May 4, 2012
Classified Sci-Ops Research Facility, North-Eastern USA
"That's the third time today," Fitz whispered anxiously, keeping his voice low so only Simmons could hear him. "Why is everyone receiving top secret phone calls all of a sudden? And why haven't we received any?" If something was happening, if people were being recruited to help, why weren't they? He and Simmons were good at what they did, better than good, they were exceptional.
"Try it again please," she requested, ignoring his questions the same way she'd been ignoring the hustle and bustle of the past few days. The higher-ups were tense, more rigid than usual, their hushed conversations quieter and stopping sooner when they saw the lower level agents approach. Something was happening, but Simmons was confident they'd be told what they needed to know when they needed to know it. Fitz wasn't so patient, much to her dismay.
He sighed and loaded the cartridge she'd filled for him back into the grappling gun. She wanted him to focus, he could focus, no problem. Though it wouldn't have killed her to show an ounce more curiosity, he knew she wanted answers the same way he did, she just wasn't willing to be snoopy to get them. That could mean breaking a rule, which he was sure would evoke a mini mid-life crisis (or in her case more like quarter-life crisis) in his friend, should it ever happen.
They'd been working on a new grappling gun model which could support, in theory, up to 3 tons. The rope was made from a light, incredibly strong compound designed after spider silk, which was holding remarkably well. It was the sticky substance, Simmons had named super-super glue, they were still fiddling with. Super-super glue could only hold up to two tons so far but Fitz had a good feeling about the new formula.
He entered the testing chamber and fired the cartridge towards the bullseye ninety feet up. The capsule landed and discharged the super-super glue close to the center of the target, his aim was pretty good, for someone who'd never had a day of training as a field agent. That and the gadget had a guidance system which made it easier to land on the mark.
He attached the other end to the force generator, it would slowly raise itself to 3 tons, and was momentarily distracted by another agent being escorted out on the other side of the glass, this time by three armed men.
What the hell was happening?
"Fitz let go!" Simmons exclaimed, alarmed.
He let out a yelp and yanked his arm back, realizing he hadn't let go of the rope after he'd turned on the force generator. That could have easily broken some bones, or taken his arm off.
She was shaking her head at him, eyes wide and disapproving as he exited the chamber.
"You need to stop worrying about other agents and focus on your work," she scolded, seeming slightly ruffled.
"Oh c'mon Simmons," he groaned. "I know you're just as curious as I am, admit it."
"Not curious enough to have my arm torn off," she muttered, eyes on the top of the chamber through the plexiglass windows.
Fitz realized he'd given her a scare and moved over allowing their shoulders to touch momentarily. "Sorry," he told her.
She didn't look at him but she smiled, accepting his apology. "I am a bit inquisitive myself about what has everyone dashing around," she admitted. "And why hasn't anyone called us to work on it yet?"
"I know!" He agreed enthusiastically. "We're some of the top scientists here."
"Well..." she began modestly.
"We are," he insisted and she gave him another sideways smile.
"2 tons, 800 kilograms," she announced brightly.
"And still holding," he finished triumphantly. Even if it gave out now they'd made significant progress.
"900," she declared.
"955," he counted.
"3 tons," they cheered.
Simmons remotely stopped the force generator's progress then reached out her hand for a high five which he gave spiritedly.
The clap of their hands, however, was interrupted by the building's alarm system. Lights flashed, blue, blue, green. Blue, blue, green and Simmons and Fitz exchanged an frightened glance.
They'd never had that one go off before, never thought they would. Blue, blue, green meant a global emergency, it meant all hands on deck, it meant the apocalypse was approaching. Fitz had added the last one in his head, it wasn't in the manual, but he was certain no one would disagree with him on it. It was funny, he'd always pegged 2026 as the year the world would end, not 2012, however people interpreted the ending of the Mayan calendar.
"Report to briefing room 78," the announcements blared insistently over and over along with the lights. "Report to briefing room 78. All personnel, immediately."
They scrambled to shut down the testing chamber and hurried into the hallway to find a river of SHIELD scientists in white lab coats, speckled with armed agents in black combat uniforms, which they soon became part of.
The alarm was still blaring, disturbingly loud so it felt as if it were coming from inside his head rather than entering his ears from the outside. Fitz was on edge, jittery and he almost jumped when Simmons reached out for his hand except that hers was so familiar he knew whose it was instantly and settled down. Her fingers were cool on his warm skin and the firm grip they had on him was comforting. He held on tightly, not wanting to lose her in the chaos as they were swept away towards briefing room 78.
/-/-/
I dunno if there is really such thing as a force generator, it's just based off of things I've seen on Mythbusters and the Discovery channel.
This will be multi-chaptered, there is more :P
I decided to do a fic about what happened to FitzSimmons during the battle of New York because they were SHIELD agents at the time and I can picture SHIELD freaking out while it is happening and running around and besides they don't talk about the years they spent at Sci-Ops much in the show so I thought it would be a fun time to explore.
2026 is the year that the world 'ended' in Fringe in the episode 'The Day We Died.' I will likely leave a reference to the science fiction series Fringe in every chapter of this story.
