The trembling and palpable exhaustion are the first things that he notices once he's thrown a beaming smile up to the team that encircles the rim of the chasm where the monolith had dissolved. She's nearly limp against him save for her breathing and pressing her nose more tightly to his neck, shaking fingers trying to grip onto his shirt with ferocity behind them in intent but little to no physical strength.
"Fitz," she whispers, his name a pang of warm, damp, exhalation against his skin as he gathers her more tightly into his chest. He hears Mack yelling about lowering a net down to get them out, but he barely listens, too intent on the woman in his arms and the way her breathing is becoming more laboured with each passing inhale. Alarmed, he pulls back slightly, cupping her cheek in one hand and attempting to get her to look at him.
"Jemma. Jemma, are you having trouble breathing?" he asks. She nods minimally, fingers shaking as she tries to grip his wrist. With his free hand he digs frantically into his pocket, pulling out a small device and his phone, grimacing at the debris that clings to both. Shaking the device off he carefully tilts her head back, sliding it onto her septum before tapping an icon on his phone, the device tightening slightly until it clings to her nose. "Tell me when it gets easier," he instructs, starting to fidget with the controls as a net is tossed into the chasm. It takes him a few moments before he finds the right oxygenation setting, her body relaxing as it stops fighting the atmospheric change from the Maveth to Earth.
"Thank you," she whispers, allowing him to maneuver her into the net before he climbs in next to her, keeping a tight hold on her hand as they're pulled upwards and out into the cavern. The others look ecstatic to see her, even Daisy, nose bleeding and exhaustion painting her features, is beaming. And she wants to be happy to see them, to accept the hugs from the women, the kind words Mack is sure to give, the paternal smile Coulson is wearing, even the amused and pleased look from Dr. Randolph but she can't handle the thought of it, instead clinging tighter to Fitz. The building shakes ominously then, making them all hasten to leave, Fitz scooping her into his arms when she struggles to put her weight down on both of her legs.
She hears Bobbi rambling about needing to run tests, to make sure she's alright, that she's not radioactive or poisoned, but she can't find it in herself to care. Her head is still spinning, every ache in her body from the last six months suddenly crashing into her as the familiar gravity and oxygen of the earth start to pull at her. Fitz's machine, still affixed to her nose, makes her lungs struggle less, but in the back of her mind she knows she won't be able to keep it on forever. He's going to have to wean her off of it eventually. But her only care in that moment is to curl more tightly against him, trying to feel the ways that he may have changed in the last months. His body feels more firm against hers, but she's unsure if he has simply gained more muscle, or if she has lost the small fat content that had resided in her body. She knows she's lost weight, her trousers struggling to stay on prominent hip bones and her tank top nearly hanging off her body, ribs visible beneath the ragged fabric. Everything burns. Her eyes ache from the change in light as they emerge out onto the castle grounds and rush into the Quinjet. Her skin itches when she's placed on a stretcher, Bobbi checking her over with careful hands.
She can't help but shy away from the woman's touch, her body tired and sensitive.
"Fitz," she croaks again, her throat aching as she coughs up dust from the sandstorm and grit from the destroyed monolith. She instantly feels his hand in hers, his other fingers carding through her dirty hair.
"I'm right here Jemma. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere," he assures her, the beaming smile still plastered on his face as he leans in close to her. She squints to look at him, lashes gritty, but she can make out how his eyes are red rimmed with tears collected on his lashes, even as he smiles. She nods slightly, eyes slipping shut again as she falls into a fitful sleep, just deep enough for Bobbi to check her over but not so much that she doesn't wake immediately when they start descending back to the base. She jumps at the change in altitude, her ears popping painfully as she scrunches her nose up and tries to back into the edge of the containment pod, a hiss escaping her as her back presses into harsh metal and fabric.
"Shh, you're alright, you're okay," Fitz is instantly whispering, face inches from hers as he strokes a hand over her cheek, bringing her gaze to his. She wonders if he's ever looked so happy before. She can't remember the last time he's smiled as much as he is.
"C'mon Simmons, let's get you cleaned up," Daisy says, holding out a hand to her. Instantly, she's panicking, not wanting the other woman to see her in such a state of vulnerability. She's gotten so used to fighting for her life every moment of each day that she's terrified of letting anyone see her weak. Bathing makes her vulnerable. And she's exhausted, the part of her brain no longer in fight or flight mode coming to terms with realising the base is a safe space – somewhere that she will actually be able to sleep for the first time in ages. But that doesn't make her anymore keen on having anyone see her in such a state. She doesn't feel safe around any of them – no one except Fitz. The terror must show on her face, because suddenly Fitz is standing between her and Daisy, shielding her from the other woman's sight.
"It's alright Daisy, I've got this," Fitz says, voice quiet in the hustle and bustle of the plane. Bobbi tosses him a confused glance from where she's standing, arms crossed over her chest even as she allows him to scoop Jemma back up into his arms, holding her close to his chest as he carries her down the cargo ramp and into the base. He isn't sure how he manages it, but they don't encounter anyone on the way to her empty bunk, even as he manages to shoulder the door open. She wants to protest, insist that she can walk on her own, but she isn't sure it's the truth.
The way that Fitz deposits her so gently on the bed makes her heart ache painfully beneath her ribs. She glances around, trying to take in the sight of her own room and feeling her heart seize at the sight of some of Fitz's clothes discarded on the chair by her desk, one of the pillows rumpled with a pair of his sweat pants tossed on the bed.
"Sorry," he mutters, blushing when he sees what she's looking at. She has no energy to admonish him for sleeping in her bed, too overcome with the tears that slip through her lashes, splashing down her cheeks. "Hey, hey, you're alright," he rushes when he sees her crying, crouching in front of her to cup a dirt-covered cheek, trying to wipe her tears away but just smearing the dust instead.
"I'm so tired," she sobbed, unable to quell the utter exhaustion that encompassed her.
"You don't - we can, um, you can wait till tomorrow to take a bath if you'd rather?" He offers. She shakes her head, body aching and itching from the months of dirt that is caked on her skin. Her swims in the pond were not as frequent as she would have liked and the sandstorm has torn at her skin, leaving it raw and dirty. "Okay." He says, cupping her cheek again for a moment before bustling about the room, gathering some pyjamas and clean underthings for her to wear, bundling them all in a towel which he carefully sets in her lap. She doesn't question him when he lifts her again, carrying her out of her room and down the hall. She drifts against his shoulder, only waking again when he's lowering her into a counter before crossing a bathroom she's never been in before to turn on the taps of a large tub. She can't help the frown that crosses her features, head cocked to the side at the sight before her.
"Where-" she starts.
"I… I found this when you were gone. Was wandering around the base one night and stumbled in here," Fitz answers, checking the temperature of the water before putting the stopper in the drain. He gathers a bottle from beneath the sink, pouring something into the water before swirling it around with his fingers, his hand coming out covered in bubbles. "Are… are you sure you wouldn't be happier having another girl help you with this?" She shakes her head, catching his fingers in her own and squeezing with as much conviction as she can manage, her muscles stiff and sore.
"I want you," she breathes, eyes fluttering shut as she feels him place his hands on her shoulders.
"Okay." He's gentle in the way he moves to pull the tattered remains of her blouse down her arms, dropping the material to the floor as it comes off in a cloud of dust. Her tank top is next, pulled up over her head before it joins the other on the ground, his hands shaking slightly as he moves them to the clasp of her bra. "You're sure?" He queries, desperate to have her consent. She blinks up at him, seeing his adoration for her in the pools of his eyes.
"I trust you," she replies, trying to hide the wince when he gets the band undone, lifting the stiff straps from her shoulders before tugging them down. Her trousers follow soon after, Fitz wrapping an arm around her hips to lift her as he wriggles the thick material, thinned from constant exposure and wear, down her thighs until it's falling to the tiles. He takes her knickers off only a second before sweeping her into his arms again, carrying her over to the tub and delicately lowering her into the water, watching her for any signs of discomfort at the temperature of the water.
She can't help the nearly obscene moan that slips from her at the feeling of the hot water lapping around her skin, the soft smell of bergamot, Amber and vanilla wafting up from the bubbles bringing tears to her eyes. Fitz kneels next to the tub, awkwardly shucking his button-down until he's only wearing his dusty trousers and undershirt. He reaches for the body wash that is on the lip of the tub, squeezing some onto a face cloth and lathering it up.
"Is it alright if I touch you?" Her heart aches with how tender and careful he's being with her. She vaguely wonders how well his breathing device will handle it if she starts crying properly as she nods, knees pulled up to her chest as he starts swiping the cloth over her shoulders. She closes her eyes, revelling in his tenderness and the feeling of home that he exudes. He doesn't drag the material over her skin, doesn't rub it raw in an attempt to get the dirt off. Instead, she feels each of his fingers moving slowly on the other side of the flannel, manipulating not only the grime from her flesh but also the tightness of the muscles in her back. He moves from her shoulders to her back and then down her arms, reapplying more soap to the cloth before encouraging her to lean back against the wall of the tub so that he can wash her legs.
Jemma blushes, suddenly feeling self conscious as Fitz pries one of her legs out of the water, letting some of it drain with the intent of putting more clean, hot water into the tub a moment later. She can't meet his eyes as he rubs at her calf, trying to work at the sore muscle there.
"I wish… I wish this… that I was…" she stammers, biting her lip as Fitz's eyes snap to her face, worry etched on his features.
"What is it Jem? Am I hurting you?" He rushes, fingers loosening on her leg. She shakes her head frantically, sniffing as tears prick at her eyes again.
"I wanted to look beautiful the first time you saw me naked." She's too tired and emotional to temper her words, hiccuping as she barrels on. "God Fitz, I haven't shaved my legs in months." He can't help it, a laugh punching out of him as he smiles at her, his own eyes watering as he leans over, kissing her ankle.
"You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," he whispers, voice catching in his throat. He keeps his eyes on her as he kisses her knee a moment later before switching the taps on, going back to washing the dirt from her legs.
She wishes she had the energy to lurch forward and kiss him. As it is, she barely has the strength to keep her eyes open.
She drifts between sleep and consciousness, feeling the way Fitz cares for her anytime she is able to blink her eyes open. On one particular gaze around the room she watches him shave her legs for her, a sob catching in her throat at the sight. He had taken her words, her physical insecurities, and was trying to restore her confidence in any way he could. She knows she's lost weight, that she's paler than ever, but he still looks at her like she's hung the moon and the sun.
The next time she wakes it's to the gentle press of his lips against her shoulder, his hand cupping her cheek.
"We need to wash your hair. And, uh, your torso. I need you to be awake for me to do that Love. Or for you to do it yourself." The words are soft but tinged with his own nervousness as she leans her forehead against him.
"I can barely lift my arms," she confesses, watching him swallow as he slides the flannel beneath the water, skimming it over her breasts before sliding it down her stomach and then carefully between her legs. He's gentle and doesn't linger, his cheeks flushed bright red at the intimacy, before removing his hand as quickly as he had placed it there. Once again letting the dirty water drain from the bath, he nudges her about until he can get the shower head near her, turning it on and stroking through her hair as it dampens. The feeling of his fingers carding against her scalp calms her, the scent of her own shampoo floating through the room as he washes her hair. She falls asleep again before he finishes, only waking up when she feels him lift her from the water, a towel wrapped around her. He sits her on the counter to pat her dry before helping her into her clothes, brushing and plaiting her hair as delicately as he can manage as she struggles to stay awake.
"Let's get you to bed," he mumbles, lips pressed to the crown of her head as he carries her back to her bedroom. He's tucked her in when she manages to catch his fingers in hers, tugging at him and distracting him from where he's adjusting the settings of the oxygenation device.
"Can you stay?" she questions, watching his eyes soften as he nods, grabbing his clothes from the desk and changing quickly, crawling onto the bed next to her a moment later as she uses the last of her energy to snuggle up against his, her ear above his heart.
"I'm… I'm so glad you're back and that you're safe," he tells her, voice thick as he wraps an arm around her, keeping her close.
"Thank you for coming to get me," she answers, unable to stifle her yawn. His laugh is watery as he kisses the top of her head again.
"Can't very well leave the woman I love on another planet," he muses, unable to stop the tears that slide down his temples as he pulls her just the tiniest bit closer. Jemma turns her face to kiss the fabric of his shirt directly over his heart, a sigh of relief fluttering out of her.
She falls asleep, safe and content, for the first time in months, wrapped in his arms.