Excerpt from Genesis, a story I wrote after the season 1 finale that played around with Fitz having amnesia (I know, okay just bear with me):
Jemma tried to calm herself down, but it was too late. Her eyes had already filled with tears. She couldn’t help it. She needed him to listen to her. “Look, Fitz,” she snapped. “Just because you don’t remember doesn’t mean that I’ve forgotten.”
He fell silent at her words, apparently picking up on her shift in tone. Or maybe he’d noticed that she’d started crying. His face turned red, and there was something in his expression that she couldn’t quite read. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean-”
“No,” she interrupted firmly, her vision blurring. “Okay? I had to watch you almost die out in the field, Fitz. So yes,” she scoffed bitterly. “I do know. And do you want to know why?”
“Simmons,” he tried to stop her, but she wasn’t having it.
“It’s because every minute of every day, I have been right there with you,” she said, her tears finally escaping down her cheeks. “At the Academy, at SciOps, the Playground, this bloody airplane. Even in that godforsaken box at the bottom of the sea. I was there.”
He was speechless now, staring at her in silence, and all of a sudden she knew she had to get out of there. Because the next words out of his mouth wouldn’t be the ones that were seared into her memory, the words he’d spoken when they’d had almost the exact same argument before. She didn’t look in his eyes, not wanting to see the emptiness again, and instead quickly walked out of the lab doors.
It was only when the doors had closed behind her that she heard him. It was quiet, and his voice sounded strained. But his words were as clear as day.
“You’ve been beside me the whole damn time.”
He knew he shouldn’t have said it. He knew once the words had slipped out that it was a mistake. But there was something she’d said, some little micro-expression in her face when she’d yelled at him, that had thrown him off-balance. And he could feel bits and pieces coming through the cracks of his mind, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t all there.
That phrase, that last phrase she’d said. That’s what had done it. It was like she’d taken a sledgehammer to a wall in his brain, leaving a hole for the images to seep through. But he still didn’t understand them. Why couldn’t he understand them?
He was so close, so close he could almost taste it. And he saw her face, her face from another time, another time when she’d been behind the glass. They joined the other images he had of her now, images of her beside him in a lab, images of studying on a wide lawn, images that had first come fleetingly but which now he understood was a part of his past. Of their past. And somehow he knew right then that she was the only one who could connect the images, who could help him understand.
But she’d walked away, and he’d felt the images start to fade away again. So he’d said the first thing that had popped into his head to get her to stay, even though he hadn’t understood.
She froze outside of the closed lab doors, and he knew she’d heard him despite the fact that she didn’t turn around. She was probably bracing herself for the disappointment again, knowing that the chances of him spontaneously recovering were zilch at this point. Or maybe she’d just decided not to care anymore.
But he willed her to turn around. He needed her to turn around. Because something told him this was it. If she walked away now, the wall she’d cracked would close up again. And Fitz wasn’t sure he could handle going back to forgetting.
It was a painfully long time before she moved. The glare from the lights reflected off of the glass, so he couldn’t quite see her face when she slowly spun around. But as she stepped forward, the doors whooshing open to admit her, he could’ve sworn his heart stopped.
Because when she met his eyes, the wall in his mind completely disintegrated.
And he remembered.