A/N: anonymous said: "Prompt: one thing that never happened in your biospecialist soulmate au. Please?"

warnings: character death, language, mentions of violence

This takes place during/after chapter seven of "sometimes (i find it hard to believe)", fyi; originally, it appeared as chapter thirteen of "a prompt response (is only polite)", but I've decided to make it a separate story, since there will be a second chapter.

Fitz gets shot in South Ossetia.

The Bus is late; Grant has already spent three minutes trying to stop the bleeding, to no avail. He's shouting for Jemma as he carries Fitz up the ramp, into the cargo bay, and she appears in the lab at once. Her eyes go wide, but she doesn't hesitate: she orders Grant to put Fitz on a lab table, then gets to work.

It's too late. Jemma does everything humanly possible, but the bullet tore the femoral artery, and, realistically, Fitz was dead the moment he got shot.

Jemma refuses to accept it. She's hysterical, continuing her efforts to save him long after he's bled out, and eventually, Grant has to physically drag her away from…from the body. May, rage and grief written on her face, fetches a sedative, and Grant injects Jemma with a whispered apology.

It's fast acting; she goes limp in his arms mid-scream.

Skye is on her knees next to the table, sobbing. It's the only sound in the lab, and it seems absurdly loud, despite the way she presses her hands to her mouth to stifle it. After a long moment, May kneels down next to her and places a hand on her shoulder, head bowed.

Coulson has been standing just inside the door, frozen, but May's movement spurs him into action. He steps forward, past May and Skye, and gently closes Fitz's eyes. Then he spins on his heel and walks out of the lab and up the stairs, face contorted with pure fury.

Grant just stands there, cradling his unconscious soulmate. He has no idea what's going to happen next.

x

What happens next is an inquiry into Victoria Hand's actions. It will take weeks, if not months, for the committee to present its findings, and in the meantime, her suspension from active duty is very poor recompense.

Jemma stays unconscious long past the point when the sedative should have worn off, but that's not particularly surprising, what with how poorly she's been sleeping lately. Grant stays with her the entire time, sitting propped up against the wall as she sleeps with her head in his lap. The rest of the team leaves them be; he gets periodic updates through text message (hence his knowledge of the inquiry), but for nearly twelve hours, he and Jemma are left alone.

During those twelve hours, the Bus returns to the Hub. Coulson texts him that SHIELD wants to take Fitz's body, and he texts back an order not to let them. Jemma deserves the chance to say goodbye properly, if she wants it.

Coulson doesn't say anything about Grant giving him orders, just texts back an acknowledgement.

Mostly, Grant spends the entire time stewing. In rage, in guilt, in grief—both on Jemma's behalf and, surprisingly, on his own. He thinks of Fitz calling him "Mister Save-the-Day" and wants to hit something. He wants to break something. He wants to skin Victoria Hand alive and then tear SHIELD down, brick by brick.

He should've made Fitz leave. Hell, he should have abandoned the mission as soon as he realized there wasn't an extraction waiting. He should've had a goddamned back-up plan, because this is SHIELD and he fucking knew that SHIELD couldn't be trusted. SHIELD tried to murder Jemma last week, for fuck's sake.

This week, they've succeeded in murdering Fitz.

They've been parked at the Hub for nearly an hour when Jemma finally wakes. He hears her breathing change and stops stroking her hair, which he's been doing to calm himself for the last thirty minutes. Only his unwillingness to let her wake alone has kept him from leaving the Bus and hunting down Victoria Hand to express his displeasure in person.

He holds his breath as Jemma turns her face into his thigh, sighing a little. It only takes a moment for the memory to hit her, and she shoots upright.

"Fitz!" she cries.

She starts to scramble off the bed, and he grabs her, holding her in place. He can't let her go down to the lab until she's accepted the truth. He can't let her be faced with Fitz's body until she knows exactly what she's going to see.

"Let me go," she says, shoving at him. "I have to see Fitz! How is he? Is he—Why are—"

She stutters to a halt, apparently reading something in his face.

"I'm sorry, Jemma," he says quietly. "He's gone."

"No," she breathes, shaking her head. "No. No! He's not—he can't—you're lying!"

She renews her struggling, and he tightens his grip on her, afraid she's going to fall right off the bed.

"He's dead, Jemma," he says firmly. He'd like to lie to her, pretend that Fitz really is alive and well downstairs, but knows that it would only hurt her more in the long run.

"Stop lying!" she cries. "That isn't funny, Grant!"

"I'm not lying," he says. "I'm sorry, Jemma."

"No," she says, still fighting him. "No. No, Fitz. No."

The last denial comes out as a sob, and she stops struggling, falling against him. He wraps his arms around her and just holds on. Her best friend is dead because the organization she's given her life to betrayed him. There's nothing he can say to make this better.

She sobs into his shoulder, gasping denials between ragged breaths, and he bites down on his own emotions. All he can do is hold her and murmur apologies into her hair. (He doesn't say that everything will be okay. It won't.)

It takes nearly an hour, but eventually her crying slows. She keeps her face pressed to his shoulder for a moment longer, then pulls back, swiping at her eyes.

"I want to see him."

He takes a deep breath. "Jemma—"

"Please, Grant," she interrupts hoarsely. "I need to—I need to see him."

He knew she'd want to—kept it possible, in fact—but suddenly, it seems like a bad idea. There's no way he can say no, though, not when she's looking at him like that, face still wet with tears.

"Okay," he says. "He's downstairs."

She nods and slides off his lap, then stands. He's a little slower in following suit, stiff after spending the past thirteen hours in the same position, and she twists her hands together as she waits for him. As soon as he's on his feet, she's at the door, sliding it open.

Then she just stops, standing in the doorway, staring blankly out at the empty cabin, one hand clenching the door handle. Her breathing is unsteady, and for a moment he's afraid she's going to faint.

"I need to see him," she says quietly. "But I don't—I don't…"

He gently tugs her hand away from the door and laces his fingers with hers.

"I'm right here," he says, equally quiet. "Take your time."

She nods once, firmly, and then steps out of the bunk. She keeps a tight grip on his hand as they cross the lounge, and his fingers are entirely numb by the time she stops again before they step out onto the catwalk.

"We don't have to do this now," he tells her, after a few minutes in which she makes no move to continue.

"Yes," she says. "Yes, I do."

Her voice shakes, and he's not surprised to see that her eyes are filled with tears again. She swallows them back, however, and finally steps through the bulkhead. She leads the way down the stairs, taking deep breaths as she goes, and clings to his hand all the more tightly when they reach the bottom.

She stops again, staring determinedly at Lola, and he takes the opportunity to check the lab, cursing himself for not texting anyone to see if it had been cleaned up a little. He doesn't want to imagine what Jemma will do if it's still in the same state it was earlier, with Fitz's blood staining the table and floor.

Luckily, he did have the foresight to clean her up a little while she was out—the sheer amount of blood her efforts to save Fitz left on her hands would have probably sent her right back into unconsciousness.

Also luckily, the lab has indeed been cleaned. (He wonders whom by—hopes with all of his spiteful heart that they marched Victoria Hand down here and made her do it.) Fitz's body is still on the table where he died, but a sheet has been pulled over him.

Skye is sitting on a stool next to the table, head bent over a tablet computer. He has no idea what she's doing, but he hopes it's horrible.

It's nearly five minutes before Jemma finally looks away from Lola. She still doesn't look at the lab, though—just up at Grant.

"All right," she says quietly. "I'm ready."

She's crying again; tears slipping silently down her face, rather than the gasping sobs of earlier. He doesn't say anything, just squeezes her hand and leads her into the lab.

Skye looks up as they enter, then stands hurriedly, letting her tablet fall to the floor. She winces at the loud clatter it makes, but Jemma doesn't even seem to notice. Her eyes are fixed on the sheet-covered body, lying silent and still on the surface which has only ever been used for brilliant inventions before. Slowly, carefully, she steps up, next to the table.

Then, once again, she stops, just staring down at the sheet. Her nails are digging in to the back of Grant's hand, but he doesn't say anything. Neither does Skye. For several eternally long moments, they just stand there in complete silence.

Finally, Jemma reaches forward with her free hand and pulls the sheet back, away from Fitz's face. She draws in a deep breath, and her grip on Grant's hand tightens even further. Her tears are falling faster, now, and she swallows loudly, twice.

After a moment, she leans down and presses her lips to Fitz's forehead.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs against his skin. In the silence of the lab, it sounds like a shout. "I'm so sorry."

Then she straightens, smooths a hand over Fitz's hair, and draws the sheet back up.

"I never asked," she says, keeping her eyes on the table. "Are you injured, Grant?"

"No," he admits. It's difficult to say, to confess that he made it out of that disastrous op with barely a scratch, while Fitz was fatally shot, but he does it. "I'm not."

"Good," she says quietly. She nods once, mostly to herself, and then takes a step back from the table. "I need to see Agent Coulson."

"Simmons," Skye starts, then breaks off. She runs a shaking hand through her hair, and Grant notes the absence of her tracking bracelet. "I'm—I'm sorry."

Jemma shakes her head. "You've nothing to be sorry for, Skye."

"Yes, I do," Skye disagrees.

She steps forward and hugs Jemma, murmuring another apology. Jemma returns the hug with one arm, her other hand still holding tightly to Grant's, and whispers something in Skye's ear. Skye nods against her shoulder, straightens to kiss her cheek, then pulls away.

"I understand," she says. "Me, too."

Grant has no idea what just happened. Jemma swipes at her face with her free hand, then looks up at him. Her tears have stopped, and resolve has settled on to her face.

"I need to speak with Agent Coulson," she repeats.

"Okay," he says. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"Please," she says. She looks down at the table one last time, straightens the edge of the sheet covering Fitz, and then nods. "Let's go."

They travel up the stairs and across the lounge in silence. Whatever resolve has settled over Jemma seems to have strengthened her somewhat; her breathing is steadier, and she doesn't hesitate to start up the stairs to Coulson's office.

She's still clinging desperately to Grant's hand, though. He doesn't know if that's good or bad.

She walks right into Coulson's office without knocking, interrupting the conversation he and May are having. Both of them get to their feet, clearly concerned.

"Jemma," Coulson starts, voice soft with sympathy.

"I quit," she says, stopping him before he can start.

Coulson nods sadly. "I completely understand. I'll put in an order to have you transferred to the Sandbox at once."

"No," she says. "You don't understand. I quit." She pulls her badge out of her pocket and drops it on his desk. "I am entirely finished with SHIELD."

Grant's immediate reaction is relief. She'll be safe, out of the line of fire, and he won't have to worry about her dying while he stands helplessly by, the way Fitz did less than fifteen hours ago.

"Simmons," May says. "I know you're upset right now, but—"

"No, Agent May," Jemma interrupts. Her voice is shaking. "I'm not upset. I'm furious."

That stuns them all.

"My best friend," she says, voice still shaking. "My partner—my brother—is dead. And he's dead because SHIELD sent him into hostile territory with absolutely no plan to pull him out. This was entirely preventable. It didn't have to happen. There is not a single excuse for the fact that it did."

She stops for a moment, takes a deep breath, and shakes her head.

"I will not give a single moment more of my time to SHIELD," she says clearly.

May and Coulson exchange a look that could, from a certain perspective, be considered helpless.

"It's understandable," Coulson says carefully. "I don't blame you for being angry. I'm angry, too. But I don't want you to do anything you're going to regret, later."

"The only thing I regret," Jemma tells him. "Is that I ever believed SHIELD was anything other than a lie. It's not worthy of the work we've put into it. It's not worthy of the blood we've shed on its behalf. It never was."

Coulson looks at her for a long moment, then turns his attention to Grant. "Ward? Anything to say?"

Grant looks at Jemma. She looks back steadily. All of her anger and grief is written plainly on her face, along with so much guilt that it physically hurts him.

She probably will regret it, someday. But he's selfish enough to want her to do it, anyway.

"Are you sure about this?" he asks. She nods, and he looks back to Coulson, shrugging.

"All right," Coulson says, resigned. "Where would you like us to take you, Doctor Simmons?"

"Back to Italy," she answers at once. "As soon as possible, if you please."

Coulson nods at May, who sighs. Then she leaves the office, pausing only briefly to press a hand to Jemma's shoulder.

Silence reigns in the office for a long moment, and then Jemma finally lets go of Grant's hand.

"I'm sure there are things you need to speak about," she says quietly to him. "I'm going to start packing."

He doesn't want to leave her alone, but he does need to speak to Coulson. He wouldn't mind doing so with her present, but he can see that she's about to start crying again, and she obviously doesn't want to be here when it happens. He doesn't blame her, either; it would undermine the impressive show she's put on here, and that would be a shame.

"I'll be right down," he promises.

She nods and leaves the office without a backward glance.

"The team's done," Coulson says once she's gone. "Skye quit earlier, and now Simmons. And with Fitz…" He breaks off, shaking his head. "You're welcome to return to the specialist rotation, Agent Ward. Unless you'll be quitting, too."

Grant thinks quickly. His mission is clearly a bust, anyway. Coulson must not know how he was brought back to life. If he did, they wouldn't be sitting parked at the Hub while Fitz's body cools downstairs. Whatever doctor or drug or magic resurrected Coulson, he's entirely clueless. There's nothing more Grant can do on the Bus; he should accept the offer to return to the rotation and get himself put back on Garrett's crew, so they can start back at square one. That's what he should do, from a tactical standpoint. But Jemma…

The Bus takes off as he stands there thinking, and the flight time blinks on to the monitor on the wall: ETA 90 minutes. May's going to floor it, then. It's the push he needs to make his choice.

Garrett's dying, but he's been dying for years. Jemma needs him more.

"I'd like to request a leave of absence, sir," he decides.

"With the option to resign at a later date?" Coulson guesses.

That sounds about right.

"Yes, sir," he agrees. "I'll evaluate how things stand in, say…six months."

Coulson nods. "I'll arrange it. All of the paperwork will be in order before we reach Italy. There is the matter of your debrief…"

Right. SHIELD will need a report on the clusterfuck of a mission that ended with its best engineer dead and its best biochemist resigning. Frankly, though, Grant's not in a hurry to do SHIELD any favors.

(Six months. He'll take six months to look after Jemma and supports her while she grieves, and then he and Garrett are going to tear this whole thing down.)

"I'll send you an email," he says.

"That the best I'm gonna get?" Coulson asks.

Grant glances over his shoulder at the door. His soulmate is, doubtlessly, currently crying her eyes out over her dead best friend, who is only in that condition because SHIELD abandoned him in the middle of a war-zone.

"Yep," he says.

"Okay," Coulson says. He walks around the desk and extends a hand. "It's been an honor working with you, Grant. I'm sorry things had to end this way."

"So am I, sir," Grant says honestly. He shakes Coulson's hand, then excuses himself.

Jemma isn't in her bunk. She's in Fitz's, sitting motionless on the bed, clutching a cardigan to her chest. She's crying again—not the desperate sobs of earlier, but not exactly silently, either. Her unsteady breathing is loud in the funereal silence that hangs over the entire Bus.

He hesitates briefly, unsure of his welcome, but he's not really capable of just standing back while Jemma cries. So he enters the bunk, closes the door behind him, and sits down next to her. It's the right thing to do; she immediately turns into his side, hiding her face in his arm.

It can't be a comfortable position for her, so he pulls her into his lap and lets her arrange herself against him. She never stops crying, never stops with those horrible, unsteady breaths.

Once again, there's nothing he can do but hold her.

She's still clutching the cardigan. It's one of Fitz's, of course, made of ugly, scratchy wool, and the feel of it against his neck, where Jemma is holding it between their bodies, makes him feel almost as awful as Jemma's tears do.

He was supposed to protect Fitz. It was his job. He promised Jemma.

But he's here, alive, and Fitz is dead.

There's nothing he can do for Fitz now. Nothing except take care of Fitz's best friend. He silently swears, to Fitz's ghost and to himself, to do a better job with Jemma than he did with Fitz.

He sits there, holding Jemma and stroking her hair, and promises himself that once she's done mourning Fitz—and that's a long way in the future, he knows—she'll never have reason to cry, ever again. He'll make sure of it. He'll kill anyone who so much as makes her frown.

Every person even tangentially involved in what happened to Fitz is going to die. SHIELD, HYDRA, whatever. They're all going to die. Everyone who planned the mission. Every pilot who flew one of SHIELD's jets over that compound. The agents who gathered the intel on the device. The higher-ups that approved the op.

He holds Jemma, and he swallows back his own grief, and he promises himself that he's going to kill them all. Starting with Victoria Hand.