Summary: "BANG. Just kidding." AU: Sometimes, maybe, they go too far.
Warning/Spoiler: Character death, bloody, gory, I may have channeled some Hannibal in this
Rating: M/R
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Fitz/Simmons, plus others that I won't spoil but all friendships/familiar

Author's Note: Sequel and a much gorier version of Smile. Reading that first isn't necessary but it provides some more background/context. Fitz's first lines of dialogue belong to Cory.

Wink

Fitz stands with one hand on his waist, fingers tapping against his back, the other holding the gun. "Which one should I kill first?" he asks no one, because Jemma grins as she slices thin scars into a woman's neck. "Hm, you," he says, pointing the gun at a handsome young man. His cheekbones are too perfect, Fitz believes – it's a crime against humanity. While the man struggles against the ropes tied around his wrist, the other hostages slide away from him. Fitz grins. "BANG. Just kidding." The man flinches noticeably and Fitz throws back his head and laughs. "I said bang out loud but didn't shoot the gun. It's funny, get it?" He's greeted with mostly silence – the only acknowledgement of his joke is Jemma, giggling as she cuts off an eyeball, the screams of pain cut off harshly by her blade to the woman's throat.

Fitz shrugs, turning back to the man. "Okay, but seriously – you die first." The man opens his mouth but Fitz pulls the trigger. At this angle, Fitz suspects the bullet punctures the ribs and the lungs, lodging soundly into the heart. A trickle of blood seeps out of the man's mouth. Fitz samples some drops onto his finger, sniffing. "Jemma, baby, I think this one was an alcoholic!"

Jemma looks up from her prey, the singular hazel eye in her hand discarded at his words. "Really?" She rushes over, eyes dancing, and Fitz smiles at her when she licks his finger. "Hmm – definitely a high blood alcohol level." Fitz ignores the blood rushing downwards at the sight of her face – eyes half-closed, tiny smile, cheeks glowing.

He must have let out a groan because Jemma smirks. "What?" he asks, before she leans towards him to wipe his finger on his trousers. Her own fingers skim closely to his inner thighs and she must have caught his breath with her lips, because she grins when she kisses him. "You're the worst."

"I know." Jemma heads to the body, ignoring the three remaining strugglers. As Jemma pulls out the dead guy's wallet, Fitz notices one girl in the corner, eyes steeled and glaring. She's pretty hot, Fitz admits, but the fire in her eyes makes him slightly nervous.

Fitz is never nervous. "Hey," he says, leaning over Jemma as she reads the driver's license. "I don't like her." He nods towards the girl in the corner, dark brown hair braided and leather jacket stuck to her skin. Her golden earrings glitter in the shadows.

Jemma searches him, her hand on his shoulder. She frowns. "Don't worry, I got her," she says, smiling softly. Her thumb on his cheek reassures him and Fitz takes the card she hands over, watching as she glides towards the corner and the intimidating girl.

"Grant Ward," says Fitz out loud, thumb skimming over raised letters. Something glitters in the corner of his eye; frowning, he leans over Ward's chest and pulls out a badge. "Jem, this one's a cop. Well," he says, rolling his eyes, "was a cop."

There's a tiny screech from the corner, but the badge intrigues him. He pockets it just when Jemma says, "and I think this one knew him."

Fitz perks up. "Really?" There's an echo, Jemma's voice in his head that matches the one from feet away, and Fitz grins. Without looking, he fires two shots. Turning back, he nods proudly: two men, both dead, one with a bullet straight through his brain and the other through his neck. Fitz tilts his head. "Later, I wanna sketch the scatter pattern. It kind of looks like a turtle."

"Of course, dear," says Jemma and when Fitz walks toward her he notices her blade dancing across the girl's chest. "She won't tell me her name," she says, and if Fitz didn't know any better he'd think she's pouting. Jemma swirls the blade, leaving a spiral cut on the girl's skin.

When her eyes lock onto his, Fitz shifts. He forces himself to keep staring and her lips quirk upwards, just slightly. "My name isn't important, is it?" she says, softly, straight to him. Fitz swallows.

Jemma's knife digs deeper and the girl inhales sharply. "I don't really like that you'll talk to my partner but not to me." Fitz bites back a grin. "Hmm – your blouse is very blue."

"Skye?" says Fitz, kneeling forward. They pin the girl – Skye, they've decided once Jemma nods with a small grin – against the corner, but she's still sitting straight. Something glitters on her neck and Fitz gently pushes Jemma's hand out of the way to grab onto the necklace. "Pretty."

Skye stiffens when his hand grazes her skin and Fitz loves that he's no longer uneasy. "My – best – my dad's partner – gave me that," she says, words cracking against her sore throat. Fitz and Jemma exchange a look – she's a talker.

"Well, we should leave your best friend a present, shouldn't we? Return the favor?" Fitz snaps the necklace off of Skye's neck, leaving a red noose. He turns to Jemma with a small wink. "May I?"

Jemma blinks. "Fitz – " Fitz raises an eyebrow and Jemma smiles before nodding.

While Fitz reattaches the necklace for Jemma, Skye begins to fight against her ropes. They ignore her as Fitz's finger caresses her skin. "I love you," he says before kissing her lightly on the nose. Jemma smiles and kisses him on the throat.

"So finger or tongue?" she says, turning back to Skye. Fitz suspects the she aims the question at him, but Skye's eyes narrow.

"Do you really think I'm going to answer that?" asks Skye, flames still dancing in her glare. "Do you really think I'm actually going to make this easier for you – "

"So tongue then," says Fitz, his hand over Skye's mouth, and he takes tiny pleasure in her warm breath on his hand. Jemma nods.

Fitz holds Skye and Jemma gets to work.

He wonders how he's able to stand. It's probably May's hand on his shoulder, gripping tightly, her eyes switching between their dead comrade and the girl he refuses to look at.

"Goddamn it, Ward," says Phil under his breath, leaning against the wall as forensics slips past them. "You couldn't have just taken the damn gun – "

May says nothing, just letting her hand intertwine with his and squeezing tightly.

Phil wants to scream, wants to punch someone. Instead, he walks towards the back corner, now lit by artificial lamps. May walks behind him slowly, but he gags before she reaches him.

White and pink flowers adorn the shrine, built from stray flesh and cracked bones. On top of a bed of bloodied sheets rests a lone tongue, pierced straight through the center with a golden earring.

Phil turns to vomit, but even before he does so, May smashes the shrine with her foot. Her hands rest on his shoulders as he struggles to regain breath. "There was no body?" he chokes out. May shakes her head, eyes shadowed and soft. The nausea rolls through him once more.

"We have to stop them, Phil," says May. The charm on her wrist hits his arm when she starts to pull back and he can still see a tiny girl bouncing as she pushes the box into May's arms.

Phil shakes his head, his chest clenching painfully. "We have to kill them."