"Here! Stop here," Fitz said, tapping the side of the window before remembering that his hand covered in filth. "Er… sorry…That's unpleasant. I'll just… sorry," he mumbled, attempting to rub it off with the blanket that had been given to him by his helpful new friend, only to end up spreading the smudge.
The other man, Henry, made a face at the muddy slime that was now streaked across the window. "Yeah… I'm gonna be washing my car after this anyway so…" He shrugged. "Don't worry about it. And you can keep the blanket and the pants," he added, eyeing them with unhidden disgust.
Fitz grit his teeth apologetically. "I promise, I will pay you back just… uh… just… just as soon as I… umm…" He made to rub the bridge of his nose again but halted halfway there, remembering the awful, squishy feeling he'd felt earlier. "I'll repay any expenses…"
"It's fine man," Henry assured him, waving a hand dismissively. "It looked like you needed them more than I did. Are you sure you don't want me to drive you to a hospital?" He glanced outside the window of the car, frowning. "Or a building. Where are we?"
"I live here," Fitz told him, improvising quickly.
"You live outside?" he asked, unconvinced.
Nervously, Fitz's gaze darted from Henry to the barren, rocky landscape then back again. "Er… yes? I mean no, no I live in… my house. It's is just hidden… by the...uh.. the rocks. It's a trailer actually. I'm uh… I live here. Alone. In my trailer. I move around a lot actually… probably won't be here again tomorrow," he added, because he didn't want Henry to come back looking for the trailer and stumble upon the entrance to the Playground by accident.
Henry stared back at him for a moment, unreadable, and Fitz swallowed anxiously, hoping there wouldn't be any more questions.
Then he smiled, nodding his acceptance. "Cool. Take it easy though OK? It looks like you had some night."
Fitz shook his head, chuckling nervously. "You have no idea." 'And neither do I,' he added silently. "Thanks for, uh..." He held out his hand, swiftly taking it back when he realized no one was going to want to shake it in its current state. "Thanks."
He left the car, hugging the blanket around him to ward off the cool night breeze, and watched as Henry rolled down the road.
When he was certain that he was gone, Fitz turned away, seeking out the hidden entrance of the Playground.
/-/-/
Jemma was awakened by a gentle hand on her shoulder and her eyes fluttered open, neck stiff.
"You should go sleep in an actual bed," Skye told her, taking the seat beside her to watch as she rubbed her eyes and twisted her wrist to check her watch.
It was nearly a quarter past one in the morning. The ball would be over by now and by the looks of her Skye had come directly from it.
She wore a simple, sleeveless pink dress and her hair hung loose over shoulders, curled at the ends. The overall effect was stunning, not that that was surprising, her friend was beautiful and she hoped she'd had good time, dancing the night away in such fanciful attire.
Jemma ran a hand over her hair, stifling a yawn. "I was supposed to call you," she remembered. "Oh Skye, I'm sorry I just-"
"Lost track of time?" she guessed, casting her a small smile which she sleepily returned. She shook her head, amused. "Don't worry about it, you're not hard to find." Her gaze swept around the brightly lit room, taking in the equipment and the high ceiling. "I know where you hang out. Are those tiny flies?" she wondered, finding the jar and tilting it to examine them.
"Drosophila melanogaster," she mumbled, still half asleep. "Fruit flies. They're going to help us detect agents who have been brainwashed."
"Jemma Simmons, saving the world with fruit flies," Skye laughed, setting the jar back down. "But not before she's had a good night's sleep. C'mon, we can walk to the bunks together, I'm ready to pass out and my feet are killing me. Stupid pretty shoes." She shuffled the mentioned shoes uncomfortably on her feet.
Jemma nodded agreeably and allowed Skye to lead her out of the lab. She'd grown used to her fussing over her, making sure she had enough sleep, that she didn't miss lunch, that she wasn't working too much (though she'd put up a good front resisting the later). For the most part, it was easier to go along with it rather than protest.
And she did make wonderful peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
"The ball was fun," Skye told her as they tiptoed down the darkened hall, careful not to wake any of the sleeping agents.
It was an innocent enough comment, but Jemma heard the not quite so innocent question it held, even as she chose to ignore it.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it." she answered, forcing up a smile.
"I think you would have enjoyed it too," she pressed, subtlety quickly waning.
Jemma's gaze drifted away, focusing on the wall beside her. "I had work to do," she said quietly.
"It could have waited." Skye objected. When Jemma didn't respond for several seconds she stopped, arms crossing. "Jemma you can't just bury yourself in work and ignore everything else, it's not healthy."
Coming to a halt a few feet ahead of her, Jemma closed her eyes, letting out a long sigh. The air thickened suddenly, poisoned with toxic gas. "Skye please… not tonight," she begged. "I'm tired."
"You need to talk about it sometime, even if it isn't with me," she insisted stubbornly. "You keep putting it off-"
"Because there isn't anything to talk about," Jemma interrupted sharply, spinning around to face her. "Because I have nothing to say!"
Words couldn't bring back what she'd lost, they couldn't fix this.
Skye blew a slow breath out her nose, her eyes bright. "It's been a year and a half-" she began, quiet, gentle.
"A year, four months and twenty nine days," Jemma corrected impatiently, regretting her words immediately when she saw the pain flash across Skye's face. Her throat burned and her eyes stung but she'd cried herself out a long time ago, and she wasn't about show her weakness a second time. It was bad enough that Skye knew she counted the days, she didn't need to know that she felt them tick by, one by one, so that it was impossible not to count them. "I don't see why that means I need to stop doing my job. Isn't it a good thing that I'm still working? That I'm coping with the…" Her throat wobbled, shaking the words down until she stubbornly wrenched them back up. "... the loss?"
"But you aren't coping," Skye told her gently, taking a tentative step towards her, arms uncrossing and falling to her sides. "You don't socialize, you sleep in the lab as much as you sleep in your bunk and you don't sleep for long anywhere. You don't eat unless we put something in front of you and then you just sort of chew and swallow."
"Eating is chewing and swallowing," Jemma said flatly, fooling herself into believing the stillness would settle her. "And I'm perfectly capable of feeding myself."
"Yeah but it's like you're on autopilot," Skye argued. "You're like a robot unless you're experimenting on flies or reading about newly discovered Asgardian slime mould or… whatever it is that's falling out of the sky these days."
Jemma scoffed, shaking her head. "That's not… I'm not a robot."
"I know you're not," Skye said quickly, reaching out her hand to touch her shoulder, only to pull it back when Jemma leaned away, bringing her arms up to wrap around herself and create a defensive cocoon, a barrier between them. Skye's gaze dropped, weighed down by the pain that hung over them. "I just wish you'd let me help you."
She opened her mouth, wanting to protest, to tell Skye that she didn't need any help, but she couldn't. Cold water flooded her heart, leaving it heavy and numb, and she needed this conversation to end or it was going to crush her.
"I know you miss him," Skye went on sadly, oblivious to the pressure building inside of her. Jemma's eyes shut tight, trying to keep herself from bursting, sitting as still as she could so she wouldn't fall while the world spun out from under her. "Fitz wouldn't-"
Her head jerked up, eyes snapping open. "Don't," she barked, guilt jolting across her chest when she saw her friend flinch, but she kept going, words spraying out like water from a burst dam, uncontrollable, cracking like the spent concrete. "He's gone. He's gone and there's nothing I can do about it." Her heart swelled unbearably and she blinked back tears, taking in a shaky breath before continuing. "It doesn't matter if I talk to someone, it doesn't matter that we caught the man who did it, that he'll be in prison for the rest of his life, that I didn't kill him when…" She swallowed, trying to shove the tangle of nettles down her burning throat. "When I should have."
"Jemma…" Skye murmured, lifting her hand in a second attempt to reach out, but Jemma took another step away.
Tears streaked down her cheeks and she shook her head roughly, denying any form of comfort. "I could have done it," she continued sharply. "I had him cornered. He was rambling on about how he'd saved him."
Her volume was rising, loud enough that people began peeking their heads out into the hallway, wondering what all the noise was about, but she didn't care about them.
"H-he wasn't making any sense. He said he put his soul somewhere safe, acted like he'd d-done him a favour and I was so angry. I didn't know that I could hate someone that much." She laughed bitterly, scowling at the memory as Skye motioned for the other agents to go back to bed. "But I let him go, because I didn't want to be that. I didn't want to be an executioner. Fi-Fitz wouldn't have..." Her voice broke and she shuddered. 'Fitz wouldn't have wanted that for me.' She left the thought unspoken, shrugging miserably and her voice flattened. "He was lying though."
"The man was an assassin," Skye mumbled, her fingers digging into her palm as her hand formed a fist. "Someone paid him to do it."
"Four million American dollars," Jemma spat, allowing her rage to mount, because it was far less painful to be angry than to remember how helpless she was. "He murdered him for a bloody payoff."
Her eyes flared, and for a moment she was somewhere else. She was in a dark, abandoned basement, aiming a gun at the monster that haunted her nightmares. How could she have imagined that she would come to hate him more than she had in that moment?
"I should have pulled the trigger," she growled.
Skye shook her head sadly. "That wouldn't have fixed anything."
Jemma didn't reply to that, but the fire in her eyes was dying, and it left a smokey chill behind, wisping around inside of her to remind her of how empty she'd become.
It was a minute before she spoke again, and when she did her voice was hollow and frail. "I don't know how to fix this, Skye," she whispered.
That was it. It was over. She was done.
Without waiting for a response, she wove around the other agent and slipped into her bunk, shutting the door behind and locking it with a firm click.
/-/-/
Fitz's new friend Henry is named for the Henry from Fringe (for some reason that name has become synonymous with friendly/helpful random strange to me XD) So that's kind of a Fringe reference (even if it's overused :P)
Thank you to notapepper for ensuring this chapter was in tip top shape :D