A battered old truck rumbled down a lonely stretch of rural highway in the dead of night, its headlights barely piercing the dark around it. The road had been empty for several miles; any other vehicles it encountered were headed in the opposite direction. Back in the large, open bed of the truck no fewer than fifteen people were crammed in, all with their own reasons for traveling like a band of refugees. There wasn't much chatter among them. It was difficult to hear over the sound of the truck's engine, and what little they could hear was dedicated to listening to the wireless radio that one of their fellow passengers held.

Fitz sat among them, his back against the wheel well and his knees tucked under his chin. The jostling of the truck as it made its way down the road was almost soothing, lulling him into a quiet, contemplative state that wasn't too unlike the numb daze he'd been trapped in on the way to the Ark. However, instead of being consumed with grief, he was carefully going over his plan in his head, calculating the distances left and formulating ideas for what he would do when he got back to Jemma and her parents.

He estimated they were somewhere in Kentucky, about halfway to Richmond, and-if he could convince the driver to go directly to their neighborhood-he would be there sometime late in the morning. He would be cutting it close, timewise, but he was still confident that they could be well on their way back to Missouri by the time the comet was estimated to hit. The remainder of the journey post-comet might get scary, but they would make it.

The truck hit a particularly nasty pothole; everyone riding in the back grabbed on to something or someone to keep their balance as the road evened back out. The man holding the wireless radio in his lap gripped onto it tightly so he didn't drop it, then adjusted the dial slightly as a burst of static shot through the reception.

"We have now confirmed the launch of all the Titan missiles from their positions in North Dakota and Wyoming," the broadcaster was saying. "The comets are now approximately fourteen hours outside of Earth's atmosphere, and we are told it should take these missiles less than twenty minutes to reach their target."

Fitz lifted his head to look up. Far above them, both pieces of the comet were clearly and separately visible in the night sky, looming large and looking almost serene against a glittering backdrop of stars. Earlier, the radio broadcaster had said that they'd divided up the name of the comet accordingly. The smaller chunk, scheduled to hit first, had been designated Fitz while the larger chunk became Hall. Breathing out a slow sigh, he let his eyes linger on the part named after him, allowing himself to forget the dread and the fear for a moment to appreciate the wonder of it. Up there was a comet, closer to Earth than any other comet in recorded history, and it was beautiful. The opportunities for science were boundless. Fitz was sure that despite the threat, there were astronomers and physicists all across the world still at their posts, collecting data and photographs and analyzing them for future use. He wondered if Jemma was awake back home, watching the news and looking out the window to see the very same sight that he saw.

He wondered what his fellow passengers would say if they knew the half of the comet's namesake was in their company.

Probably, they would ask him what the hell he was doing running away from the Ark. Only a madman would leave guaranteed safety now.

I'm going back for the love of my life, he'd say. I'm going back for Jemma.

They might not understand, but it didn't matter. No one and nothing could dissuade him from the path he'd put himself on.

Up above him, one of the men sitting on the steel storage box at the head of the truck bed rapped on the window at the back of the cabin. After a moment, the woman riding in the passenger seat turned to get it pulled open. The man outside ducked down so she could hear him over the truck's engine.

"They just launched the missiles," he said. "Just thought I'd let you guys know in case you wanted to listen."

A few minutes later, they pulled off to the side of the road on a dusty shoulder bordering a farm. Everyone in the back took the opportunity to get out and stand and stretch their legs, talking quietly amongst each other. The owner of the radio set it on the edge of the truck's back gate. Fitz briefly questioned the wisdom of stopping their journey for anything, but this was humanity's final stand. He didn't blame anyone for wanting to give the radio their undivided attention.

For several long minutes, they listened in silence. Fitz kept looking back up to the sky, unsure of what he should be looking for. What would happen if the missiles were successful? Would the comets simply disappear from sight? Would there be a visible explosion?

When the comets remained in the sky and the broadcast was interrupted with a message from the President, Fitz felt his stomach sink. He immediately knew that they were doomed.

"Our missiles have failed," President Beck said. He sounded incredibly weary, the weight of terrible news on his shoulders. "The comets are still headed for Earth…and there's nothing we can do to stop them. So, this is it. The world does go on, but it will not go on for everyone."

The man standing next to him swore quietly under his breath, crossing his arms over his chest. One the other side of the group, a woman pulled her young child closer to her, bringing one hand up to cover her mouth.

"We have now been able to calculate the comets' final trajectories and we have determined where they're going to strike," the President continued. "The smaller of the two comets, Fitz, will hit first, somewhere along the Atlantic seaboard-probably in the waters off the coast of Cape Hatteras, in just under twelve hours, at 4:35pm Eastern Daylight Time. The impact of the comet is going to be…" He paused. "Well, disastrous. There will be a very large tidal wave moving quickly through the Atlantic Ocean. It will be one hundred feet high, traveling at eleven hundred miles an hour. That's faster than the speed of sound. As the wave reaches shallow water it's going to slow down, but the wave height, depending on the depth of the shelf off the coast, will be anywhere from one thousand to thirty-five hundred feet high."

Fitz took a deep breath against the old familiar panic starting to churn in his gut. To combat it, he started running the new numbers through his head. In his periphery, he saw the driver of the truck lean in to his partner, talking in quiet, urgent tones.

"Where the land is flat, the wave will wash inland six hundred to seven hundred miles. The wave will hit our nation's capitol forty minutes after impact. New York City, Boston, Atlanta, Philadelphia…all will be destroyed. If you have any means of getting away from the path of this wave, leave now."

Someone else in their group had approached the driver, joining their conversation. Fitz kept an eye on them, certain he knew what they were saying.

"The impact of the larger comet will be nothing less than an extinction-level event. It will strike land in western Canada, three hours after Fitz. Within a week, the skies will be dark with dust from the impact, and they will stay dark for two years. All plant life will be dead within…four weeks. Animal life within…a few months." President Beck went quiet for a moment. "So, that's it. Good luck to us all."

As the radio went silent, the little group gathered stood quietly for a moment as everything sank in. Fitz could hear someone crying softly. Finally, the driver of the truck cleared his throat and stepped forward, turning to face everyone.

"Okay, folks," he said, "here's how it's going to go. I know we've been heading east, but you heard him. That tidal wave's going to be a death sentence if we keep going the way we were. Now...I know we all have places we want to be. Maybe that's changed now. But I'm making the decision to turn around. We're going to head back toward Lexington. It's the closest major city and we can find shelter there. Hopefully."

Fitz clenched his fists as a helpless sort of horror lodged in his throat, his plans crumbling to ruin in his head. Around him, most of his fellow riders were nodding, murmuring their assent, but he saw a few who looked just as unhappy as he felt.

"I-I have to get back to Richmond," he said desperately. "I can't turn back, I have to get to Richmond."

"And I have to get to Washington," said a lanky, middle-aged man three people to his right. "Non-negotiable."

The driver gave a tight, apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I don't know what else to tell you, except good luck and godspeed."

The other man swore, then caught Fitz's eye as everyone moved to get back on the truck. He swallowed, then nodded.

In the end, four of them continued on eastward. The others wished them the best of luck, but it was clear from the looks on their faces that they believed they were heading for certain death. Fitz and his new companions watched the truck recede into the distance for a moment, and he tried not to let his new panic and dread swallow him whole.

He knew his situation was grim now, and that Jemma's was even worse. Cape Hatteras wasn't far from the Virginia border, and Richmond was only two hours by car from the coastline. It wouldn't take the tidal wave very long to reach there at all. Additionally, he was certain that the entire eastern seaboard of the country was now undergoing a mass panic as everyone rushed to evacuate. Even worse, with his cell phone dead he had no way of getting in contact with Jemma in order to know what she and her family were doing.

Stranded in the middle of nowhere with no transportation and no communication, all Fitz had left was his determination. He could only hope that it would be enough to carry him back to Jemma before time ran out.

-:-

"So what are you heading back for?"

Fitz looked up, breaking his focus on the passage of asphalt beneath his feet. They'd been walking for nearly an hour by the light of the moon, him and his three companions, with very little said between them. As the night edged closer and closer to dawn, they'd met an increasing number of cars on the road, but most of them were heading west. The few that were traveling east had refused to pick them up, the drivers saying they had no plans to go that far toward the ocean.

It was the middle-aged man who had spoken, the one who had said he needed to get to Washington. He'd introduced himself as Ronald shortly after the truck had left them behind. The others were Michael, a stout young man from Pennsylvania, and Meredith, a college student who was also headed to Richmond. Fitz had carefully avoided giving his own name, unsure he wanted them to know who he really was. They hadn't pressed.

He thought briefly of Jemma, a brief plume of worry tugging at his heart. "I, uh...I'm going back for my-my wife."

"Your wife?" Ronald didn't bother to hide his surprise. "Aren't you a little young to be married?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, but...you know." Desperate times call for desperate measures.

On his other side, Meredith adjusted the straps of her backpack. "Why isn't she already with you?"

Fitz considered giving them some sort of vague redirect, anything that wouldn't make him out to be a coward or an asshole for leaving Jemma behind. But in the end, what did their opinion matter? The world was going to end later in the day. Appearances didn't mean anything anymore. He sighed. "I...I was at the Ark, actually. But she didn't want to leave her parents."

Ronald whistled. "You got in at the Ark and you left? You must really love your wife."

"She's my wife," Fitz replied, as if that explained everything. To him, it did.

Ronald smiled faintly, scratching at his arm. "I can't judge. I'm going back for my kids."

"Oh?" Meredith asked, perking up. "How old are they?"

"About your age, probably," he said. "My oldest is a junior in college, and his sister is a freshman. They're both at Georgetown."

Meredith nodded, absorbing that information, and they fell into silence again. A few minutes later, Ronald looked at him again.

"So your number got pulled in the lottery?" he asked.

Fitz shook his head. "No, uh...I was pre-selected."

"What?" Meredith said. He looked over to see that she was frowning. "But you're just a kid."

He fought the urge to bristle-he couldn't have been much younger than her-before sighing. "Yeah, well...I kind of discovered that." He pointed up towards the sky where Fitz and Hall shone brightly.

"You're shitting me." It was the first time Michael had spoken since he'd introduced himself. "You're Leo Fitz?"

Ronald laughed, sounding faintly surprised. "Wow. We've had a national hero here with us the whole time."

Fitz scoffed, looking back down. "I'm not a hero."

-:-

Eventually, they found someone with a car who was just as crazy as they were, someone willing to drive them further into dangerous territory against the tide of people trying to escape. They quickly found it was easier to take back roads, as all major interstates and highways had been redirected to flow one way: out.

They parted ways on the outskirts of Richmond. Their driver was able to take Meredith directly to her destination, but wasn't willing to brave the crush of traffic going further into town. Instead, he turned north to take Ronald and Michael to Washington. Fitz was left to walk on foot again, forcing himself not to run so he wouldn't overheat and tire himself out. He took note of how high the sun had risen in the sky with despair, but tried to stay focused on reaching Jemma. If he stopped long enough to think about how little time remained, he might lose all the hope he had left.

Staying alert kept his mind sufficiently occupied. He had to carefully weave in and out of heavy traffic as he made his way toward home; he received more than a few curious glances from drivers along the way, wondering why someone was walking further into the city rather than driving out. Finally, he was granted a boon in the form of a bicycle lying abandoned on a trash heap. He wasted no time in getting it upright and leaping on it, pedaling furiously in the direction of his neighborhood.

When he got there, it looked like something out of a warzone. The streets were abandoned, garbage scattered across them in all directions, and most of the houses he passed had their doors and garages left wide open. Fitz felt his heart sink as he approached Jemma's house, seeing that it looked much the same, and that their family sedan was missing from the driveway. He steered his bicycle onto the grass of their lawn at full speed before ditching it just as he hit the front walk. "Jemma?" he shouted, running straight into their house. Shock and fear hit him as he saw that the living room had been ransacked, furniture shoved aside and overturned. He pushed past the couch to run to the staircase, looking up. "Jemma!"

But there was no answer. Jemma and her parents were gone.

Fitz let out a cry of panic as he turned in place, pressing his fingertips to his temples. Think. He had to think. Jemma was gone, and all he had was a bicycle and a rapidly-dwindling time frame. Where would they have gone? How would he find them? Would he even be able to get there in time?

Sucking in a deep breath, he opened his eyes and ran for the garage, hoping against hope that it was still there. He nearly cried in relief when he saw that it was: the shiny white motorcycle that Mr. Simmons had purchased shortly before the comet was announced to the public. He could still hear the older man's words as they'd stood in the garage one night, looking it over.

Who do I think I'm going to be, buying this?

Fitz had laughed before trying to reassure him that even if it was a mid-life crisis thing, it was still a very nice bike. Now, he'd never been more thankful for an impulse purchase in his life, even if it wasn't his own. He was doubly lucky that looters hadn't managed to make off with it either-they had obviously been deterred by the thick chains lashed around the motorcycle, preventing the wheels from turning. Luckily, Fitz knew where Jemma's father had hidden the key.

He picked up the mason jar full of nails, nuts, and bolts, and upended it onto the concrete floor, then dropped to his knees to sift through the mess with frantic, shaking hands. "Come on, come on, where are you," he muttered. A flash of yellow metal hit his eyes. "Ah-there!"

Snatching them up, he rushed over to the motorcycle and made quick work of the lock on the chains, hurrying to pull them off and away. Once they were clear, he reached for the helmet sitting on the bench next to it and jammed it down on his head, not bothering with the latch beneath his chin. Then he swung his leg over the seat as he switched the ignition on. He'd never ridden on, much less driven, a motorcycle before today, but there was no time like the present to learn. Giving the gas a testing tap, he nodded once to himself before slamming his foot down and speeding out of the garage and onto the street, heading back the way he'd came.

Logic suggested that Jemma and her parents had likely left as soon as they could after the President's call to evacuate. They'd already had their essentials packed for the trip to the Ark, so it was also likely that they'd never unpacked and would have been able to load their car quickly. After that, they would have headed for the interstate, the most direct route out of the city and into the mountains. They'd had several hours' lead on him, and Fitz frowned as he considered that now, it might be impossible for him to catch up with them. The lack of any way to contact them decreased his odds even further.

But as he drove closer to the interstate, he began to realize that perhaps Jemma and her parents hadn't gotten as far as he'd initially feared. Traffic had slowed down drastically, crawling along at a snail's pace. The roads were clogged with more cars than they could handle, and after several impatient minutes, Fitz decided to put the small size of the motorcycle to use by pushing forward, weaving in and out of the larger cars around him.

He heard it before he saw it. Car horns, hundreds of them, all blaring furiously as he approached the overpass that went over the interstate. When he reached the top of the on-ramp, his heart froze in utter despair at what he saw.

It was a complete and total gridlock, vehicles swamping both sides of the highway and even filling the median, all of them unmoving, stretching out into the distance as far as the eye could see.