PHIL FITZSIMMONS + JEMMA FITZSIMMONS
LOW | COMPLETE
Phil Fitzsimmons was in awe of past Atlantis year round, but this was a time when he particularly felt it. The sky was a brilliantly clear blue (it was a shame Temple was not here to paint it). The heat of the sun made him glad that he'd left his white coat in his office before coming to enjoy lunch outside the base, but it was a heat that Phil could feel not a bland, barely noticeable lukewarm. The warm air was rich with a sweet scent. Phil looked around for its source and saw a bush covered with deep red roses growing near the gate. He didn't remember seeing it before, but while Phil was observant by both nature and training, this time had so much to see. It was possible he'd merely overlooked it.
It was also possible that Atlantis had decided this spot just needed a little more color - or perhaps that a reenactment of Sleeping Beauty was in order, in which case Phil might find himself battling a dragon in order to get back to Medical. The rose bush did not seem threatening, however, as Phil leaned over to breathe in the scent, and then rubbed his thumb over a silky petal.
"Ouch!" No more threatening than any rose bush, at least, thought Phil, putting his pricked thumb to his lips. He sucked briefly at the tiny injury - not the most hygienic response, but reflexive. A moment later, he plucked the offending flower from the bush with a faint smile. Really, a rose couldn't be blamed for its thorns. They were natural, and the rose would not be so precious without them, just as sacrificing creativity for safety had never made the utopia COS claimed to promote.
Wistfully, Phil thought again of Temple, of Bianca, of Katima, of Jake, all returned to a timeline without such color. Lucas Pevensie, Abigail Roberts who had not even gotten the chance to see it. A movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he turned with the rose in his outstretched hand as an offering. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"
There was (always) a minor element of dread hanging over Jemma; not that she wasn’t happy to be in Atlantis, happy to be fighting in this world while she fought in hers simultaneously, but she had to admit to herself she had a hard time feeling like she belonged. It might have been the version of her that was here for so long (the version who fit in so well and managed to seamlessly appreciate everything, who had Fitz and was useful) … or perhaps it was just knowing what she’d come from in her own fractured timeline. She wasn’t much up for things like love or socialization. It wasn’t as if she did much of it anyway. Her teammates saw more of her than anyone.
… which was probably why she found herself on the way to the medbay to steal some antiseptic for her split knuckles. Of course, she too had been stopped by a mysterious scent. And before she could trace it back to the rose bush, she found that a rose blocked her path. That rose was, it seemed, attached to her son.
“Phil,” she said, a smile warming her face. She accepted the rose. “It certainly is now.”
One of the many joys of past Atlantis was the privilege of seeing his parents young and happy. That joy was dimmed by the fact that his father was no longer here, but the shadows of his absence were different than the shadows of COS's dictatorial rule. His mother was not always perhaps as happy as she would have been, but Leopold Fitz might still return, and that smile was good to see.
He smiled back. "How are you doing today?" He glanced down and noticed her knuckles. "I can help with that."
PLOT: Prick your finger on one of the magically appearing rose bushes and give a rose to the first person you see. Comment for access to the gdoc.