She was sure she'd lost him again; he seemed to have disappeared from the base entirely. Yet there he was, standing in the little nook they used to share together.
The stars were still out and the moon was still shining but it felt dark in the room. Like there was a heavy filter weighing down on everything.
She reached out to touch his shoulder, but he didn't touch her hand back. He wouldn't even look at her. His eyes just continued to stare out at the busy streets of normal people with happy endings.
"It's not your fault." It felt wrong coming out of her mouth. It didn't sound reassuring, it sounded more like she was begging, a plea for it to be true.
"But it was. I did those things. I killed Agnes and Director Mace. That was me. It felt natural to do them and I wanted to do them because I'm the bad guy."
"Fitz. Your father—"
"Yeah that's just it isn't it?!" He finally turned to face her. It wasn't a look of desperation or hope, it wasn't even an attempt to reconnect with her. His expression was a map of every terrible thing he'd ever done, every drop of blood he'd spilled — innocent or not — and the anger. The anger at who he was, no...who he is. "My father made me the man he wanted me to be. Manipulated me into Hydra. Tore my soul to pieces and rebuilt me with his purpose. Not even my own." He shook his head. "Not even my own purpose."
"Exactly. Fitz that's exactly what I'm trying to say. You were manipulated. Taken advantage of, your childhood—you had no control over that." She tried to reach out and touch his fingers, but they fell limp between his legs.
"Just like him." His eyes were fixated on the floor, and a tear slowly dripped down his cheek and onto the ground. And then his ears started to burn and his vision turned to red. He was a coward. Nothing more than a bloody coward.
"Who Fitz?" It wasn't anything more than a whisper. But she knew, deep down she knew who he was talking about. She was just to afraid to say it. To think it even.
"Him!" He spun around to her in one quick motion. She took a light step back in fear, and he hated himself for it. For everything they'd been through, it was him who made her afraid? But he couldn't stop. Every unspoken word, every time he bit his tongue, and every piece of hurt poured out of him.
"Ward!" He screamed it. And she started to cry. But he was blinded by his own self-hatred now to stop. "It wasn't his fault! His parents, his brother, his childhood! And Garrett, a father-figure, took him in. One not like my own. Molded him. Manipulated him into Hydra. Tore Ward to pieces and rebuilt him for no other purpose but his own! And then what Ward did to me! To you! To us! Dropping us out of the sky and into the ocean! I hated him! He was the monster. The one evil I wanted to defeat. It's the same story! I'm just like Ward! I'm just like him. So why don't you hate me Jemma!?" He stopped. That was the first time he'd said her name since, since he'd held a gun to her head. His body collapsed on top of itself and he slowly sank to the ground. His head fell limp and he caught it with his hands, the only body part that seemed to still be functioning.
"Fitz." He didn't move. He couldn't. "Fitz, please." It didn't sound like a question like the first one did, it sounded like a command. "Look at me." She sank to the floor in front of him and tried to find his eyes. Her hands lightly lifted his face from his hands and she gently brushed his chin upwards so she would look at him. "You are not Ward." And she said it with so much conviction he wanted to believe her.
"But I kil—"
"No. Because you gave me your last breath. You dove through a hole in the universe for me." He looked up at her. "Twice." She quickly added, hoping to get at least get a smile out of him.
"And Ward dove out of an airplane for you. He rushed into collapsed buildings, got shot..."
"But Ward didn't do those things out of love Fitz. That's what makes you different. He did it to take my trust captive. He did it to make himself feel like a hero in some sick, twisted way. And besides, it wasn't Ward who was next to me. It wasn't Ward who held me. It wasn't Ward who put his own feelings aside so I could be happy. It wasn't Ward who knew I was alive when everybody else had lost hope."
It was quite a nice sentiment, he thought. Out of love. Not hate or power or greed.
"And you were still that man in the Framework. Despite what your father did to you, you still managed to be capable of unconditional love. Even if it was for—" She choked a little. But she had to hold it together, because if she lost it then both of them would probably spend the rest of their lives crumpled together on this floor.
"For Ophelia."
"For AIDA." She corrected him. She paused for a moment, debating whether or not it was right to tell Fitz what she had heard in the containment room recording. He probably knew it wasn't a private conversation, even if it felt as such.
They sat there together, a moment of silence and thought. That's when he noticed them. She was wearing them. Her boots. The same ones she'd worn on Maveth. He'd always promised himself he'd get her new ones. Perhaps as a nice gift, in the future, if he had actually gone through with--no. That wasn't even a possibility anymore. Not after what he'd done.
"Fitz?" Her voice stirred him from his thoughts. "Fitz are you alright? Can you hear me?" He gently touched his face and found his cheeks soaked in tears. He'd been crying. Not the kind you do when you want the others to know you're sad. The kind where tears silently roll down your face and you pretend they aren't there and you wipe them away and your heart feels torn between bring sad and not wanting to be here anymore.
Slowly, he nodded his head.
"So, remember after you first made AIDA? And we promised that we wouldn't keep secrets anymore?"
Of course he remembered. It'd eaten away at him every night for the past week.
It felt like two lifetimes ago.
"Our future is not dead. And I know you believe that and you think you know that but it's not. Because—because I love you. And I will never, for the rest of my life, stop loving you."
His heart skipped a beat at those last words. But he pushed down that feeling of a young, lovestruck scientist. That was not who he was anymore. Because she was wrong. Their future was dead. Because everything in the universe just is. And what he'd done? No matter how hard he tried he knew that one of the facts of the universe was that they couldn't be together. He wouldn't let them be together. Because he didn't deserve her.
"And, well, when you were an LMD. Or no actually, that's not right. When AIDA replaced you with an LMD, you said something to me."
What had he said? Had he ruined their relationship before she even saw him in the Framework?
"You said you wanted to get married. Grow old together." Her voice had fallen to a whisper again. Was it possible he'd heard her wrong?
"Jemma I—"
"Yes." No. He definitely hadn't heard her right. "My answer is yes. When we get through this and you somehow find a shipment of a million roses and I pretend not to know what's going on but I can tell from Daisy's face, my answer will be yes." She reached out to touch his shoulder again, but this time he rested his hand on top of hers.
They exchanged a look. No words needed to be said. No hugs needed to be had. Because he could tell from her eyes that every word she said was true. She meant it. And her eyes showed a desperation for it. That they would spend the rest of their lives together. And she could tell from his eyes that he had forgiven a part of himself, perhaps not all of himself, but a part. And it was over one single look that they healed. Together.
And he smiled. A heartbreakingly hopeful smile. And the filter was lifted from the room. And the sun started to replace the nighttime. "So." He said. "For now, what do you think we should do about it?"
She lifted him to his feet and turned towards the window. It was one of the only windows in the base.
"For now, let's just watch the sunrise."