There have been many times when Jemma has had to ask herself how they'd come this far. This time, she thinks, it may be as far as they'll ever go. She doesn't want to think that—god she doesn't want to—but sitting in a pod at the bottom of the ocean with everything Leo's worked out while she was unconscious means that it's a very likely possibility. That part of her that believes there's a way out, that there's a solution if only they look hard enough, doesn't want to believe that. But the facts are stacked overwhelmingly against them.

"I'm sorry," Leo says, interrupting her thoughts.

They've started and stopped conversations for the past hour or so, their topics petering out into thoughtful silence when they're faced with the harsh reality of the situation they find themselves in. She drags her gaze away from the ocean and the creatures swimming past their window, frowning at the statement.

"For what?" she asks.

"For Jasper," Leo clarifies. He shifts, wincing in discomfort as the motion disturbs his broken arm. "I don't think I ever said it. Or… or offered to listen if you needed to talk. And I should have."

"Fitz, it's alright," Jemma says, shaking her head. "Everything happened so quickly, and to be honest, I'm not sure what I'm feeling anymore."

"No, it's not alright," Leo insists. "We're supposed to… be there for each other, you and I. And I should've been there."

"I know you're here when I need you. You always have been," Jemma tells him. She shrugs absently. "I would've gone to you, just… I think I needed the space, for once. But knowing you're there, well, it makes it alright."

They share a brief smile, a brief moment of connection that doesn't need any words before they return to silence, contemplating the hopelessness of their situation.

"I'd like to think she might've been right. Andy, I mean," Leo says suddenly, plucking at the fabric of his pants. "It would be nice to think some of the people who were supposed to be our friends really are."

Jemma feels a tug in her chest at the bitterness in his tone. He had been so adamant, so sure that Grant hadn't really betrayed them. He'd wanted so badly to believe that Grant truly was their friend and that he wouldn't hurt them like this. She knows how much he'd cherished their friendship because as much as she and Leo were similar, this was one way they were different. Leo didn't make friends easily and never had. Jemma had grown to come out of her shell and, though she believed he would too, Leo was a late bloomer in that category.

Having someone like Grant Ward as a friend had been important to him. And for all intents and purposes, they had been friends; because even if Grant had been faking it, Leo most certainly hadn't been.

"It's not your fault," she assures him. "You couldn't have known Ward was with HYDRA."

"I should've known," he mumbles.

"And what do you suppose I've been telling myself?" Jemma points out. She sighs slowly, resting her forehead against the window, the glass cooled by the ocean water on the other side. "No one could have guessed. No one."

"Suppose it hardly matter now," Leo notes absently.

"Oh, don't be like that," Jemma chides. "We're not dead yet."

"Not yet, no," Leo says. He idly rolls a ball of lint between his fingers before looking up at her and saying, "But I really am sorry."

"So am I," Jemma says, her voice sounding small and tired. "He just seemed so… genuine. Even when I knew he was hiding something from me, he came right out and admitted it. That he would have done all the things they say he did just seems…"

She doesn't want to say impossible. It's not impossible. It's just that it doesn't make sense. But then, hardly any of this does. She had thought she'd have time to work it out, that there would be an 'after' to all of this madness. She had thought there would be another side for them to come out on. Now she has to wonder. No one even knows they're out here and even if they somehow managed to make it out and to the surface, no one will be looking for them.

"I liked him, for what it's worth," Leo says. "I liked that he made you happy. And what with the possibility of… LMDs and brainwashing… I've spent every moment hoping that was the case with him and that he hadn't willingly hurt you like this. Because I can't stand to see you hurt, Jemma. I can't stand it."

She feels that tightness in her chest, like a knot in a string being tugged, and she's thankful for it. She's thankful for Leo. Everything he's just said, she knows she never has to doubt because it's the very same way she feels about him. They would do anything for one another. It's no stretch of the truth to say that Leo is her other half. Looking at how far they've come, she knows they could have only done it together. She feels her eyes growing watery as she abandons her view of the ocean to meet his eyes instead.

"I know this is going to sound ridiculous, but if there's anyone I'd like to be trapped down here with, it's you," she sniffles. A hiccup of laughter escapes her as her tears flow and she tries to explain. "Not that I want to be down here. Not that I want you to be down here, I wish we weren't here at all, but it's… Leo, you're… out of everyone you're the most…"

"No, I know, Jemma, I'm… yeah, me too," Leo says, nodding quickly. He fares only marginally better than she does when it comes to holding back his tears.

She crawls towards him until they can embrace one another; mindful of their injuries, but holding on as tightly as they will allow. It shouldn't have to end like this. But then, there are a lot of things which have happened recently which shouldn't have. She looks over his shoulder, out into the ocean surrounding them. It's peaceful, in its own way, being here with him. Holding each other. In the dark, in the quiet.

"Are you scared?" she asks him.

She feels his good hand gripping the back of her cardigan, the action giving her an answer before his words do.

"Yeah," he whispers. He pauses before adding, "And I'm hungry, too."

"Me, too," Jemma agrees. "Scared, not hungry."

She feels a soft huff of laughter leave him at the clarification.

"What do you think it's like?" she wonders.

"Death?"

She nods against his shoulder.

"Well… depends on the method, really," Leo murmurs clinically. "Drowning's supposed to be quite pleasant in the end apparently, once the water fills up your lungs—"

"I mean after."

"Oh, yeah, well. My mum always said that… you shouldn't be afraid because… it's just like the way life was before you were born. Wasn't that bad, was it?"

Jemma thinks of Mrs. Fitz, all alone in that house, and swallows the lump in her throat. "That's sweet. Though apparently I was miserable before I was born. Upside-down, umbilical cord all wrapped around my head."

"Yeah… well, she meant pre-conception of co—"

"I know, I know, I was only jok—"

"—I know you're joking, that's fine."

Just like that, the full weight of their situation is pressing down on them once again. She supposes it had been foolish to think they could escape it, even for a little while, but at least she'd tried. At least she'd tried to make this… bearable.

"I like to think about the first law of thermodynamics," she says softly. "That no energy in the universe is created and—"

"—none is destroyed," he says with her.

She gives him a brief squeeze.

"That means that every bit of energy inside us, every particle, will go on to be a part of something else," she continues, gazing out the window. "Maybe live as a dragonfish. A microbe. Maybe burn in a supernova ten billion years from now. And every part of us now was once a part of some other thing. A moon. A storm cloud. A mammoth."

"A monkey," Leo suggests hopefully.

"A monkey," she agrees with a smile. "Thousands and thousands of other beautiful things that were just as terrified to die as we are. We gave them new life. A good one, I hope." She swallows thickly, eyes trapped on the window. "It's fitting we're down here together. This is where all life began on our planet, anyway. Just outside that… glass…"

"Jemma."

She hears her name, but there's something else capturing her attention. Something more important.

"What?" Leo breathes.

"The glass," she says, sitting up and pulling away from him. "Fitz, the glass."

"Yeah, it's… bulletproof, pressure resistant…" he says, shaking his head.

"But the seal is 4-hydroxy-4-methyl-2-pentanone, I'm sure."

"Yeah, I know what you're thinking," he says, closing his eyes and shaking his head, "but the flashpoint is too high for it to burn."

"But medical ethanol has a low flashpoint," she says insistently, "and it burns—"

"—hotter," Leo finishes, a look of realization dawning upon his face. "If we could use the defibrillator as an ignition source—"

"—and build a compressed explosive—"

"—to ignite the seal and the outside pressure would—"

"—blow the window in!" the say together.

They're on their feet now, jumping around like children in a bouncy castle in sheer joy at their discovery. Well, until that jumping jostles Leo's arm and they're forced to settle down. But there's hope now. There's a way. There's a solution.

They just have to make it.

It's quiet at the Playground. Not the way it had been in that pod underwater, but Leo had been with her then. Not now. She sits beside his bed, but when he's not awake to speak to her, it can hardly be called the same. She wonders if he even knows she's here, that she's been here every day since they'd arrived.

"Any change?"

Jemma looks up at the voice to find Phil standing in the doorway. He checks in as often as he can, but with his new role as Director, his responsibilities keep multiplying. Still, he makes time for them, for this. She shakes her head.

"These sorts of things, they can take time, you know," she says as she looks back to her best friend's face. "It could be… weeks or months. It just…"

"Takes time," Phil agrees, resting a hand on her shoulder. Minutes pass in silence before he says, "Come on, let me make you something to eat."

"Sir, you don't have to—"

"Jemma, I know you haven't eaten. I haven't eaten. I'm pretty sure Skye hasn't eaten," Phil says. He pauses, squeezing her shoulder in some modicum of comfort. "You don't want to leave him, and I get that, but let's just take a break for a little while and put something in the tank, okay? You can come right back as soon as you're finished."

She knows there's no point in arguing with him, much as there would be no point in arguing with her parents. At this point, she's not sure if she's even hungry or not, but she does know it's been hours since she'd last forced herself to nibble on something. If she's going to keep looking after Leo, she has to keep her strength up. So she'll take a break. Just a quick one. He seems surprised when she doesn't put up any further protest, but she's too tired to fight him on this and he's smart enough to accept his victory quietly.

After making sure that Leo is being looked after, she follows him out of the infirmary and through the vastly empty halls that stretch before them. Over the past three weeks they've steadily had people showing up at their door, lost agents who had found their way here, guided by the few trusted agents that Phil had deigned to contact thus far. Their ranks are filling out day after day, but it still feels so hollow.

"Agent May chased you away from your desk, didn't she?" Jemma asks, staring down at her feet as they walk.

Phil grumbles, sounding like an agitated bear, and she knows she's guessed correctly. She hasn't exactly been kind to herself, but then, neither has he. Or any of them, for that matter. Proper rest seems to have been the last thing on the agenda for all of them and it shows; in their eyes, in the wan half-smiles they offer each other in passing. They've all been worn so thin, it's a wonder they're still standing by this point.

They find Skye where she spends most of her time now: in the gym, beating a punching bag until her knuckles bruise. The only way she might possibly be inspired to hit it harder would be if there were a picture of Grant's face taped to it. Jemma's fairly certain she's seeing it clearly enough in her mind's eye all the same. She hears the soft sigh from Phil as they approach, but doesn't comment. She knows he's worried about Skye's state of mind after everything that's happened. She knows he's worried about all of them. She knows that worry is just more weight piled on top of him.

"Skye. Come on. Chow time," Phil calls.

"Not hungry," Skye answers, driving her fist into the bag.

"It wasn't a question," Phil says, his tone firmer this time. "Take a break. Come eat something with me and Jemma."

"Jemma?" Skye says, twisting for a look. Her fists hang in the air, ready for another series of punches, but at the sight of the biochemist she slowly lowers them to her sides. "Hey."

"Hey," Jemma echoes with a small smile. "He's right. You really should get something to eat. And drink as well, if you're going to continue. You should stay properly hydrated."

Skye eyes the empty water bottle discarded in the corner before looking to the two of them in turn and nodding once, shrugging her shoulders as she wanders towards them. She unwraps her hands as she walks. Phil sees the bruises and split knuckles as clearly as Jemma does, but no one says a word as they walk together towards the kitchen. They all have their coping mechanisms—some of them healthier than others—and for the time being, they know a lecture isn't going to help anyone.

"You know what I'm craving? Grilled cheese," Phil announces once they've arrived.

"Grilled cheese?" Skye repeats, an eyebrow quirked.

"And tomato soup," Phil says. "My mother used to make the best grilled cheese. And whenever I was having a bad day, it always did the trick."

"Well, I think we can tick off the 'bad day' box," Jemma sighs, seating herself on one of the stools at the island and leaning onto the countertop. "For quite a few days now."

"Yeah. Grilled cheese sounds good," Skye agrees. She looks to Phil. "You want some help, AC?"

"No, you two just sit down," Phil says, shucking his suit jacket and rolling up his sleeves. For a moment, it almost looks like he's trying to hide a smile when he says, "You'll just mess with my flow."

"Oh, well, excuse me Iron Chef," Skye says with a faint smirk on her lips, hands raised in mock-offense. "Wouldn't want to do that."

Jemma finds herself smiling along, ensconced in a little pocket of levity. She's needed it. A distraction, just for a little while. It's not as though she forgets everything that's happened and is happening, but for a little while she can just… not be completely enveloped in it. For just this little while, she can come up for air.

Phil had already proven on multiple occasions that his proficiency in the kitchen was nothing to be sneezed at. He appears to enjoy the task, moving with an ease and fluidity that seems to come naturally to him. Perhaps this is something he needs as much as they do. Given some of the complicated dishes she's seen him prepare, Jemma supposes she shouldn't be surprised that even something as simple as grilled cheese tastes wonderful, but here she is.

"Oh my god, I didn't know how much I wanted this until I was eating it," Skye says around a mouthful.

"Don't talk with your mouth full. You'll choke," Phil warns her, dunking the corner of his sandwich into his soup.

"Okay, dad," Skye says, kicking his shin under the table.

"Did you your mother teach you to cook?" Jemma wonders, blowing on a spoonful of soup.

Phil nods his head. "Some of it I learned from her, some of it I learned from taking classes."

"You took cooking classes?" Skye snorts in amusement.

"It's a valuable skill," Phil replies with a shrug and a smile. "I took a lot of courses while I was at the Academy."

"Like dancing," Jemma teases.

"Like dancing," Phil agrees with a soft chuckle. "Anyway, you really never knew what might come in handy someday and since I never went to college, I suppose you could say I was… making up for that, in a way."

"I didn't know that you hadn't gone to college," Jemma notes with an interested hum. "I always assumed you had."

Phil shrugs lightly. "Couldn't afford it."

Jemma at once feels a bit out of place to be the only one among their little trio who'd gone to college. She'd gone to college and gone on to get her Masters and her Doctorate and a handful of other degrees and here neither of them had even had the chance to attend a college at all. Perhaps it shows on her face, because Phil puts on one of his best frowns and Skye nudges her with an elbow.

"We're not jealous or anything," Skye says. "Lighten up."

"To be honest I'm not sure I would've had the patience for one degree never mind what you managed," Phil says with a huff of laughter. He points to her with his spoon. "Never be ashamed of hard work."

"Well, it's just that I was thinking… you know, it's really not fair that you didn't get to go," Jemma says, stirring her soup.

"No, but I think we turned out okay," Skye says. She offers Jemma a slow smile. "Plus, I don't think I'm the college type. Too many… rules."

"They typically frown on hacking into their records to change your grades," Phil agrees.

"You don't know what I would do that," Skye says.

Phil chooses to quietly eat his soup rather than answer.

"Okay, yeah, I would, but the American education system is bullshit," Skye says in her defense. She chews on a bit of sandwich, regarding Phil thoughtfully. "Was the Academy where you met May?"

"It was," Phil answers, a smile rising to his face at some memory in particular. Thankfully for Jemma's curiosity, he decides to share. "Our instructor chose us as a hand-to-hand demonstration for the class. She handed my ass to me in seconds flat. I think I surprised her when I approached her after class and asked if she could teach me to do that. My Academy days were some of the best days of my life—I met a good number of the people that I call my friends today while I was there. May, Blake, Hand—"

"Hand? As in Victoria Hand? I thought you guys didn't know each other," Skye interrupts.

"I thought we didn't," Phil answers, unable to mask the bitter tint to his voice. "Apparently she was another victim of my… forgetfulness. I'm starting to remember, I just wish I'd been able to do so sooner."

Jemma frowns down at her soup. Even in happy memories, there seems to be no escape from their present situation. All the things and the people they've come to know, it's all just been turned upside down. There are things which will never be the same and people they will never see again. As inescapable as those facts are, she finds herself still trapped in a state of disbelief. SHIELD is gone. Phil plainly senses the sudden dip in mood again and quickly changes the subject.

"You know what I did remember recently? The time we all snuck out of our dorms to go get drunk and watch a meteor shower on the roof," Phil says.

"Even May?" Skye asks.

"What, are you kidding? She was practically leading the charge," Phil says with a laugh. "So I'd been pretty excited for this meteor shower for a few weeks and John, you know, he was always looking for an excuse to have a good time, so Melinda decides… why not have a little fun then?"

Phil continues on with his story, pausing only now and then to indulge their incredulous remarks, and before long Jemma finds herself reevaluating her earlier thought. The SHIELD they knew is gone, that's true. But SHIELD itself isn't. It's right here. It's in Phil and in Skye and in her. It's in all of them. As long as they're together, as long as they don't give up, there will always be a SHIELD to come home to.

"Jemma."

"Yes?"

"Before we do this. Before we… I just want to tell you something."

There's something in the way he says this that lends a weight to his words that's far heavier than all the ocean pressing down on their little cage. Her heart, already fluttering with anxiety, beats that much quicker.

"What I want to say is… I never would've tried to get between you. You and Jasper. I never wanted to. I just wanted you to be happy, is all," Fitz says, his hands holding hers in a too-tight grip. "And when I say this now, please understand that it's not some attempt to… to move in now that he's out of the picture. If he is at all. That's not what I'm trying to do."

"What are you saying?" Jemma asks, hearing the tremor in her own voice.

He squeezes his eyes shut tight, a few tears leaking out despite his best efforts to keep them trapped. He sighs, long and slow.

"I love you," he tells her. "I've loved you for years and just couldn't find a way to say it. Couldn't find the courage. Maybe it's cruel to say it now, of all times, but I just can't stand the thought of never telling you what you mean to me."

"Fitz," Jemma says, refusing to let his hands go. "What are you saying?"

"We can't both survive this," he says with a frankness that frightens her. "I've rigged this canister to be able to deliver enough air for one breath. That should be enough to get you to the surface."

"No," she answers, feeling hot tears welling in her eyes to match his. "That's not true. We just need to share the air supply—"

"We can't, Jemma. We can't," he says. "I've done the math."

"Then we'll do it again!" she protests loudly, tearfully. "There has to be some way… there's more than one breath in there. We can make it work. We'll stay down here until we find a way to make it work."

"There's no other way. You're the better swimmer, it makes sense," Fitz says. "And besides which, I couldn't… I couldn't live if you didn't."

"And what makes you think I could?" she demands. "You're my best friend."

"And you're… you're so much more than that," he insists.

"That's not fair. It's not fair and you know it," she says, fear spilling over into frustration. She throws her arms around him, locking on to him as though he might cede the pint simply for his inability to pry her off. She hugs him—her best friend, her other half—and buried her face in his shoulder, unable to stop the steady flow of tears. "You can't do this."

"Jemma, please."

"No."

"We don't have much time."

"No."

Logically, she knows he's right. She knows she's the better swimmer, that their chances of making it to the surface are astronomically better with her. True, he stands a chance of surviving, albeit an extremely slim one, but they're odds she doesn't want to play. Not with him. He wedges the canister up between them, uses it to lever her off of him before shoving it into her hands.

"Just let me do this for you."

"No, please, Fitz—"

He slams his palm down on the button. She screams.

Her mother used to tell her that, in time, all things returned to the sea. As it roars around her, fills her ears and her lungs, Jemma wonders if this is what she meant.

"Simmons."

Jemma jerks awake abruptly, startled into consciousness. She rubs blearily at her eyes, noting that she'd fallen asleep at her desk again. It's a common enough occurrence these days. As are the nightmares, unfortunately. Fitz had woken some weeks ago, but as miraculous as that had been, the damage had been done. However hard she had kicked for the surface, it hadn't been quick enough. No, she hadn't been strong enough. Now Fitz… well, he might never be the same.

Swallowing her emotions, she looks up at Melinda, waiting for some explanation as to why she'd been woken and hoping it's something other than the fact that sleeping at her desk is terrible for her back.

"We need you," Melinda says.

Jemma isn't sure what to make of the words, cryptic as they are, but rises with a nod. These days, those simple words are enough to rally any of them to action. She smooths the wrinkles out of her shirt as she follows the older woman out of the lab, her post-nightmare nausea clashing with the anticipatory anxiety of whatever it is they need her for.

"Barton and Romanoff are back," Melinda explains as they walk. "And they've brought company."

Jemma finds herself suddenly wide awake, her skin prickling like it's been stuck with so many needles.

"Company," she echoes.

Melinda, curiously, slows to a halt. She turns on the spot, pinning Jemma with her gaze. Melinda May is not what people might describe as the warmest of personalities. On the surface, at least. She does not kiss boo-boos or attempt to spare your feelings in any way unless she feels it's truly warranted—and she rarely does. But to say she doesn't care for them or look after them would be a gross mischaracterization. It's rare that Melinda will deign to be gentle and as Jemma stares back at her now, she realizes it's one of those moments.

"Sitwell is with them," Melinda says, seemingly trying to gauge her reaction.

"I understand," Jemma says with a sharp nod, sounding stronger than she feels and feeling thankful for that much.

"We need you to conduct some neurological tests on him as well as some of our other newcomers to rule out any mind control," Melinda explains. "But if you'd prefer to instruct one of the lab technicians, no one would question it."

"No, no, I'll be alright," Jemma assures her. "I just wasn't expecting to wake up to this, is all."

Melinda watches her a moment longer before reaching out. Her fingers brush against Jemma's arm and though the touch is brief, the gesture carries with it a depth of concern. Jemma nods again, reassuring her that she can, in fact, handle this and they continue on.

As much as Jemma assures Melinda she can, she's not quite so sure of the fact. Her thoughts race fast enough to make her head spin, leaving her dizzy and struggling to focus enough to follow the other agent. The knowledge that Jasper is alive brings a mixed bag of emotions. She's honestly not quite sure what to think. Or feel. She finds herself dreading the moment when she has to look him in the eye, afraid of what she'll find there.

When they reach the cargo bay, Skye is already standing alongside Phil and Trip, watching the small group gathered before them. Jemma finds herself… understandably surprised. It's quite a great deal more people than she'd been anticipating. There are a handful of faces she doesn't know and a handful she never thought she'd see again.

Natasha and Clint are at the front of the group, seemingly unperturbed by the agents surrounding them and keeping their fingers trained on their weapons. Andy stands wedged between a red-headed woman and a tall, dark haired man—both unfamiliar. Curiously, Felix Blake is present, albeit confined to a wheelchair and looking far too pale for Jemma's liking. Curioser still, standing behind him and gripping the handles of his wheelchair, is Victoria Hand.

There are others, but inevitably, she finds her eyes drawn to the one person she'd been most anxious to see: Jasper. Her breath hitches in her throat as his dark eyes meet hers from across the room, refusing to look away despite the fact that the way the muscle in his jaw jumps tells her he'd like to. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting or even hoping for in this moment. He looks… tired. Tired in the same way that Andy had looked as they'd sat beside the pool that night so many weeks ago.

She'd thought it would be different than this, somehow. The picture that Andy had painted was some grand reunion, saving those among them who had been wronged by HYDRA in the ways that they had. The idea of a reunion hadn't included a group of tired, broken people standing at gunpoint on the doorstep of people they're supposed to be allies with.

Not that she doesn't understand it. She does. There's no such thing as being too careful now. Not when they'd already experienced betrayal from within. But she should feel something, she thinks, as she looks at all of them, as she looks at the man she'd fallen in love with, and yet the only thing she feels is a numbness the reaches down to her very core.

"So," Skye says as Jemma and Melinda join them. "This is… surprising."

"More than," Phil agrees.

"Any familiar faces?" Melinda asks.

Phil shrugs. "A few."

They stand in silence, watching the group of people watching them. This is what they are; misplaced seeds from an apple that was poisoned before it ever fell from the tree. How many of those seeds are bad? How many will grow to produce the same poisoned apples from which they came? Looking out at them, Jemma has to remind herself that not everything was lost. There are some good seeds yet. So long as they work hard and till the soil, a sturdy tree may yet rise.

But for now, they'll collect their seeds and pray for rain.

"What will we do now?" Jemma asks.

She turns her attention to Phil and finds the rest of them doing the same. Their new Director looks out over the people standing before them and sighs softly before resolutely nodding his head.

"What we do best: help people."

It's an idea they can all get behind. And as they approach the group before them, Jemma meets Jasper's gaze once again. She doesn't know where they'll go from here or what the future holds, but so long as they call and there are people to answer, they'll find a way to keep walking forward.