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Fitz fell off his chair, staring at the figure at the top of the stairs, the meticulous black suit, the pocket square. He felt like all the air had been punched from his lungs, like a fist pressed down on his chest, his heart, his soul. Tears filled his eyes. He muttered a disbelieving “No,” his hand starting to tremble as that other version of himself made his way closer. Fitz tried to scramble away, but the Doctor only came closer. He opened his mouth, his cold and calculating eyes staring straight at Fitz.
But before he could speak, a shot rang out and the black suit dissolved into dust.
Fitz’s breathing came fast and ragged. He stared at the air where the Doctor had disappeared. He flinched when somebody grabbed his upper arm, his eyes shooting up.
“You okay?” Deke asked, grabbing Fitz’s arm a bit tighter, urging him to get up.
Fitz stood up, his hand still trembling. Deke looked at him questioningly, a hint of concern in his eyes, but Fitz’s voice was lost, as if the dust cloud of his manifested fear had stolen it.
He swallowed against the tension in his throat, and then a sudden jerk rushed through him. He stumbled forward to the microphone and pressed the comm button. “Everyone evacuate the base. The rift has opened. It is getting stronger. Get out now. If you see anything that doesn’t belong here… you know the drill. That’s a bloody order.”
“Dude,” he heard Deke mumble quietly, but Fitz didn’t pay him any heed, his head spinning, his ears ringing as he tried to catch his breath.
“Fitz?”
His head spun around when he heard Jemma’s voice. She rushed towards him. “What happened?”
“It’s back. He’s here,” Fitz muttered, knowing full well that it wouldn’t be enough of an explanation for her, and yet unable to give her more.
“Who?”
“There… there was this guy,” Deke remarked, almost shyly, gesturing over his shoulder, before pointing at Fitz. “Looked like him, only richer and cruel and—” His gaze dropped to the floor. “Kinda like a Kasius version of him.”
Jemma’s eyes widened, and Fitz had no doubt that she knew exactly whom Deke was referring to.
“You have to go.” Fitz grabbed Jemma’s shoulders. “He’ll be back. I know he’ll be back. As long as the rift is open.”
“You and Deke finished the gravitonium trap,” Jemma replied, looking straight back at Fitz. “We… we’ll fix it.”
“No.” Fitz shook his head. “You have to go. I’ll bring it to the rift. I’ll seal it. I’ll fix it.”
“No.” Jemma said with determination. “No, I’m not leaving.”
“Yes,” Fitz replied sternly, grabbing her shoulders more tightly. “One life’s better than two. Mathematics. I can’t let you go in there.”
“No,” Jemma yelled, pushing his hands off her shoulders and raising her finger in front of his face. “No, you made that decision for me once, and I won’t let you do it again. We’re married. We do this together. Four hands work better than two. Two minds stand a better chance. I’m not leaving. End of discussion.”
Fitz couldn’t stop the corner of his mouth from quirking up briefly. “You’re stubborn,” he said, barely above a whisper.
“Yes, well, you married me. You’re stuck with me now.” She tried to uphold a reprimanding tone but failed, the mist in her eyes giving her emotions away.
A weak smile flashed across Fitz’s face. “I can live with that.”
He leaned forward, cupping her face and brushing his lips against hers in a soft kiss. “We’ll do it together.”
Jemma bobbed her head in agreement. “Yes, we will.”
Fitz turned to look at Deke. “You should go. Evacuate with the rest.”
Deke gestured with the hand holding the gun at the case containing the gravitonium trap. “I helped build the trap. I know more about gravitonium than you guys.”
“Yeah, but we’ll take it from here.” Fitz exhaled a sharp breath, shaking his head. “Just go, Deke. No need to sacrifice anyone else.”
Deke fanned out his arms, staring back at Fitz with wide eyes. “I’m volunteering, man.”
Fitz scoffed. “A few days ago when I was looking for volunteers to seal the rift, you couldn’t have run faster!”
“That was before.”
Fitz shrugged. “Before what?”
Something in Deke’s expression changed that Fitz couldn’t interpret.
“Before I knew,” Deke muttered.
Fitz balled his hands into fists, glaring at the man standing across the room. “Knew what? God, can’t you finish a bloody senten—”
“Before I knew that I didn’t just buy a ring that reminded me of my mom’s ring but that I actually bought my mom’s ring,” Deke yelled. “The one she got from her mom.”
His hand flew in Jemma’s direction, his words ringing through the room before it fell completely silent.
Fitz glanced at Jemma, noticing her wide-open eyes, her shocked expression.
“Wha—?” Fitz breathed.
“Did you really think you could get rid of me like that?” a cold voice echoed through the command center, accompanied by the sound of slow steps on the metal staircase.
Everyone’s heads shot in the direction of the voice, and Fitz felt the blood rush out of his head, his hand shaking, as he took a trembling step backwards, trying to shield Jemma.
“Run,” he exhaled, barely above a whisper, before grabbing the case with the gravitonium trap and turning around to rush out of the room and towards where the rift was, pushing Jemma ahead of himself. He looked over his shoulder as he ran, but saw no sign of the Doctor… nor of Deke.
“Let her go,” Fitz pleaded, tears streaming down his face.
The Doctor smiled back at him coldly, pressing the barrel even harder against Jemma’s temple, who tried to suppress her sobs.
“Like I said before: you’re weak,” the Doctor hissed.
Fitz grimaced, his mind racing, trying to find the reply the Doctor was looking for, the one that could save Jemma.
The sound of the heavy door sliding open intuitively caused everyone to look. Fitz’s eyes widened when he saw Deke strutting in, pointing a gun straight at the Doctor and Jemma. “Leave them—”
A shot rang out and Deke stopped dead in his tracks, his gaze wandering in bewilderment to his stomach, the blood stain growing rapidly on his shirt.
“That’s not good,” he muttered quietly, his tone slurred, before sinking to the floor.
“No,” Fitz screamed, the sound mixing with Jemma’s desperate cry.
Her hands dug into the Doctor’s forearm, but he held her firmly in place.
“You just don’t learn,” the Doctor said coldly, staring at Deke’s motionless body, before bringing his gun back to Jemma’s temple, his piercing grim eyes looking back at Fitz. “You cannot stop me. You cannot get rid of me. I’m a part of you. I am you.”
Fitz closed his eyes. “No,” he whispered.
“Give me what I want. Come with me,” the Doctor growled through gritted teeth.
Fitz opened his eyes, noticing the desperate plea in Jemma’s expression not to give into the Doctor’s demands.
“Don’t, Fitz,” she whispered, tears in her eyes. “Don’t.”
“I can’t,” Fitz replied, barely audibly, unsure if his response was meant for the Doctor or Jemma.
“Hey, asshat.”
Fitz looked in surprise in the direction of the weak but cocky voice, noticing how the Doctor followed suit.
The corners of Fitz’s mouth twitched almost by reflex when he saw Deke lying propped up on one elbow by the open case of the gravitonium trap, the silver round device they had built together hovering in the air. A streak of blood led from where Deke had fallen all the way to the case. It was clear that he could barely hold himself up, yet he smiled proudly, holding up the activator of the gravitonium trap.
“Leave them alone,” Deke said, his voice strained with pain, before hitting the activation button. “They’re the only family I’ve got.”
The device opened, sucking the rift into the casing and sealing it shut.
“No,” the Doctor screamed, pointing the gun at Deke, but before he could fire his shot, Jemma managed to redirect his hand so that the bullet hit the floor instead.
Fitz hurled forward, wrestling the gun from the Doctor’s hand, while Jemma freed herself.
“You’re not me,” he mumbled quietly, before pulling the trigger, watching the black suit dissolve into dust.
Fitz dropped the gun to the floor, staring at his trembling fingers, until he felt Jemma’s hand on his shoulder. He looked at her, tears clouding his vision, torn between relief and grief. She pressed her palm against his cheek, a weak smile flashing across her face that he couldn’t help but mirror.
He wanted to say something, ask for forgiveness, reassurance, love, but instead Deke’s name escaped his lips like a quiet reminder.
She nodded ever so slightly, and they both put their own feelings, slowly dissolving fears, everything that had happened to them in the past hours behind them, rushing to where Deke was lying in a growing puddle of his own blood, his eyes unfocused.
They fell down on their knees beside him, Jemma immediately lifting his shirt to reveal the oozing bullet wound. She glanced up at Fitz, worry in her eyes that Fitz knew he mirrored.
Fitz pressed his hands on the injury, causing Deke to groan in pain.
“Kinda hurts,” Deke mumbled quietly.
Fitz scoffed. “You got yourself shot, you bloody idiot. Of course that hurts.”
Deke’s lips twitched briefly. “Saved the day though.”
Fitz’s expression softened, unable to stop a proud smile from flashing across his face. “Yeah, you did.”
Jemma forced a smile, cradling Deke’s face in her palms to get him to focus his tired eyes on her. “Try to stay awake, Deke. Can you do that for me?”
Deke lifted his hand, barely managing to pat Jemma’s elbow before his arm sunk back to the floor. “Don’t worry, Grandma. You’ll patch me up, I know.”
His eyes rolled back before falling shut.
“Deke?” Jemma pressed her palms more firmly against Deke’s cheeks. “Deke?”
She lifted his eyelids, before feeling his pulse. “We need to get him to med bay. Now.”
“There’s nobody here but us,” Fitz remarked. “We evacuated the base.”
Jemma looked at him, and Fitz could see her mind racing, her eyes scanning the room, but there was no medical cart in sight. Her gaze landed back on Fitz, determination burning in her irises. “I keep the bleeding in check. You carry him.”
Fitz raised his eyebrows, looking first at Deke’s unconscious body and then back at Jemma. “Fantastic,” he breathed quietly, before nodding in agreement.
He let go of the wound, his own hands immediately replaced by Jemma’s. He adjusted his position, curling one arm underneath Deke’s knees and weaving the other between Deke’s torso and arm. He groaned when he lifted the unconscious body, stumbling briefly until he could find his bearings.
He exhaled sharply. “Let’s go.”
They moved towards the hallway, Jemma’s hands firmly pressed against the wound.
“Bloody hell, he’s heavy,” Fitz muttered through gritted teeth.
Jemma’s head kept turning backwards, ensuring that she wouldn’t bump into anything. “I thought you exercised in prison.”
“I did push-ups,” Fitz growled, tensing his muscles even more to keep Deke’s body steady, “not bench press an adult human being.”
“Well, maybe next time,” Jemma joked, half-heartedly.
Fitz scoffed weakly. “Can we save the mocking for after we’ve saved what appears to be our grandson?”
“Yes, I suppose.” Jemma’s tone sounded fast and breathless, the only indication of the physical strain of keeping the bleeding at bay.
“This time travel thing is giving me a headache,” Fitz remarked, rounding a corner.
“Well, what isn’t giving you a headache these days?”
Fitz couldn’t help but chuckle weakly. “Mocking later. Remember?”
Jemma nodded in silence as they hurried down the hallway. Somehow they made it to the med bay, Fitz placing Deke onto the bed. They switched positions again, Fitz pressing his hands on Deke’s wound, while Jemma hooked the patient up to monitor his vitals. She exhaled a sharp breath, turning around and heading for the sink. She washed her hands, before putting on medical gloves.
Jemma returned to the bed, lifting her chin in Fitz’s direction. “Go, get cleaned up. You need to assist me.”
Fitz nodded in understanding, removing his hands from Deke’s injury and rushing to clean up, while Jemma pressed gauze against the bleeding wound.
She worked quickly, with determination, stopping the bleeding as fast as she could. She inhaled deeply when she placed her surgical tools back on the tray, deliberately slowing her exhale to calm herself.
She looked up at Fitz. “He lost a lot of blood.”
Fitz’s gaze wandered to Deke’s face and his blood-drenched clothes. He bobbed his head in silent agreement.
Jemma turned around, grabbing an ampulla and getting some of Deke’s blood. She rushed to the lab bench. “Let’s hope one of us matches. Mack’s not here with his O-negative. Plus, he just donated for Elena, so he really shouldn’t be donating this quickly again.”
She retrieved everything she needed for the blood typing. Fitz watched her as she worked in concentration, keeping an eye on Deke’s vitals.
“We’ll have a daughter,” she suddenly muttered quietly, her eyes fixed on the small blood samples in front of her as she waited for the antibodies and the blood to react.
One corner of Fitz’s mouth ticked up. “Who’ll have one obnoxious son,” he tried to lighten the mood, his nervous eyes darting in the direction of Deke’s pale face.
Jemma chuckled quietly. She turned around, smiling widely. “And a lucky one at that.” She stepped closer, gesturing at Fitz. “Roll up your sleeve.”
Fitz rested his arms on his knees, massaging the center of his palm with his thumb. His head shot up when he noticed the body in the med bed stir. He couldn’t help but smile as Deke’s eyes slowly blinked open and shut.
“Hey,” Fitz said quietly, getting out of his chair so that Deke could see him more easily.
Deke groaned quietly, his eyes barely focusing on Fitz. “’m I dead?” he asked, his words slurred.
Fitz scoffed. “Would I be here then?”
“Depends if this is heaven or hell.”
Fitz laughed involuntarily. He sniffed, swallowing hard and nodding in understanding. “Suppose I deserve that.”
A ghost of a smile flashed across Deke’s face.
“You’re not dead.” Fitz lifted his arm, showing Deke the small piece of gauze and tape in his elbow pit. “Jemma stopped the bleeding and fixed you up. And lucky for you, being related by blood also means a higher chance of sharing the same blood type.”
“Cool,” Deke replied groggily. “Knew I could count on Grandma.”
Fitz grimaced. “Don’t call her that.”
“Why not?” Jemma’s voice piped up from the door. “It seems perfectly accurate.”
She stepped inside, carrying a tray with two plates and two bottles of juice.
“You’re thirty,” Fitz counter-argued.
Jemma shrugged. “Well, you’re a hundred and four.”
“What the—? Bloody—.” Fitz’s eyes widened. “Only technically.”
Jemma laughed. “Leopold James Fitz-Simmons, our grandson saved us today. I think the least you could do is let him call you by the appropriate title.”
Fitz frowned, his eyes wandering from Jemma to Deke, who seemed barely able to follow the conversation, his mind still waking up. Fitz sighed. “First of all, I thought it was Simmons-Fitz.”
A weak chuckle escaped Jemma.
“And second of all, let’s revisit the topic at a later point,” Fitz suggested, begrudgingly.
Jemma smiled widely. “Absolutely.” She shifted her focus to Deke. “How are you feeling, Deke?”
Deke furrowed his brow, the question clearly taking more effort to answer than anticipated. “Hungry,” he mumbled after a few moments of silence.
Jemma chuckled, lifting the tray in her hands a bit higher. “Your appetite alone should have given away that you’re related to Fitz. Good thing I come prepared. Sandwiches and orange juice for the both of you. Fitz had to donate quite a bit of his blood, you know.”
“What kind of sandwich?” Fitz asked, a hint of hope in his tone.
Jemma grinned knowingly. “Well, I was in a bit of a rush to put them together and didn’t quite have everything I needed, but it should come quite close.”
Fitz exhaled a contented hum, one corner of his mouth ticking up in excited anticipation.
“What kind of sandwich?” Deke asked, noticeably confused.
“Prosciutto-mozzarella, with just a hint of pesto aioli,” Fitz replied, his tone soft and loving.
“I don’t know what any of these words mean.” Deke shrugged weakly. “But it sounds amazing.”
Fitz reached forward, gently patting his grandson on his arm. “You have no idea.”