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He sits with his back against the wall, his legs pulled up, his head half hidden between his knees. It feels as if his body hasn’t stopped shaking ever since he woke up. Woke up from one living nightmare, no matter how virtual it had been, only to be pulled into the next.
They’d been back at The Playground for a few hours now. Most people seemed somewhat relaxed now that the threat had been eliminated and the world had been saved, although some of the faces did a better job of hiding their sorrows and fears over what had happened in the last two weeks than others.
But Fitz isn’t relaxed. His body isn’t. His mind isn’t. He isn’t.
Memories and sensations crawl over his skin, through every cell, into his mind like insects devouring rotting flesh.
It feels like there’s a war raging within him.
Good vs. Bad.
Guilt vs. Anger.
Love vs. Hate.
Fitz vs. The Doctor.
It’s not your fault.
He can’t tell how many times and in how many different voices he’d heard that sentence since he’d plugged out of the Framework.
Even before then.
Radcliffe had told him, too.
It’s not your fault.
The only voice not telling him is his own.
And somehow that seems to be the only voice that matters.
He’d snuck out of the common room when Jemma had excused herself to go to the bathroom.
He’d stayed there for her as long as he could.
She’d clung to him ever since they’d been reunited, and even though she’d been everything he’d wanted to return to after Ophelia took him, she’d also become the one person he wanted to get away from the most.
She didn’t deserve this. Him. What he’d done.
It felt natural.
He’d wanted to do it.
It was a part of him.
A bad person.
That was him.
Maybe he’d always known.
He pulls his legs closer, letting tears run down his cheeks.
He wants to get away, but the hangar had been as far as he’d gotten.
He wants to get away and yet he has no idea where to go, no idea how to leave.
He wants to leave her behind. Set her free. And yet he wants to chain himself to her so that they can never be ripped apart again.
A war raging within him.
Weakness vs. Strength.
The love of his life vs. the love for her life.
He looks up when he hears the door to the hangar open.
The slender person in a leather jacket almost walks past him, straight for the black Dodge Charger parked at the far end.
It’s what Fitz had wanted. Be alone. Go unnoticed. Become invisible.
And yet, he suddenly hears his own voice. Weak. Trembling. Fearful. Pleading.
“Robbie?”
He stops in his tracks and turns around, squinting his eyes. “Your girl’s looking all over the place for you.”
But Fitz’s brain ignores his statement, wants to ignore it, needs to. His girl? Jemma deserves better.
“Did she deserve it?” Fitz realizes the question is vague and yet he knows Robbie won’t have to guess who he’s talking about.
Robbie lifts his chin imperceptibly, taking a step towards Fitz. “The crazy chick who enslaved people, killed people, tried to end the world?” He scoffs. “Yeah, she deserved it.”
Fitz swallows hard, his gaze falling to the floor. He takes a deep breath and uses the wall to push himself up to standing, slowly lifting his head to look back at Robbie. “What about me? I hurt people. People I love. I killed. In cold blood. Innocent pe—” His voice breaks off, his eyes blinking rapidly to fight against a forceful stream of tears. He shrugs. “It felt normal. That was me. I deserve it, Robbie. I deserve what you did to her.”
Fitz takes a step back, his trembling hand frantically searching a way through the solid wall behind him when Robbie’s body begins to transform, when his eyes turn red and fiery, when the skin on his face cracks and sparks and flames seep through, setting his skull aflame.
Fitz’s eyes widen, in shock, in fear, and his heart is beating rapidly as the Ghost Rider steps in front of him.
And yet, there’s a strange sense of serenity surrounding Fitz. Awaiting his judgment. His punishment. He deserves it.
The Ghost Rider lifts his hand and for a moment Fitz feels like time and space slow down, stand still even.
The burning face in front of him glares, grunts, growls, his hand threateningly raised.
Fitz closes his eyes.
It’s almost over.
At peace. In hell. It doesn’t matter.
Over.
He feels Ghost Rider’s hand on his shoulder.
And yet, his fire doesn’t burn.
The room falls silent.
All Fitz hears is his own heart beating in his chest.
“It’s not your fault.”
Fitz’s eyes shoot open and he’s surprised to see Robbie looking back at him.
Fitz feels the gentle squeeze of Robbie’s hand on his shoulder.
“It’s not your fault,” he repeats. “He agrees.”
Fitz feels a ripple of emotions rush through him like a tsunami breaking lose a tidal wave. His muscles begin to tremble and quiver, his hands, his chin, everything. He closes his eyes shut, trying to keep the tears at bay, trying to suppress the sobs wanting to escape his lungs.
But when Robbie’s hand curls around his neck, pulling Fitz’s head against his shoulder, the dam breaks and the tears break free. “Why? Why would he spare me? Everything I did.”
“It’s not always about what you do. It’s about who you are. No one is free from sin. No one is all good or all evil. Life isn’t black and white. We all sin. But it doesn’t make all of us sinners. He knows that.”
It’s not about what you do. It’s about who you are.
The words echo in Fitz’s ears. It sounds so simple. Too simple.
“Fitz?” Her voice is full of relief and worry at the same time.
Fitz lifts his head off Robbie’s shoulders and through a curtain of tears he watches Jemma step closer, reaching for him, a hint of hesitation in the way her hand shakes ever so slightly.
He looks at Robbie, who lets go of Fitz’s neck, taking a step back and nodding reassuringly.
Then Fitz feels her arms pulling him closer and his intuitively wrap around her. He looks over Jemma’s shoulder, mouthing a silent ‘Thank you’ at Robbie.
The corner of Robbie’s mouth twitches into the hint of a smile and he bops his head, before turning around and heading for his car.
Fitz buries his face in Jemma’s hair, inhaling her scent, noticing how she presses her body closer and closer against his, realizing how she wants to be there, with him, no matter what, through good times and bad, together.
“I love you, Fitz. I love you so much.” Her tone is urgent, stuttering from little sobs. “Don’t run away from me. Please, don’t run away from me.”
Her hands comb through his hair, her thumbs glide up and down his neck and Fitz cries.
It’s not about what you do. It’s about who you are.
We’re more than our programming.
You became the most open, loyal, caring person I’ve ever met.
It’s why I fell in love with you.
It’s not about what you do. It’s about who you are.
It’s not your fault.
He cries and somehow the tears seem to wash away some of the guilt, some of the self-hate, some of the doubts and fears and anger.
“I love you, Jemma,” he whispers into her ear as he pulls her closer. “I’m sorry I left.”
He pushes himself back a little, reaching for her face, wiping away her tears with his thumbs.
“I wasn’t running away from you. I was running away from myself.”
She grimaces, the pain of her soul written in every crease of her face. Her hand reaches for his cheek, her brown eyes searching his. “Oh, Fitz.”
The corners of his mouth tick up almost by reflex at the way she says his name, at the way she looks at him. He tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. “It’s okay. I think I’m back now.”
A smile flashes across her face and the glimmering sparkle forming in her eyes seems to jump straight to his heart.