Her hand was burning. No matter how many times she put her hand under the tap to wash the blood off her palm, it kept coming back. She had wrapped it tightly with the gauze she found in one of the bathroom drawers, taped it up until her hand went numb, and still the red pooled and soaked through the gauze, dripping onto the pale tiles. She was used to the sight of blood, but that didn't keep her from feeling slightly nauseous, especially seeing this much blood. She stumbled from the bathroom and into the adjoining bedroom, gripping the door frame with whatever strength she had, pain searing through her palm as she left a bloody print, bright against the white washed frame. The clock on her bedside table told her it was late, later than she had thought. She could hear the gentle ticking of the clock hands, a sound that once sought to soothe her, but now it was just irritating. With each minute that passed, the ticking grew louder and louder, pulsating at the same rhythm of her own heartbeat. She stumbled again, but this time onto the bed, throwing her hands up to cover her ears and put an end to the constant ticking. The noise was unbearable. Deafening. And then she screamed.

Jemma awoke with a start, tangled in her bedsheets and sweating profusely as if she had just run a marathon. She lifted a hand to her forehead, massaging her temples gently to calm the splitting headache that was quickly blossoming. A wave of sickness spread over her and she squeezed her eyes shut, taking deep breaths to settle her stomach. The sunlight poured in through the open window, spilling over the furniture and onto the beige carpet. It was winter sun. Warm, but not warm enough to melt the frozen air, and it mixed with the cool breeze that wafted its way into Jemma's room, bringing with it the usually mouth-watering smell of cooked bacon. The thought of food that morning however was enough to make her stomach twist with nausea. Opening her eyes, she frowned at the open window, unsure of when she had actually unbolted it. But, Jemma thought to herself, it was no surprise that she couldn't place the exact time of when she had opened it with the headache she was currently subjected to. The dream she had had was frightening, enough to wake anyone up riddled with aches and nausea. She looked down at her hand, calmed to see that there was no gauze, no blood and no cut. Jemma had imagined the whole thing, her memory blurry from the previous night. Yes, she remembered meeting him. She also remembered him being taken away by nameless S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, but everything else was a haze of images that she couldn't piece together. Jemma simply blamed it on the stress of a new job and a new life. The only drastic decision she had made in her life was which PhD to complete first, and even that was a simple choice.

It took Jemma half an hour before she realised that it was a work day, and that Coulson would probably kill her for not being in the lab at 9am sharp. She sighed in relief that the clock showed she had exactly forty minutes to make herself presentable, and was also relieved that Coulson had decided to set her up in an apartment mere feet away from headquarters. It was S.H.I.E.L.D.'s way of saying 'We respect your privacy but don't get too comfortable'. As if Jemma could possibly be comfortable with agents breathing down her neck at all hours of the day. Sometimes literally.

Rising from her bed, Jemma walked over to the basic but reasonably sized en suite bathroom. Sure, it didn't have a bath, but Jemma had always preferred showers. Although they didn't offer the same relaxing experience that baths did, there was something oddly calming about the way the hot water trickled rather than gushed over her body. She stilled, however, at the entrance to the bathroom. Her eyes fixated upon a scarlet spot on the door frame, and she swallowed thickly when noticing it looked exactly like a handprint. Jemma shook her head, scrunching her eyes shut. No, that was just a dream. She was just tired and stressed from everything that had been going on recently. No way could that have been real. Jemma gradually opened her eyes, and exhaled slowly. The bloody print was gone, the frame untarnished, and she internally scolded herself for being so stupid. It was just stress. That was all.


"State your name, age and address."

"My name is Leopold Fitz, I'm 24 and currently do not have an address."

"What is your profession?"

"I'm an engineer. A weapons specialist."

"Where did you receive your education and training?"

"University of Edinburgh and then transferred to Oxford University."

Jemma observed the interrogation through dark paned glass, her hands clasped together and resting on the windowsill in nervousness. She guaranteed however that Fitz was much more anxious than she was in that moment. He was answering faultlessly, revealing his impressive education in a clear voice, but it was his body that gave him away. Jemma could see he was trying hard not to shake, keeping his hands under the table and on his legs to stop them from jittering up and down.

"What is your affiliation with Chemitech?" Agent Coulson asked, as calm as ever. Nothing ever fazed Coulson, as far as Jemma knew.

"The company picked me up soon after I left Oxford. They offered me a job I could not refuse."

"What was the job?"

"They said that they could use someone with my engineering talents," Leo replied calmly, his arm stretching to pick up the glass of water that rested in front of him. He took a large gulp of water and quickly set it back on the table, noting the stern expression on Coulson's face.

"You didn't answer my question, Mr Fitz."

"I've been answering questions for hours. First you send some new recruits in here to interrogate me all night, and now you're asking questions. Please, I'm tired."

But Coulson was not about to back down. Jemma could see he was determined to get answers from Fitz, even if it took days to coax him into giving any. He rose from his seat and began pacing the room.

"I'll ask one last time. What was the job?" Coulson continued his pacing, but never once did his gaze flicker elsewhere than Leo Fitz. Jemma felt lucky she had never been subject to such a look, and hoped that she never would be.

Leo hesitated before replying. "They employed me as an engineer on a dangerous project of theirs. I wasn't allowed to know the details, which was part of the reason why I grew suspicious of their activities. I know it doesn't look good, but I'm honestly on your side. I'm as interested and as concerned as you are, Agent Coulson." He relaxed slightly, relieved to have his confession out there and not brewing up inside of him.

Coulson paused in thought, wondering how best to continue the interrogation. No one had given in that easily before, not even the petty criminals he had had to deal with in his early career as an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. Maybe this guy really did want to help.

"So what did you do after you developed suspicions, Mr Fitz?"

"I took things into my own hands. Researched what I could about the company. Didn't find much, to be honest with you. They keep most files on them locked up somewhere. Even I couldn't get access to them."

"And yet you managed to disarm two of my agents, even though you say you are on our side." Coulson resumed his pacing.

"Yes, well that may have been a slight miscalculation on my part."

"Miscalculation?"

"I thought they were agents from Chemitech, sir."

"I did not realise Chemitech had private agents. Is this a new occurrence?"

Fitz nodded, turning his head towards the dark paned glass that Jemma stood nervously behind. She, like Coulson, had been pacing around the room as Leo Fitz had confessed all he knew about the company he worked for. But as Fitz looked through the glass, as if he was watching Jemma walk back and forth, she stopped and slowly turned to face him, eyes meeting his stare. There was something so desperate in his eyes, and Jemma could see how exhausted he was from the endless questions. Surely Coulson could give him a break? They had him held up here like a prisoner. There was plenty of time to interrogate him, but they could at least let him rest first. Jemma averted her gaze, folding her arms across her chest as the questions began again. There was still something so familiar about his face. Truthfully, Jemma had not spent much time thinking about where she could have seen him before, so it was no surprise that she was unable to come up with an idea that satisfied her curiosity. She would just have to be content with not knowing for now.

"Look, Agent Coulson," Fitz starting, leaning forwards slightly and taking a deep breath before he continued, "I can help you find out what Chemitech is really up to."

Coulson peered at him in deep thought, weighing up his options. Jemma knew he could either imprison the scientist with no avail as to what plans the chemical company had, or he could use his knowledge to get to the bottom of whatever was going on. It really was a matter of how desperate S.H.I.E.L.D. was to find the truth, and either way, they would mistrust Fitz. Deciding it was her time to step in, Jemma clutched the handle of the door joining the interrogation suite and the observation room she stood in, and carefully opened it to be greeted by two pairs of curious eyes. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Jemma stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.

"Can I help you, Agent Simmons?" Coulson asked with a hint of annoyance at Jemma's untimely interruption.

Jemma swallowed nervously but managed to keep her voice calm, "If you'll forgive me for intruding, sir, I just wanted to say that I think it would be useful to have someone like Mr Fitz here help us with this situation. We don't have much to go on, and we could really use any information that he has on the company." She waited patiently as Coulson stared at her in deep thought. It was several minutes before his gaze shifted, flickering towards Fitz.

"Alright, I'll release you...but there are several conditions. Firstly, you must tell us everything you know about Chemitech and their plans. Secondly, you will remain here at all times unless given express permission by a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, and thirdly," Coulson said, turning his head slightly towards Jemma, "you will answer to Agent Simmons here. You owe her, Mr Fitz, and I have a feeling that you two will have much in common."

Coulson rose from the table, his chair scraping against the linoleum floor and nodded at Jemma before he strolled out of the interrogation suite and disappeared down the corridor. Jemma glanced back at Fitz before looking away quickly.

"Well, it looks like we're a team now," she mumbled, speaking just loud enough for Fitz to hear her, "I suppose we should get started. I'll show you to the lab." Jemma led the scientist out of the room and down the corridor opposite to the one Coulson had taken, trying not to notice when Fitz's hand brushed against her own.

"Why did you do it?" Fitz asked after a while, breaking the silence between them as Jemma led the way to the laboratory.

She gave a small smile, "I'm just returning the favour."