The evening news calls them monsters. The anchor stands outside the home of their last victim, the front door still crossed off by bright yellow crime scene tape, citing that 'the FBI has no leads at this time' but 'they assure us that they are working diligently to apprehend these individuals.' She rhymes off the figures, twenty-three deaths in eight different states throughout the last five weeks, bodies heavily mutilated in such a way that is 'too graphic for public broadcasting.'
This report has become daily, always the same with the exception of the climbing death toll.
Jemma watches the screen lazily, limbs sprawled out over the motel bed, her head nestled in Leo's lap where he sits against the headboard, crunching down a bag of pretzels.
"What do you say to taking off tomorrow morning?" Simmons asks, turning to look up at him, her long hair falling over the tops of his thighs, "Heading for a city?"
"I thought you wanted to get started on the new formula you've come up with," One of his hands goes into the bag for another pretzel while the other cards gently though Jemma's hair.
"Yes but we can do that just as easily from somewhere more populated, we'd draw less attention Fitz. And since I've already gathered what I need there's really no reason for us to stay in this area."
"Alright," He says, "Where were you thinking?"
"Seattle maybe, that shouldn't take more than five or six hours."
"Sounds good to me." He leans down catching her lips. His hands skim underneath her sweater and over her skin, the fingertips slightly rough from long ago burning away the prints.
She leans up into the kiss, using one hand to shove the bag of pretzels aside while the other weaves it's way into the curls at the base of his neck.
By the time Fitz wakes up the next morning Jemma has already gone for her regular run, showered, dressed, packed their things, and is standing in front of the desk where she's set up a small portable hot plate which has a large glass beaker sitting on it. The beaker is filled with a thick white liquid that's bubbling softly as Simmons stirs it, wearing thick purple rubber gloves that cover her hands up to her elbow.
Fitz rolls over in the bed and grunts.
"Good morning Fitz." She replies happily, leaning over to kiss his cheek as he sits up.
He blinks slowly, gathering his surroundings. "Is that the hemlock? Jesus Jemma, you could have killed us both," He admonishes.
"Oh don't be ridiculous Fitz I know exactly what I'm doing, you weren't in any danger at all." She turns the element off with a snap, "It's perfectly safe, as long as you don't touch or eat it."
He continues grumbling incoherently as he slips out of bed and wanders into the bathroom.
She hears the shower come on as she grabs the bleach and begins wiping down the surface where she was working with the toxin. She douses her gloves next, pulling them off after she's secured a lid on the beaker and wiped down the outside, just to be sure. Fitz comes out of the bathroom as she's running the cloth over all the surfaces of the room, anywhere they could have touched, where DNA could have settled.
He strips the bed, pulling the sheets into the bathroom along with the bottle of bleach and the water starts on again.
"Ready?" She asks when he comes out again, picking up a bag. Their clothes are packed into one large duffle while another is filled with miscellaneous tech and equipment, things too valuable or suspicious to trust in only the locked trunk of the car.
"Yeah," He grabs the other, opening the small window to let out some of the smell.
They check out of the hotel quickly, paying cash, then putting the bags into the trunk of the car, an old blue Honda civic that's had it's plates changed a half dozen times and more than a few improvements made under the hood by Fitz's idle fingers.
Fitz drives while Simmons unfolds multiple large maps across her lap, directing him. They stop for gas and bad coffee and food at the first station they cross about an hour into their journey and Simmons scolds Fitz for the amount of junk food he buys.
Another few hours pass as they travel through uneventful highways before Fitz asks suddenly, "Is that a hitchhiker?"
"Yes Fitz I think it is." Jemma answers.
It's only a spec in the distance, but he's is already slowing down. "Don't you think you should really try out that water hemlock stuff? Make sure it's adequate ya' know?"
They're alone on the highway.
"Yes, that's an excellent idea." She reaches into the bag at her feet and quickly dips a miniscule track dart from the glove compartment into the white solution with a pair of thick tweezers before clicking it into it's station, sliding everything back into place as Fitz stops the car on the shoulder near the man. He's not very tall, seems to be about their own age and a bit scrawny. She rolls down her window and calls out, "Where are you headed?"
"Seattle," he calls back, jogging over to the car.
"Same as us, do you need a ride?" Simmons asks, her voice sweet, a delicate smile on her lips.
"Yeah," He replies, "Thanks." He gets into the backseat, "I'm Tyler."
"Lovely," Simmons answers, "I'm Jemma and this is Leo."
"Hi there," Fitz says over his shoulder as he brings the car back onto the road. It's his best friendly voice but there's still a bit too much edge in his smile.
"I apologize for the plastic," Simmons says, "We used to have a dog, she got so nervous when we'd drive with her, wouldn't she Leo?"
Fitz nods, "Poor thing, would shake all the way there and all the way back."
"Oh that's okay," Tyler says, "Where is she now, if you don't mind me asking."
"Died, two months ago I think it was. Liver failure, she lived a good fourteen years though." Fitz answers.
"I'm sorry."
They both wave a hand in dismissal.
"So what are you headed to Seattle for Tyler?" Jemma asks as she fiddles with the tablet on her lap, instructing it to recognize Tyler's heat signature, but not pressing launch yet.
"My father lives there, and I'm hoping to find a job." He leans forward over the seat.
"That's nice," Simmons replies, catching Fitz's eye and indicating towards a sign that announces a service road up ahead. He nods ever so slightly in reply, pulling the car off the main highway.
"I hope you don't mind if we just take a quick stop to stretch our legs Tyler," Simmons says, "It's been quite a long drive."
"Oh yeah, no problem."
"Shouldn't be long," Fitz says, nodding again to Simmons as they travel along the gravel road, the trees quickly blocking their view of the highway.
Simmons taps the launch button on her tablet, the sound of tires on gravel easily block out the small whirl of the dart waking up. It flies off into the back seat, where it burrows into the flesh of Tyler's neck.
"Ow!" He says and Simmons hears his hand slap against skin, "I think something just bit me."
"That's strange," She replies, noncommittally.
The poison starts taking effect almost immediately. She can hear his breathing deepen and a low groan.
"I think I'm gonna be sick," He groans undoing his seatbelt and trying for the door handle but it only pulls uselessly.
Fitz stops the car, pulling the keys from the ignition as Simmons hops out and opens the door to the backseat. Tyler is now writhing against the seat, his face scrunched up in agony.
She grins, "That's lovely really," she says to Fitz as she rips the plastic up from where it's Velcroed down to the floor, "Faster than I expected but altogether good results."
Leo works from the other side to detach the plastic and he pulls it along with Tyler onto the side of the road just into the tree line while Jemma opens the trunk, quickly rifling around to pull out her purple gloves and multiple syringes and plastic bags.
Tyler is still alive, only just twitching and breathing raggedly, sprawled out on the plastic. Simmons kneels next to him, gloves on and hair pulled back, and slides one needle into the vein pulsing on his neck, drawing blood. She bags it and hands that to Fitz.
"Pre-mortem."
Fitz pulls out a marker and labels the bag, dropping it into the cooler.
She pulls out a pair of thick scissors and cuts off Tyler's t-shirt and jeans. Then they wait, Simmons with her fingers pressed against the mans neck, feeling his pulse die, and Fitz laying out surgical instruments on the plastic beside her.
When the wheezing stops and she can no longer feel the thrum of moving blood under her fingers she takes another syringe full of blood, handing it to Fitz for labeling then she picks up a scalpel.
She starts by cutting the track dart out of his neck, masking the puncture with several decorative cuts. Thick lines that wrap around the front of his throat, a deep swirl up his jaw and onto his cheek, a light row of diamonds on his opposite shoulder running just above the clavicle.
Then she moves on to making a clean y-incision down the center of the chest and over the abdomen. She removes the liver, opening up the rib cage easily with several cuts with a costotome, bagging it before giving it to Fitz who grimaces slightly as he lays it in the cooler.
After another few vials of blood and samples of lung tissue she's got everything she needs and sends Fitz back to the car with the cooler as she masks her doings with more careless cuts. She shreds up the sides of the lungs, spreads the ribs further outward so they protrude from the body, leaving the heart open in the center of his chest. The kidneys get switched, just for the hell of it, and she perforates the lining of the stomach.
Together they move the body off the plastic and fold it up for later use, then load all the tools back into the trunk of the car, clearing the scene of evidence.
He kisses her roughly, teeth sinking into her bottom lip, pressing her back into the door of the car. She pushes back, both hands fisting in the wool of his sweater, pulling him closer for a moment before breaking off.
"We really shouldn't linger Fitz, you know that." She murmurs, her face inches away from his.
"You know how much I love watching you work, Jem." He tucks a strand of hair that has escaped her ponytail behind her ear, letting his fingers linger on the smooth skin of her cheek.
Simmons grins, pressing a quick peck to his lips. Then she's sliding away and walking to the passenger seat. He sighs then gets into the car as well.
"I guess we're not going to Seattle after all," Simmons says, opening up the maps again.
"Doesn't seem so," Fitz replies, turning the car back onto the highway.
"Let's head east, shall we?" Jemma asks.
"Sure," Fitz answers, "Turn here?"
"Why not?" She smiles at him brightly as he turns the car away from the setting sun.
Coulson wakes to his phone ringing loudly. He groans, reaching blindly for the offending object, regretfully leaving the warmth of blankets for the cool air around him. Winter was just approaching and his building hadn't turned the heating on yet.
"May?" He asks into the phone. He doesn't bother to check the ID first, it couldn't be anyone else, it's still dark outside.
"We've got another one." She answers.
He groans again, "Where this time?"
"Washington State, just off the I-5."
"Just one?" He asks, getting out of bed and moving towards his closet.
"Looks like," He hears rustling on the other end of the line, "Pick you up in ten?"
"Yup." He tosses the phone back onto the bed.
I'm going to try to update this every Thursday, feel free to come yell at me on Tumblr ( .com) when I forget.
The title comes from the E.E. Cummings poem 'Since feeling is first'
Also please let me know if you think the rating should be higher.
Thanks!