How can somebody be so similar and so different at the same time?
The urge to shred the picture in her trembling hands was overwhelming.
Alistair and Leopold Fitz. From Glasgow tenements to Hydra top. The history of a Scottish success story.
In this world, the Fitz had replaced the Starks, and not for the best.
For the last hour, she and Coulson barricaded themselves in the room that used to be his office in the real world, before he chose to step down in the wake of the Hive disaster, and worked in comfortable silence, sipping tepid coffee, ignoring the broken springs under the sofa cushions.
She had been shuffling through the documents that Coulson-teacher Coulson-had gathered over time, testimonies of the flashes of memories he couldn't understand, clues that could help her understand a world that didn't make sense.
Beside her, Coulson looked quite uncomfortable in his Hydra gear. Maybe teacher Coulson wasn't used to uniforms. Maybe agent Coulson chafed at the notion of wearing anything related to Hydra. As he waited for the bus that he and Mace stole earlier that day, he absorbed a series of pamphlets resuming SHIELD protocols, or whatever they became in the Framework. Ward-bloody goddamn Ward-had been adamant. Coulson needed to ingurgitate the guidelines he would have to follow if he wanted to keep on helping the Resistance.
What a ridiculous joke.
A former director, a more than seasoned agent with decades of experience, was treated like a newbie in Mace's Framework fantasy.
A fantasy? More like the cruellest cosmic joke.
Not for the first time since she set foot in the living hell that was the Framework, the haunting question came back the forefront of her agitated mind. Hard as she tried, the image of Fitz coldly shooting Agnes without a hint of discomfort imposed itself, properly nauseating.
Gentle, awkward Fitz, whom she'd had to coerce when the call of adventure whisked them away from their stuffy labs. A man who actually crossed the universe for her.
The Doctor, the monster, Hydra's Number 2. A man who would cross the universe for whoever Aida became.
This Fitz couldn't be more atrociously different from her Fitz.
Fresh tears formed in her already burning, reddened eyes, and the terrible itch to smash something, anything, to hit someone, anyone-Ward-came back with a vengeance. But Coulson was her only companion on the decrepit and cluttered room-a room that used to be so welcoming with its improbably collection of vintage spy equipment and other memorabilia.
As if he felt her swing of mood, Coulson tore his eyes away from the pamphlet he was currently reading. Jemma met his steady but interrogating stare-it was difficult to get used to the thick-rimmed glasses-and forced herself to grimace-as much of a smile as she could muster. If anybody didn't deserve to suffer from her own anguish, it was him.
Instead, she tried to focus once more on the disorganized collection of newspaper articles. If the situations weren't familiar, many names surely were. The associations weren't that far off either. The former Agent Blake was as anti-Inhuman in the Framework as he was in the real world. Jasper Sitwell was a bona fide hero.
And May was Hydra's Number 3, forsaking whatever the real agent ever held dear on the altar of this anti-Inhuman crusade.
The last picture showing the Unholy Trinity standing solemnly over the commemorative plaque to the Cambridge Incident was the proverbial straw. Again, Jemma had to put the papers down, feeling as if merely reading them would suffice to corrupt her as well.
As if the Framework was an epidemic and the printed words the virus.
She let out a shuddering breath as she leaned against the back of the sofa. She massaged her aching temples-even as an avatar, she clenched her jaw too much obviously, maybe she should listen to Fitz and consult a dentist…
"Oh bloody hell!" she exclaimed, kicking the coffee table away. The papers scattered on the dusty floor. The old, chipped mugs flew across the room, spreading their cold and undrinkable content.
"Simmons?" In this world or the other, Coulson's interrogative tone was worth a whole speech.
What's going on? Are you alright?
Jemma turned to her companion, already ashamed of her outburst. She needed to focus. She was a SHIELD agent. She needed to find a way to bring everybody back, sound and safe.
But, the truth was, she was tired of being a SHIELD agent right now. She wanted this world to fade away and give back her Fitz.
"Maybe you should get some rest." The words were soft, his tone very familiar, but something was lacking.
At least, Aida hadn't destroyed Coulson to his last bit. She hadn't transformed him into a shadow of his old self. Even in the Framework, his gentleness, his instinct to protect-to be a shield, to be her shield after Fitz killed Agnes-were still his defining traits.
Or were they?
Coulson had ratted her out to Hydra. He was notorious for his lack of reaction when Hydra came and arrested his students. The real Coulson would have never tolerated that. As nauseating as it was, Jemma had to admit that the Doctor was still Fitz in so many ways, in spite of his crimes. His demeanour, his body language, his dedication to the woman he loved, his brilliant mind. This was still Fitz, but horribly twisted and corrupted.
The couch shifted as Coulson got up to retrieve the scattered papers. In the Framework, both his arms were intact, but he still moved his left hand clumsily at times.
"Telling the Resistance guys that they're not real, breaking their furniture and their mugs… What's next? Tagging their walls with slogans?"
Again, typical Coulson and his deadpan humor.
He had a point, though. She was going nowhere with her current approach. Mace's words still rang painfully in her ears.
You don't know me at all.
The weight of her failure was unbearable. When she and Daisy entered the Framework, she thought it was only a matter of time before they found their friends and bring them back to safety. On that front, the first few days in the Framework were nothing a pure disaster. Fitz was cold-blooded murderer. May was on a mission to eradicate the Inhuman threat. Mace refused to hear her. But her most recent exchange with the man known as the Patriot in the Framework added even more weight to her sense of utter failure.
You don't know me at all.
He was so painfully right. If anything, Aida's manipulation revealed the frailty of their team. They survived everything together and liked to think themselves as this big, tight, chosen family. They fought together and lived together in the shadows of the Playground. They severed themselves from the outside world, but they had each other.
She had Fitz.
And yet…
Coulson let himself be deceived by a LMD version of May. Every one of them had been fooled, but Coulson had known her for decades… Fitz's LMD made Jemma doubt even as he tried to kill her in cold-blood. She was one of Mace's closest collaborators and knew nothing about him.
Absolutely nothing.
Jemma stood up to retrieve the coffee table and the now broken mugs. Looking around, she saw a couple of newspapers thrown into a corner of the room. Fitz's face occupied most of the front page as the title celebrated his ascension to the highest ranks of Hydra. Forcing herself to ignore the renewed pain, she ruffled the offending pages and used them to mop the puddle of coffee.
This was an unmitigated disaster.
"Coulson! You're up in thirty!" Burrows-the so much more competent and idealized Framework version of Burrows-didn't bother to step into the room and disappeared into the corridor before they could answer.
Coulson was still kneeling on the dusty floor, collecting his documents and placing them back into the brown folder with a slightly trembling hand.
Of course, he reacted to Daisy's pleas, but was still in stasis between his Framework persona and his real personality. Fortunately, the latter seemed to find its way to the surface more and more… the unexpected cello cover in a folder full of Hydra-related conspiracy theories, the sudden and unconscious hostility towards Ward, his instinctive need to protect the people around him.
But it wasn't enough. He was taking too many risks. Neither he nor Mace should take so many risks here in the Framework. They needed to focus on the real fight.
"Sir, I mean, Coulson," Jemma spoke softly. "You don't have to do that."
He looked up and considered her above his glasses-a gesture that was still so unnatural to her-before shrugging in the most familiar way. The well-known self-effacing, boyish grin made his eyes shine.
How can somebody be so similar and so different at the same time?
"I kinda have to, they're low on human ressources. And…"
Coulson closed the folder and stood up, inviting Jemma to do the same. She took the offered hand.
"And?"
He shook his head, as if debating to open up. Probably still trying to understand the enormity of his situation.
"Before you came, you and Daisy, I mean, I had this quiet life, but I was dying inside. I taught classes I despised. I let the police take my students. I called the police more than once. I disapproved but I just couldn't bring myself to do anything."
"You were afraid."
They were back on the couch.
"Yes, I was afraid. Afraid of Hydra. Afraid of these flashes in my head. I thought I was losing my mind. Afraid of myself." He opened the folder again and handed the cello cover. "I don't know why, but this brought me peace before you came. I have this huge collection of cello recordings back home. Then, on the island, the other day. When you gave me this gun. I didn't know what to do with it. It felt foreign."
Jemma's throat contracted painfully.
"And now it doesn't feel foreign anymore?"
Coulson shook his head.
"Not anymore." He shrugged again. "I guess I'm trying to find myself again on the field, even if I'm far from ready for it. That, or I'm losing my mind for good."
Hesitantly, Jemma put her hand on his tigh-never she would have dared such a familiar gesture in the real world-and smiled a watery grin. "That's where your music collection would come handy, wouldn't it? Is there a musician you're particularly fond of?"
Again, this boyish shrug and smile. And a look of utter adoration.
A look she'd only ever seen in a picture that decorated a fireplace mantel in Portland.
"Well, I don't know if she exists in the real world, or ever existed. Here she died back in 2007. A pity." Coulson shook his head sadly. "But she left quite the collection behind for a young musician…"
I went to the police. They didn't believe me. Then a SHIELD agent came to my door.
Were you two... close?
Very.
Simmons' lips spread in a big, excited smile.
Take that, Aida. You can't control everything.
"Audrey Nathan."
She could feel the muscles tense under her hand in response.
"Is she… Is she a thing in the real world?"
His voice sounded strangled, his expression a painful mix between hope and disbelief at his reaction for a person he didn't know in this world.
"Yes."
"Is she…?"
Simmons shook her head and decided not to fight against the fresh tears this time.
"No. You saved her life, in 2007."
Disbelief was soon replaced by relief on Coulson's face.
Then, puzzlement.
"Then, why…" He took off his glasses to wipe the already neat lenses. "Who is she to me?"
Simmons settled for a half-truth. That would do for now, especially with Burrows walking by again and knocking on the doorframe.
"Somebody very dear to you."
The whole story about his shattered life could wait.
"So, be careful today."
Coulson stood up. After a moment of hesitation, he squeezed her shoulder in a comforting gesture. Such a Coulson-like gesture.
"And don't antagonize them too much. It's their world."
Their fake real world turned upside down.
Hopefully, some things were impervious to Aida's manipulations.