He looked down at his hands nervously. They were shaking on the tea cup. It had been 2 days since he-
He was nauseous.
"Fitz?" Coulson stood in the corner, watching the young engineer. "You alright?"
"Fitz...? When was the last time you had a good night's sleep?"
His head was spinning. He could hear the kettle whistling, the microwave beeping, he could see Coulson look at him with sympathetic eyes. It was overwhelming. He couldn't focus his attention on anything other than the fact that he needed another shot. He needed another flash of high in his system. His skin was crawling for another fix. Fitz tried to take another breath as the pain in his arm hit him like a thousand bricks. You're a burden. You're weak. They don't need you.
The tea cup dropped from his hands, shattering into a million pieces on the ground. He looked at Coulson with widened eyes as the air eluded him.
"I..I- I-" Fitz raised his hands to his head, palms pressed to each side, as if his head was about to explode. His mouth opened wide, his chest heaving but he struggled to get the air he needed into his system. He tried to take a step towards the kitchen table to steady himself, but his knees buckled underneath him and he swayed dangerously.
A secure hand reached out to hold him still. "Fitz. You're burning up."
The last thing he saw was Coulson bending forward to catch him before he hit the ground.
It was Jemma's hands that he felt on his face. Even with his blurred vision, he recognized her touch. Her hands were soft, cooling as she brushed them across his face. He was cradled against her chest, the sound of her voice gently willing him to snap him out of his daze. She smelled of clean, fresh lavender but it had it's own unique note to it. A stressed out, nervous Fitz had stumbled into one of Jemma's intense study sessions during finals weeks, and it was then that he discovered her secret lavender concoction that helped her remain calm through the insanity of the Academy's rigorous examinations. Jemma, being the ever brilliant biochemist had synthesized and distilled her own blend of a lavender spritz that had heightened soothing and relaxing effects. It was a smell Fitz grew accustomed to and had always associated with Jemma Simmons. It was that scent that had always lingered in the lab after she had left, driving him to come up all sorts of excuses to spend more time with her.
"His fever's high, and he's breathing hard." he heard her say, her warm breath against his head. His throat was dry, sore. It was as if she knew exactly what was going on in his mind because the next thing he knew, a cup was pressed against his lips. Fitz coughed, struggling to keep the water down his throat. Jemma gave him a small smile, unbuttoning up his shirt and rolling up in his sleeves in an attempt to get his body temperature down. She flinched slightly, noticing the marks on his arms. "Let's get him to a bed shall we?"
"His bunk?" Coulson asked, moving forward to help carry the engineer to his room. The Playground would never be the same kind of home the bus was to the team, but they had tried to take small steps into feeling settled again. Each team member was assigned a bunk. It was small – smaller than their sleeping quarters on the bus, but it served its purpose.
"You know what? I think the extra space in one of the vaults will do him some good. There's a bed in there right?" Jemma lied, her overly cheerful voice giving her away. Coulson shot her a look of confusion as she nodded profusely, an awkward smile on her face. It was as if she was trying to convince herself that she was making the right choice.
Fitz took unsteady strides towards the vault. He felt like he was going vomit at any second. He was sweating, his legs sore. Every step was pain. All he wanted to do was crash on the floor, and curl up into a ball but he was being held up by Coulson on one side and Jemma on the other. His mind was racing while his body felt like it was dying.
By the time they reached the vault and laid him down on the bed, he was delirious. His eyes flew open, but it was like he wasn't there. There was a look of crazy and terror in his eyes. His body shuddered and convulsed at every touch. Fitz jerked up and rolled over to the side of the bed, withering in pain, as he puked violently on the floor. Coulson instinctively lunged forward to calm him down. He put an arm on his back, giving him a firm pat on his back, trying to help Fitz get it all out.
It was like someone was holding him underwater. The firm grip against his back pushing him down. His breath was gone and he was drowning all over again. They let you drown. They didn't save you. He was scrambling, fighting, clawing his way back to the surface but to no avail.
Fitz doubled over in agony and started choking on the foam around his mouth. His body shook violently.
"JEMMA? Why aren't you doing anything?"
"You-you can't- you just have to let him – it's not safe." Jemma struggled with her words, "Just keep him on his side". She said as she backed away slowly.
Coulson rushed to flip Fitz onto his side. He felt helpless seeing the boy convulse and cringe in pain. It wasn't until the extreme fatigue set in did Fitz pass out into oblivion.
A bewildered Coulson looked at the mess and asked, dreading the answer "Jemma- What- What's wrong with him?"
Jemma spoke softly, tears welling up in her eyes as her fingers operated the tablet, "I- I- I think he's going through withdrawal. I... I don't know how I d-didn't see it before." She backed away further, pulling Coulson away from Fitz.
A silent hum echoed through the room. Jemma had just turned on the invisible barrier. She locked Fitz in the room.
"How was this possible?" Coulson yelled, frustrated at the entire situation.
"A room full of spies, and you're telling me no one, NO ONE could tell he was taking drugs?" he shouted angrily, "Simmons – you're supposed to have all the drugs under lock and key. Do you want to explain to me how he got some?"
"Phil" May's stern voice came out as a warning.
"I-i- I'm sorry. I don't-" Jemma was at a lost for words as she ran out of the room tears in her eyes. It was her fault. She of all people should have known, should have seen. The signs were all there. The sudden outbursts, the mood swings, the sleepless nights.
"It's not her fault, Phil." May said, throwing daggers at him with her eyes. Coulson was concerned but frustrated more than anything. This was the kind of thing they could prevent.
"Get out. All of you get out!" Coulson shouted angrily. He closed the door and headed back into his office. Melinda May looked at poor girl in the corner. Skye was standing there, shocked, unmoving, as Coulson lashed out at the group of them. She gave Skye a reassuring squeeze, "let me handle him. You go get Jemma."
He was angry, frustrated, his emotions running away from him. He felt powerless to control them. The door creaked as May stepped into his office. She wasn't happy, he could tell.
He had changed. He wasn't the same person he used to be. They were supposed to be able to talk to him, lean on him, trust him but he was just making a mess out of things. What good was rebuilding shield if he couldn't take care of his own team?
"You ready to talk about what that was all about?" she asked, as she placed her hand on his shoulder. Coulson kept silent behind his wall of anger. She shot him a look of disapproval. Melinda May wasn't one to beat around the bush.
He felt helpless, and he released his anger on them. That much he could admit. Fitz was supposed to be back in safety, yet this happened under his watch.
"I thought he was fine. I should have known." he said exasperatedly.
"He picked up a few skills being around us. You can't blame yourself." May replied, the truth weighing down on her conscious. It was her fault too. She should have known something bigger was at play when he started lashing out Simmons. "He was trying to cope. There's no way you can go through a trauma like he did and not come out of it changed."
"This shouldn't have happened." How could he have been so stupid. Coulson furrowed his brows in distress, shaking his head. It made sense at that time, but Coulson had given Fitz too much space. He thought it would be good for Fitz to get back in the lab, to resume his normal routine but it was all too much for him, too soon. He could see now what a reckless decision that was. Whatever prompted Fitz to use drugs as a coping mechanism, instead of reaching out to them, his own team, it must have been bad. Had he hardened so much that Fitz felt like he couldn't approach him for help?
"There's no going back. Only moving forward now." May said, her voice gentler than usual. She placed her hand on his chest, "You're the beating heart of this team, Phil. You have to hold it together. They're looking to you for strength."
Whatever sick game Garrett was playing, he was winning. Phil Coulson had never felt so defeated before.
Fitz was freezing. But it was like he was freezing cold and burning hot at the same time. The ache in his bones were indescribable. His stomach was twisting and turning in knots, sending horrible waves of nausea and pain throughout his body. He tried not to gag, curling himself further into a ball under his blanket as he tried to fight off the tensing shrieks of pain.
There was something wrong with him. Every part of his body was screaming for relief.
Fitz was shivering, his mind whirling. They don't need you. They don't want you. Especially not like this.
He retracted into the tiny ball he had began to be so familiar with as he hugged his legs against his chest. Fitz cried. He tried to take slow deep breaths to calm himself down but thoughts just plagued him. He was damaged.
Fitz woke up an hour later, with a cold hand on his forehead. He flinched but didn't pull away. He looked pale and weary. "You're still running a fever." she said softly.
She was trying to be a professional. She was mad. At him. At herself.
He didn't even have the energy to sit up. He coughed out a wheezy breath. "It's too high" she said, without looking him in the eye.
"I'm going to give you a small dose of dimenhydrinate. It should help with the pain and nausea. And it should bring down your fever." she yanked out his arm before administrating the drug into his veins. The marks on his arm mocked her silently. She should have known. He lied to her the entire time.
He blinked in and out of consciousness, his laboured breathing the only sound in the room. He started to shake again, his body convulsing as it dealt with the absence of the opioids it grew so accustomed to.
Jemma flew back at the sight of his pain. She couldn't do this. "Drink some water will you?" She said with authority, placing a cup next to his bed.
Her heart sped up as she held her breath, willing herself to not break down in the room. She had to concentrate. Leave. Just leave. Jemma Simmons wanted to cry.
"How he doing?" Coulson asked, looking at the screen in front of him. They could see his every move. He was waking up every few minutes, trashing about, as he swung from one extremity to another.
Jemma stifled a sob. "As good as you can imagine."
"He's panicking. His body is going into shock." she said nonchalantly.
Coulson could tell that Jemma was barely holding it together. They had all been through too much. This was her way of coping. She needed to distant herself. To just look at him as a subject, nothing more.
Her voice sounded cold. "Imagine if one day, your lungs could only get half the oxygen they were used to," Jemma used her tablet to pull up what seemed like a simulation of human cells on the large screen.
"Extended use of opiates changes the structure of nerve cells in your brain. His cells have learnt to rely on the drug just to function properly. And now that he's not getting any, every pain receptor in his body that is demanding dulling down, is shouting out in agony."
Coulson looked at the girl, "it's like he's suffocating on the inside.. Jemma-" she cut him off before he could finish.
"Yes. Now if you'll excuse me."
He would have to go find her and talk to her. But one problem at a time.
Fitz felt light headed, but his mind had cleared slightly. He pushed himself up, woozy before he managed to stable himself upright. He was pacing back and forth relentlessly around the room like a caged animal when he suddenly came face to face with Skye, sitting a few feet away from his bed.
He looked around at his surroundings and put two and two together. He was in the vault in the playground. His body language was full of anger but he held his calm. He had to get out. He walked cautiously towards her, putting his hand out to test out his theory. Fitz quickly hit the invisible wall.
He was trapped.
"Skye?" he asked, confused. "What- why..." his voice shook as he realized they must have known about the opioids.
"You should have told me Fitz." she snapped. "I could have helped" her eyes were watery, but her face hardened.
"It won't happen again. I promise. Just let me out" his blue eyes made contact with hers. He didn't flinch one bit. She would have thought he was serious if Jemma hadn't warned her about this. "He'll try and do anything and everything to get his hands on more. He'll beg you. He'll look you in the eye. Whatever he does, don't give in."
"Don't lie to me Fitz." she swallowed. He was good. It was hard to think that the man standing in front of her, begging for a second chance wasn't being genuine. Fitz was one of the nicest, sweetest guys she knew. It was hard to believe that he could be so manipulative.
He threw his hands up in frustration. She could tell that he was crumbling, that his craving was getting harder to control. "Skye, I'm not lying. I won't. No more ok?" Skye felt a pang of pain as his eyes pierced her heart with the look he gave her.
Trying to detach herself emotionally from the situation, Skye glared at him. "That's not how this works."
He slammed his fist into the invisible wall, his anger seeping out onto his face. "Skye!" he yelled, banging the invisible wall in frustration once again. "Let me out of here!"
Skye jumped at his sudden outburst, her body stiffening, as she repositioned herself to sit on the chair and stare at him with an icy glare. This is what Jemma warned her about. She gulped a lump down her throat. She could handle this, she told herself again and again as Fitz yelled out continuously at her.
"SKYE! This is ridiculous. COME ON!" She ignored him.
"Where's Jemma? Let me talk to Jemma. JEMMA – I know you can hear me!" He was right about that. Jemma didn't have the strength to go in again to face him, but she was watching the feed from the observation room. She could hear every word. She could see his pain.
Fitz stared straight into the camera as he mocked Skye. "You're leaving me with this one?" he pointed aggressively at the girl sitting across him.
"Jemma let me out!" he yelled desperately. He was unraveling. His hands started trembling, his body still going through symptoms of withdrawal. "Let me out you bitch! I loved you! Don't you bloody dare ignore me! JEMMA!" he started screaming, hitting the wall again and again, his knuckles bloody, as tears streamed down his face.
The sharp words hit her like knives stabbing at her heart. She did this to him. "JEMMA DO SOMETHING!" he pleaded hysterically, his legs giving way as he started to gag and cough on the ground. His pupils were dilated. The blood on his hands didn't phase him. He unwittingly traced his fingers across his arm, over the veins he used to shoot into. He was still screaming for a shot.
"I'm going to make you pay" he managed to struggle out as he collapsed against the wall, exhaustion taking over.
His brain and body was in panic mode, the complete lack of dopamine triggering a survival response that manifested into an intense desperation. They don't give a shit about you Fitz. No one's going to help you. Garrett's words echoed in his head, as he gave in to the darkness.
Author's Note: I hope I did a decent job addressing the issue of substance abuse/PTSD (there's a bit of the latter here). Let me know what you think in the reviews (or PM me!)
