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If pressed, Fitz wouldn’t be able to recollect exactly how did they end up in this situation.
Of course, the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. and Providence being exposed, and Ward’s betrayal, and rescuing Skye, and having to flee in the middle of the night in order to not be captured again. Taking Skye’s hand in his instinctively, because she has been through too much already and he couldn’t protect her the first time; he had to try his damndest best to keep her safe this time. Getting separated from the rest in the middle of a frenzy run through the motel’s backyard.
Skye’s big eyes, a terrified but fierce look on them, and her clenched jaw, and the beating of her heart that he could feel through the connected skin of their palms.
Jemma’s message from an unknown number- he can only assume it was Jemma, since the message was addressed to Gadget, and besides Skye, she is the only one of the team that knows the name of his childhood stuffed monkey-, instructing them to look for a safe place to rest low for a while, and to keep their trackers on so they can be picked up in the morning.
Skye dragged him to a tourist shop, bought for herself a pair of exuberant sunglasses and filled his backpack with water bottles and snacks and an emergency charger for both their phones and her laptop. Then dragged him to a dark corner, took off his tie, opened a couple buttons of his shirt and whispered on his ear, follow my lead, and proceeded to drag him again to another motel.
Using the most cringe-worthy fake accent he has heard in his life and flirting shamelessly with the teenager behind the counter, she gets them a crappy room with a double bed.
After all, she is clearly the one taking care of the situation; apparently Fitz grabbing her hand and keeping her close was more for his benefit than for hers.
He is about to say something of the sort, or to make a snarky comment about the double bed, or anything to clear the air, but when he turns around to look at her, he sees that she has leaned her back against the door, with her eyes closed and irregular breathing; he has never in his life seen someone shaking so much.
“Hey, hey, hey.” He is by her side in two long steps, and holds her between his arms. Asking her if she is okay feels ridiculous, so instead he goes for the affirmation, “You are okay. You have been so strong, Skye, and we will get through this.”
“Yeah, I know.” She is crying, silent tears falling down her cheeks, and his heart clenches painfully inside his chest. “But it’s too much, Fitz. Every second I feel like I can not handle any more, and then something else happens.”
There is nothing he can say to that, because she is right; he can totally relate to the way she is feeling, he has felt a lot like that during the crazier eight months of his life, and even then, he willfully signed up for this- even if with more than one little nudge of help from Simmons-; Skye, instead, got dragged into this not-flying-anymore circus with a little more kicking and screaming: that she was looking to grate on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s nerves doesn’t mean that she was looking to get in S.H.I.E.L.D., not for the long run.
Not for the deep run.
But here they are, and for worse or for better, they have both made their choices, and their choices had led them to this moment, holding onto each other for dear life. And now, they can also choose to be what the other needs.
Gently, he guides her to the bed and sits on it, his back against the headboard, trying not to think too much about the kind of germs that can be found in not-so-pristine motel rooms, and while keeping her close, lets her take the position that she finds more comfortable; that way, he ends up with a lapful of Skye, her arms wrapped tight around his waist, her head resting on his chest.
Fitz tries to not think too much about how awkward this could be and how awkward it actually isn’t; he can’t be the hero that saves her life, but perhaps that’s not what she needs: she has proven time and time again that she is more than capable of saving herself; perhaps what she needs is just someone to hold her while she cries.
So that’s what he does, lets her cling to his body like a koala, doesn’t make a pip about her tears dampening his shirt, tangles his fingers on her hair to massage her scalp, and mumbles sweet nothings on her ear to help her calm down.
He is so focused on her that he almost forgets to be scared, anxious, hurt for himself.
His ongoing commentary alternates between praise and affirmation of her, funny stories about his childhood, random facts that he knows she might enjoy and anecdotes about his adventures with Simmons at the Academy. It takes a while, but he finally notices that she has relaxed against him and her fingers are no longer holding his shirt on a death grip. Her eyes are closed, but she smiles timidly with some of his more far-fetched stories, and that encourages him to keep going until her breathing stabilizes and he is almost sure that she is asleep.
He tries to get up then, make a bed for himself on the floor, and hopefully let her rest as comfortably as possible, but she makes the smallest sound of discomfort when he tries to extricate himself from her grip, and Fitz ends up laying on the bed, face up and very very awake, Skye’s body draped all over the side of his and trying to synchronize the beating of his heart to hers.
Sleep doesn’t come to him; he is too focused on the very real weight of Skye next to him, too worried about what the future might bring onto them- himself, Skye, Jemma, the rest of the team, and the shards that are now left of what once was S.H.I.E.L.D. Right now he has one job and one job only, and that is to keep Skye safe, and he can not sleep on the job.
It pains him to wake her up when he gets a new text from Simmons; she had a fitful night of sleep and it wasn’t till dawn that she started looking truly peaceful, but they are on the run, and can not afford to not be ready when the rest of the team comes to pick them up.
Besides, his body is numb all over with the restraint of movement that he endured all night long, and he needs to get his circulation back on track, even though he is grateful for the pain; it is a physical, real reminder that he is alive, and she is as well.
She mumbles something about her hair being a mess while she rubs her eyes, and Fitz, feeling bold for the night of closeness, runs his fingers through her mussed hair to help her fix it. Skye hums her approval. They are underrested, overworked, malnourished, on the run, but still the smallest of gestures carries significance and can bring them joy, even if only temporary, if they let themselves be open to it.
Skye throws a granola bar at him, and Fitz offers her half of it, while they pass back and forth a box of orange juice and they both try to look like they didn’t spend a shitty night on their clothes.
Things have not changed: nothing is easier than it was when they went to bed last night, but Skye brushes her teeth with renewed determination and maybe, Fitz realizes, that’s all he needs to keep on moving forward.