Hero

The Playground 2014, before the crash

Fitz’s lips pressed demandingly against Jemma’s before the BUS cargo ramp had even shut. She tried to get closer but the flight suits were in the way – he had to pull away from her completely to unstrap his suit and by the time he got to unclipping hers she practically growled at him for taking too long. Flying with her was the most exhilarating experience he’d ever had – to twist and turn in the air and defy gravity was incredible enough anyway but paired with the woman he loved more than anything else in the world – more than science itself – that feeling was indescribable. From Jemma’s frustrated growling he gathered she felt much the same way, he had to stifle a laugh at how quickly she wrapped herself around him once their flight packs were discarded.

Their kisses were hot and heavy; his heart was pounding in his ears as adrenaline surged through him. One look at her darkened eyes told him it was going to be now; he grabbed her hands and led her up the stairs towards the bunks almost two at a time. The door to his bed remained unopened for almost a minute as Jemma tried to open it without getting distracted. When Fitz smirked into her mouth at her shaking hands she nipped his lip in response, eyes glinting with mirth and promise. When it clicked open they didn’t bother to shut the door behind them before throwing themselves onto the bunk somewhat overenthusiastically – Fitz rolled over her on the narrow bed and hit his elbow hard on the wall.

Both laughing Jemma reluctantly pulled herself away to close the door and pull her top off while Fitz checked his arm to see if it was bleeding. By the time he looked up Jemma had unhooked her bra and made her way back onto the bunk with him; all thoughts of his elbow were swiftly forgotten. Indeed all thoughts of anything at all that weren’t Jemma Simmons were forgotten as he froze at the sight of her. If Leo Fitz had ever imagined perfection before this moment he would revise his definition: on a high from flying and staring at the woman of his dreams he couldn’t imagine anywhere else he’d rather be than right there, with her in that moment. Somewhere a distant part of his mind quipped ‘perhaps a comfier bed’ but he paid it no heed.

Noticing his change in expression Jemma stopped trying to kiss him and leant back, suddenly nervous and feeling exposed. She cursed herself for pushing him too far too fast – every time they’d come anywhere close to where they were now he’d frozen up; he could barely sleep a full night next to her without leaving halfway through. She felt her chest constrict suddenly at the idea that she might not be attractive enough, she couldn’t hide the fear surging through her that he’d rather be with someone else than her – with someone funnier and more attractive like Skye or Bobbi.

She fought the instinct to cover herself up and tried to say with an even, unhurt voice, “Is everything ok, Fitz?”

All her fear melted away when he grinned, “Its perfect Jem.” He ran his hand across her chest and said almost reverently, “You’re so beautiful... I love you.”

And then they were kissing again. A tangle of clothes and sweaty limbs and all too soon it was over: Jemma could hear his heartbeat slowing through his chest as he traced his fingers gently across her back. By the time the plane touched down it jolted Fitz awake and the two of them rushed to get dressed. They desperately dodged May’s eyeline as they hurried like guilty teenagers back to the cargo bay and into the Playground. If they’d have been looking at the senior agent they might have missed as one eyebrow raised almost unnoticeably when she took in their flushed faces and tussled hair.

Leo Fitz was right. It was better in the comfier bed.

Underground; date and location unknown

Fitz stared at his reflection in the one-way mirror. His hair was greasy and longer than it had been in years, his jawline was covered in thick beard and although the myriad of cuts and bruises that had littered his face had faded somewhat he still looked a wreck. He couldn’t guess specifically how long he’d been kept in the bunker for – certainly more than a month if his beard was anything to go by – but beyond that he had no real idea. There were no clocks and the lights were never switched off; the food never changed (some kind of greyish meat) and seemed to come irregularly. He felt like he hadn’t slept since he arrived though he knew, logically, he must have done. In truth, his reflection was the only absolute proof of the passage of time, and staring at it gave him an anchor.

Staring at his reflection was also the only lasting way he had kept himself entertained. Every time he looked he hoped that he scared the living hell out of whoever was behind it. He would let his eyes drift beyond his mirror image as if he could see the men on the other side; the viewing area could be empty for all he knew but just in case it wasn’t he stared intently. He hoped that for a moment whoever was watching him would have to ask their colleague if Fitz could see them. It was almost the only game Fitz had – pick a slightly different spot in the glass and focus in on it; pick a different spot and wait for rescue. Of course, there was another game – a longer game, and one he wasn’t far from winning.

They wanted him to build them weapons; that was why they had abducted him from the hospital. HYDRA had no idea he had improvised in the jungle – they believed SHIELD was preparing for war on a far grander scale and that Fitz was the architect of a new type of artillery. The ruthlessness with which he had dispatched their attack team had sent them scared and desperate and for the last however long he had been their prisoner, HYDRA had him instructing their scientists how to make a fuel cell powerful enough to cause similar devastation. For Fitz it had been an easy decision to comply, the harder part was making it look like they’d broken him, that he’d do anything for them willingly. He didn’t know how many times they beat him, tortured him, projected images into his mind but he waited until he almost caved naturally and then surrendered. He surrendered while it was still his choice.

They wouldn’t trust him to build the fuel cell himself and it didn’t surprise him. The story of how Tony Stark had made a weaponised suit from scraps was well known and Fitz would not be given the chance to make such an escape. Instead he was asked questions which he would answer facing the glass; he was to provide detailed instructions and sometimes sketch out some of the more complicated bits. He was, by all appearances, living up to his end of the deal – the first casing for the fuel cell was a success and in complying he had received his first proper information about his prison. He had argued it was ‘essential’ to know the atmospheric conditions of the lab with precise accuracy and, if nothing else, could guess based on the air pressure the bunker was at least 40 meters underground. There was slightly too little oxygen in the air which he attributed to the fans being too old – he could hear the stressed generators from his cell.

The depth underground and the potential structural instability of the bunker had steered him from his original plan – to make the casing unstable and try to escape in the ensuing explosion. The pressure from any such blast would almost certainly kill anyone anywhere near the source and he had no idea how close his cell was. This deep underground there’d be no certainty that any activity would be visible from the air – just in case the team was watching he wanted to provide them with a way to find him just as they had in the forest. His design for the casing, then, had to give him the best chance of escaping and his friends the best chance of finding him – it would take the work of a genius to do both without his captors catching on. He fought to control a small smirk as, fortunately, one thing Leo Fitz had always been was a genius.

It was why, as best he could, he had to focus on the glass in front of him. When the casing triggered he would have just two minutes to prepare himself. Fitz had never made a plan surrounded by so many unknown variables before but this was what it was to be an agent – he owed it to Jemma and whoever was left of the team to get home. Focus Fitz, he told himself. If he appeared distraught nobody would believe he was truly complying, staring blankly forward was how to survive in this place. Once his game, the real game, was over no matter how he felt he would kill every HYDRA agent in this facility. He knew Jemma was alive but the plane explosion could’ve killed everyone else: he didn’t even know if Skye would survive her injuries. Fitz had never wanted to hurt anybody before but HYDRA had to be stopped, and he would do it.

The glass in front of him rippled. It only lasted a moment but it meant it was time.

Fitz began counting backwards from 120 as he walked to the corner of his cell and crouched low. He pulled the threading at the hems of his trousers and stripped off enough fabric to tie around his bare feet. At 90 seconds he lifted his shirt over his head and began blocking out as much light as he could around his eyes but crucially did not shut them. If they built the weapon as he designed it then the final blast would knock out the lights and break all the glass in the facility. He couldn’t afford to be disoriented and did his best to get adjusted before they went out. At 30 seconds he put his fingers in his ears ready.

 A loud high pitched ringing sounded and sure enough the lights sparked and the two way mirror shattered. He felt a wave of pressure knock him against the wall as the casing finally gave out.

“Fuck.” He cursed under his breath as he nursed his fractured ribs before setting his jaw, “Get up Fitz.”

He was prepared for the darkness; the faint outline of the observation platform was visible enough that he could quickly climb out of the cell and into a room that had once held computers monitoring him. The room itself was empty and the door beyond unlocked, in the corridor he could hear yelling and frantically searched around for anything he could use as a weapon.

“I’m coming Jemma.” He told himself as he found what was left of an old torch; the bulb inside broken from the noise. It wasn’t much but he reckoned it’d land harder than a punch.

The Playground, after the crash

“Simmons?” Mack called out as he strode into the lab to search for Jemma. He’d sprinted from the Director’s office and could feel his lungs aching under the strain – after more than three months he was still recovering from his smoke inhalation injuries. “Jemma where are you?”

One of the lab techs approached him sheepishly; his hulking size seemed to frighten them a little, “She’s erm… she’s not here.”

Mack didn’t wait to hear anything else and strode towards her room. She’d taken to spending more and more time in there – once she’d made sure Skye was stable she even began eating meals alone. Mack had only tried the lab first to save knocking on her room; they had never really got on as well as he and Fitz did and it felt less like intruding. Nonetheless he didn’t pause to catch his breath before pounding twice loudly on the door.

“Simmons.” He said more forcefully than he meant to.

There was an uncomfortable silence where he thought she wouldn’t reply but sure enough the door clicked open. All things considered she looked reasonably well – it was only the deep circles around bloodshot eyes that gave any indicator that something was amiss. He pretended not to notice that although it was almost 4pm she was still dressed in nightclothes.

“Is something wrong Mack?” She asked, her voice seemed rougher somehow - almost hollow as if from disuse.

“We’ve found him.” He said and watched as a thousand emotions seemed to ignite behind her eyes. She opened the door fully and crossed the room to get a hoodie he’d seen Fitz wearing before; that was when he noticed it. “Jemma…”

“Ready.” She said quietly, lifting her messy hair up and tying it into a loose ponytail. She froze suddenly when she saw where Mack was looking. “Oh…” she mumbled, before closing her eyes as if to curse herself.

“Does anybody know?” Mack asked, looking at the small but undeniably visible bump of Jemma’s belly.

“May does… and the medical team that checked us all out, so Coulson probably too. I think Skye’s guessed.” She admitted sheepishly, looking to her feet. “For a spy I’m not great at keeping secrets.” Mack didn’t know how to feel that he was pretty much the only one out of the loop, but then they’d never been close and she had no reason to tell him.

“And Fitz?” He asked carefully, she flinched slightly at the sound of the name.

“It’s his.” She said strongly, as if offended he’d think otherwise. She shifted almost apologetically when she realised that wasn’t what he’d meant. “I tried to tell him but he…” She slipped her arms through the hoodie sleeves and her demeanour changed entirely to the woman of action she had become, “Where is he Mack?”

By the time they both got to Coulson’s office everybody else was already assembled; the room went silent as they entered and Mack watched Jemma’s eyes flick immediately towards the intel being displayed on the wall. Satellite images were zoomed on what seemed to be a snowy mining town.

“Jemma,” Coulson said kindly before regaining his composure as director, “We’ve isolated a high-frequency pulse that emitted from somewhere in this mountain range.”

“Is it him?” Jemma asked; her voice stony. Mack guessed she wouldn’t let herself feel false hope.

“We can’t be sure,” Coulson said, “But whatever it was shattered the glass in every building a mile wide – sources on the ground are dismissing it as some sort of underground tunnel collapse but I don’t buy it.”

Skye chipped in from somewhere behind them, “It doesn’t add up – I’ve been digging around and can’t find anything real on the refinery – it’s like the company doesn’t exist.”

“What are you saying?” Jemma asked without taking her eyes off the screen for an instant.

“Either they’ve forgot to file papers for the last thirty years,” Skye started but May cut her off midsentence.

“Or they’re hiding something.” May stated bluntly.

“Either way,” Coulson said before putting an arm on Jemma’s shoulder, “Let’s go find out.”

She stood in silence for a moment taking it all in before stifling a quick sob and turning to Coulson. “Are these live?” She whispered and, when he nodded, stretched a shaking hand out against the screen. “How long ago was the pulse?”

“Seventy four minutes.” Coulson stated as Jemma rubbed her eyes to stop unshed tears from dropping. “Get kitted up, we’re wheels up in ten.”

Mack spoke for the first time since leading Jemma into the office, “Director Coulson?” He said tentatively before continuing, “They blew up the BUS… wheel’s up in what?”

Coulson smirked before answering cryptically, “Wheels isn’t really the right word.”

Underground, date and location unknown

Fitz sprinted through the maze of tunnels in whatever compound he was being held in. His breath was ragged and he was increasingly certain his pulse had done more than just knock out the glass across the base – the great whirring of the fans that sucked air into the facility had stopped. With each passing minute it was becoming harder and harder to breathe deeply and he couldn’t help but think back to the last time he’d nearly suffocated. In the darkness flashes of trying to rescue Jemma from the ocean swam into view. His eyes instinctively flicked down to his arm to search out the series of scars his brace had made but in the near total black he could barely make anything out. It was enough that he knew they were there and, hand shaking uncontrollably, he wished his brace was still working.

Approaching a set of stairs he paused near the bottom to listen – without a map he was working on the simple hypothesis that the higher he could get the more likely to come up above ground he was. Hearing no danger he sprinted up the steps, almost tripping twice before squinting in his new surroundings. It wasn’t until he was halfway down the second corridor since the stairs that he realised his mistake – even without the engines or the fans it was too quiet. Thinking about it Fitz hadn’t encountered anybody since escaping his cell and he knew he wasn’t that lucky – he wouldn’t be there if he was that lucky. Squeezing the pommel of the broken heavy duty torch in his hand he kept on heading forward hoping that he could find a way to turn the situation to his advantage.

A click sounded behind him followed by a small hissing. He didn’t have to turn around to know what was about to happen – dropping to the floor he curled into a ball and kept his eyes shut as a series of bright flashes and loud bangs rang out around him. Red flares bathed the tunnels in flickering crimson as HYDRA guards rushed towards him. There couldn’t have been more than four of them but they had the drop on him and he was weakened from injuries and malnutrition. His only hope was that since they needed the light to see him their eyes were just as unadjusted as his.

He scrambled to his feet and lunged forward towards the closest operative, tackling the guard to the ground before the others could react. He struck the man hard with the torch handle before reaching to where he hoped a pistol might be holstered but before he could find it he was thrown off by someone behind him. Fitz panicked as he saw the others closing in and threw the torch at the nearest one. It bought him precious seconds to find a new weapon and make an escape – crawling on the floor he grabbed at one of the lit flares on the ground and held it in front of him. One of the guards rushed him, gripping him and landing a punch on Fitz’ jaw but between the two of them the guard ended off worse – his arm had a series of burns from the flare. Fitz drew himself backwards using the sparks and smoke to hide himself in the dim light.

Even as he tracked backwards down the corridor he knew it was a temporary solution – the flare would burn out and he’d be unarmed when it did. They knew the layout, he didn’t. He suspected Jemma would’ve scolded him if she saw how he was handling the situation – one imminent crisis at a time. Assessing his situation he had to admit she would’ve been right to: his plan had only ever consisted of blowing up the base and then trying to escape but without the opportunity for even basic reconnaissance he’d had to improvise. Still, it was improvising that saved him again.

As the flare began to splutter out and the final burst of light faded Fitz almost burst out laughing – he’d led them so far away from their own flares that in the darkness he’d seemingly vanished in front of them when his went out. Not wasting a moment he sprinted in whatever direction he could get to in what was now the highest ever stakes hide and seek. He kept moving hands in front of him to feel out twists and turns, twice he caught himself on various pipes but even then it didn’t slow him. Keep moving, he repeated again and again as he began to get dizzy and sick. He had no way of knowing if his vision was blurring but he guessed if it were daylight there’d be black spots in his eyes. By the time he was forced to slow his pace by his protesting body he couldn’t hear any footsteps following him – somewhere distant there was shouting and cursing but for a brief moment, he allowed himself a breath of increasingly thin air.

His legs gave out under him and he felt the strain on old injuries not quite healed. His lungs were burning and he wondered bitterly if he passed out whether his body would ever be found. Face pressed against the cold concrete floor he pulled himself underneath a couple of heavy duty pipes and hoped that it would be enough to hide him at least from the HYDRA guards should they come looking. His eyes were heavy – it was harder to tell if they were open or closed with each second. You’re right, he said to himself as he pictured Jemma’s expression, this was a terrible plan…

I love you Jem. I’m sorry.