiler: None.
Rating: K+/PG
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Fitz/Simmons

Author's Note: Originally posted on Tumblr 12/17 and based on a tumblr post that semi-inspired the idea for this fic.

His skin glistens against the white sheets and blank walls; he looks paler than usual, strips of his messy hair stuck to his forehead. Simmons walks over slowly, her arms around herself, her eyes unable to stray from his closed eyelids.

When she almost trips over the hospital bed, Simmons hisses and rubs her toe, leaning against the bedframe. And that's when she notices that Fitz is awake – eyes still cloudy, but his lips slowly turning upwards.

"Hey," says Fitz, pushing himself up. Simmons immediately moves to help him arrange his pillows. "Coulson let you come in first?" She nods, her hands still lingering by his shoulders; she stays seated right beside him. Fitz surprises her when his hand latches onto hers, settling softly on the sheets. "Probably sent you in to soften the blow."

"He was worried about you, Fitz."

"I know." He sighs. She's watching his face and the tiny ripples at the corners of his eyes; but he's just looking at her hand, his thumb lightly tapping against her wrist, the rest of his fingers hanging loosely off her palm. "So what have they got me on?"

Simmons forces herself to look over at the IV bag. "Just morphine. For the – the pain." The word sticks to her throat; it's tar scratching down her insides.

Fitz sighs again, this time squeezing her hand. "I'm okay, Jemma."

"Barely," she says. "If May hadn't gotten there – "

"But she did." Fitz pulls himself up again, but this time he pulls her too. "When you jumped out of an airplane to save us, and Ward saved you, you told me I was the hero."

"That was different," says Simmons, shaking her head. But she follows his thoughts, an already solved problem worked out together ages ago.

"I couldn't have wired the device without you, Jemma, and I wouldn't have gotten out of there alive without you. I would not be here without you." Fitz shakes his head. "For a genius, you're really daft sometimes."

"Fitz – "

"No," he says, her hand now in his lap, but his eyes deadlocked onto hers. "I don't care – when you're dangling between life and death you don't have time to think. Just to feel." His voice is rising, but Simmons can hear the cracks in their thinly designed veil now – those lines blur right before her. "And I didn't think of Skye or my robots or even that damn monkey Coulson promised me – "

"I don't think – "

But Fitz doesn't hear her, because words are tumbling out of his mouth; it's a waterfall, each droplet another crystal reflecting back her own eyes in his. "I thought of you, Jemma – and if that ruins whatever we have now, I don't care anymore, because we – this is a dangerous line of work you got us into and I don't think I can wait until the next time one of us is almost dying – "

"Fitz – "

" – and that seems to be happening way too often and I would like to change that if possible and if Coulson is going to kill me at least I've told you and maybe I can use this as leverage to get that monkey because he did promise – "

"Fitz – "

" – and I think having a monkey would be amazing, especially if you helped me name him – but nothing lame like Rory because we are not naming him after one of the worst companions the franchise has ever had – "

"LEO."

Fitz blinks and in that time, Simmons outlines his face with her gaze. Wrinkles frame his eyes, but she knows it's worry – his worry collects in his heartbeat and Simmons wonders if their hearts are as in sync as their minds.

But then she kisses him and she knows they are; because Fitz's hand squeezes hers and Simmons breathes him in – despite the stale odor of hospital, there's the underlining musk of steel and cinnamon, ofhome. The tingling on her lips lingers even when she moves away, letting the mere inches between them erase the uncertainty circling his eyes.

Fitz opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. He shakes his head instead; Simmons can see the millions of thoughts pushed aside. "You called me Leo," he says, the disbelief masking the hope and relief that Simmons hears hidden between each word. "You haven't called me Leo since – well – "

Simmons just laughs, tears reflecting his eyes in hers.