Simmons was led into a lift by an armed guard. The walls weren't mirrored, like they would have been in a shopping center or a hotel, but grey, shining steel, smooth except for the worrying dent on the left side. Simmons couldn't help wondering what had left the shallow indentation in the hard material, who had left it, who they'd brought down there where Fitz was now.
"Please allow your ShowMe to be scanned," a computer voice requested politely.
The guard flashed his card over a black square beside the controls.
"ShowMe accepted, authorization for B levels 1, 3, 4, and 7.
"Seven," he told it and they began descending.
Simmons guessed B stood for basement, and that seven was the furthest underground of the levels the lift could go, at least with them in it. What did that mean? Was that a bad floor? Did they keep people who were dangerous on that level? Fitz wasn't dangerous, and he wasn't much of a fighter either, surely they wouldn't have him mixed in with violent thugs?
A knot formed in her stomach and she took a breath to steady herself, wanting to appear calm when she greeted her friend so he wouldn't be afraid. She needed to be his rock, not a catalyst for panic.
His room was near the end of a long hallway, walled with concrete, and when they opened the door she saw that the walls of his cell were concrete too, except the one facing them which was glass (it made her feel a little better that there were no bars, even though she knew it was ridiculous, that it made no difference). He had a bed and a desk but he was sitting on the floor, leaning his head against the glass, skin pale, almost grey and pulling at his fingers in the way she knew was reserved only for moments of tremendous anxiety.
He seemed so vulnerable and alone, she wanted to kneel down next to him and pull him into her arms. She wanted him to know she was there, to tell him it was going to be OK because she was going to fix this.
"Fitz?" She called. She tried to keep her voice even but it squeaked in the middle.
He didn't move. It was almost as if he hadn't heard her, couldn't see her, as if there was a solid wall between them...
"Is that really necessary?" she asked the guard, spine stiffening uncomfortably as she realized that they had made the barrier transparent only on their side and that they weren't allowing sound to carry through. "I wanted to talk. I can do that, can't I? He's not dangerous." Her words were thick with tension, heavy with her distress over the fact that her friend had been detained at all, let alone held in a high security cell as if he were a Chitauri invader and not a hard working agent who'd allegedly done something awful. Simmons wasn't at all convinced that he'd done what they'd said he had. This was a mistake. If they knew him the way she did they'd agree, they'd know Fitz couldn't have done it, it wasn't possible, didn't make any sense.
The guard nodded up at the security camera and the wall shimmered briefly. Though no difference could be seen on their end it was apparent that Fitz noticed a change because he turned his head swiftly towards them, a bit of the colour returning to his cheeks when he spotted Simmons, and sent her a small, hopeful smile that twisted her heart.
"Are you OK?" she asked, sitting next to the glass. They wouldn't have hurt him but he had to be terrified. This could ruin everything he'd worked so hard for, tear apart his entire life.
Fitz stared back at her, paling again, and she suspected he was holding back tears, trying not to appear as frightened as he was. He fidgeted, a quiver passing through him, eyes darting to the ground and then back to her before he spoke.
"I didn't do it," he asserted, pleading with her to believe him.
"Of course not," she agreed, narrowing her eyes and shaking her head because that was ridiculous. "Of course you didn't."
His mouth twitched up in a grateful smile and he tapped his knuckles on the glass in front of her, reaching out to her. She tapped back, hoping she wasn't making him feel like a fish in a tank. By the way his smile widened, she guessed she wasn't, that the gesture had been comforting rather than distressing.
The guard watched them wearily but neither Simmons nor Fitz noticed.
"It'll be OK," she told him optimistically. "We'll get this sorted out, there must have been some kind of mistake, but it'll be obvious soon that you couldn't have possibly-"
"I could have though," he told her, expression darkening. "I didn't, I wouldn't," he added quickly. "But I could have."
She chewed the inside of her lip, unsure what to say. He was innocent, she was as certain of that as she was that the sun had risen that morning, so the rest of SHIELD was going to figure it out soon enough. They were going to find evidence that it had been someone else, and then they were going to let him go. Weren't they?
Fitz didn't seem so sure.
"They think I tried to kill someone," he told her, quiet, like an echo playing back what she already knew.
"It could have been an accident, you could have only meant to scare him," she argued automatically. Then she remembered the guard behind her and quickly continued so that he wouldn't for a second think that there was any part of her that believed her friend was guilty. "Not that you would have done it, not that it's going to come to that... whatever that is... there is no that because you're not-"
"Because I didn't-" he went on.
"-do anything," she finished quietly.
They looked away from each other and Simmons wondered how much longer they had before she would be forced to leave.
"It looks a lot like I did though," he said after a minute. He was staring at his hands, shoulders sagging in defeat. "There was that fight I had with him, over the-"
"That's a coincidence," Simmons objected, refusing to let him lose hope. "It doesn't prove anything."
"I was at home, alone, when it happened," he pointed out. "I don't have anyone who can confirm where I was."
She snorted. "That isn't evidence that you did it."
"It isn't evidence that I didn't either," he countered, eyes shifting back and forth as he thought it out, and she realized he was reasoning through what had happened, not giving up but gathering the details so he could find a solution.
"Then there's the machine," she added, jumping in. That was their biggest problem, the most incriminating detail so far.
He glanced briefly at her before returning to his hands. "Yeah," he mumbled, pulling at his fingers again.
Simmons raised her own hand, moving it forward with the intent of stopping him and startled herself by bumping it against the glass, the quick tap sending a vibration across the barrier and down her arm. She'd been so far into her head, twisting out possible explanations and wrapped up in her concern for her friend, that she'd forgotten about the invisible wall between them.
Fitz raised his eyebrows, smirking. "Did you just-?"
"No," she denied, embarrassed but lightened by the humour in his expression.
"You did-" he pressed, amused.
"It's very clear glass," she defended, though a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "You barely notice it's there, that'd be the new addition, the-"
"Asgardian polymers," he finished, holding in a laugh. "I guess it is easy to forget that it's there, if you're not paying attention," he teased.
"I was trying to find a way to get you out of here," she explained, chuckling before she realized what she'd said and turned somber. He sighed, mirroring her.
"I know," he answered softly.
The light humour was gone and he'd grown smaller, drawing his knees to his chest and hugging them against him, a turtle hiding in it's shell.
"It'll be OK," she assured him, doing her best to sound certain.
He didn't respond.
"It will be Fitz," she insisted. "I promise. I'll find out what really happened."
His eyes drifted to her and locked onto her face, listening, trusting.
Simmons smiled encouragingly. "We'll have you out before you know it," she predicted, resolve growing, spreading roots deep into the ground. "You're innocent," she reminded him firmly, meeting his gaze. "And if I have to prove that to get you out of here, I will."
/-/-/
Hello :D, thank you for reading this chapter and here is some background on it.
So this is going to be a kinda, mystery, detectivish story (I think) that'll be 3, maybe 4 chapters. I have never done anything like this before haha, so any feedback would be helpful and bear with me it it's a little choppy.
I am still working on Welcome to Westfield, but I had to put it on the back burner while I wait for some stuff to happen in season 2 so I decided to do this one in the meantime.
There is a reference to the science fiction series Fringe in this story. It is the ShowMe card. In the alternate universe, (with like, blimps and stuff), everyone has a ShowMe they need to carry around with them at all times. (At least in the USA).