Author's note: This is my first "official" fan fiction. Hope you enjoy and please leave a review! More to come!

Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel, Agents of SHIELD or any of its wonderful characters.

Chapter One

The room was dark, the only light shining from a small lamp hanging in the corner of the room, the light shining through the dust that hung in the air. Jemma Simmons opened her eyes, her head throbbing. Slowly she picked herself up off the floor, pushing her body to a sitting position. She didn't know how she got there. She didn't even know where there was. The sights around her were foreign. The walls were a gray stone and the floor was covered in dirt. The only thing that gave her any clue to where she was were the bars that were lining two of the walls. Jemma Simmons was a prison cell.

Panic began to rise in her as she looked around the cell. If she didn't know any better she would have thought that she was on the set of a pirate movie. She kept waiting to see a dog run out holding a ring full of keys. Where was she? She gingerly got up from her position on the floor and walked up to the bars that separated her and the hallway. Putting both hands on the bars she shook them hard, but despite the ancient look of the cell, the bars were firmly in place. She shook the bars one more time out of desperation before conceding that they would not budge. Wherever she was, she was trapped and she couldn't see any way out of it.

Fitz.

Jemma crossed the room as fast as she could and moved to the bars that separated the adjoining cell. Fitz was lying on the floor, completely passed out. "Fitz!" Jemma screamed, trying to wake her best friend and partner. A cold rush of fear went over her. No. No. Fitz had to be okay. Jemma didn't know what she would do if he wasn't okay.

"Fitz!" She screamed one more, falling to her knees in front of the bars of the cell. She reached her arm through the bars, stretching her arm as far as she could, trying to grab him. He was just in reach, her fingers clasped around his shirt, pulling at the fabric. "Fitz, please," she pleaded with him, the desperation and fear in her voice evident.

"Jemma?"

"Oh, Thank God," she sighed in relief. Fitz turned over to face Jemma. His clothes were covered in dirt and blood was caked in a cut on his forehead. Jemma's hand reflexively gripped his shirt harder as she took in his dirty, beaten appearance.

"What happened?" Fitz asked; his eyes filled with confusion as he took in the sights around them. "Jemma, where are we?" His eyes found hers, staring deep into them as he asked the questions that Jemma couldn't answer; the very questions she had been wondering.

"I don't know," she cried, her voice high in desperation. "I don't know where we are or how we got here."

Fitz moved closer to the bars of the cell, moving his hand to firmly grip the hand she had placed through the bars. She moved her other hand through the bars, allowing him to take that one too. His touch was comforting, but it didn't stop fear from coursing through her body. "Fitz, what are we going to do?"

"It's going to be okay," he said, giving her a reassuring smile. How was it that he could stay calm when she was a bloody wreck?

"How, Fitz?" She asked, her eyes searching his.

"We're together. We will get through this. We've been in tighter spots before."

Despite herself, she felt a small, tight smile tug on the side of her lips. She knew he was right; they had been in tighter spots, both together and alone. They could get through this. They had to get through this. "You are right. Surely the others are already on their way, out looking for us." Jemma tried to keep her voice from shaking as she spoke, not wanting to think about the possibility that the rest of the team could be in cells themselves. "I pushed on the bars, they seem sturdy."

"Well, everything has a weakness." Fitz said, hoping up from the floor and making his way over to the jail door. "We just have to find it." He gave her a smile, his eyes lit with the possibility of a new challenge.

Jemma made her way to the door herself, watching as Fitz began moving around it slowly, checking out every facet of the door and the mechanisms that kept it locked in place. Jemma took relief in the knowledge that if anyone would be able to find a way to break open the door, it was Fitz. She could already see his engineering mind working as he examined every possible outcome. "If we wedge something big under the door, maybe we could lift it off the hinges."

"This isn't Pirates of the Caribbean, Simmons." Fitz replied, still inspecting the door. "Besides, what do you suggest we use?"

"Well, excuse me for trying to come up with some sort of plan. Do you have a better idea?"

"No."

Jemma's shoulders stooped as she paced around, kicking dirt was she walked. "Like you said," she began, trying to keep the optimism that Fitz had in the beginning. "Someone is on their way."

"I hope you're right," Fitz said as he crumpled back down into the dirt.

"Now, don't you start that," Jemma admonished him, "I was the total mess, you were the optimistic one. You aren't allowed to turn the tables on me." She sat back down next to the bars, putting her hand back through and placing it on his knee. "It will all work…"

But Jemma didn't get the chance to finish her sentence. They both heard the sound of a door opening come from the far end of the hall, followed by the loud stomping of boots. Jemma hopped back up from her spot, moving back against the far wall. Fitz had followed suit. They were still next to each other, the bars the only thing separating them, but their backs were up against the stone wall.

"Hello," came a voice as a man moved from around the corner. Jemma could hear a slight German accent in his voice. She looked at Fitz, her eyes filled with fresh fear. Fitz's jaw was set, a look of determination in his eyes. The man chuckled lightly. "There is no reason to be afraid, not if you give me the information I want."

"And what information is that?" Fitz replied back, his voice steady, but slightly higher in pitch then normal.

"I want to know how you stabilized the Extremis in Mike Peterson." The man's eyes moved between Fitz and Simmons, carefully watching them.

"That is classified information." Fitz replied, his voice giving way to a small shake.

Jemma looked at Fitz again, her eyes wide in fear. She didn't even know how they had stabilized the Extremis, only that they had. It wasn't until Mike Peterson had told them that they even knew they had something to do with it – or at least that the night night gun did. Something in the dendrotoxin had stopped the Extremis from becoming unstable, but they hadn't had time to fully examine why that was. "We can't help you." Jemma said, her voice full of desperation.

"I beg to differ," came the simple response of the unknown man. "I think you will change your mind soon enough." He walked towards the cell where Fitz was and looked off to the side. "Open it."

Two men dressed completely in black made their way out of the shadows and towards the door to Fitz's cell. Jemma could see each of them was carrying multiple guns. They opened the door, flanking the other man as he entered Fitz's cell. The door slammed shut behind them. Jemma could feel her heart pounding as they made their way to Fitz. Fitz looked over to Jemma once more, the fear in his eyes clear as day, before he turned to look at the men coming towards him. "We can't help you."

The other man just chuckled, a horrid laugh that filled the whole room, chilling Jemma to the bone. "I think we can find a way to change that," the man gave a curt nod to his companions.

Jemma watched in horror as one of them brought out a rod. The end was suddenly sparking with electricity. The man swung the rod, hitting Fitz square in the back. Jemma screamed and threw herself against the bars separating them, watching as Fitz's body convulsed. The man pulled the rod back, before jabbing it once more at Fitz, sending him down on all fours in the dirt. Tears began flooding down Jemma's face as she shook the bars with all of her strength, wishing she could get to Fitz some how, some way. But there was nothing Jemma could do to stop the man from continuing to hit Fitz.

"I will never help you," Fitz spat, his head slowly moving to look at Jemma, who had fallen down the bars to be right in front of him. Her eyes were bloodshot and her throat raw from screaming. "Do whatever you want to me, but I will never help you." Fitz looked straight in her eyes, silently pleading with her, but not pleading with her to stop them, but to remain silent herself. Whoever these men were could not get the information they wanted.

"Very well then; let us try a different tactic," Jemma looked up at the man speaking, her eyes now filling with a hatred she rarely felt. "You may not care what happens to you, but what about your little girlfriend?"

Jemma turned to see two more men, in identical gear as the others, walk into her cell. One pulled a rod identical to the one that was used on Fitz and grabbed her roughly off the floor.

The man looked from Jemma over to Fitz.

"Last chance."