Work Text:
Say it, before it’s too late.
Say it, before you run out of time.
Say what you’re feeling.
Waiting is a mistake.
The words are stored in the depths of Fitz's mind. He read them somewhere in a book. He doesn’t even know which one it was. But the words. They are still there. Because he feels them.
There are words and there are true words.
Those are true words, he thinks. It’s a message worth to remember. An advice worth to be followed.
And still, when the time comes, he does the exact opposite.
*
Lance Hunter enters Fitz's life as a stranger.
And they meet under unfortunate circumstances. Well, at least for Fitz, they are extremely unfortunate.
He's currently trying to get himself back into his wheelchair, while calling himself a bloody idiot over and over again. He thought he’s strong enough by now, to go the few steps from his bed to the toilet, but he was wrong. Of course he was wrong. After only two shaky steps, he fell.
And now he struggles to pull himself backwards up into the chair, not wanting to call for help, because he has enough of being manhandled or pitied. He’s determined to manage this himself, before someone’s walking past the open door of his bunk, discovering that he needs help. Again. But he’s growing more desperate with every second. His body just won’t cooperate. Every time he puts his hands on the wheelchair's seating surface and attempts to pull his lower body up into it, his legs turn wobbly and his arms are not strong enough to do the job alone. He curses quietly under his breath, then freezes, when he hears steps on the hallway.
A man walks past his bunk, mumbling something about “bloody mission” to himself. He casually looks into the bunk, discovering Fitz. His steps falter and his eyes widen.
Fitz sighs. Embarrassment stirs in him, when he realizes what a picture he must make, his body half on the wheelchair and half on the ground, his face certainly a dark shade of red because of the effort.
“You’re the engineer. Leo Fitz, right? I’m Lance Hunter. Just call me Hunter, everyone does,” The man rambles in a British accent, his eyes lightening up. Then he frowns. “Need some help there?” He asks.
“No,” Fitz snarls. “Fine.”
Hunter doesn’t look convinced. But he shrugs. “Okay love.”
He leans against the wall, watching as Fitz desperately tries to finally get completely into the wheelchair. Sweat is building on his forehead, beads of it rolling down his face. The sweat also makes his hands sticky, making them slip away on the seat. It just doesn’t work. He realizes the moment his body is giving up. But it’s already too late. His arms give way under him and he drops. But before he can slip to the ground, Hunter’s there, grabbing him under his shoulders, pulling him up and into the wheelchair in one strong movement, without saying a word.
Fitz leans back, breathing heavily. He feels like a failure. Weak and pathetic. Feelings he’d gotten used to in the past weeks. Recovery is like living through a nightmare that doesn't ever stop.
And he really doesn’t want to, not in front of a stranger, but he can’t hold himself together anymore. The meds he's taking is messing with his emotions anyway. He starts to cry silently, his cheeks burning in helpless shame.
Hunter stares down at him for a moment. Then he crouches down, handing Fitz a tissue from somewhere. Fitz takes it gratefully, hiding his face with it.
“You know, needing help doesn’t make you weak,” Hunter suddenly says. “We all need help from time to time. And you should accept it. You might not believe it now, but you will get better. Until then, you have to see the help of others like a little boost, you know?” He clears his throat. “I heard what happened to you. It’s bloody awful. And you know what? I think you’re a bloody hero. Not only for trying to save your friend’s life. No. You’re also a hero because you keep going. Not everyone would manage what you're doing right now. You keep going, struggle through setbacks and stand up again. I don’t know if I would be able to stay that strong.”
Fitz slowly takes the tissue away from his face, staring up at Hunter, his eyes widening in speechless surprise.
Hunter smiles crookedly at him. Then he gets up, stares at his watch and sighs. "I have to go to the briefing for this bloody mission, see you soon, Fitz, if you fancy sharing a beer someday, just call me."
He’s already halfway out of the door again, before Fitz manages a strangled, “Thanks.”
Hunter turns his head, looking at Fitz over his shoulder. “You’re welcome, love. Stay strong. See you.”
Then he’s gone.
Fitz stares after him, a strange feeling in his stomach, that isn’t entirely unpleasant. Feels like a warm glowing.
*
Fitz slowly starts to get better. He gets out of the wheelchair.
And thanks to the new team members, Mack and Hunter, he even gets out of his bunk, at least sometimes.
He likes the two new men. They are different from the rest somehow. Maybe because, well, they weren’t there when Ward decided to betray the team, when everything became a mess and he and Simmons landed on the bottom of the ocean … They don’t know how Fitz had been before he almost drowned.
They just know he is like he is. And they really seem to want to spend time with him.
Fitz isn’t quite sure why, because he thinks of himself as the least pleasant company there is, but he's still glad when they ask him to share a beer with them, or to discuss about soccer – which usually ends in Hunter bombing him and Mack with popcorn.
He feels good when he’s around Mack and Hunter. He feels especially good, when he’s with Hunter.
But at first, he doesn’t think about that much. At first. It doesn’t take Fitz long to know that he likes Hunter. But it takes awfully long before he allows himself to think that there’s more.
That changes, when he once spends an evening alone with Hunter, because Mack is sick.
They watch soccer and of course get into an argument. But it’s funny and light-hearted.
“If you don’t shut up, I will spill my beer over your bloody head, mate!” Hunter threatens, and Fitz laughs.
Hunter smiles brightly at the noise and suddenly, there’s something in his eyes. Something warm and deep. It makes Fitz’s heart flutter in a strange but pleasant way.
Hunter reaches for the popcorn bowl on the table and somehow manages to touch Fitz's hand feather-lightly. It feels like an electric jolt. But in a good way.
And that’s when Fitz realizes it.
Suddenly his heart beats wildly in his chest and he feels slightly dizzy. He can’t concentrate on the soccer game anymore, because there are too much thoughts and feelings distracting him. He feels overwhelmed.
And because it’s too much, he leaves with a mumbled, “Sorry I … um … I don't feel so good. I think I might get a, a, a ..." He stops, sighing in frustration.
“You think you might get a cold like Mack?” Hunter asks worried.
“Yeah, that,” Fitz says weakly, making a vague hand gesture. “Goodnight.”
He doesn’t wait for Hunter’s answer.
He leaves the room. It’s more like an escape.
Later, he's laying in his bed, staring at the ceiling above him, thinking about Hunter, while chewing on his lip.
They way he feels around Hunter … is it like friendship-feelings or more like romantic-feelings? He isn’t sure. He doesn’t have a lot of experience. When he thinks of Jemma, it always gets confusing. Because by now, he accepted that she hasn’t feelings for him. And his own feelings … he doesn’t know. But when he thinks of Hunter, there’s this fluttering in his heart and the glowing in his stomach.
Being around Hunter feels … it feels just right.
Hunter doesn’t look offended, sad or pitying when Fitz screams at everything and everyone because of his stupid not-working brain. He just screams back cheerfully. Hunter doesn’t flee the room or hides somewhere when Fitz starts to throw things against the wall. He picks up whatever is near him and happily throws it, joining Fitz in his raging fit.
And that is … great.
It’s different from what Mack does. Mack helps too. But Mack helps with being silent comfort. Or with kind words.
Hunter helps with being … well, with being Hunter. He's there. He understands. And he always know what to do or say.
Fitz doesn’t know if this makes sense. It’s just how he feels.
Yes. That’s how he feels.
And in the darkness of his bunk, he finally admits to himself: I'm in love with him. I’m in love with Hunter.
He doesn’t quite know if he should feel excited or terrified.
*
Fitz still doesn’t join the team on missions, but he starts to work in the lab again.
It’s not always easy. Sometimes he ends up throwing things on the ground or screaming at himself out of frustration. Because his hand is trembling and ruining his work. Because his brain doesn’t want to cooperate, mingling the words in his head until they are a confusing mess.
Often, Mack comes to calm him down.
More often, Hunter comes to cheer him up. He doesn’t really understand what Fitz is doing, but he still stays, watching Fitz doing things, while sipping a beer or balancing a football on his foot, his eyes still full of this certain expression, that sends a tingle down Fitz’s spine and gives him goosebumps.
He looks at Hunter furtively from time to time, his heart beating wildly in his chest.
I think I’m in love with you, he says to Hunter.
In his mind. Only in his mind.
*
Waiting is a mistake.
How true the words are, learns Fitz, when it’s really almost too late.
Almost.
When Hunter gets shot on a mission.
Fitz learns about it, when Mack comes into the lab, a grave expression on his usually calm face.
Something bad happened, Fitz realizes and swallows.
He looks at Mack questioningly.
Mack sighs. “It’s Hunter,” he says. “He managed to get shot.”
Fitz’s stomach drops. He gasps and drops the hammer in his hand. It lands just an inch beside his right foot, with a loud bang.
“Fitz!” Mack calls startled.
But Fitz doesn’t even hear him. His surroundings get blocked out by a curtain of shock and fear. In front of his eyes he sees images, that make his heart clench painfully. Hunter, bloody and lifeless on the ground. His eyes open but unseeing.
No.
No. No. No.
I didn’t tell him. Why did I not tell him?!
Suddenly, Mack’s hands are on Fitz’s shoulders, shaking him. “Fitz! Listen, it’s not that bad, alright? Bobbi said he was hit in the shoulder and the bullet is still in the wound. He won’t die. He will be alright!”
Fitz swallows, shaking his head slightly to return to reality. “You’re sure?” He asks Mack softly, tears burning in his eyes.
“Yeah. Don’t worry … Hunter won't let himself be killed by some random Hydra sniper,” he says, grinning crookedly despite his own worry. "He's way too stubborn to go like this."
Fitz nods shakily. “Okay.”
Still, he thinks. He still got shot … he could have died. And I didn’t tell him.
*
A little while later, Fitz's sitting outside the room, in which Hunter is patched up by Bobbi.
Coulson and Skye told him that it isn’t that bad.
Still, the anxiety and worry make it hard for Fitz to breathe. He grips his knees tightly, to stop his hands from shaking.
It’s this life, he thinks bitterly. This life we're leading means to be in danger constantly. It would be stupid to think anything else. We’re all in danger. And there’s no place for such things as some ridiculous hidden romantic feelings, right? It would only make things more complicated.
Those thoughts hurt.
But they are true, aren’t they?
Fitz startles slightly, when the door opens. He stands up quickly, clenching his hands into fists. Bobbi comes out, pulling gloves from her hands. She smiles at Fitz tiredly.
“How is he?” Fitz asks, swallowing nervously.
“He’ll be alright,” Bobbi says. “Don’t worry. The bullet didn’t hit an important vein. The wound will heal quickly.”
Fitz sighs in relief.
Bobbi looks at him attentively. “Do you want to see him?”
“Can I?” Fitz asks hesitantly.
“Sure. But don't wonder, he's be a bit groggy from the pain killers,” Bobbi says, grinning. She leaves, after patting him softly on the back, giving him a last, somewhat knowing look.
Fitz looks at the door in front of him. He hesitates for a moment. Maybe Hunter doesn’t even want to see him … But … he really needs to see that Hunter is alright.
So Fitz gathers all his courage, opens the door and quietly enters the room.
Hunter looks unusually small in the hospital bed. The blanket only covers his lower body. His chest is bare and there’s a bandage over his right shoulder. He's staring up at the ceiling.
“Hey,” Fitz says uncertainly, when he stops in front of the bed.
Hunter slowly turns his head. His eyes widen. “Heeey mate. Good to see you,” he slurs.
Fitz smiles weakly. “You got shot,” he states.
“Yeah. I tried to do the Matrix trick, you know? Didn’t work. Dammit,” Hunter mumbles, giggling. But he apruptly gets serious again, looking like he's thinking about something very hard. Then he asks Fitz, "Did you know that I always wanted a ferret? Yeah. I don't care if they reek or eat my fingers. I just ... just want one. For cuddles, you understand?"
Fitz frowns, but has to laugh. Bobbi was right. Hunter really is groggy … "I always wanted a monkey," he says. "They could help me with my work and cuddle with me."
Hunter hums in happy agreement. "Your monkey and my ferret ... they will get along, right?" He mumbles sleepily.
Fitz supresses another laugh and nods. He looks at Hunter’s face, feeling the fluttering in his stomach again.
I’m in love with you, he says.
In his mind again. Only in his mind.
Out loud he says, “I hope you’ll be better soon.”
Hunter grins. “I already feel better. Your company certainly does help.”
Fitz blinks. “It does?”
“Yeah. Stay?” Hunter mumbles, his eyes slipping shut.
“Sure,” Fitz breathes, his heart filling with warm joy.
He stays, watching Hunter until he falls asleep.
Whispering I'm in love with you in his mind over and over again.
*
Hunter’s up and about again soon, annoying everyone on the bus, especially Bobbi, who once locks him in a storeroom, to get rid of him. It’s like nothing has changed.
Almost.
But for Fitz, a lot has changed. He’s not only in love now. He’s desperately in love. And it hurts.
He thinks about Hunter before he falls asleep. He dreams about him. Daydreams about kissing Hunter. About how it would feel. It makes his heart beat wildly and loud in his chest.
The intensity of this almost shocks him.
A few days pass, in which he doesn’t spend a lot of time around Hunter. He needs a bit time until he admits to himself that he’s actively avoiding the other man.
Well. He’s avoiding him in reality. But in his dreams, in his head, he sees nothing else but Hunter’s kind eyes and soft lips.
*
“Turbo, are you still with me?” Mack’s voice sounds slightly worried and he snaps his fingers in front of Fitz’s eyes.
Fitz startles, quickly shoving the omnipresent thoughts about Hunter aside. “I … sorry,” he mumbles, handing Mack the tool he needed.
“It’s aright. What’s going on in that busy head of yours?” Mack asks calmly, continuing working on the car, they are trying to repair.
Fitz swallows. He shakes his head. “Nothing, just dreams, um, day …. just daydreams, you know?”
“I see. Are they about a something, or a someone?” Mack asks casually.
Fitz jumps. “What?!” He feels caught. It’s not a pleasant feeling. “No!” He calls out.
Mack looks at him, frowning. “No?”
“No. It’s not … not ….” Fitz growls in frustration, banging a hand against his head.
“Hey!" Mack shakes his head, catching Fitz's hand in his clean one. “Stop that. Listen, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. You don’t have to talk about it. I just noticed some things.”
“Things?” Fitz says, shaking Mack’s hand off. “What things?”
“Looks,” Mack says, shrugging, but smiling softly. “Or the way your whole face lights up when Hunter’s around.”
“Um,” Fitz makes and feels stupid.
Mack looks down at him. “You like him,” he states kindly. And the way he says “like”, it’s obvious that he doesn’t mean “you like him as a friend for the occasional beer or soccer game".
Fitz swallows. He didn’t know it was that obvious. When Mack noticed … who else might have noticed? Maybe everyone did ... His first instinct is to flee the stressful situation. But it's Mack ... He can trust Mack. Maybe it wouldn't be that bad to talk about it. He takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Maybe? Maybe I do like him. But I … I don’t think that he, um, he … I’m sure he’s not interested,” he says, starting to tap a nervous rhythm on his knee with his fingertips.
“How’d you know that? Did you ask?” Mack asks seriously.
Fitz doesn’t know what to say to that.
“Look. I think that what I’ve seen … I think that wasn’t just one-sided,” Mack carefully says. “And waiting … it won’t bring you clarity, you know? Sure, asking is difficult. But at least, it would make you know. It would end the questioning and the what if."
Fitz stares at him. He swallows, when the realization hits him with full force.
Mack is right.
Not knowing is torture. Knowing can’t be more painful.
Fitz breathes in deeply, looking at his hand, that’s trembling because of his distress. He slowly shakes his head.
No.
He really can’t do this anymore.
He storms out of the workshop, barely noticing Mack’s surprised “Turbo?”
He storms out of the workshop and through the hallways of the bus, stops in front of Hunter’s bunk and takes a deep breath.
The old hesitatance is there again, threatening to destroy his just gained courage again. Fitz shakes his head to himself grimly.
Screw it. This time he will bloody do something.
He opens the door and just runs into Hunter’s bunk.
Hunter’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, reading a soccer magazine, looking up in surprise. “Um, hey mate. What’s up?” He asks, putting the magazine aside.
Fitz comes to a halt in front of him, his hands clenched into angry fists.
“I’m in love with you,” he blurts out. And freezes.
Hunter stares up at him. He blinks a few times in speechless surprise.
Fitz swallows. Slowly, he realizes what just happened. Anxiety and embarrassment make his throat clench. Oh God. He wants to disappear in the void. He wishes he could beam himself to another place. A very lonely place. Maybe to Antarctica.
His face burns and he lowers his head, to hide the blush that’s certainly already covering his pale face.
“I’m … I’m sorry,” he murmurs, turning around, grabbing the door handle. “Please, um, just forget it, yeah?
“Fitz.”
“I’ll just … we can act like it never happened and …”
“Fitz!” Hunter stands up, shaking his head. “Wait. Don’t go.”
Fitz swallows. He takes his hand off the door handle, fumbling around with a button on his cardigan instead. It’s suddenly way too hot in the room. He starts to sweat. Nervously, he stares at Hunter, who stares back, his eyes glued to Fitz’s.
It’s silent for a moment, except for their breaths.
“Really?” Hunter finally asks.
Fitz blinks. “Really what?” He asks confused.
“Are you really in love with me?” Hunter breathes.
Fitz nods. “Yeah.” He looks down, feeling like he ruined something important. “I’m sorry.”
Hunter exhales shakily.
“Why … what the bloody hell are you sorry for?!”
Fitz shrugs.
Hunter sighs, scratching the back of his head. “Blood, bloody hell,” he mumbles. “And I thought … I thought you aren’t … I should have talked.”
Fitz doesn’t understand. Before he can ask, Hunter abruptly steps forward, bridging the distance between them.
Suddenly he’s close. So very close. Fitz doesn’t back away, but he swallows nervously. Hunter stares at him. His eyes are unruly streams. Fitz feels like he’s about to drown in them.
“Fitz,” Hunter says softly.
Then he lays a hand on Fitz’s cheek. His next exhale is a warm breeze on Fitz’s skin.
“I’m in love with you too.”
Fitz hears the words. He feels the touch. But ... it makes no sense.
“What?” He asks dazed. Because it can’t be.
Hunter grins. “I said, I’m in love with you too, you bloody idiot,” He says kindly. “To be fair, I’m a bloody idiot as well. No. I’m even the bigger bloody idiot. Again, you are the stronger one of us. Because you had the guts to tell me. I guess I have to thank you …”
Fitz doesn’t know what to say. So he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and presses a shy kiss on Hunter’s lips.
Hunter gasps.
Then, he kisses Fitz back. It’s slow at first, tentative. But it doesn’t stay like this for long. Their kiss grows more passionate and heated. It’s like a wildfire out of their hearts.
When they finally part, their breaths are shallow and quick.
Hunter smiles. He clears his throat. “You want to, um, go somewhere? I know a nice, little diner …”
Fitz feels a rush of joy, but he frowns. “You’re sure we can just leave?”
Hunter shrugs. “Tonight, I don’t care about any rules. Tonight I want to take you out.”
“Okay,” Fitz breathes.
Hunter smiles, reaching out a hand.
Fitz takes it.
And just like this, it starts.
They finally stopped waiting.