"Should we be worried?" agent Sawyer asked, watching the monitor for agent Fitz's room which showed him and agent Simmons snuggled closely together, laughing at something they were watching on the television.

"About that, or about another attempt on agent Fitz's life?" Agent Malik inquired, tilting her head to where agent Simmons' arm lay across his stomach and agent Fit's hand rested on top of it.

"Both," he replied stonily, frowning as if foreseeing disaster.

"I don't think there will be another attempt," agent Malik replied calmly, appearing impassive. "We have it under control now, agent Simmons was very helpful in locating our moles."

"Do you think we should have told them earlier?" Agent Sawyer wondered. "That we suspected this might happen? Should we tell agent Simmons that she was likely going to be targeted as well?"

"We don't know enough about whoever is doing this to make that information available," agent Malik reminded him breezily. "Compartmentalization of information agent Sawyer, we know what we're doing."

"Is that why we needed a level three scientist to do the work one of our field agents should have been on?" He questioned boldly.

"I had complete faith in agent Simmons' abilities," she replied steadily, a ghost of a frown barely visible in reaction to his critism, once again watching the monitor. Agent Fitz was speaking animatedly about something they were seeing while agent Simmons watched him, eyes narrowed in undisguised affection before she said something that made him return her expression, laughing and smiling fondly at her. "In this case, their bond was an asset."

"In this case," agent Sawyer repeated, unconvinced.

"We'll just have to watch them closely for a while," agent Malik replied. "For their sake as well as ours."

"And Violet Martin?" He inquired, raising his eyebrows.

"Amy Dyer and her mother are safe," she assured him. "Everyone is safe."

"For now," he added.

She nodded, remaining unconcerned. "For now," she agreed.

/-/-/

It was a beautiful fall day, cool and crisp with a crystal blue sky, scattered with only a few wisps of white clouds.

Fitz and Simmons walked, arms linked, through the carnival, surrounded by the hum of the crowd and the scent of various pumpkin flavoured goods.

"Really Simmons, anything you want," Fitz insisted again, enjoying the way her arm wound around his own, a firm anchor through the fabric of their coats, and the feel of weak sunshine through the chill. "If it weren't for you, I'd be an X on the list of whatever psychos were after me. You saved me, I want to give you something, a present."

"I didn't do it so for a reward," she told him, shaking her head but smiling because it was too wonderful a day not too and, he knew, she loved carnivals.

She said they were buzzing with life (he sometimes wondered if she meant the wasps which hovered over the sweet, sticky soda spills on the garbage cans, because she did seem quite fascinated by them, much to his horror) and filled with happy people (at least the ones who hadn't been stung.)

"Well I should hope not," he joked. "I mean, still having me around is it's own reward isn't it?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course it is. Which is why-"

"I'm getting you a present," he interrupted, unwilling to allow her to talk him out of it. "Just tell me what you want."

"Anything at all?" She asked, accepting his offer at last and grinning gratefully at him.

"Anything," he promised.

Her grin turned impish and she pointed to a space which had been cleared and surrounded by barrels of hay, creating a makeshift outdoor dancefloor which was slowly filling with guests, loud, upbeat music blaring into the square.

"That's what you want?" he asked, surprised and regretting, a little, his recent promise.

"It'll be fun," she told him, eyes sparkling with excitement. "And you did say-"

"Anything," they finished together. Perhaps 'anything' wasn't a term he should use lightly, especially paired with a vow of delivery.

"I meant something you could take home with you," he mumbled, but he knew he was going to do it. He'd given her his word and besides her sweet little face was lit up like a sky full of stars as she stared at the dancers, wiggling with anticipation.

"I can take this home," she informed him brightly. She pointed to her head. "In here, as a memory."

He shrugged, his heart a fish on her line. "If this is what you want..."

"It is," she answered, pulling his arm. "You'll love it, just wait."

Fitz seriously doubted that.

/-/-/

Square dancing, why did it have to be square dancing? It was the worst kind of dancing, it required him to engage with other people, other not-Simmons people, even if he started with her.

Despite his aversion, it wasn't as awful as he'd thought it would be. Simmons was thrilled, grinning at him as she twirled around in the ridiculous-on-anyone-but-her costume she had borrowed from the event supervisors. Over her cloths, she wore an orange and white dress, the frilly kind that flew a little as she spun, looking like wrapping paper caught in the wind.

She was adorable, beaming his way and hopping excitedly between partners as her feet rushed to keep up with the tune, not entirely graceful but light footed enough she didn't seem awkward either.

"Isn't this fun?" She chirped, catching his arm and spinning around with him. "I like the hat."

Fitz had borrowed a cowboy hat from the available wearables and, honestly, he liked it too.

"Here you go then," he grinned, hurriedly transferring it to her her head. "That's a mighty fine hat Ma'am," he told her in his best cowboy voice.

"Thank you kindly," she replied, tipping it to him and giggling before she moved on to the next dance partner.

Fitz did a spin with another young gentleman, one who'd dressed head to toe for the occasion, white shirt, riding boots and all, wondering if it was normal to think your best friend was the cutest person you'd ever met.

It probably wasn't, but he let that go for the moment.

When they met up again she jumped the hat back to him, grinning.

"I might have annexed your stetson partner," she chuckled, deepening her voice and attempting to sound as if she were from the Old West.

Fitz grinned. "That'll cost you a pound of gold, or a week mucking the stables."

She stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed.

"I told you'd have fun," she gloated playfully, in her own voice.

"You always need to be right don't you?" He teased as she skipped away.

"I don't need to be, I just am," she called over her shoulder, giggling and he took a turn sticking out his tongue.

He didn't say it, but he was just happy to see her so happy. Whether she was fighting to protect him or dancing joyfully at a carnival, his friend was filled with a humming, shining energy, a life force that invigorated everything around it and in that moment he was content to bask in its glow, happy to be alive and to be free and to know that she was in his corner, always.

/-/-/

Agent Scott received a phone call early in the morning, just as he was preparing his coffee.

"You're being transfered," a familiar voice told him flatly.

"I thought you needed me here," he objected, narrowing his eyes as he stirred in the sugar.

"The position we need you in is occupied," he was informed. "However a more attainable one has opened up in Seattle."

Agent Scott bristled. 'More attainable'?

"Agent Fitz-" he began hotly.

"Is no longer your concern," they cut him off briskly. "The risk of continuing our attempts to eliminate him is too great, we've already lost two of our own."

Agent Scott thought uncomfortably of Waite and Levison and about the small packet of poison each of them had had somewhere under their skin, and the packet he had too, ready to be remotely activated if the time came when it was necessary. He suspected that time had come recently for his two allies.

"I told you a long time ago you didn't need to eliminate agent Fitz," he muttered, shoving two slices of bread into the toaster. "I'm far more capable than that green, child-prodigy SHIELD is so impressed with right now. Soon my superiors will notice and move me up."

His toast popped and he pulled it onto a plate.

"Pack a bag agent Scott," they insisted, ignoring him. "And buy an extra rain coat."

The line went dead.

Agent Scott hung up the phone, scowling and aggressively buttering the hot bread.

"Hail Hydra," he grumbled, before taking a large, angry bite.

/-/-/


I have never been square dancing but I watched videos of it on youtube, it looks fun :D.

You have reached the end, thank you for coming along and believing Fitz was innocent ;).

Any Dyer is the name of a zombie from In the Flesh. She's my favourite zombie :D.

There isn't actually a Fringe reference in this chapter, but the scene with the toast, where agent Scott reveals something before munching on some toast, is inspired by the scene at the end of 3x19 when Olivia predicts the man she drew is going to kill her someday before nibbling on her toast.