Archive of Our Own ^beta

She’s not sure what she expected their reunion to be like, and yet, when they find Enoch’s ship and the Chronicom wakes Fitz up mere months after having frozen him, when the capsule opens and Fitz looks so confused and yet so happy, and he kisses her, and her world seems to become whole again, she has to admit that maybe it’s better than she could have ever imagined or that maybe any version of their reunion would have been perfect.

But once he learns the truth about time and the loop and what had happened while he’d been in cryo, something seems to shift inside of him. He withdraws, becomes quiet. She catches him looking at her, with longing, with love, and yet he never smiles and he never dares touch her anymore, or kiss her, or even just stand close to her, and her aching heart returns with a vengeance. This time it’s not breaking because she’s lost him, but because maybe he didn’t want to be found, not like this.

She swallows her pain, her tears, her fears. She puts on a smile, she seeks him out, tries to talk about the past he’s been a part of, about the past he’s missed, about the future, but he never meets her eyes.

She knows it’s not quite fair to go to Mack. She knows Mack still carries Fitz’s ghost on his shoulders, but she also remembers that when Fitz had lost himself before, Mack had been the one to help him find again who he was, who he’d been, who he’d become. Mack had helped him piece back together a jumbled puzzle, and she hoped he’d have the strength to do it one more time.

But when Mack comes out of Fitz’s room, his somber expression causes Jemma’s heart to sink, because it looks too much like the expression he’d worn when he walked into the lab, where she stood smiling, relieved over Coulson’s stabilizing state, until she saw Mack, and his eyes spoke more than his lips could ever say, and her world broke apart.

“I don’t think I was the right one to go to him,” Mack says, quietly, placing his hand on Jemma’s shoulder in passing and squeezing it gently.

“But he won’t talk to me,” she replies, tears clouding her vision.

A weak, sad smile flashes across Mack’s face. “Then start by listening.”

She finds him sitting on his bed, a phone in his hands, staring at the screen, his eyes glazed over.

She’d seen the video so many times, six months on an endless loop, that all she needs is to pick up the sound of a single word to know what he’s watching.

She coughs quietly to indicate who’s entered the room, because even though he’s not acknowledged that someone had interrupted his privacy, she knows he’s heard the door open and close.

He doesn’t lift his head, his eyes still fixed on Mack’s phone, but he doesn’t tell her to leave either and she decides that that’s good enough for now.

She walks over to the bed, sits down next to him, her hands folded in her lap. She can’t help but glance at the screen, can’t help but smile, seeing herself in a wedding dress pinned into place, tears in her eyes, tears in his, and yet both beaming with joy, surrounded by their friends who’d become their family.

His thumb taps the screen, pausing the video, freezing it on a shot of her and her newlywed husband.

Jemma turns her head slightly to look at him, noticing tears clinging to his lashes and yet a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

“You look so happy,” he whispers, his fingers hovering over her face on the screen.

A quiet laugh escapes her and causes him to turn his head just far enough for his eyes to meet hers.

“I had just married my best friend,” she explains, feeling almost silly that she has to say it aloud. “The person who’d been by my side since we were sixteen. The love of my life.” She pauses, losing herself in the blue of his irises which seems to light up just a little with each statement she makes.

“You,” she adds, and her heart sinks when he immediately looks away, shaking his head.

“No, not me.”

“Yes, you,” she interjects sternly.

His head shoots back in her direction, his eyes fiery with angry denial. “No. That wasn’t me. That will never be me.”

He looks back at the screen, sighing deeply. “Remember when I woke up from the coma?” he asks, his voice now barely above a whisper. “There were so many things I couldn’t remember.”

He scoffs. “Couldn’t even remember Ward had betrayed us.”

He blinks, biting his lip, staring at the small screen, the frozen image. “But it all came back. All came back eventually, because… because it was there.” He taps two fingers to his temple and she notices the slight tremor in his hand when he brings it back down to the phone.

He inhales a shaky breath, turning his head to look at her, his eyes like that of a frightened animal. “But this isn’t there. It’ll never be there. Because that wasn’t me.”

Once again he focuses on the frozen video, tightening his jaw before speaking again. “I didn’t go to the future, I wasn’t a heroic marauder breaking you free. I didn’t help find a way back. I didn’t marry you.”

“So, we’ll make new memories,” she suggests, trying to keep her voice hopeful. “We’ll get married again. We’ll—”

“Making new memories won’t erase the old ones,” he interrupts her, and despite his harsh tone, she’s glad he’s at least looking at her again. “Not for you. And some things we can never—” He stops, his chest heaving. “Coulson’s gone. He can’t be a part of this again. Hell, I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to him.”

“Yes, well,” she growls through her teeth, frustration getting the better of her, “I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to you either. Not when the ocean ripped us apart, not when the monolith took me to Maveth, not when another dimension swallowed you, not when AIDA took you from me, not when another monolith took me to the future and left you behind, and not when you died. I never got a chance to say goodbye,” she yells, tears filling her eyes. “And maybe that was a good thing, because so far not saying goodbye meant I’d see you again, I’d find you again, or you’d find me, and we’d get a second chance and a third and a fourth.”

He stares at her, gnawing on his lower lip and for a moment she thinks she’s gotten through to him, until his gaze wanders back to the video screen, and he slumps his shoulders in defeat. “You two have been through everything. You don’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve that. You deserve to be with him.”

A sarcastic single laugh escapes her. “Yes, well, ironically, he thought he didn’t deserve me. You have to admit you two have that in common.”

He doesn’t look back, just clenches his jaw harder.

Silence settles in the room, growing tighter and tighter around her body like a rope until she can’t bear it any longer.

“Fitz,” she says calmly, shifting in her seat, trying to will him to look at her, and slowly he complies.

“Whatever you think, Fitz. You’re not a second choice,” she reassures him softly. “You’ve never been a second choice. It may have taken me a decade to realize, but you’ve always been my only choice.”

“What if he hadn’t died?” he asks, fear and defeat in his eyes. “What then? Who would have been your only choice then? Would I have woken up 74 years from now, only to learn that you got a happily-ever-after with him? Would you have even remem—?”

“Of course we remembered you. He remembered you!” she exclaims, furious he would doubt her, would doubt himself. “And we agreed that we would find you and bring you back and—”

“—and then what?”

“I don’t know,” she yells, before exhaling a cleansing breath to calm herself.

“I don’t know what would have happened then,” she continues, more quietly, “but I know that it wouldn’t have changed the fact that I love you, Fitz. It wouldn’t have changed the fact that I wanted to marry you long before any of this happened, before the Framework even, before—”

He looks away again, back at the screen, before switching off the phone.

“Why aren’t you fighting for us?” she screams, balling her fists.

He shrugs, a single tear snaking down his cheek. “I don’t know how to compete against myself,” he mutters quietly.

“So that’s it?” she asks, shrugging slightly, her voice wavering. “I’m grieving him, so I’m not allowed to love you? And you don’t allow yourself to love me, because he deserved me but somehow you don’t?”

She bites her lower lip, trying in vain to push her sorrow away. “We defied the ocean, and space, and other dimensions, and virtual worlds, and time, and it was never our choice to be ripped apart, and now we have a chance to defy death, and it’s in our hands, it’s our choice, and you choose—?” She can’t bring herself to finish that sentence. “I lose you again, and you lose me, and he already lost, and nobody wins and everyone loses, and we save Earth, and our world still breaks apart.”

Her chin begins to quiver and her body begins to shake. She closes her eyes, trying to somehow keep herself composed, but the dam breaks and she can’t hold back her tears any longer. She covers her eyes, covers her mouth, trying to stifle her sobs.

She pushes herself up and rushes out the door, down the hallway, past people calling her name in concern, until she can disappear in her room, until the door falls into its lock, and she slides down the cold hard surface, pulling her knees up, burying her face and allowing herself to crack open and fall apart.

She’s not sure how long she’s been sitting on the floor, how long she’s been crying when a quiet knock makes her flinch.

She holds her breath, holds in her tears, holds in her sobs, and listens.

Once again she hears a series of knocks, a familiar rhythm that causes her to cry again, whether in relief that he’s come to see her or in despair because he’s been pushing her away, she’s not sure.

“Jemma,” he says softly, “please open up.”

She takes a shaky breath, chewing her lip, before exhaling sharply.

She clears her throat, wipes away her tears with the heels of her hands and pushes herself up to standing. Slowly, she opens the door, the sight of him almost making her crumble again.

His eyes are full of sorrow as he studies her face with worry. The corner of his mouth twitches briefly into an apologetic half-smile. His lips part as if he wished to speak, and yet all that comes out is a deep sigh.

He swallows hard, his gaze wandering to the floor, and for a moment Jemma thinks she’s allowed her heart to be hopeful again too quickly.

But then he reaches for her left hand, resting it in his palm while his thumb gently caresses her wedding ring.

“I never dreamed I could make you that happy,” he says quietly, his eyes fixed on the diamond.

A sound between a laugh and a sob emerges from her throat, raw from crying. “Oh Fitz, you’ve always made me happy.”

He looks up at her, and it’s enough for her lips to morph into a hopeful smile.

“Long before we were romantically involved,” she continues. “You were my friend when I barely had any. You were my partner. You made me laugh. You challenged me. You… you make me so happy. You—”

“Tell me I’m enough,” he pleads, barely above a whisper, his eyes wide and fearful.

She chuckles sadly, unable to resist the urge to press her palm against his cheek any longer.

“You’re not enough, Fitz,” she admits quietly, the corners of her mouth still ticked up. “Neither you, nor him, because I can never get enough of you.”

He laughs, before sniffing, shaking his head in apparent amusement. “You know that doesn’t come across quite as romantic as you probably thought.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes teasingly. “Well, you always claim to be the romantic one, so—”

“You’re right,” he interjects, his expression, his tone more somber again, “it’s ironic that he thought he didn’t deserve you, and I think he did, while not granting myself the same.”

He lifts his shoulders to his ears, before letting them drop, exhaling sharply. “And I’d be stupid to throw this chance we’ve been given away when it’s everything I’ve ever wanted, when it’s everything he would have wanted, too. Because judging by what you and the others have told me… yes, there were a lot of good memories made that I missed out on, but… but I think he wouldn’t have minded a do-over for some of the other things.”

She listens to his admission, not daring to interrupt him, her lips twitching, wanting to smile and yet still nervous to allow herself to fully feel relieved.

He presses his lips into a thin line, his gaze wandering back to her wedding ring, his thumb still playing with the diamond.

“I’ve been willing to die for you—” he continues, barely above a whisper, before looking up.

She chokes back tears, closing her eyes and nestling her face against his palm, when he curls his fingers around the nape of her neck.

“But I want you to know,” he continues, massaging her neck and remaining silent until she opens her eyes to notice the smile playing on his lips. “I want you to know that I’m willing to live for you.”

His words cause whatever composure she’d still had to crumble and break. She throws her arms around his neck, presses her body against his, and cries against his shoulder.

His arms wrap around her waist, pulling her closer, until one hand reaches for the back of her head, his fingers lovingly combing through her hair. He allows her to cry, until her sobs become more quiet, more intermittent.

She notices him shift, trying to cup her face, and reluctantly she complies, allowing him to bring enough distance between their faces to look at each other.

She holds his gaze, not quite remembering the last time he’d looked at her with such intensity and conviction.

“I’m willing to live for you,” he repeats, firmly, “and for everything he could have had and for everything we can have together, you and me. I’m choosing you. I’m choosing us. I’m choosing him and myself and—”

She kisses him with urgency, and it only takes a moment for his lips to relax, to chase after hers.

The kiss seems far too short and yet they both seem too overwhelmed not to break for air, their chests heaving.

They rest their foreheads against each other, Fitz brushing his lips against hers another time.

“So what do you want to do differently this time?” he whispers, and the feel of his breath against her skin causes the butterflies in her stomach to flutter. “Start with the wedding.”

“I wish our parents could be there,” she admits.

“Done! Next.”

She chuckles, leaning her head back to look at him. “A dress that doesn’t poke me in thirty different places and actually fits.”

His hands wander to her waist, gently tugging her closer. He bobs his head. “Got it. Next.”

She can’t help but laugh, pursing her lips. “Maybe you could wear a kilt this time.”

He grimaces, scrunching his nose and rolling his eyes.

“Fine,” he agrees begrudgingly.

She gasps in honest surprise. “Really?”

He shrugs. “Yes, well, if we invite my mum she won’t let go until I wear one either, so—”

She drops her head back in laugher, before cupping his face, kissing him softly.

“What else?” he asks, a smile playing on his lips.

“A honeymoon.”

He nods. “Wherever you want.”

“A home,” she exhales, feeling her soul swell with optimism.

He tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Wherever you want,” he repeats. “Within our budget.”

She laughs again, before inhaling deeply, growing more serious. “A family.”

His eyes become misty, and it takes him a moment to reply. “Just say when.”

She chuckles in relief, tears of joy instead of despair filling her eyes. She pulls his lips closer again, to seal their promise with another kiss.

She lets her thumbs glide across the soft skin below his eyes when they break apart, searching his blue irises for an answer. “And what is it that you want?”

One corner of his mouth quirks up. “All of the above—” he replies, quietly, before ticking his head side to side. “—minus the kilt maybe.”

She laughs out loud, unable to resist the urge to immediately kiss him again, allowing their tongues to dance, allowing their hearts, their souls to settle back into their rightful home.

She rests her forehead against his, inhaling his scent, her palms still pressed against his cheeks.

“See,” she whispers, “you did it after all.”

He leans back to look at her, his brow slightly furrowed. “Did what?”

“Saved our world from breaking apart.”

He shakes his head, a soft smile playing on his lips. “That was you.”

“No,” she objects, softly. “That was us.”