Skye simply stood there in stunned silence for a few moments, at a loss for words.
No.
This was not happening.
No.
There was no way he was being serious.
No.
She silently told herself that she was walking right into her own humiliation, but she couldn't help it. She had to ask.
"Fitz…" she finally managed to choke out, her voice fighting past the lump in her throat. "Do…um…do you know who I am?" Skye was suddenly freezing, and absentmindedly wrapped her arms around her torso. She felt the maddening urge to run away, but she forced herself to stay and hear his answer.
For his part, Fitz looked like a deer trapped in headlights, an expression of his that usually made Skye burst out laughing but now just made her feel like she was going to throw up.
"Uh…" he began, his eyes still widened in fear. "No, don't tell me, I've got it," he stammered before pressing two fingers to his forehead and closing his eyes in concentration. "Oh!" he snapped his fingers, meeting her gaze again. "Nonlinear dynamics, right? With Professor Griffiths? Yeah, you sit a few rows ahead of me, I think. But I, uh, usually sit in the back, so I've only been staring at you from behind." His eyes widened further. "Not that I've been staring at you, I, uh, just meant that I've only ever looked at the back of your head. Seen. Seen the back of your head. Glanced, really." Skye wanted to interrupt him, but Fitz's feigned awkwardness, complete with reddened cheeks and severely embarrassed wince, was way too amusing. He continued to stammer on, apparently milking his situation for all it was worth before she called him out. "I'm sorry, I'm bloody awful with names, though. Is it…Daisy? No, that's not it. Carol?"
Skye couldn't hold back her snicker anymore. "Carol? Okay, Fitz, new Prank War ground rules. I'll let it slide this once because I understand it was probably too much for you to resist. But from now on, no faking amnesia after traumatic life-threatening situations. Especially after everything we've gone through with stupid…HYDRA and…just…everything. Got it?" Halfway through her lecture, when Fitz's bewildered expression didn't disappear, Skye's eyes filled with tears again. She was getting too angry with him. She knew that. But didn't he understand? Didn't he understand that she'd thought he was dead?
Fitz chuckled, but it seemed to be out of terror rather than amusement. "Okay, I've, uh…obviously missed something here. What's really going on?"
"Cut it out, Fitz," Skye whispered, looking down at the floor in a desperate attempt to hold back her tears.
"But I don't-"
"I said cut it out, Fitz!" she cried, turning away from him and covering her mouth with her trembling fingertips. This was not happening. This couldn't be happening. Not after everything their team had gone through. Not after everything Fitz had gone through. What was she going to do? A quiet sob escaped her lips, but she still refused to release her tears. She needed to pull herself together. Fitz needed her to pull herself together.
Distantly, she heard his weak voice make its way through the panicked buzz that had filled her ears. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you…" he began before trailing off. Skye's head snapped up at the sound of purposeful footsteps out in the hallway.
Oh, God.
Simmons.
"Okay, well unfortunately this is all I could find in the storeroom," Simmons declared as she strode into the room with a couple of thin blankets. Skye tried to meet her eyes, but Simmons simply walked right past her and made her way around to the other side of Fitz's bed. "And I know how much you hate the scratchy ones, Fitz, but you'll just have to make do with this one for now. I'll make a run to the Bus later and grab the one your mum made for you last Christmas." She sighed in exasperation, apparently misreading Fitz's confusion. "Yes, Fitz, I'll grab the sweets from under your bed too."
"Uh, Simmons?" Skye murmured, unsuccessfully trying to make sure her voice didn't waver.
"What is it, Skye?" Simmons replied distractedly, spreading out an ugly yellow blanket over Fitz's legs.
"Can I, uh, talk to you out in the hall for a sec?"
Simmons briefly glanced in her direction before adjusting some of the IVs attached to Fitz. "Can it wait a few minutes, Skye? I have to make sure- Fitz!" she suddenly exclaimed, pointing to his nearly untouched tea. "Drink that up right now. What, do you think it's just going to stay warm like that all day? And you barely even touched your food! You're going to go into shock again if you don't get something into your system. Honestly, it's like you don't even-"
"Simmons!" Skye shouted, and even though her vision was blurred with tears, she saw Simmons finally look over at her. "Something's wrong," she whispered, hoping she wouldn't have to say anything else. Skye didn't even fully understand what was happening. She didn't think she had the strength to accept it, let alone tell Simmons what was going on.
But Simmons wasn't looking at her anymore. For the first time since Fitz had woken up, Skye saw Simmons meet his eyes, her hands going still. The moment that followed was one of the longest moments of Skye's life. She'd spent enough time with FitzSimmons to know when there were unspoken words flying between them. Most of the time, it fascinated her, how in sync they were, not only finishing each other's sentences but also completing the other person. Two halves of a whole. FitzSimmons.
But this was something completely different. Simmons must have seen something in Fitz's eyes, something that had taken much too long for Skye to detect. She must have seen the truth in there, the truth that he didn't know who she was. Or maybe she just knew, like she always did with him. Fitz, on the other hand, seemed caught off-guard by the level of familiarity that would have undoubtedly been in Simmons's expression, and yet he didn't break away from her gaze. Skye imagined she was bearing witness to some strange alternate version of the first time FitzSimmons met. She also imagined this moment was a lot more heartbreaking than that first time, back at the Academy all those years ago. The silent exchange between them couldn't have been more than a few seconds, but Skye saw it. She saw Simmons retreat into herself, pushing away her feelings for Fitz's sake.
Fitz actually spoke first, though. "Okay, I, uh, I think I see what's going on," he said, a small smile on his face. Skye and Simmons looked at him in confusion. "Thompson set you both up to this, didn't he?"
"Who?" Skye asked, totally baffled.
"Jonny Thompson? He's had it out for me all year. Look, I get it, okay? I'm not as mature as the rest of you, I don't belong here, whatever. But this," he said, gesturing with his good arm at the spectacle around him, "is ridiculous. I mean, breaking my arm? Really? I've already told him I'd stay out of his way. What else does he want? And by the way I'll have you both know that Tony Stark was only seventeen when he graduated-"
"Fitz," Simmons interrupted him, and Skye was surprised to hear that her voice was amazingly clear. "I apologize for the confusion you must be feeling right now, but I have a question to ask you and it's very important that you answer it as truthfully as you can. All right?"
Fitz had fallen silent, and Skye could tell that he was beginning to fully understand that this wasn't some elaborate prank. He nodded slowly. Skye heard Simmons take a breath.
"What is…the last thing you remember?"
Fitz looked down at his lap and shook his head. "I, uh…I'm not quite sure. I think I was maybe leaving my flat? Yeah, I remember leaving my flat for class the other morning. But after that it's just…dark."
"Your flat," Simmons repeated, a tight smile on her face. "You mean your dorm? At…at the Academy?"
"No," Fitz replied after a pause. His eyes were darting back and forth between Skye and Simmons, probably hoping for some kind of recognition. "My flat. You know, the one I have in…Boston?"
"Right," Simmons said quietly, closing her eyes for a moment. "Because you're studying at-"
"MIT," Fitz finished as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I mean, that's where you guys go, too, isn't it?" At their silence he looked over at Skye. "Unless…unless you were telling the truth about being with…S.H.I.E.L.D.?" He shook his head, growing more upset. "Okay, can someone please just tell me what the bloody hell is going on?"
"Fitz," Simmons said gently, and Skye heard the first hint of a tremor in her voice. "You've experienced a traumatic brain injury caused by a lack of oxygen to your brain. We're not sure how much your brain cells have been affected but…it's obviously a lot more serious than we thought."
Fitz was still shaking his head. "I don't…that doesn't…but I wasn't-"
"You nearly drowned, Fitz," Simmons told him, her tense jaw line the only sign of how distressed she really was. "You're lucky to be alive. And despite this…setback…I promise you that we will be doing everything we can to make your recovery as smooth as possible."
"All right, you guys, this isn't funny anymore," Fitz muttered, avoiding their eyes as he tried to get out of the bed. "I'm going home now."
"Fitz, we're not making this up," Simmons assured him. She gently pushed his shoulders back into the pillows before immediately stepping away from him, probably unused to having Fitz flinch away from her so violently. Skye felt her heart break all over again for Simmons, but Simmons's face only faltered for a second. "Look, I know this is probably a lot to take in right now-"
"No, you know what? You don't know a damn thing about me, and now you're just…just spouting out complete nonsense and…and…" His eyes were drooping and his breaths were coming out shorter, but he was still weakly trying to get up. Simmons began lowering his bed. "No, just…stop doing that. Stop it, I don't…"
"No, don't fight it, Fitz," Simmons murmured, gingerly pushing Fitz back again. "Your body still can't handle being awake for long periods of time, not after the trauma you've experienced. I can assure you we will explain everything in time. Just…relax."
Fitz still looked upset, but he sank back into the pillows, apparently too weak to resist. "How am I supposed…to relax…when…you're…talking…nonsense…" His eyelids slowly closed shut as he appeared to fall asleep again. Skye looked over at Simmons, hoping for some form of explanation for what on earth was happening. But Simmons was frozen, staring at Fitz's face, her hands hovering over his shoulders.
"Simmons," Skye began.
"I don't know, Skye," Simmons whispered, still in the same position.
"But-"
"I don't know, Skye!" she said more forcefully, standing up straight and walking over to his monitors. "I mean, it doesn't make any sense. There's no way he was oxygen-deprived for more than…two minutes at most." Simmons was still speaking clinically, but Skye could hear the tears in her voice. "The first part of his brain that would have been even remotely affected would have been the hippocampus, but…but even if that had happened, his short-term memory would have suffered, certainly not his long-term." She shook her head, still staring at the screens. "We'll have to do a scan, figure out where the damage is. But something's not right here." She glanced over at Fitz. "He shouldn't be like this."
"Simmons…" Skye said quietly, reaching out to touch her arm.
But Simmons backed away from her, heading for the door. "He'll be all right, Skye. It's normal for him to be confused and upset right now. We just need to let him rest." She must have misunderstood Skye's concerned expression, because she quickly continued. "It's not like before. See these brain waves?" she pointed to the monitor. "This is a regular sleep pattern. He'll wake up again, don't worry."
Skye stepped forward. "No, that's not what I meant, Simmons. Are you-"
Simmons avoided her eyes, continuing to back out into the hallway. "Um, I'm going to get more…um…supplies. Skye, could you please inform the others of what's happened?"
"But-"
"Thank you," Simmons said firmly before quickly walking away. Skye simply stood there in silence, and as a few tears finally escaped down her cheeks, she marveled at how collected Simmons could be after finding out her other half didn't remember her.
Skye wished she could be that strong.
She took a few minutes to collect herself, wiping away her tears and adjusting Fitz's blanket so he appeared somewhat more comfortable. After she yanked one of Fury's doctors into the room and told him in no uncertain terms that if anything happened to Fitz while she or Simmons was gone, she would set the Cavalry loose on him, she headed over to tell the team about their most recent troubling development.
"He what?" Coulson exclaimed, his arms folded across his chest as he stared at her in alarm.
It took all of Skye's willpower to stay calm. "I know, it…it sucks. He doesn't remember me or Simmons or being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and who knows what else."
"But how could this happen?" Coulson asked, bewildered. "Simmons said he wasn't even-"
"Simmons doesn't know, either. She said his memory shouldn't have even been a problem."
"How's she holding up?" Trip spoke up from the corner of the room. He was leaning back against the bookshelves, his fingertips resting lightly on his chin, but Skye could tell that he was upset by the news.
Skye met his gaze. "Amazing, actually. You'd never know anything was wrong."
"But you know better," Trip said slowly.
Skye nodded. "Yeah," she whispered.
"An experience like that-" May began.
"Takes a while to sink in," Coulson finished, looking over at May with a sad smile. There was a heavy pause before he cleared his throat. "All right, we're gonna have to do everything we can to help her out. Okay, team? This one's important. These two," he corrected himself, "are important."
Everyone nodded, as if they needed to assure Coulson that they knew very well just how important FitzSimmons were. He glanced between all of them before giving them a curt nod and walking over to one of the false windows. May stepped closer to him, and Skye noticed Trip slip quietly out of the room. "What are you thinking, Phil?"
He turned around, addressing both her and Skye. "Anyone else have a bad feeling about this?"
"Plenty," Skye said. "Bad feelings up the wazoo here, actually. Which one are we talking about?"
Coulson didn't smile, but Skye hadn't really expected him to. "I mean, when have we ever come across a situation where secretive brain operations and memory loss meant something good?"
"Phil, it's hardly the same situation-"
"Is it?" he asked skeptically. "He almost died, May. Is it really that big of a stretch?"
They stared each other down for a few moments, and even though their faces remained impassive, Skye could sense the withheld emotion and knew they were remembering things too painful to talk about. May finally sighed, walking towards the door. "I'll go get Dr. Russell. Want me to bring him to the Cage?"
"No, just bring him here. And don't hurt him too much," Coulson called after her. "I'm gonna need him to actually answer my questions."
May rolled her eyes but didn't respond, disappearing out of the doorway. Skye turned to Coulson. "What do you need me to do, boss?"
He didn't respond right away, and for a second Skye thought maybe he hadn't heard her. He had a rare look on his face, one she had only ever seen a couple times. Before she could process what was happening, though, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. The hug was short and a little awkward, but Skye was moved nonetheless. She knew that Coulson was not a natural hugger, but he must have known it was what she'd needed.
"You okay?" he asked.
Skye almost lied to him, but she figured that he would probably see right through it. "No," she answered. "I mean, obviously I'm more okay than Fitz. And Simmons." She placed a hand on her forehead, fighting back the tears again. "God, they don't deserve this," she said angrily, glancing back up at Coulson. "Why them? Huh? Why Fitz? I mean, it's Fitz, for God's sake! How the hell could he look at Fitz and…and…" She paused, taking a few breaths to calm herself down. "They don't deserve this," she repeated. "He doesn't deserve this."
"No," Coulson replied, placing a hand on her shoulder. "He doesn't. But we're not going to give up on him. And we're not going to let...HYDRA," he emphasized, letting all the word's implications speak for themselves, "destroy us. Okay?"
Skye breathed out slowly and nodded, and Coulson released her shoulder. "Why don't you go get some rest?"
"No," she shook her head. "No, I need to do something. Don't you have anything for me to do?"
Coulson hesitated for a moment before a small smirk appeared on his face. "Well, I was going to surprise you with this later," he said, walking behind his desk and picking up a small black cube. "But actually this whole situation might just work as your first project."
Skye was confused. "First project for what?"
He walked up to her and placed the cube in her palm. "One of the things I came across inside Fury's box of mystery was a familiar little list."
"The Index," Skye smiled, both amazed and relieved they wouldn't have to completely start from scratch on that endeavor. "You want me to extract the file, maybe see if I can track their locations?"
"I'll let you decide what you want to do with the names already on the list. Whether you want to monitor them, maybe check in. It's up to you. They don't really have case agents anymore but if you wanted to restart that up, I'd be open to it. The list is your baby now."
"My…wait, what?"
Coulson's smirk grew. "I'm putting you in charge of the Index/Asset Evaluation and Intake Process."
Skye was stunned. "Wait, in charge? Like…" she trailed off, her unspoken question hanging in the air.
"You get to decide who gets put on the Index, you get to decide how to go about approaching gifted individuals, and you get to decide how they're monitored. It's yours."
Skye looked down at the box in her hands, momentarily speechless. She found her voice after a few seconds and glanced back at Coulson, who was still smiling. "You really trust me that much?"
His face grew serious. "Yeah. I do," he replied simply, looking her in the eye. There was a comfortable pause before he continued. "But I'm gonna need that cube back."
"Oh. Right-"
"It's just got a lot of other stuff on it-"
"Yeah, I totally understand-"
"Just…when you get the chance, that'd be great-"
"Got it. Yeah." Skye realized that her smile was probably borderline ridiculous, so she quickly changed the subject. "You, uh, mentioned a project?"
"Two, now that I think of it."
"The first is…"
"Change the name."
Skye rolled her eyes. "Duh. And the second project?"
Coulson hesitated. "Fitz," he replied.
The happiness that had flooded through Skye a moment before quickly disappeared as she was reminded of their much more pressing situation. "But…Fitz isn't on the Index," she said slowly. "Is he?"
"No," Coulson shook his head. "But a lot of what the Process involves? The individuals we usually go talk to? In a lot of ways Fitz is like them right now. He's confused, he doesn't know what's going on, he probably has no idea what S.H.I.E.L.D. actually does. He's gonna need a hell of a lot of patience and he's gonna need a hell of a lot of compassion. You've got a big heart, Skye. You could help him a lot."
Skye didn't necessarily agree. "I can't help him like Simmons can," she pointed out.
"True," he nodded. "But he doesn't need you to be Simmons. He's got Simmons to do that. He needs you to be Skye."
Skye still wasn't sure that she was the right person for the job. But she respected Coulson and she cared about Fitz, so she managed to give him a smile. "Thanks, A.C. Or should I call you D.C. now?"
Coulson laughed before heading back to his desk. "I don't remember approving the first one," he said, unbuttoning his jacket and sitting down. "What about AC/DC?"
She snorted. "God, that's terrible. No, I think I'll stick with A.C. 'Cause you're still pretty cool…you know, for you."
He didn't say anything, but Skye could tell he was secretly pleased. He pulled some papers towards him on the desk, so she turned to leave. Just as she reached the doorframe, though, she paused and spun back around. "We're really doing this, huh?" He looked up at her, confused. "Rebuilding S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
Coulson went back to his papers. "That's the plan."
"You're not afraid you'll fail?"
He set his pen down and shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "Sure. It's all really up in the air at this point. But somebody once taught me that it's better to face your fears head-on instead of hiding from them. Because you can't really hide from them, not really."
Skye let his words sink in for a moment. She figured it made sense. "Who taught you that?"
There was a little bit of sadness in his eyes before he told her, and a reminiscent smile on his lips. Skye silently scolded herself for asking him a personal question that probably brought back painful memories. But his answer wasn't what she'd been expecting.
"You did."
She wasn't quite sure how she'd ended up there, or why she chose that particular spot to collapse in.
After walking away from his room, she'd made it to the end of one corridor before realizing that she didn't know where she was going. She didn't need to retrieve any supplies, at least not any that he would need immediately. Everything that she needed to do was back in that room.
So what was she doing?
Jemma briefly thought about stopping, but her legs continued to pull her down the labyrinth of the Playground's corridors, somehow knowing that she couldn't go back to that room. Not yet. She needed some time alone to figure out what they were going to do, what she was going to do.
What the bloody hell was she going to do?
Somewhere in that time she'd reached a dead end, but instead of turning back, she'd simply leaned up against the wall and sank to the floor. Her thoughts were jumbled and panicked, but in the midst of the chaos they all seemed to come back and center on one thing. One person.
Finding herself curled into a ball, Jemma rested her head on her knees and tried to drown out her thoughts. She focused on breathing, letting her mind go through the science of the process. Inhaling oxygen, her diaphragm contracting to allow her lungs to expand in her chest cavity. The oxygen passing through the alveoli to her capillaries. Her pulmonary vein carrying her oxygen-rich blood to the left side of her heart, and then pumping the blood to the rest of her body.
Precise, concrete, regular. Something that happened every second of every day of her life. Something she often took for granted.
She let the process flood her mind, years of study and memorization giving her the ability to avoid thinking altogether.
Maybe if she tried hard enough, she could forget him too.
But who was she kidding? Every time she closed her eyes, she saw that terrifying vacancy in his face all over again. The way he looked at her, as if seeing her for the first time. The way he cringed away from her touch, not out of anger or annoyance but out of fear. All familiarity, everything he knew about her (and gosh, he knew everything), all of that just…gone.
As if she'd never meant anything to him at all.
Jemma knew fully well that she should be grateful that Fitz was alive. And she was. She would have given her life in a heartbeat if it meant that Fitz would be okay. The fact that he was alive and no longer comatose should have been enough for her.
But her best friend, the person who'd known her better than she knew herself, was gone. A part of him had been left in that med pod at the bottom of the sea. And for Jemma, that meant a part of her had been left there as well.
Jemma could barely even remember her life before Fitz. Before finished thoughts and sentences. Before late-night study sessions and spending all day in the lab just bouncing ideas off of each other. Before having a shoulder to cry on even when she hadn't known she needed one. Before having someone who would come get her at four in the morning when she'd been completely plastered and never once ask for an explanation. Before finding someone who could both call her out when she was wrong but could also help her find a way to make it right. Before having someone who would begrudgingly go along with something she really wanted to do, even if it meant giving up his comfort. Before she'd ever had a real friend. Before FitzSimmons.
She couldn't remember. But it hardly mattered now. They were back to square one again.
The pain in her chest suddenly became nearly unbearable. She could not handle square one again.
She didn't know how long she sat there, curled up in the corner of that abandoned hallway. In the back of her mind she knew she needed to get back to him, but for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to stand up. The pain in her chest faded eventually. Jemma didn't feel any better, though. Now she just felt empty.
After a while, she heard the sound of footsteps approaching her, but she didn't raise her head. She'd somewhat hoped that her closed-off position would send the message that she wanted to be left alone, but she found that she didn't mind so much when he wordlessly sat down next to her.
They sat in silence for a little while before Jemma found her voice. "He doesn't remember me," she said quietly, her voice devoid of all emotion. She was a bit surprised that of all the things she could have said, that's what had come out, but despite their selfish nature they really were the only words at the forefront of her mind.
It was the first time she'd said it out loud. The truth of it still didn't feel real.
Triplett didn't reply right away, but Jemma didn't need him to. She'd simply needed to say it aloud so that she could start to accept it and find some way to fix it. Because that's what she was supposed to do, right? Fix it?
She raised her head from her knees and looked over at the person sitting next to her. He had his eyes cast downwards, but she saw the pain on his face. Jemma silently berated herself for her lack of tact. Triplett had always liked Fitz, and she had been more than a little pleased to notice that they'd started to get along recently, with Fitz finally coming to accept Triplett as a member of their team. Of course Triplett would be upset about Fitz's condition.
And yet he'd somehow sought her out, knowing that even though she'd run away, she needed someone right now. Someone who wouldn't bombard her with questions she couldn't answer and someone who didn't expect her to be able to achieve the impossible.
"Do you need anything?" he asked, finally looking over at her.
"No," she answered reflexively, but corrected herself. "I don't know."
Triplett nodded absentmindedly, accepting her vague answer. There was another pause before he ventured forward again. "So what's the plan, doc?" He was trying to lighten the situation, but Jemma felt the weight of her abandoned responsibility fall heavy on her shoulders.
She shrugged. "We'll have to do a functional MRI, I suppose, try to assess which parts of his brain have sustained the most damage and then go from there. But other than that…I don't know." She gave a weak laugh. "Funnily enough, Fitz would actually know more about what to do in this situation than I do."
"I'm not so sure about that," Triplett smiled.
"No, it's true," Jemma sighed. "I suppose I'll have to make some calls soon, find a specialist we can send him to."
Triplett's head quickly turned towards her. "You're not thinking of having him taken away, are you?"
Jemma was startled by his intensity, and felt oddly defensive. "Well, what else am I supposed to do? I'm not properly equipped to handle this. I hardly have the training or the expertise-"
"Forget about all that for a second," Triplett stopped her, his calm voice telling her that he was on her side. "Fitz needs you right now."
For the first time since she had realized what had happened to Fitz, Jemma felt the load of all her suppressed emotions bubbling to the surface. She shook her head, both in denial and as a way to push back her tears. "He doesn't even know who I am," she whispered.
Triplett hesitated for a moment. "Look, you're his best friend, right?"
She scoffed. "Not anymore."
"You're his best friend," Triplett repeated, a wry smile on his face. "My point is there's probably no one else in the world that could help him remember better than you."
Jemma wanted to believe him. She really did. But even without being an expert in neurology, she knew that Fitz's chances of fully recovering his memory were very slim. She had a feeling Triplett knew as well, so she didn't feel particularly sorry for voicing her next question. "And what if he never remembers?"
Triplett gave a long sigh. "Well, then that lucky bastard gets to become best friends with you all over again. And you get to teach him all about the art of FitzSimmonsing."
Jemma looked over at him with narrowed eyes. "That's…not-"
"You bet your ass it's a word," he said seriously before breaking into a grin. "I can't really take the credit for it, it was all Skye's idea. But we're expecting Webster's Dictionary to get on that very soon."
In spite of everything, Jemma managed to drudge up a smile. But only for a moment. "I don't know, do you really think this is the best place for him right now?"
"Hundred percent," he said, standing up and offering her a hand.
She let him help her up, but she was a little exasperated by his steadfast certainty. "And how can you be so sure about that?"
Triplett simply smiled as they made their way back towards Fitz's room. "Because he's got you in his corner."
He glanced up in irritation at the young soldier standing hesitantly in his office doorway. "What is it, private?" he asked tersely.
The kid hovered in the entrance for a second before stepping forward. "Sir, your transfer order has been processed. The prisoner is being moved as we speak."
"Huh," he replied, leaning back in his chair. "And there were no…complications?"
"No, sir," the private said, still standing at attention. "Would you like the prisoner to be brought directly to you, sir?"
He didn't answer immediately, but slowly stood up, beginning to pace behind his desk. "This…prisoner. He comes with special instructions, doesn't he?"
"Yes, sir. From Agent-" he began, before stopping abruptly. "I'm sorry, sir, from…former Agent Coulson. Of S.H.I.E.L.D."
"And you've seen these instructions?"
"Yes, sir."
"How specific are they?"
The private seemed ready to give a direct answer, but he faltered. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"
"Yeah, yeah," he waved his hand dismissively.
There was another pause before the private spoke again. "The instructions are…weirdly specific, sir."
He gave a dry laugh in response. "Of course they are. Coulson sure likes to make everything difficult for me, doesn't he?" He sighed. "Okay, tell you what. Put the prisoner in one of the high-security isolation cells. We'll let him sit by himself for a while, get a feel for what's ahead, maybe even go through some of the things on that instruction list. He should be nice and ready to accept my offer after a couple weeks of that, don't you think, private?"
The private nodded solemnly. "Yes, Colonel Talbot."
A/N: Alas, like Agent Triplett, I cannot take credit for coming up with "FitzSimmonsing" either. That belongs to Tumblr user agents-of-frickle-frackle.
Thank you so much for sticking with this story - let me know what you think! :)
