When she finally came to, Jemma could not have said how long she lay there on the cold floor, unmoving, willing her head to stop pounding and trying to muster the will to open her eyes and figure out where they'd taken her. It wasn't until she remembered why she was there in the first place - that Fitz was in trouble - that she was jolted into action.
The action was short lived, however, as the combination of the light bombarding her retinas as she opened her eyes and her attempts to sit up resulted in having to curl up on herself, jaw clenched as she tried to fight the sudden urge to vomit.
She groaned, taking several deep breaths as the wave of nausea washed over her. Once she was convinced she was definitely not going to lose her breakfast, she cracked open one eye and then the other. The light didn't seem as bright as it had been when she'd first tried opening them, and while her headache intensified slightly, it remained bearable.
She wasn't sure what she'd been given, and there was no way she could narrow it down without thorough blood testing, but whatever it was, she would probably be feeling the effects for a while. Taking another deep breath, she gingerly rolled over so she was facing something other than the white wall that had first greeted her, and sat up slowly.
As it turned out, she almost needn't have bothered. The gray marble floor and white walls were all there was to the room, interrupted only by a grey door opposite her. On two opposing corners of the room, she could also see two cameras mounted near the ceiling, red blinking lights seemingly indicating they were recording.
Knowing it was probably futile, but that she had to try it, she made her way across the room to the door and tested the knob. It was, as she'd predicted, locked. She could always try kicking it, she thought wryly, but the likelihood that she'd achieve nothing but hurting herself was high. And, in the off chance she was successful, it's not like her attempt to leave the room would go unnoticed either, thanks to the cameras.
Sighing, she rested her forehead against the door and closed her eyes. The cool metal soothed her headache somewhat and made it easier to think. She contemplated calling out in the hopes that it would bring someone to her erstwhile cell. She was torn between fear of what would happen when someone did come, and the unbearable uncertainty of her situation. While she had some idea of who'd taken her, she needed to know why and, most of all, she needed some reassurance that Fitz was okay. That he was, at least, still breathing.
She was saved the need to choose, though, as she heard what had to be steps right outside the door. Taking a couple of steps back, she listened intently as the steps came to a stop and the door started to open.
The man who entered the room was older than the Hydra men she'd encountered earlier in the hospital, his hair already a silvery white. He was tall and, while the inevitabilities of age had made his gut rounder than it had probably been in his youth, his shoulders remained broad, straining against his suit.
"Doctor Simmons," he spoke, startling her. It had been a long time since anyone referred to her as 'doctor'. Since joining SHIELD, she'd always been first and foremost an agent; though she supposed, since it didn't officially exist anymore, she'd stopped being officially one. Then again, thanks to Skye's skills, Jemma Simmons did not technically exist, either. "I'm sorry for the manner in which you were brought here; I'm sure you understand, this is a delicate matter, and we couldn't risk you alerting anyone."
"Where's Fitz?" She almost snarled, fists clenching. She didn't care to hear the man's platitudes. How dare he act like she wasn't being held in some Hydra facility god—knew-where; like, under different circumstances, she would've come of her own free will.
"Straight to the point, I see." He smiled at her, almost pityingly. "Mr. Fitz is being held somewhere in this compound, not too far from here. I'll take you to see him in just a minute. But, first, we need to have a chat."
"Doctor." The correction left her mouth almost before she'd processed what she was saying.
"I'm sorry?"
"It's Doctor Fitz. Or Agent Fitz." If she was being afforded this small measure of respect, then so should Fitz. She wouldn't let her friend be reduced to a bargaining chip, his skills and accomplishments dismissed as if they meant nothing.
"Right; I apologise, doctor Fitz. Like I said, he is here, and he is fine. Or as fine as he can be, given his current circumstances."
Jemmma exhaled in relief, even though any hope she'd held onto that she'd been fooled and Fitz was still somewhere back in the hospital had been shattered. Still, she wouldn't quite believe it until she saw him. Whatever they wanted from her, they would not get until she could be physically reassured that he was alive.
"Who are you? Why am I here? What do you want from me?" The man quirked an eyebrow as the questions tumbled out of her mouth.
"Which one of those would like me to answer first?" He smirked. "I would invite you to sit, but, well..." He gestured around the empty room. "My name is Joseph Loeb. I was Agent Garrett's handler, which leaves me now with the task of putting his affairs in order. And the answer to your last question is, what don't we want from you? You're a brilliant scientist, Doctor Simmons, and would be a valuable addition to our cause. Specifically, however, we'd like you to aid us in our research into GH325."
"I - what? Why me?" While she could understand why they'd want to research the drug, she couldn't quite see why they'd go to the trouble of kidnapping her.
"Like I said, you're a brilliant scientist. You've worked with it before. You've seen its effects and you've had access to the blood of those treated with it. You're about as close as it gets to an expert, with everyone that worked on the project either missing or dead. And besides, you have some pretty good motivation."
Immediately, Jemma knew what he was referring to. It would be a lie to admit that she hadn't thought about it. That it hadn't been agony, sitting next to Fitz' bedside, knowing that, if she could only get her hands on some of that miracle drug, he could be Fitz again, lively and anxious and brilliant as ever. Still, even if they had had access to some of the drug, Coulson would've never signed off on it. And, Jemma had to admit, with good reason; if Garrett had been proof of anything, it was that side-effects were a definite possibility.
"I'm sorry. I can't help you with that. I won't use Fitz as a lab rat!" She protested. She knew it was a weak defense. She'd done it with Skye, after all. But this was different. Fitz was still alive; he still had a fighting chance.
"Oh, come on, Jemma! Be honest with me," his tone was suddenly paternal, like he was talking to a child, "you know what the effects of oxygen deprivation are. Drowning, even for just a few minutes, can be devastating to the brain. How likely do you think it is he'll wake up? And if he does, you know he won't be the Fitz you know and love! He might not be able to speak, or even move. He certainly won't be the genius boy that he's always been. Do you think he'll be happy like that? Unable to work, unable to create those amazing machines that he's loved so much?"
It chilled Jemma, to finally hear it said out loud, what she'd known all this time but had never fully admitted to herself. She shook her head lightly, her nails digging tiny crescent moons into her palm.
"No. I can't. I - I can't." Even if it meant helping Fitz, this was still Hydra, the organisation that had wrecked SHIELD and caused the deaths of so many people. She knew she just couldn't give in to their demands. She needed to hold out, wait for her team to find them. She had a duty not to give in.
"Look, I can put a gun to your head. I can put a gun to Fitz' head. I can have you tortured, if you want. I'll make you help us, one way or the other. But you know, deep down, no matter how much you deny it, that you want this as bad as me. This research will save lives, Doctor Simmons. It might just save your friend's. That is entirely up to you. " He paused, his eyes drilling into her, and smiled.
"Now, shall we go see him?"
As he stepped out of the room, motioning that she should follow, Jemma realised that her cheeks and eyes were moist. She hadn't even noticed she'd started crying.
