Chapter Three: The Accident
Fitz woke with a jolt. He once again had drifted off, but then his tense body and active mind pushed him right back into the present.
"Easy, Turbo." Mack was sitting next to him. "You have a nightmare?" he asked quietly.
"Sort of," Fitz said, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. It looked like the others were asleep. "More like a very vivid dream."
"Tell me about it," Mack encouraged. Although the two men were friends, Mack had an additional reason for asking and Fitz had an additional reason for telling. Talking about dreams gave them something to take their minds off the constant boredom, hunger, and anxiety.
"Well this one was really special," Fitz said bitingly, "because the dream was full of stuff I didn't do. But the other Fitz did. Like I was dressed like…the marauder. Jemma was wearing blue and had gold paint on her face, and I couldn't get to her. I couldn't hear anything, and she couldn't either. We were at a dinner party filled with bizarre guests." He took a breath and rubbed at the sides of his stiff neck. "I know. Jemma told me everything I missed. It's damn strange that I'm having dreams about what the other guy did." He continued rubbing at his weary neck, and the engines continued with their persistent hum. "It apparently wasn't enough to just have dreams about The Doctor in the Framework."
"I have dreams about the Framework too," Mack said, looking down. "I see Hope all the time."
"I'm sorry, Mack," Fitz said, taking a glance at his friend. Everyone had suffered so much and could pick from an array of experiences to have nightmares over. "And I guess whatever's in store for us here could give us a whole new round of nightmares."
"True that. Though right now I feel like a hot meal and a shower would be so welcome that I'd never have a nightmare again!"
By the men's estimation, they had been inside the cell for almost three days. They tracked how many different Watchdogs had visited them, and they had counted 13 men so far.
The Watchdogs finally brought them food. It was a mound of scarcely edible oatmeal and was presented to them inside another bucket, but at least it would quiet the ravaging pains inside their stomachs.
"Put the bucket full of your piss inside the airlock," the Watchdog commanded them. "We should make one of you take it and dump it out, but you're not leaving this cell until it's time."
The second Watchdog scoffed, "What we really should do is take the bucket full of piss and dump it all over you. You deserve it for being a bunch of inhuman-lovers."
"Well, you're welcome to come on into the cell and try to do so," Coulson said.
It was not the first time that one of the agents had attempted to trick the Watchdogs, but what Coulson had said to Fitz earlier appeared true. The Watchdogs were smarter now than they had been before.
"Nice try," one of them said.
The other added, "Don't worry. When it's time for you to leave the cell, you're all going to be unconscious. And you won't like where you'll be when you wake up."
"We'll like it though," the other Watchdog said, his eyes blazing. "It will be fun. We've got it all planned out."
"Oh really?" Mack asked. "Tell us about it."
The Watchdog smiled and snorted, "Oh man, I wish I could! You're just going to have to wait and see."
The other Watchdog nudged him. "Maybe we can tell them a bit though. It'd be fun to see their reactions."
"No," the other replied. "You-know-who will kill us."
"You're right." He then added, "Well, it's time to take some food to your lady-friends. We offered yesterday to let them trade their clothes for food, but that didn't work. We'll see how today goes."
Fitz happened to be standing next to Deke, and without looking at his grandson, he knew to place a firm hand on Deke's arm. Fitz had to admit that Deke was doing exceptionally well as a new SHIELD agent, but he feared Deke might lash out. Plus, subtly reminding Deke to control himself helped ground Fitz and keep his own fury at bay. Fitz was drawing on every bit of training and every harrowing experience he had endured.
After the Watchdogs had left and the agents had divided up and eaten the oatmeal (no easy feat given their lack of any utensils or plates), they spoke.
"That was the second time that one of them implied that there's someone else behind this," Coulson observed.
"First time was more subtle but now they clearly said it," Mack said. He shook his head. "Glad to see that some things never change, and that they didn't suddenly become smart. They just have someone pulling their puppet strings." He paused and added, "Yes, my brother used to be a member but he renounced them long ago. Thank God."
"So someone wants our brainpower and teamed up with the Watchdogs to get it," Coulson observed.
"Every general needs foot soldiers," Fitz added. "The Watchdogs are just here for their brawn. And because they hate us, so they had extra incentive to capture us."
"We still need to know what their end-game is."
"And they still must be keeping Daisy and Yo-Yo unconscious," Mack added. "Otherwise Daisy would've quaked us out of here by now."
"Unless they have some technology to neutralize inhuman powers," Fitz said. "You told me the Kree had that in the future. Could whoever is working with the Watchdogs have a prototype now?"
"The Kree are so advanced though," Coulson said. He paused and added, "But maybe the Watchdogs do have a prototype and need us to refine it."
Mack shrugged. "I think that's the best theory yet. We have two brilliant scientists, two inhumans for them to test it on, and a group of people who are used to working with inhumans. We're the ideal group to help them with that weapon."
It happened within the span of a few seconds. One minute Fitz was pacing the cell (the agents took turns sitting so as to allow others more room to pace or do pushups), and within seconds chaos broke out. An alarm sounded and didn't stop, and the ship lurched abruptly. Fitz was knocked off of his feet. The alarm continued to blare and the ship swerved.
Within a few seconds, the lurching stopped but the blaring continued. The cell doors, however, remained firmly locked no matter how hard Mack and the others tried to pry them open.
Then the thud of boots on the ground could be heard, and four Watchdogs stepped outside the cell, followed by Anton Ivanov.
"Ivanov?" Coulson asked incredulously. Last the agents knew, Ivanov's brain was inside a jar somewhere and the LMD versions of Ivanov had been dispatched by Yo-Yo.
Ivanov held a weapon the agents didn't recognize. He pressed it, and for the first time since the wedding reception back at the inn, the overwhelming noise sounded, and the agents all lost consciousness just as they had before. Ivanov and the others wore protection to keep from succumbing to it.
Unbeknownst to Fitz and the others, the blast this time had been a deliberately mild one. Ivanov and the Watchdogs quickly placed handcuffs on the agents. "Hurry!" he barked. "We only have minutes!" The Watchdogs then carried or dragged the unconscious agents out of the cell.
When Fitz came to, he was inside a shuttle, lying on a heap on the floor with his four teammates. He noticed that he was the first of the agents to be regaining consciousness.
"What's going on?" he asked. "Where are we?"
One of the Watchdogs stood guard over the agents, gun trained on them.
"Inside shuttle," Ivanov replied. "Ship is falling apart and we're leaving."
"Let me fix it!" Fitz insisted, slowly rising to his feet despite the gun pointed at him. "We don't need to abandon ship!"
"Shut up!" Ivanov commanded. He pressed a few buttons on the console, and the shuttle rumbled. Its launch sequence began.
"Listen to Fitz!" Coulson was also regaining consciousness and trying to hoist himself up. "Ivanov, you have the best engineer on the planet here. Why abandon ship when he can repair it?"
"No time!" Ivanov bellowed, without a backwards glance.
"Sit down, both of you!" the Watchdog with the gun commanded. "We're launching in 10 seconds."
Fitz and Coulson were knocked over again as the shuttle took off. All five of the men had plenty of scrapes and cuts from the hasty way they had been dragged from the ship and dumped inside the shuttle. The lurching of the shuttle as it took off didn't help either. Fitz took a moment to reflect that it felt as if Mack had been tossed on top of him at one point. His back throbbed.
Despite dozens of aching muscles, Fitz again pulled himself into a sitting position so he could look out one of the shuttle's windows. Feeling the shuttle accelerate, he watched as the starship began to grow small. The shuttle continued its journey away from the large ship.
"What happened to the ship?" Fitz asked, this time his voice lower and even gentle. "A problem with the engines? Or life support maybe?"
Ivanov continued to ignore him, instead pressing buttons on the console. He was positioned too far away for Fitz to see the read-outs.
"Are you sure we don't have time to go back and fix it?" Fitz asked, again his voice more soft than demanding. "I can fix most any engine and do it quickly."
"I know. No time," Ivanov finally barked out. "And we are near our final destination anyway."
Coulson opened his mouth to speak again, when a bright light caught his attention. Fitz gasped as he looked out the window. The ship that they had just left appeared to be overtaken by an array of bright colors – and then it disappeared.
"What the hell happened?" Coulson asked. "Where's the ship?"
Fitz's heart pounded. He strained again to be able to catch a glimpse outside the window. Nothing. The ship they had just fled was gone.
"Is it cloaked?" Fitz asked.
"I wish," Ivanov grumbled. "The ship is gone."
"Ships generally don't just disappear," Coulson said. "Can you tell us what you mean by gone?"
The shuttle now on a steady trajectory, Ivanov stood up and walked towards the agents. Mack, Deke, and Davis were slowly regaining consciousness and pulling themselves into sitting positions. Deke groaned weakly. Watchdogs remained, guns ready, observing the agents.
"I will tell you everything, Mr. Coulson," Ivanov began slowly, his words deliberate and powerful. "Once we reach our destination. And – most importantly, once you help us. It is as simple as that. You help us, and we tell you what happened to the ship and how to get your teammates back."
"Did they leave the ship?" Fitz asked, trying to keep his voice steady. "Were they dragged out to a shuttle like we were?" He hadn't seen any other shuttles during all the time he'd looked out the window, but space was vast and shuttles small.
"No," Ivanov said after a beat. "The person we really need is here. I had to choose which group to take with me, and I chose you. But like I said, don't worry. You help me, and then I help you locate the ship and your teammates. We are almost at our destination." He paused and took a breath. "Now if you'll excuse me. I'm tired of your words and your questions, and I need to make sure I get this shuttle to where it needs to go."
Coulson opened his mouth, but Ivanov spoke again. "Don't make me duct tape your mouths. Just be quiet for now." A Watchdog stepped forward, and he indeed held a menacing roll of duct tape. Fitz looked at it and felt his stomach turn over.
"Here," Ivanov continued, opening a panel in the shuttle and reaching for items that made crinkling sounds. "A present." He tossed each agent a protein bar.
Coulson looked at his men and gave a slight nod. Their options, while handcuffed on a shuttle with armed Watchdogs practically glued to their sides, were limited. Now they would bide their time, observe, and find the right moment to get more information and escape. And they were weak from hunger; refusing the food wouldn't make any sense.
Fitz dropped his head down into his cuffed hands. His head pounded and his gut continued to lurch. What had happened to Jemma? The yearning he had felt so many times over the years overcame him, and he felt that he would do anything to see and hold her again.
TO BE CONTINUED