When Fitz came to he was laying face up on a small, metal framed bed, staring at a grey concrete ceiling. A single panel in the centre illuminated the room in harsh white light and he scrunched his eyes shut, groaning and holding his aching chest.

He was still caked in mud, which had slowly began to dry so that now it itched and flaked off of him in clumps, and he still didn't have a shirt but someone had wrapped his blanket around him, keeping him warm while he slept.

Grumbling and disoriented, he pushed himself up, only to come face to face with Skye, watching him guardedly from a chair a few feet away. When their eyes met he tried to smile but hers only narrowed suspiciously.

It was then that he realized where he was, why the grey walls and ceiling were so familiar. He'd never seen the room from this angle before though, he'd never been inside it, behind the invisible wall to face the person sitting on the chair, the single staircase out visible behind them.

He gasped and his fingers clutched the sheet below him, bunching it up underneath him as he drew his knees to his chest, eyes darting around uneasily to confirm that, yes, he was in the holding cell in the basement.

"What is this?" Skye asked coldly after a minute, watching as his attention shifted towards her, confused. "What…" Her head shook and she blew out an impatient breath. "Who are you?"

He frowned, not understanding the question. "You know who I am-"

"Save it,' she snapped. "You might have fooled me for a second up there but…" She swallowed, her eyes shining before her face hardened. "Well it's not going to happen again. So you might as well cut the crap."

Her animosity unnerved him, as did the fact that he had no idea what she was talking about. Why was she acting as if he'd done something wrong?

"Why am I in here?" he asked, forcing himself to make eye contact, trying not to flinch when she glared at him.

"That's not how this works," she answered coolly. "I ask the questions, you answer them."

"But I don't-"

"Who are you?" she demanded

"Fitz," he replied. "...Leopold Fitz," he added when she seemed dissatisfied with that answer. Her eyes remained chips of ice. "Er… agent… Leopold Fitz?"

"What's your real name?" she growled.

"That is my real name!" he exclaimed, bouncing off the bed and throwing his hands up in frustration, quickly snagging the blanket back before it fell to the floor (it was unnecessarily cold in there). Still, Skye was unconvinced, rigid as a stone statue. "Oh C'mon Skye! This is ridiculous. Who else would I be?"

"Now there's a question."

Skye's head whipped around and Fitz's gaze snapped up towards the source of the voice, a hook catching on his chest, yanking his attention towards her.

"Simmons…" Skye warned.

"Jemma?" Fitz called out, overlapping her, and she turned on him, eyes blazing.

"Don't you talk to her!" she snapped. "You can mess with me, try to get under my skin, but if you hurt her-"

"It's alright, Skye," Jemma assured her calmly, stepping off the last step and gliding towards them. "He isn't going to fool me. This is another mission, that's all it is. I don't care what our enemy looks like." She reached the chair, setting a hand on the back of it and smiling down at the other agent encouragingly.

What was she talking about? Why was she dismissing him like this? Her words stung in a way that made the hook in his heart dig into the flesh, ripping at it just a little, even as he was drawn to her still.

He gulped down the lump in his throat. "I don't know what you think is going on but-"

"I need you to open the cell," she told Skye, completely ignoring him, and he couldn't help the hot flash of indignation that caused him to cross his arms as he let out a huff.

Skye shot her a warning look. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Are you armed?" Jemma asked, her expression remaining neutral though he was certain that her shoulders had tensed.

"Why the hell would she need to be armed?!" Fitz exclaimed. "You're not planning to shoot me, are you?"

Neither of them paid him any notice. They seemed to be locked in some sort of stare down, neither one so much as blinking, both refusing to look away.

"Jemma?" he called, starting to panic. "You aren't going to shoot me right?" It was as if he were invisible. He took another step forward, heart pounding."Tell Skye you don't want her to shoot me!"

Under usual circumstances he wouldn't have thought that that was something his friend needed to be told, but after his experience with May at the surface, and his recent treatment, he didn't think he could be too careful.

At last she turned to him, sighing deeply. "No, no one is going to shoot you," she muttered.

Fitz nodded, his shoulders sinking in relief. What had he been thinking? This was Jemma. Whatever she thought he did, she'd never let anyone hurt him.

"As long as you behave yourself," she added and his heart sank, an awful, decaying blob settling in his stomach and leaking its sour sludge up into his throat.

His legs gave out beneath him and he slid to the floor along the thin metal bedpost, wondering if this is what it would be like to swallow a beaker of acid. He thought the acid would probably hurt less than the love of his life threatening to have him shot if he so much as twitched the wrong way.

"And if you harm her in anyway-" Skye warned, apparently having decided to open the cell.

His chin rose at the accusation, spine prickling in defiance. "I would never hurt you," he said firmly, looking directly at Jemma as he spoke, trying to show her how much he meant it, hoping she could see the blaze of emotion burning beneath his skin. "I love you."

She winced, a shadow passing over her that made her lip tremble and her eyes moisten, fingers twisting at each other miserably. She looked like someone had struck her across the face.

"It's not real," Skye reminded her soothingly. "That's not Fitz."

Fitz groaned in frustration, butting the back of his head against the post. 'Not this again. Why won't anyone tell me what's happening?'

"Open the cell please," Jemma requested tightly.

Skye chewed her lip, eyeing her with concern, but she nodded and tapped the controls on the tablet which she held in her lap, pulling an ICER out from her belt the second the shielding went down, though she didn't point it towards him.

Even so, Fitz found himself freezing up, not daring to move as Jemma cautiously approached.

She knelt down in front of him, her gaze running across his face, taking in every detail as if thought she might be tested on it later.

Fitz stared back, praying for her to see him, really see him, and realize that this was all just a huge mistake.

After half a minute her hand rose, reaching out towards his cheek.

He smiled, light with relief. his eyes twinkling from the starlight that shone out of her. Of course she knew it was him, they were connected, inexplicably linked by an invisible thread that wound through their heads and wrapped around their hearts. All she'd needed to do was look into his eyes and-

"Ouch!" he cried, recoiling in surprise when her hand diverted around his face, finding a lock at the back of his head and tearing out a few hairs. "Hey! What…. what was that for? That really hurt you know."

He was still rubbing his sore scalp when she leaned back, pulling a plastic bag out of her kit to deposit the hairs into.

"I'm going to need a blood sample," she said curtly, avoiding his gaze and pulling out a capped syringe. "H-hold out your arm." Her eyes narrowed at her stutter and she pressed her lips together determinedly, exhaling a deep breath through her nose.

Fitz hugged his arm to his body protectively, shaking his head. "Why?"

He'd never felt this way before, even at their lowest point he'd at least trusted her enough that he wouldn't have been so wary of her demanding his blood. Or at least he wouldn't have been so completely unwilling to give it. But the way she held the needle, refusing to look at him, to offer him even a scrap of comfort, was completely foreign, unsettling, and he couldn't bring himself to follow her instructions.

It wasn't that he thought she'd actually hurt him, she wouldn't, of course she wouldn't, not more than she had plucking out a few hairs. He just didn't want her poking and prodding him like he was a fly in a jar rather than a human being. He wasn't a fly and until she acknowledged that, she wasn't getting his blood.

She held out her hand, twitching her fingers for him hurry up. "Your arm."

He didn't move. "Jemma what's happening?"

"I need a blood sample," she repeated. Flat, cold.

The toxic lump in his stomach oozed again and he shook his head, shuffling away only to find that he was already pressed against the side of the bed. "No. Not until you tell me what's going on."

She sighed, leaning back on her heels, and for the first time he noticed how tired she looked. Dark circles hung below dull eyes and her skin was pallor and ashen.

Her free hand trembled and she dug her fingers into the fabric of her pants to stop it.

What if she was being forced to do this? What if they all were? May had shot him, yes, but with an ICER not a real gun and he was sure it was Skye who had left him wrapped up in his blanket, on a soft bed rather than the cold floor. He was their prisoner, but they were being gentle with him and, taking in their down turned faces, he could tell that neither of them wanted to be doing what they were doing.

"It's just blood, yeah?" he asked, forcing himself to relax and let go of his arm.

She bit her lip, nodding slowly. Her glistening eyes threatened tears but she blinked them back rapidly.

He nodded too, eyes on her as he slowly extended his arm, pulling up his sleeve to give her access to the skin. Her cool fingers gripped it below the elbow and, carefully, she prodded the joint with her thumb, searching for a vein.

As she worked, he watched her, trying to find a way to tell her that he understood and that it was going to be OK, but he was afraid they were being recorded so he didn't dare say anything.

At last, as she was drawing out the needle, he thought of something that wouldn't be detected by the cameras. As she pulled away he raised his hand to catch her elbow and gave it three, soft squeezes, pausing for half a second between each one.

He couldn't remember which one of them had started the gesture but it had been an unspoken form of communication between them for nearly the entire year they'd been together. What had been truly remarkable, more so than its spontaneous occurrence, had been the fact that neither of them had needed to explain it to the other.

Its meaning had been obvious since the beginning, three squeezes for three words. I. Love. You.

She didn't react at all the way he'd expected. There was no small twinkle in her eyes, no twitch of a smile. Instead she shot to her feet so quickly she dropped the blood sample to the floor, shattering the glass and splattering the blood over the cement ground.

And then she was shouting at him.

"How did you know that?!" she demanded. "How did you know to do that?!"

He froze, his mouth opening and closing several times, but the words turned to dust in his throat. Why was she so angry? At him.

Skye had bolted forward, grabbing her shoulder and telling her to calm down, but she ignored her, jerking away.

"Only we knew-" Her eyes widened, as if a horrible thought had suddenly occurred to her and she glared at him. "What did you do to him?!" she cried.

He flinched at her ferocity, feeling as if she'd smacked him across the face. Never in his life had she been so furious with him.

"I… I... I don't...," he stammered, heart beating in his throat. "T-to who?"

"Nothing," Skye answered for him, trying once more to grab Jemma's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze when she didn't squirm away. "No one did anything to him before, you know that."

That seemed to snap her out of it, her body relaxing like a deflated balloon and she nodded miserably.

Her gaze fell on the shattered vial and she took in a sharp breath, her face draining of the small bit of colour it had been holding on to. "I can't do this," she whispered.

"It's OK," Skye assured her, squeezing her shoulder once more before letting it go.

Jemma's lip trembled and her tears gathered, beginning to overflow when she spun around.

"Excuse me," she squeaked.

At that, she fled, scurrying up the stairs while Fitz trailed her with his eyes, stunned into silence.

Before she reached the top, Skye hit a button on the tablet and a wall of grey appeared in front him, trapping him alone with his growing sense of dread and his freshly bruised heart.

/-/-/

Thank you to notapepper for betaing this chapter :D

The idea that Fitz doesn't like cold is taken from the comic book (the first one they released, not the one where they wear those battle suits.)

The 'I. Love. You' thing is something I heard on a radio show one time. I don't even remember what the show was about but I thought it was sweet.