Hello everyone! Thanks for the feedback! After reading all the nice comments from here and AO3, I was finally able to finish this chapter. I've barely had any free time (which I've been trying to use mostly for this), but I've also had some sucky writer's block.

I will NEVER abandon this story. It'll just take a while to update sometimes.

So anyway, I hope you enjoy!

"The temptation is always there: to punish oneself. To make oneself miserable."

― Marty Rubin

Part III

The steady rhythm of the heart monitor fills the dead silence of the room.

Mack and Simmons stayed with the young Scotsman as he rested. She was surprised Mack had stuck around this long after the way he's been treating Fitz prior to the incident. Coulson had come in a few times to see if there was any change, to which Jemma usually responded with a somber shake of the head. He wished he could stay longer but with everything else going on, he had to go around and give orders, so the base doesn't fall into chaos— again.

May was the surprising one. She had been here more often than Coulson and often seemed worried for Fitz. She wondered if Daisy would ever see Fitz while he's here. She has some choice words for the girl but is too tired to do anything about it now. She'll talk with her once Fitz is better. Speaking of...

"What happened...?" Jemma asks apprehensively. "No one is saying anything, and everyone has this guilty look on their faces... I saw the gun on the floor, so what did he do?"

Mack looks up at her, debating if he should tell her the truth. 'We shouldn't hide things from each other.' He thinks. He lets out a sharp breath from his nose.

"He... I don't think he was completely there. He seemed very confused and maybe a little delirious, most likely from the... blood loss."

"Oh no, he didn't attack you did he?"

"No— well, yes, but it's... he didn't know it was me he was pointing the gun at."

"You're saying...?" Jemma trails, hinting towards the possible involvement of The Doctor.

Mack nods. "That's the only thing I can think of."

"So how did it start then?"

"Well, you had left with the other agents, leaving just him, Coulson, Daisy, and me. Daisy started...arguing with Fitz and it seemed like he didn't hear her. Then, he kept spacing out and staring at nothing, saying something about his father..."

"Fitz barely ever willingly talks about his father. He was definitely not that coherent"

"Exactly. He took off his jacket and we all saw the blood. Did Hale's daughter cut him or something?"

'No... not exactly. It was originally from his bullet wound. I'm guessing it was re-opened after Ruby punched him in the stomach about six too many times." She states spitefully.

Mack cringes at the prospect before something stops him.

"Wait— bullet wound? When?"

"A Kree shot him when we were in the future. You didn't know about that?"

"No... I guess I didn't pay enough attention." Mack says. How did he not know Fitz had been shot? He's starting to regret a lot of his decisions of late. Although now that she mentions it, he does vaguely remember a dark red stain peeking out from behind Fitz' leather jacket when they reunited. He kicks himself for not asking about it.

"So, after he took off his coat, he almost collapsed but landed on a desk. Then he was... whispering to himself. I went to go talk to him but as soon as I touched him, he freaked out and grabbed the gun."

Jemma winces.

"I tried to coax him to calm down but he just kept getting more anxious. He was talking to no one, or at least, no one we could see. He was pointing the gun at me but he wasn't looking at me, more so through me. That's when he... uh..." He stumbles looking for the right words. "He put the gun to his own head. He was about to go through with it, but May was able to ice him before he could."

Simmons' looks heartbroken and slightly horrified. Her eyes start to well up as she quickly looks over at her husband, but she steels herself and wipes them away, rationalizing her thoughts like a doctor usually does.

"He was about to go through with it, but May was able to ice him before he could."

"Oh God... He really is losing himself... I shouldn't have left the briefing so soon."

"Hey, you didn't know. This isn't your fault."

"Ugh. I know... but I can't help but feel partly responsible for his injuries at least. He only talked back harshly to Ruby because she threatened to hurt me."

Mack took to silence to ruminate all of what was said.

oOo

Mack had left for a moment get more coffee— this now being his fifth cup— before Simmons forced him to go lay down. It was now around 3 AM (seven hours since the incident), and Jemma started to drift. She sits in a very uncomfortable looking chair, her upper half laying on the bed and her head rests on her arms. May peeks in the room again glancing at the man in the hospital bed— his clothes replaced with a paper hospital gown, and the feeding tube replaced with one that delivers oxygen instead. Then she looks to the young doctor that also occupies part of the bed.

She gently pads over to the Jemma, shaking her shoulder lightly. She jumps up with a start before looking up and seeing it's only May. She breathes in relief presses a hand to her forehead.

"What time is it?" Simmons inquires in a sleep stricken voice.

"Three. You should go get some rest. I'll stay with him." May offers. She sounds so gentle and motherly it catches Jemma off guard for a moment.

"I can't... What if something happens and... and he needs medical attention immediately? Like if his wound is infected, if he goes Tachycardic, I mean it's not uncommon for one to develop a Pneumothorax or a sudden Pulmonary Embolism or—" May puts a hand on the young woman's arm to silence her.

"Look, I don't understand half of what you just said, but it makes my offer even stronger." May deadpans with a small smile. Jemma smiles back with an exhausted and defeated sigh.

"Thank you. Just... call me if anything changes. Anything at all."

"I will. Now go get some sleep."

"Also, make sure he doesn't get too cold."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"But don't cover his feet too tight, he can't stand it. If he has a nightmare he'll panic if his feet are all tangled."

"Okay. Got it."

"Oh and make sure—"

"Jemma,"

"Alright, I'm going." Jemma finishes and exits the room. May shakes her head faintly with a smile.

She makes her way to the chair Jemma was previously occupying and sits down with a groan. She stretches her stiff legs and turns her head to look at Fitz.

"You really outdid yourself this time, kid..." She says. Not malice in her voice, but a gentle tone. He looks like death itself— and almost had been.

She had gotten the full story from Coulson.

"I don't know why you feel you had to do that, but from here on out, I'll be here if you need anything."

oOo

It was another hour before anything happened.

First, it was just the twitch of his brow, then the normal incessant drone of the heart monitor starts speeding up, then a mumble. May had her head tilted on the back of the chair, eyes closed. The quickening beeps make her eyes shoot open, and she lifts up her head to look over the unconscious form in the bed. His eyes squeeze tighter, grasping the sheets tightly in his bruised hands, knuckles absolved of all color.

"Fitz?"

May scoots closer to the bed gauging all of his micro-expressions critically. The rapid movement of his eyes under their lids, elevated heart rate, brows drawn together, barely perceivable whispers, and tensing of muscles all point to one possible result. Nightmare. They're not uncommon in their line of work. She's had enough herself to know, and this kids definitely had enough trauma to permit it. She gently shakes his arm, the papery fabric of his hospital gown crinkling under her touch. His breath hitches and his hand shoots out to grab the rail of the hospital bed. His eyes dart around the room erratically, before he looks over at the woman at his bedside and flinches.

"Hey, hey, calm down. It's me."

He closes his eyes before a set of coughs break through his lungs. He gags and grabs at the tube in his nose, pulling out and trying not to throw up at the feeling of it sliding up his throat. May can sympathize. Once the tube is removed he slumps back in the bed, exhausted. His mouth tastes like rusty metal. He attempts to talk, but his dry throat reprimands him, sending him into another coughing fit.

May grabs foam cup of water from the bedside table and holds it up to his lips before he grabs it, and drinks greedily until the small cup is empty. He licks his chapped lips as she places the cup back on the stand. He looks down, avoiding her eyes in shame as he vaguely remembers what happened leading up to this point.

"Is... is everyone okay?" His voice is huskier and his accent seems the slightest bit thicker.

May stares at him in disbelief. The guy almost dies and the first thing he asks when he wakes up is if everyone is okay? This kid really has no sense of self-preservation.

"Yeah— everyone else is fine. You should be worrying about yourself." May denotes. Fitz slowly sits up with a wince.

"I'm fine."

"You're—" She lets out a huff of frustration, "Listen... I don't know what your definition of 'fine' is, but if this is it.. you've seriously got something messed up in the head." His jaw tightens quickly and he closes his eyes, prompting her to realize what she just said. "That came out wrong,"

"It's okay. I mean, it's true isn't it?" He voices softly. She doesn't miss the self-deprecation hidden in the tones.

"No, It's not. I'm tired of everyone treating you like some sort of villain. I did just as much evil in the Framework as you did. You made the hard call. Someone had to. I'm not saying I enjoy the methods you used, but at the time, it was our only option. I probably would've done the same had I been in your position."

"It seems everything I do ends up hurting everyone around me."

"That's not true..."

"Think about it. I decapitated those Kree guards without a thought... it was almost like second nature to me. I restrained Daisy— my friend—cut into her, and almost paralyzed her. I... I created the Framework and helped create Ophe— Aida... without thinking of the consequences. I tortured so many Inhumans... I can't sleep without hearing the screams of agony." He brings his shaking hands up to cover his face, as he relives all the horrors he inflicted.

May puts her hand on his bony shoulder for comfort.

"It's... it's my fault Coulson is dying. He wouldn't have had to make the deal with Ghost Rider if I hadn't made Aida. Everyone knows it." He laments.

Still not being in full health, and under the influence of some heavy pain medication, his bottled emotions burst, leaving nothing behind but the broken shards of false wholeness he's been hiding behind.

He chokes a sob and May takes her hand back in shock. She had never seen Fitz cry before. Not like this. Has he been carrying guilt for Coulson this whole time? And he really thinks everyone blames him for it.

He sits up, painstakingly brings his knees to his chest, his frame wracking with silent sobs as he curls himself tighter. She's never seen someone so... shattered before.

For a moment she doesn't know what to do— how to comfort him. Then her instincts take over and she sits next to him on the bed, enveloping him in a tight embrace. He stiffens at the unexpected gesture.

"Coulson is not your fault. You hear me? It was his decision, not yours. Framework or not, you've always had such a big heart."

He lifts his head up and she releases him from the hold. He looks at her from the corner of his eye before wiping the residual salt water from his flushed face. She gives him one last squeeze on his shoulder and he nods, easing back into the bed with a sudden feeling of exhaustion from his emotional release.

"You should rest. I'm going to go find Simmons."

Fitz nods again and blinks at the ceiling as the older agent leaves the room. He decides for a moment to catalog everything he's feeling. His mind feels fuzzy and muddled, and it reminds all him too much of his first few months of hypoxia.

He's having trouble gathering his thoughts. He does remember blood. Lots of blood, specifically coming from his side. He pulls up the edge of the hospital gown— relieved to see that he's still wearing boxers underneath— and inspects the damage.

There's a large square of gauze over the area in question. He peels the corner up slowly, gritting his teeth as it aggravates the surrounding area. He winces at the sight that greets him. There's a long gnarled incision that's stamped with a railroad of staples. It's definitely going to make a nasty scar. Just another to add the collection.

It was never supposed to have gotten this bad. What was he thinking? All he did was make himself a liability. Something that was broken and had to be fixed. If he would've just told Jemma about his wound, he wouldn't have become such a burden.

He presses the adhesive back onto his skin with excessive force, telling himself that he deserves every bit of pain that he feels.

On the subject of feelings, his mind jumps to another sensation that's bothering him. He feels uncomfortably full. As if he ate too much, but he doesn't remember having eaten anything for a while. He hasn't been able to.

Not being able to remember things properly brings him back to the fuzziness. He can't help prepare the Gravitonium if his mind isn't clear. The team needs him at full working order. He looks over to his left, spying the clear tube protruding from the top of his hand. His eyes follow the tube to the bag hanging near the bed's headboard.

He figures he doesn't need the IV now that he's awake and can hydrate himself. As for the medication, pain isn't a big deal. He doesn't deserve the relief. He didn't give Daisy any when he cut into her, so why should he be able to have it?

He hears footsteps approach suddenly.

Jemma rushes in and her face lights up when she sees him awake. She approaches him smoothly, easing into the bed gently, and starts carding her fingers through his thick curls. Fitz closes his eyes, melting into her touch. She gives a slight smile at his actions. She places her hands on either side of his stubbled face and leans down, engaging a soft kiss on his rough lips. Jemma can feel a mix of emotions pouring off of him in waves. They break away, her forehead still brushing his as she studies the onslaught of emotions on his face. He doesn't dare initiate eye contact.

"I almost lost you again." She whispers.

"I'm sorry. I should have come to you."

She frowns, remembering what Mack had said.

"Why did you try to... How could you ever think I could live without you?"

He risks a glance into her eyes and is shocked to find deep sadness, instead of the anger he was expecting. He could tell her the truth of why, but he knew she wouldn't understand. He moves his head away from hers and breaks eye contact.

"I was... I was delusional. My brain wasn't working properly and I was too confused to walk a straight line. I was out of control." He said the last sentence like he was reading a script. Jemma makes an expression of suspicion before covering it up. The answer was obviously a cop-out. He sighs. "I'm uh, getting a little tired. "

"Oh... alright." She says in a defeated tone. "I just have to administer your next dose of medication." She moves to a glass cabinet on the other side of the room and returns with a glass bottle and a syringe.

He eyes her nervously for a second before closing his eyes and pretending to go back to sleep. She taps the needle and squeezes out the excess air before injecting it into the port on his IV.

Underneath the blanket, he grips the detached, dripping IV needle in his hand.

He needs to get back to work. No matter the consequences.

To be continued...