Daaaaaang Nindragon, back at it again with the late chapter! It is bigger though! I'm trying to stick around 6K words now.

Sorry, there won't be much Deke, but I don't know his character all that much to write him yet. Plus he was in part three, so that's good enough for me. Heheh that rhymed.

And THE TRAILER THOOOOO.

What's up with Jemma crying in the cryo-freeze chamber with a bloody handprint on the glass? WHO TOOK OUR BOY? There's a theory about Kasius' brother resurrecting the dead Fitz, who would turn into the Doctor. (frozen Fitz would be okay of course) I just hope Daisy won't have any lingering hatred toward present Fitz since he technically wasn't the one who hurt her.

Also, who is this amnesiac version of Coulson? I kind of thought Coulson was dead for real this time, but I should've known that he wasn't dead dead.

Check the note at the end for my reply to some reviews from the last chapter. I'm going to try and keep doing that now with the bigger reviews.

Anyways, have fun! (Well, as much as you can with this story.)

"There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds."

― Laurell K. Hamilton

Part VI

Daisy listens to the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor as she counts the ceiling tiles for the twenty-third time in the last half hour. She was surprised that a few of the rooms on this floor had actual ceilings and weren't just carved into the concrete that envelops almost every surface here. She risks a glance at Fitz again. He's still sleeping. She constantly feels like he'll wake up if she looks at him too long. Like the shifting of her eyes alone is too loud in the empty room. He's been asleep for too long in Daisy's eyes, but it's not anywhere near as bad as his post-hypoxia coma, but then again, Jemma said this could happen.

Two days ago...

After four hours of waiting, Simmons and Mack stepped out of the operating room looking worse for wear. Jemma's already messy ponytail looked more unruly than before, and Mack's forehead glinted with beads of sweat. Jemma was removing and disposing of blood covered latex gloves. The small group in the waiting area (which is more like a row of chairs against the wall near the door) stood up and waited for news expectantly. Simmons huffed a breath of apprehension.

"He's alive." She stated first. Everyone sighed in relief. "Not without complications, though... He... We almost lost him. Twice,"

Jemma and Mack shivered at the memory of Fitz' body jerking up and slamming down from the defibrillator shock traveling through his body, but she continued.

"The cause of the internal bleeding was a small tear in his stomach, which is the reason he vomited blood earlier. We were able to successfully repair the damage. Two of the metacarpals in his hand were shattered, resulting in the attached fingers being displaced, which I've pieced together, inserted small pins to help aid in healing properly and placed in a brace for the time being. I'm mostly worried about his head trauma. There was Cerebral Edema present― swelling in his brain― but I think with a little time and the right medicines, the swelling should come down on its own. I had feared worse when he started stuttering after waking earlier, but I'm optimistic that there won't be any lasting damage. At least I hope not. Not again."

She hoped to God that he doesn't end up needing physical and speech therapy once again. After his Hypoxia, he had trouble walking the first month or so without help. There were several times she had come into the lab to find him on the floor, having tried to walk on his own. That was only a month, but his hands were still shaky and uncoordinated even when Simmons had returned from being undercover. Not to mention his speech impairments.

"I have no idea when he'll wake up, and I know he hasn't eaten that much since he recovered from the last injuries... although recovered is a strong word. And it's not like he was eating much before that either... so I've placed a feeding tube in again."

Daisy looked up, caught off-guard.

'Again'? He had one before? Daisy questioned in her mind, confused. She realized that she didn't visit him at all during his time in the infirmary. I mean, yeah, he's a little scrawny but... she figured it was because he had been working out. She tried not to look too closely when they had examined his wounds earlier, but now she wished she had. Jemma saw her stunned expression and the doctor's face turned into exasperated understanding, with a flash of disappointment at Daisy not being present in the first place to know these things beforehand.

"You're all free to see him now," Jemma told them, knowing they were all itching to set their eyes on the downed agent. Coulson and May filed in with Simmons close behind when Mack turned to Daisy with a sigh.

"I'm gonna go get cleaned up, and tell Yo-Yo what happened." He informed her. She nodded and gave a tight smile. Since the whole 'Locking-him-in-Fitz-cell' thing, they haven't really made the time for chatting. He didn't even know if anyone told her about the first incident. He turned tiredly, wiping his head on his sleeve, and headed out the east side of the corridor.

Daisy turned back to the doorway and steeled herself. She walked slowly to the bed at the center of the opposite wall in the dimmed hospital-like room. The fluorescent lights from above casted a shadow on his face that made his cheekbones carve dark shadows on his already thin cheeks, enhancing his deathly appearance. His left eye and cheek were still swollen and bruised, nose not looking much better.

She's noted that he wasn't wearing a hospital gown, probably so Simmons can check out his incisions easily while he's unconscious. The only thing that covered his form, other than his boxers most likely, is a thin hospital blanket that came up to his chest, leaving his lightly muscular but bony shoulders exposed, and prominent collarbones jutting out noticeably. A couple of unexplained scars were visible on his pale chest and shoulders. Her eyes traveled down his arms to his hands. His right elbow had a sizable yellow bruise that looks older. The right hand's knuckles were still peppered with cuts, and the left was in a brace that extended up his pinky and ring finger, keeping them straight, with gauze peeking out from under the black straps.

Daisy felt sick. How had she not noticed his ragged appearance before? Did it really take all this for her to open her eyes? She looked over at the other occupants of the room. May had a hard expression with underlying concern, and Coulson looked deeply saddened, not unlike a worried father.

She breaks away from the memory that she's run through too many times. She has questions about some things, and she knows Fitz won't talk about them willingly. She needs to find someone who will answer them for her and she knows exactly who to go to.

Daisy leaves Fitz' hospital room, pledging not to be gone too long. Simmons has been staying in the next room over and was just waking from the quick nap that Daisy had forced her to take.

"Hey... can I talk to you?" Daisy asks softly, alerting Jemma to her presence.

"Of course. What's wrong?" The doctor inquires upon seeing Daisy's troubled expression.

"It's about Fitz... and his father... The fear anomaly things act exactly like the actual person would... so does that mean...? Y' know..." She trails off, not having the heart to say it out loud. Jemma pauses for a moment before sighing in resignation.

"...Yes, I know..."

Daisy waits anxiously for her to continue.

"And your suspicions are correct." Jemma breathes sadly. "His father was a drunk who would belittle Fitz with every chance he got. It's one of the main reasons Fitz was so shy a while back. When I first met him at the academy, he always sold himself short, thinking all of his ideas were rubbish. I mean, at that point, he was told he was worthless for most of his life. He was just programmed to think that way."

Daisy's stomach drops, and she wonders how she hadn't known about this before.

"Fitz had said the years leading up to his father's departure he would get angrier, and more violent, though Fitz never went into any further details. I can only imagine what it was like in the Framework; the abuse escalating until they reached some sort of a calming point. Maybe Fitz gave in... Maybe he just resigned to becoming his father or doing everything he wanted no questions asked. Fitz almost completely refuses to talk about his life there. He just shuts down whenever I've tried." She admits flabbergasted.

"From what I've gathered, he had a love-hate relationship with his father there. He feared him but was forced to look up to him since Alistair was all he had. Having to be perfect every second of every day had to be exhausting." She brushes her palm against her forehead and stops herself from going any further. "Hopefully that answers your questions."

"It did." God, it did, but she wishes the answer was different. No wonder he was so screwed up in the Framework. He never had a chance or even a choice. Especially since AIDA programmed the Framework to exactly how she wanted it. He was just a puppet, a slave, manipulated and forced to obey— to love— his master, unwillingly. The reality of the android's actions is disgusting just to think about.

"Thanks." She says curtly to Simmons for being willing to share. Daisy heads back to Fitz' room to resume her position, thinking for a while on what Jemma had told her.

oOo

Daisy has been staying put by his side, intent on being there when he wakes up to apologize for being so harsh with him the last couple weeks and try to repair some of his mental walls that she had broken down mercilessly. And she really just wants to hug him. She looks over at him quickly again, thankful that she doesn't have to look at those nasty bruises on his torso since Jemma had recently put a white t-shirt on him. She runs her fingers through her dark hair and stretches her neck, preparing for more long hours in the stupidly uncomfortable chair. She can't help but grumble.

"Like seriously, why can't they make hospital chairs that don't make your ass sore for a week…"

"Well, they probably weren't expecting people to sleep in it." She jumps at the sudden hoarse voice and turns to see Fitz' eyes trained on her with heavy lids.

"Oh my g— you scared the crap out of me!" She says automatically with a hand over her heart, before realizing the circumstances. "But— you're awake!"

He's more than a little confused. Why was she so happy that he was awake?

"What—" He scrunches his eyes at the uncomfortable feeling of a foreign object going down the back of his throat. He lifts a hand to feels for the tubes attached to his nose. One is a nasal cannula delivering oxygen that he can easily be taken off; the other is a tube with a white-ish liquid traveling through it.

An NG tube? Why would... wait—

"How long have I been asleep?" He asks suddenly.

"A couple days."

A couple of days alone shouldn't be the cause for a feeding tube. Sure he's lost a couple pounds, but it's not like he has an eating disorder God's sake. He's just been... busy.

His whole body is filled with a dulled ache, and he feels extremely tired. What all happened? He can't seem to remember which is unsettling. His head feels odd. Somethings not completely right— well, more than usual anyway. His throat feels painfully sore...

Oh, God.

The memory of his own father choking him comes flooding back full force. Nausea grows in the pit of his stomach. He can feel the heavy body pinning him down, putting weight on his already injured torso, large fingers wrapped around his throat with nails digging into the side of his neck and the pressure crushing his windpipe and he can't breathe—

"FITZ!" Daisy's shout breaks him from the horrible sensations he's feeling. The sound of the unnaturally accelerated beeping of the heart monitor follows soon after. She lays a hand on Fitz' shoulder. "Are you okay?"

He tries to get his breaths to slow down enough to answer her.

"Ah... y-yeah. I think so." He stutters. Licking his lips he avoids her scrutinizing gaze. Her eyes will only be filled with disdain, which is rightfully deserved. He just personally doesn't have the energy to hate himself even more right now. The details of the attack are hazy. He remembers his father showing up, but wasn't that just in his head? And if it was just in his head, does that mean he harmed himself? He vaguely remembers Daisy's voice after he was attacked. She most likely saw the whole thing and probably thinks he's even more psychotic than before.

How could he have been so stupid? He should just inject himself with a syringe full of air and get it over with, or maybe a slice to the throat would be more fitting, considering he cut into Daisy's neck not two weeks ago. He closes his eyes and waits for the inevitable lashing he's bound to receive.

"God, we were so worried." Daisy sighs.

"We?" He questions.

Daisy gives him a quizzical look.

"Yeah, the team."

It's been a while since he's heard that term. He already knows Jemma is worried and he isn't surprised about Coulson and May, but Daisy and Mack? He figured they would be glad if he disappeared.

Daisy looks like at him with anticipation, like she thinks he's going to spontaneously combust.

"Daisy—"

"—I'm sorry." She interrupts.

He stares in shock. The spontaneous combustion had a better chance of happening than Daisy apologizing to him.

"What do you h—" He wants to say full sentences but the tube intruding in his throat forces him to keep it short. "...Why?"

"'Why?' I've been horrible to you..."

"It's nothing I don't deserve." He whispers hoarsely. She wants to retort but notices his discomfort at talking, as well as the exhaustion radiating from him.

"That's not..." She sighs in resignation. This conversation will have to be finished later. He brings up his right hand to fiddle with the feeding tube. "Don't. I'll get Simmons so she can take it out properly."

He nods before grimacing at the movement.

It doesn't take long for Jemma to get here, so Fitz deduces (taking longer than he'd like) that she must've been staying in one of the adjacent hospital rooms. Everything seems to be processing slower in his mind. It's a depressing and ironic thought, that the only thing you could possibly consider an attribute about him, was also the thing that was most broken. He realizes that now, and it's not helping.

Jemma looks at him with never-ending worry in her eyes, and Fitz returns a gaze of seemingly also never-ending guilt. He can see all the questions she's dying to ask bubble beneath the surface of her concern, threatening to burst out. He can tell she's holding them back for his sake.

"Jem—"

"Pulling up the tube might trigger your gag reflex, so try not to breathe too deeply. It will make your throat contract." She cuts him off. Being familiar with the sensation, remove the tube was a cinch.

"Do you know why I had to administer the NG tube?" She asks him with a slightly accusatory tone. He felt like a child again, when his mom asked him why the head teacher at his school had called her at work when she very well knew the answer. "I can tell just by looking at you that you've lost a considerable amount of weight. I didn't mention it before because I thought you would start eating normally again once we settled here at the Lighthouse, but I'm afraid it's only escalated. Why haven't you been eating properly?"

That's the question. He just doesn't know if his excuse will be good enough for her.

"I... I've just been distracted. You know how I get when I'm really focused on something."

"That can't be the only reason. There have been multiple times when we weren't doing anything pressing and I still didn't see you eat that much."

"Well, I guess I'm just used to my eating habits from the military facility. My stomach can't hold as much as it used to. The food there was terrible but I took what I could get. What I would've done to get a prosciutto sandwich—" He tries to joke, but it falls flat as suspicion sneaks into her expression. Used to it? Took what he could get? Maybe she's looking too much into it, but she has to be sure.

"How often did they feed you?" He averts his eyes from hers. Looks like she hit a mark.

"It's not—"

"Answer the question." She deadpans.

"I don't see what all the fuss is about. It's not like they starved me the whole time I was there, Jemma." Fitz says defensively.

"Then answer me."

"Fine— ah..." He scrunches his eyes in concentration and counts on the fingers of his good hand. "I got my meals I think... every day or two... give or take." He doesn't notice the look of sorrow on her face, and the look of pity on Daisy's. His voice drops lower as he continues to calculate the days. "Yeah, because they would take me to interrogation once a day and then right before food on meal days. I think. They never let me have a clock, but the football games sometimes... displayed the time..."

Interrogation? God, she doesn't even want to know right now.

No wonder he can barely eat. Even having one meal a day can do horrible things to a person's health, not mention make it incredibly difficult to start eating normally again, let alone every other day. On top of his already small appetite after the Framework, she's not surprised he hasn't been eating.

"Fitz... you and I both know that's not a healthy way to live. You should have told me." Jemma says to him softly, trying to get him to understand.

"I know. It's just— every time I go to eat something I just lose my appetite. Thinking about eating beforehand feels normal in my head, but once it's in front of me, I just can't get myself to eat it. Then I think about all the Inhumans in the Framework that I starved before experimentation and I start to feel sick. I know it's irrational since most of those people didn't actually exist, but to me..." He shakes his head. "It was too real."

"Oh, Fitz..." Jemma feels sick, and Daisy's not much better. Will he ever truly recover from the Framework? She takes a cleansing breath. "Alright. We'll try to figure out a plan for that later on. Onto the second order of business, I checked your blood-work and noticed you didn't have any pain medication in your system when you know you were supposed to be taking them for your previous wound. Why haven't you?"

He looks up at her, wishing she would drop all of these questions.

"I ah... they make my head feel fuzzy and drowsy and uncoordinated. I needed to be in full working order to prepare the Gravitonium, and I can't do that when it takes me twice as long as usual to do the simplest of tasks." He excuses.

"That's rubbish and you know it. You've managed fine taking them before. You can't just go on without them; you-you could've gone into shock, or something worse! You have to stop punishing yourself. Please, just tell me what's been going on with you!"

"I don't deserve it. I do more harm than good. Father was right. I'm just a worthless waste of space. A liability." He rasps depressingly, staring intently at the ceiling with dispassion.

His words cut deep. Jemma never knew how extensive his feelings were on this front. His eyes were the darkest and most devoid she's ever seen them, and she realizes what's left them: the will to live.

"You listen to me. Do you think that little of me, that I would fall in love, and marry someone that was worthless?"

He snaps his eyes to the side to gauge her expression, deciding if she's telling the truth. All he can see is the raw truth to her words. Why does she love him so much? She's more than perfect and he's anything but. She deserves someone who is just as wonderful. He decides to take a leap of faith, and speak out these insecurities. His features pinch and the muscles in his jaw clench as he tries to keep his emotions at bay.

"Why? I— what have I done to deserve you? I'm not good enough... you deserve so much better. You deserve someone who isn't broken. Who hasn't slaughtered innocent people, or-or who needs to be punished for everything wrong he did but no one will listen! I keep trying to tell people I'm not worth it, but... you just keep trying to— to fix me! You can't fix me, I'm broken beyond repair!"

Jemma is at a loss at how to handle the situation as his voice gains in volume.

"I need to answer for the things I've done, please! It just keeps getting heavier and heavier as I continue to add to the list of horrific things I've done and I— I need to release this pressure in my chest somehow! So just— hit me, or lock me up, or-or kill me! The longer you keep me here the more of a risk I am to everyone around me."

His advances grow more frantic, and he painfully sits upright in the bed. "You could take me back to prison— I already told them I did everything, so they'll let all of you go if they have me." Jemma's heart breaks for the umpteenth time in the last week.

"Fitz, you know I would never let you do that! I love you. We love you."

Fitz looks over at Daisy who— to his dismay— has tears streaked down her face. He stops and stares at her shocked, before looking down at the blanket covering his legs. He takes deep breaths to get his chest to stop pounding so fast. Daisy glides over to the bed and crouches down, laying a hand on the fabric covering his knee. The touch startles Fitz and he jumps before looking her up and down in confusion.

"I meant what I said before. I am so sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for." He says flatly, avoiding her eyes once again. "It's me who should be apologizing."

"No. You shouldn't. I forgave you when I realized the circumstances... It should've been way sooner..." She scowls before her face softens. "Is it true, how you feel? When you were delirious in the control room, before May iced you, you tried to shoot yourself in the head... you claimed it was only because you couldn't think clearly, but that's not true is it... you really wanted to end it." It wasn't a question so much as a statement. She can see the turmoil bubbling inside of him as he clenches his good hand around part of the blanket, holding in his emotions.

She already knows the answer when he slowly looks up at her with such deep sorrow held in his gaze, before looking away, but still, he gives a slight nod. Jemma's hand draws up to cover her mouth. He swallows, brows drawing together as he fights tears that are burning to be released.

"It was... the only way to make him stop." He whispers. There's no question as to who 'him' is. "So everyone would be safe."

How horrible it must be to house someone so evil in your head. There's nowhere you can go to escape from your own mind...

Speak of the devil.

The slithering voice surges out of its hiding place in the recessed shadows of Fitz' mind.

'You were too weak to even carry that out. If you can't even bring yourself end your life, something already deemed a coward's deed... what does that make you?' Chills run up his spine at the reappearance of his worst nightmare.

"Shut up." He seethes.

Jemma snaps out of her stupor at the whisper that leaves his lips. He's hearing him right now. She's never seen it happen in person before, other than when he was in the throes of a nightmare. He usually hides it from everyone quite well. Sickeningly well. He's shaking all over and staring at the bed unseeingly while clenching the white blanket in his fist tighter, his knuckles an equal shade of ivory. The heart monitor jumps in pace. She can tell he's struggling with his inner demons, quite literally.

Daisy is starting to panic a little when she can't get his attention. Shaking his leg with her hand and saying his name isn't working and it's starting to freak her out.

"Fitz?"

No answer. Red seeps outward from the section of the blanket he's squeezing. The crescent cuts on his palm re-opened as his nails dig up the scabs through the thin fabric. The muscle in his jaw spasms at the strong gritting of his teeth. Alarms on the heart monitor start blaring, alerting that his vitals are jumping all over the place. His breathing turns into short, ragged, rasps as he gets a few steps closer to hyperventilating. He can't take much more of this, especially with his body in the condition it is, stress can be extremely harmful.

Jemma runs over and touches his shoulder, desperate for him to snap out of it. She realizes now that he's not just listening to the voice, it's sending him into a full blown panic attack. Both of his hands shoot up to cover his ears. A futile attempt to protect himself from the barrage on his mind, unaware of his damaged left hand screaming at him. He's gasping for breath now, eyes clamped shut. He starts slamming his hands against the sides of his head desperately.

"No no, don't do that—"

If he stays like this for much longer he's going to pass out. Jemma jumps in and tries to snap him out of it. She places her hands on his fevered cheeks, careful to avoid the bruises.

"You have to breathe!" She yells, trying to breathe through an invisible barrier.

She worried that the brace will do even more damage to his head or hand, but nothing she does is working, meaning she's going to have to use her last resort. Daisy watches her abruptly stand up, and she takes her place at his side, trying to calm him. He's shaking all over, gasping, seemingly trying to block out all of his senses.

Jemma darts over with a syringe full of clear liquid. At the sight of the needle coming towards him, Fitz snaps, smacks the syringe to the floor, and grabs her wrist with bone-crushing strength. His chest heaves air shakily as he stares at the hand in his grasp.

"Fitz!" Daisy shouts with shock as Jemma tries to escape from the painful, terrified grip. His tremors are so violent, her hand shakes with them.

"Fitz..." Jemma tries for a softer tone. Harsh words are the last thing he needs right now. "Fitz, please... you're hurting me." He blinks a couple of times and his breath hitches. He looks at the scene in front of him and his eyes widen, a look of horror overtaking his features. He lets go of her wrist instantly.

"No..." He breathes. "I'm... I'm so sorry!" He scrambles off of the bed, yanking off the wires and ripping out his IV. He stumbles a little, wrapping his injured arm across his biting ribs.

"It's alright, it was an accident..." She tries to reassure him while avoiding the urge to rub the feeling back into her wrist.

"N-no, I swore that I would n-never hurt you..."

I deserve to suffer for this.

"I know it wasn't on purpose. It's okay—"

"No, it's not! I-I crossed a line..."

I need to be disciplined.

He backs up the far corner of the room, eyes searching for a means of achieving his goal. He snatches a scalpel from a nearby tray, pointing it forward at Daisy.

"I've done horrible things, I hurt you for something we could've solved with other measures if I had tried harder. I only hurt you to make myself feel better. You deserve justice." He deadpans darkly. Daisy isn't completely sure where he's going with this.

"What are you saying? You want me to fight you?" She guesses incredulously.

"Why not? You've sparred with May and Coulson. It's my fault he's going to die." She hadn't even dreamt of blaming him for Coulson. She realizes he's just trying to egg her on.

"Not when they were hurt— and that isn't your fault!"

"You said I'm a monster. Don't you want to make me feel the pain that you did? Make me suffer for all the hurtful things I've said and done? If I wouldn't've killed Will on Maveth, Lincoln would've never had to sacrifice himself to kill Hive. What about that, huh?" He spits with forced arrogance. He knew it was a low blow, mentioning Lincoln, but it was the only thing he imagined would catch her off guard. Jemma had a similar reaction at the mention of Will.

"You're not a monster. Now you're just grasping at straws…"

"Am I? I knew him in the Framework. I experimented on him, day and night until he died a horrible death after weeks of torture. Still, think I'm not a monster?"

Anger flairs in her chest involuntarily at the mention of Lincoln enduring something so horrible, but she knows that wasn't real, and he doesn't mean it. Anger is exactly the reaction he wants.

"You loved him! I deserve to suffer just as much pain as I put him through, so GIVE ME WHAT I DESERVE!" He shouts, slamming his hands on the metal cart next to him for emphasis, and looking completely out of sorts.

He's still shaking, but he's covered in sweat, and his cheeks have reddened significantly in exertion. Tears of anger pool in his eyes, but don't dare fall. He's definitely getting frustrated. The walls are finally starting to crack.

"No." She says firmly. He steps forward with the scalpel still glinting in her direction. She's not sure if the shaking is still from his physical state, or barely contained rage anymore. She stands her ground as he advances, knowing he won't hurt her again. Jemma goes to take a step forward and stop him, but Daisy puts a hand out to halt her. She shakes her head slightly as she glances at the doctor from the corner of her eye, signaling that she's got this. Jemma hesitantly steps back.

Even though he's currently holding a sharp object at her and has a dangerous glint in his eye, she's surprisingly not afraid. Maybe it's because she understands him better now, or maybe his attire of only a t-shirt and boxers makes his appearance seem less threatening, she's not sure.

He brings the tip of the metallic blade up to her throat, inches away from the skin.

"You're really not going to fight me?"

"No."

"Not even if I threaten you?"

"No."

He scrunches his eyes and makes a loud growl of frustration that dies down into a whine of desperation.

"Quake me. You've done it before. Why not now?"

"I'm not doing it —"

"Hurt me. Please." He begs.

That specific sentence he uttered makes her heart ache. She can tell he's on the verge of collapse from the combination of physical pain and emotional exhaustion.

"I need to pay for my sins."

"You already have!"

He shakes his head furiously, before stilling.

"So you don't care if I threaten your life… but what about my own…?" Her calm façade slips.

He brings the blade up to his own throat.

"I know you want to stop me from doing this for some reason, so do it. Knock me out so I don't do us all the favor of ending it." He veers out spitefully.

"I'm not hurting you, and I'm not letting you hurt yourself either. We all forgive you for everything." She states, not even trying to hold back the tears burning her eyes.

He slowly lowers the blade a little and then puts the heels of his hands on his forehead, the scalpel still gripped tightly in his fingers, sticking upwards. "No. You shouldn't… you shouldn't…" He extends his arm back out and points the knife at her accusatorily. "Wait— you saw what happened in the storage room. You watched me hallucinate everything. How did I get injured? Was I hurting myself? Choking myself like a psychopath? Or did you have to choke me yourself to knock me out of my delusions?"

Whoa, whoa… does he seriously think the fear anomaly attack was all in his head? Daisy mentally berates herself. She forgot no one told him what had happened. She guesses a part of her hoped he was alert enough when she arrived, to understand what went down.

"Fitz... It wasn't in your head, it was a leftover fear anomaly. I saw him too, and I quaked him against the wall— He poofed into a cloud of dust." She explains. His posture sags a little and he seems to be going over what he remembers to see if her story lines up. His fingers go slack and he lets the scalpel clang to the floor. He looks up at her hesitantly.

"He was real?" Daisy nods reassuringly. A low whine escapes his mouth at not realizing this sooner. "I should've seen it. Why didn't I see it?" He asks himself bitterly.

"It's not your fault. You could barely speak when I got to you because your head got hit so many times. I'm surprised you remember anything at all." Daisy supplies.

"Agh… but it makes sense— I've never actually been injured by uh... you know, before..." He nearly whispers. He presses his hands over his eyes, feeling extremely guilty about how he had just acted.

"I'm sorry I was so... harsh. I just..." Those angry tears collapse down his face, defeated, and blanched of all fury.

"I know," Jemma replies.

He lets out a small mirthless laugh before he the adrenaline that was keeping him upright disintegrates, and his legs give out, folding under him. Catching himself in a kneeling position, Daisy and Simmons both dart over to help him; the girls grab and duck under each of his arms, equally helping support his weight. They guide him over to sit back on the bed.

"Sorry." He apologizes for being such a burden.

"Stop that. We're all here for you. It will get better, I swear to you." Jemma says putting a hand on his shoulder. He looks up at her with something she hasn't seen from him in much too long: hope. The hot tears gathered in his eyes continue pool over and he brings his hand up to his shoulder to lay atop hers.

"You're almost there." She says just like when he was recovering from the Hypoxia, except this time, she's real.

Jemma and Daisy sit on either side of him on the edge of the bed. Everyone is so emotionally charged from the last week, it's nice to just sit in each other's presence, knowing that no one has any hidden resentments.

Daisy wipes her tears away with the sleeve of her sweater.

"Hey, um, this is probably going to sound stupid, but... ah screw it—" She decides not to waste any more time and firmly wraps her arms around him. He stiffens, but quickly reciprocates the gesture, making both her and Jemma smile. It's oddly relieving for Daisy, being in his embrace. He tucks his head tiredly in her shoulder, and Jemma can't help but smile. After a few moments, they release and Fitz speaks up, voice cracking with emotion.

"Thank you. Both of you."

"It's nothing you wouldn't do for us. You should lay down, Coulson and the others are very anxious to see you." Jemma says with more joy than she's had in a while.

"Yeah, if May sees you out of bed in this state, she'll have all our heads." Daisy pipes in, causing Fitz to smile a little. They've barely scratched the surface of his issues, and they still have a long way to go, but he's closer.

"Before you get settled again, is there anything you need?" Jemma asks caringly. He's about to say no before something pops in his head.

"Actually… I don't suppose I could get a sandwich…?" He mentions hesitantly, not knowing if she has time for something so trivial. Her eyes light up with surprise.

"It would be my pleasure."

To be continued…

Hope you enjoyed part 6! Next up will be some much needed fatherly Coulson bonding. That relationship is underrated. There's still going to be more recovery involved for Fitz, too. He's not completely better just yet.

Also a little depth on how I got the prison food idea; when they were at the diner Fitz was shown as not being able to eat anything due to his guilt about the Framework, but when he's locked up, the time or two that you do see him get food, he's piling it in like he's starving. You'd think he'd be too worried about solving the mystery of the team's whereabouts to eat so much, so I figured the only plausible explanation was that they didn't feed him as much as they should, considering they didn't give him other privileges normal prisoners have.

I hope nobody is too OOC, but I just had to take some creative liberties to enhance the whump. Please tell me if you liked this chapter!

-Response to some reviews-

Maximus97
Thank you so much for always writing such wonderful detailed reviews! It's always a joy reading them. You bring up things that I hadn't even thought of, which makes me look at what I'm writing in a whole other light. Please keep telling me what you think! I'll try to reply more often.

Mannah513
Thank you! I too wish that they addressed some of this stuff in the actual show, but there's still time for some of it. Even though present Fitz wasn't there for most of it… He definitely needs more focus in season 6.

Havibu
Thanks for reading, and your condolences! Fitz will always be okay in the end in my stories. I couldn't bear it if he died for real.

Foot Tapper
Thank You! And I know, it was heart-wrenching just to write. A lot what you were hoping for will be resolved in this chapter.