Archive of Our Own

It’s an early chilly Saturday morning in autumn.

Hunter is in the shooting range of the base, like always on Saturdays at this time.
And like always, he’s the only one there.
He loads his gun and puts the obligatory glasses and headphones on. He grips the weapon with both hands, raising it, steadying his stand.
He inhales, shoots, exhales.
It's a comfortingly familiar procedure.
Every shot hits where it’s supposed to. No surprises.
It really isn’t much of a challenge for him. But well, he has nothing else to do anyway. And sometimes, this is good for blowing off some steam.

Hunter’s about to pick his next target, when he starts to feel like someone’s watching him.
He turns his head slightly to the side and his lips twitch.

It’s Fitz.

He's leaning there against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, and just watches.
He did that before.
He started to show up a few weeks ago. Usually he stays just for a few minutes. He comes and goes unnoticed.
A silent observer.

Hunter doesn’t mind his presence at all.
But he can’t help but wonder what this is about.

Fitz's face is as always unreadable. No answers to be found on it.
It seems like he built a mask for himself.

And Hunter sometimes would like to know what lies under it.
He is glad to see, that by now, Fitz is standing on his own two feet, instead of sitting in a wheelchair or using crutches to hold his weight up.

Hunter doesn’t know much about what happened to Fitz. But he knows that it changed him forever and that it took him a long time to recover from it.
He heard the whispers of brain damage, problems with words and seizures. He also heard, that before, Fitz wasn't so serious and withdrawn.
Well. Hunter doesn’t know much but he knows he has nothing but respect for this man, who must have been on the bottom of the pit and still decided to stand up and go on. That takes a lot of courage and inner strength. He knows that. Damn. He really knows …

“Good morning,” he says.

Fitz just stares at him, shifting his weight somehow nervously.

Hunter smiles and turns back to the line of targets in front of him. He raises the gun and continues shooting.

That’s enough for today, he decides after a while. He drops his gun, takes off the glasses and headphones, and turns around, wondering - hoping? - if Fitz is still there.

He is.

He still stares at Hunter, restlessly scratching his arm.

And then, for the first time since he started showing up at the door and being a silent attentive observer, Fitz talks.
“I … um, I wanted to ask if you, you … could, um, t-t-t …” He stops, his eyes filling with anger. Sweat builds on his forehead, as he desperately tries to find the word.

Hunter waits.
He won’t try to give Fitz the word.
He saw others doing it and it always ended with Fitz being frustrated or angry, and the other person being on the edge of crying.
They don’t seem to understand, he thinks, that sometimes you must do what may seem cruel to yourself, so that the other one can gain back some well needed confidence …

“Teach,” Fitz blurts out, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Can you teach me?”

Hunter raises his eyebrows.
“Really?” He asks surprised. “But didn’t you have a basic training already?"

Fitz shakes his head.
“I’m not … I want to be better.”
He makes a vague hand gesture and adds, “Need to be.”

Hunter hums. He doesn’t ask why. He thinks he already has an idea about it.

He picks up his gun and puts a new magazine in it.
Than he hands it to Fitz.
“Here. Show me how you do it.”

Fitz takes the gun, swallowing. For a moment, he runs his fingers over the cold steel and looks like he doesn't really want to do anything with the weapon. But then, he grips the handle more determined. He readjusts the position of his hands a few times and Hunter notices the light tremor in one of them getting stronger.
He watches as Fitz raises the gun, shuts one eye and shoots after staring at the target for a while.
The shot misses.

Fitz scoffs and shakes his head.
He drops the gun and looks at his trembling hand with a mix of anger and frustration in his eyes.
“I’m just … useless,” he says matter of factly.

Hunter shakes his head.
“No. I think you’re just not focused enough. All you see in front of you, are the unmoving targets. But you need to feel it. So imagine something. Or someone. Someone you can’t stand. Someone who disappointed you. It never goes without emotion. The same rule applies to martial arts."

Fitz nods understandingly.
“W-w-won’t be difficult, I guess. Who do you imagine?”

The question takes Hunter by surprise and triggers some unwelcome memories. He involuntarily crosses his arms over his chest in a defensive gesture.

Fitz blushes slightly.
“Sorry. Didn’t want to be, um, um," he snaps his fingers and frowns. "in ... in ... intrusive.”
He sighs relieved.

“No. It’s alright,” Hunter tells him, playing with the gun in his hands. The familiar solid steel feels cold on his skin. “It varies. Sometimes, it’s my father. He was an asshole. After he had to leave the army, he drank too much alcohol and liked to use his belt when he wasn’t happy. He often wasn’t happy. Very often. Especially when he felt like I didn’t train shooting enough. He wanted me to be a proper man.” Hunter scoffs.
It still manages to amaze him, how much hatred he feels towards his now dead father.

Fitz looks at him attentively. There’s something like recognition in his eyes, but it disappears when he mumbles, “I would probably, um, try to s-s-see Ward.”
He spits the name out like it's a curse.

Hunter shifts his weight.
“Ward,” he says. “What did he do?”

Fitz eyes darken.
“He’s the reason I’m, um, you know ... the reason for my injury. Because of him, Simmons and I landed on the, the b-b-bottom of the ocean in a medical pod.”

“Oh.” Hunter scratches his arm. He tries to imagine how it must feel, to be captured in a tiny room in the middle of the ocean. Must be cold, he thinks. Must feel like ... the end.

“Yeah,” Fitz looks at his feet. “I thought … I was never good at, at, um, at making friends. And Ward, he acted like he cares about me, um, us. I wanted to see the good in him. But … It was stupid. I was stupid. He just manipulated me, like he manipulated everyone else on the Bus. But … I won’t make that mistake again,” he mumbles. It sounds very determined. After a last unsure glance at it, he gives the gun back to Hunter and scratches the back of his head.

“Going to go to, to, ... back to the lab, now,” he says, turning around. “Thanks.”

Hunter looks after Fitz, as he leaves the shooting range and for some strange moment he hopes, that this wasn’t their only training session.

*

Fitz searches for him the next day and asks for another lesson.
And so it begins.

They train shooting a few times more.

Fitz is getting better. He’s a quick learner, Hunter notices. He does exactly what Hunter tells him, adjusting every detail, until everything’s perfect. And when he shoots now, he has a certain determination and coldness in his eyes, that Hunter knows quite well.

Soon, they start to talk after every session.
Their topics get more personal with every time. They discover some similarities. And that’s producing a certain kind of sympathetic atmosphere.
Fitz even throws him a smile, when they're talking about their moms.
The smile is something special, Hunter decides. Because it's rare. It's rare but it appeared for him.

Fitz doesn’t stammer as much as in the beginning. Instead, he sometimes takes breaks or talks very slow. First, he seemed to fear that Hunter would get inpatient and maybe interrupt him.
But Hunter has always been a good listener. At least he was told so, by some of his mates, who were hurt in the field and had to spent some time at hospital.
He used to sit at their beds - most of the times the only visitor they received - and just listened.
Apparently, that was exactly the right thing to do.
And now, it’s the right thing again.

Only that, it’s Fitz.
And something about Fitz is … different.
Hunter catches himself once, thinking about how it would be to kiss him.
He’s not startled about it, more surprised.
He didn’t think about a man like this for quite a long time. But for now, he puts that aside quickly, because, well … it’s not the right time for that.

He trains Fitz in shooting and afterwards listens to him and tells him a few things about himself.
And that’s it.

That’s it.

Or is it?

*

“Do you want to train more than just shooting?” Hunter asks Fitz on a Sunday. It's a lazy, almost boring winter day, and his body and mind yearn for some movement.
“Like some self-defense? I’m sure it would be good for your motor skills.”

Fitz looks surprised for a moment, but then he nods.

They start with some basic disarmament practises.

Like with the shooting, Fitz is quick with learning the movements in theory, but when it comes to practice, it becomes apparent that not only did he spend most of his life in a lab, but that he also still struggles with his fine motor skills. His bad hand cramps and sometimes trembles too much to get a tight grip. But when he fails, he just bites his lip and tries again. Hunter can’t help but being impressed by his stamina.

When he notices after a while, that Fitz is out of breath and swaying on the spot, he announces a break.

“That was really good,” he says, handing Fitz a bottle of water and sitting down beside him on the floor, leaning his back against the cool wall behind him.

But Fitz shakes his head.
“Too slow,” he says. “It’s going … too slow. Need to be … better.”

Hunter frowns.
“Hey, you can be really proud of yourself. You’ve never done much more than the basic training at the academy, and now you manage to unharm me under 30-40 seconds. That’s huge progress.”

Fitz shrugs.
“Still too slow.”

“For what?”

“For … for …” But Fitz stops and shakes his head.
He stands up carefully, his legs still trembling slightly. He picks up his towel and throws Hunter a quick look.
“Thanks f-f-for the training.”

He leaves. Hunter looks after him slightly concerned.
He asks himself, if maybe Fitz only does this to be able to kick the man who hurt him and his friend in the ass. And that's dangerous, he knows. But he couldn't blame Fitz for it, if that's really the case. Not after everything he has learned about Ward by now.

What a pathetic excuse of a human being ...

*

“Ouch,” Hunter exclaims, beating his free hand against Fitz’s back to show he has enough. “Ouch … Stop it, I’m giving up!”

Fitz makes a noise that sounds quite triumphant.
He loosens his grip on Hunter’s wrist, which he had tilted back so far that Hunter had felt a sharp pain, that he, if he’d really wanted it, could have endured for a few moments, but this is training not a real fight, and students need moments of success from time to time.

“This is a useful grip,” Hunter says, “But it’s not that easy to do that in the field, where everything has to be quick and dirty. When someone wants to kill you, better go for the eyes or the nose first, like we already trained …”

Fitz frowns.
“I … I don’t w-w-want to bury my thump in anyone’s eye …”

Hunter snorts.
“I know. But trust me, if you fight for your life, you don’t care about having something disgusting on your fingers anymore …”

Fitz makes a disbelieving and disgusted noise.
His hand still holds on to his wrist in a grip, that’s not too tight but still determined.

Suddenly, Hunter notices, that they are very close.

Their noses are almost touching.

Maybe Fitz notices the same, because his eyes widen slightly.

For a moment, they're staring at each other, feeling the other's quick warm breaths on their skin.

Then Hunter clears his throat.

And that’s it.

Fitz lets go off him and the moment is over.
“Um. T-t-tomorrow? Same … same time, same place?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Okay.”

Fitz leaves the room, scratching the back of his head.

Hunter looks after him, his throat suddenly feeling very dry.

*

Hunter thinks about it in the shower.
Thinking in the shower. It’s like a cliché, he thinks, while letting the hot stream of water running over his body.
But it’s one, that seems to be true.
He always has good ideas in the shower.

And today, his idea is, that he might be in love with Fitz.
Too quick, his mind immediately argues. You can’t fall in love with a person you’ve only known for like two months.

Hunter frowns.
Really? But ... why not?

Yeah. Why not. Maybe … Maybe it’s something special.
Maybe. He hasn't believed much in soulmates so far, but when he's with Fitz, it feels light and natural. It feels like it's right.

He has a lot of more thoughts, which all manage to make his stomach flutter in a certain way, that should have been silly, but it’s just … nice.

Oh bloody hell.
I’m definitely in love, right?
Right.

Well. Now he needs to know what to do.
But he can't find the answer to that question in the shower.

*

The next time they train, May walks in sometime. She leans against the doorframe and watches them for a moment, her face unreadable.

Hunter notices her, but Fitz is too focused on his task of throwing Hunter to the ground.
His grips are way more sure and determined than they were a few days before, and Hunter has to actually concentrate to not embarrass himself in front of May.

When they are both out of breath, they stop for a moment and Fitz startles, when May suddenly says, “Looks good,” from the door.

Fitz looks at her, wiping the sweat off his forehead.
“I’m … um … Hunter … it’s …” He stops, shaking his head helplessly. Hunter asks himself for a moment, why he is so taken aback by May's apparance. He hasn't stammered that bad for two weeks now.

May smiles at him.
“It was a good idea to do this, Fitz. And now that I saw how hard you’re working on your motor skills with Hunter, I won’t rant to you about your physical therapist, who you yelled at and who told me, you’re missing your sessions for three weeks now already.”

Fitz swallows and Hunter knows, that if Fitz’s face wasn’t already flushed from the effort of training, his face would blush bright red now.
“She … She’s not … she doesn’t get that …” Fitz stops, frustrated and makes a vague, angry hand gesture.

But May shakes her head.
“It’s alright. Just promise you won’t scare off your speech therapist too, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Fitz nods, relieved.

May looks between them one more time, her gaze resting on Hunter for a while. For a moment he feels like there's a warning in her eyes, but then she turns away and leaves.

“You yelled at your physical therapist?” Hunter asks, raising an eyebrow.

Fitz shrugs. 
He inhales deeply and rolls his shoulders. There’s an audible crack and he chuckles.
“I like this,” he says bluntly, looking up at Hunter. “This … our training sessions. I like them.”

Hunter hums in agreement.

“It makes me feel, more, um, more … sure. About myself. My, um, body. And … more,” Fitz continues.

Hunter nods, not sure what to say. He just listens. That’s the easy thing.

Fitz looks at his feet for a moment, like he’s considering if the next words are worth to be uttered.
“I think … it’s okay,” he finally says softly, not looking up. “It’s okay to … to not, um, to not be completely alone, you understand? Some people … some are okay.”

“Hmm,” Hunter makes and asks himself if it’s too soon to ask Fitz out. Probably yes. No. Certainly yes.

Fitz opens his mouth as if there’s more, but then he frowns and closes it again.
“Bye,” he murmurs and leaves quickly.

Hunter feels like maybe, this could be something.
Now he just needs the courage to do something.

*

Of course, like usually, life decides to interfere.

It’s not fair, Hunter thinks.

But when is life ever fair …

It’s a quite simple story, that gets too complicated.

Shield and Hydra both want to find an Inhuman and that certain Inhuman is on a ship on the open sea.

Hunter wasn’t really surprised, when he heard, that Grant bloody Ward is on that ship too.

Grant Ward is like a cockroach, he decides, while running up the stairs to the deck, his rifle at the ready. Grant Ward is like a cockroach, because no matter how hard and often you stomp on him, he always creeps back to the surface of this story and Hunter has enough of him. Really.

The worst is, that the cockroach is about to hurt the one person, that manages to make Hunter’s heart flutter in a certain way. The one person that makes him want to forget everything – Shield, his life as mercenary, screw it. If only he could sometime sit in a lovely little flat in front of a warm fire, a hot chocolate in his hands and Fitz in the armchair beside him … That one person is about to get hurt by the same man who is to blame for that he almost drowned.

Because as soon as Fitz heard, that Ward is on that ship, he did anything he could to be a part of the mission. And when everyone told him that would be a horrible idea and he wouldn’t really want that, Fitz just disappeared.

Maybe he thought, after all those training sessions with Hunter, he would be ready. Maybe he wanted to make sure Ward couldn’t hurt anyone else of his team. Maybe he just wanted revenge.  

Hunter can’t really blame him for that. Been there. Done that.  

But now they know that Ward not only managed to catch the Inhuman and give him over to Hydra, triggering a horrible chaos in which no one really knew where anyone else was, he also kidnapped Fitz and uses him as a human shield to get away unharmed and Jesus Christ, Hunter will kill this cockroach once and for all.

He kicks open the door to the deck and the salty wind greets him together with a sight, that makes the blood boil in his veins.

Ward has Fitz in a tight chokehold, holding a knife at his neck and using him as a human shield to get away unharmed.

Hunter feels hot white rage consuming his thoughts and emotions.
I’ll kill him. I’ll kill this son of a …

“Away from him,” he snarls, pointing his rifle at Ward’s face. He feels a hint of grim happiness, when he sees that one of the asshole’s eyes is swollen shut.  

Ward looks at him. The expression in his eyes quickly changes from surprise into mockery.  

He looks back at Fitz and grins.  
“Look at that. Isn’t that cute. Is that your knight in shining armour, Fitz? Came to rescue your damsel in distress, didn’t you?” He looks back at Hunter and smiles.
“Go on if you want. But you won’t, will you? Because you know what I’m capable of. I’m quick. And this knife is sharp. I honestly don’t want to do that, since me and Fitz have a history … We were a team after all.”

Fitz’s looks disgusted.
“You’re n-n-not my, my team,” he spits out.

Ward just chuckles.

“I said, get away from him!” Hunter barks, his finger tightening around the trigger.

“You want him? Get him,” Ward says, smirking. He gives Fitz a hard push, that sends him stumbling backwards.

A few steps.
Too many.

He falls over the edge of the ship in a horrible slow-motion way. Water splashes and Hunter thinks, he will never forget the look in Fitz’s eyes, when he realizes what’s happening.

It’s just a heartbeat, and yet it feels like eternity.

He remembers. Remembers their talks in the gym. They got longer and more personal with every session.

I can’t stand water now, you know? Sometimes … sometimes even showers are difficult ... 

Fitz has problems with water.
And now he fell into the bloody ocean. Again.

Hunter finally is able to move.

He drops the rifle, not even spending another thought about Ward.

From somewhere, he hears shooting. He doesn’t care. He runs to the edge and jumps into the water, which is dark and cold.

He can barely see his own hands in front of him. He gropes around for Fitz for a horrible long time and finally finds an arm. His heart seems to miss a beat in his relief. He grabs Fitz under his shoulders and pulls him up.

He frantically swims back up, seeing a small, so very small hint of light above him. He's not out of breath now, not at all. But all he can think about is Fitz's fear of water ... He just wants to get him out as soon as possible.

A moment later they break through the surface.

Fitz immediately gasps and lashes out, his eyes widened in panic. His legs wildly kick the water under him, and he chokes on the water, that floods his mouth.

“Hey,” Hunter says, holding Fitz up at the shoulders with both hands. “Hey, look at me. You’re safe. You’re …”

Fitz stares at him and makes a small terrified noise. Hunter's heart clenches painfully.
He strokes a hand over Fitz's trembling back.
"You're safe," he says again.

He doesn't know if Fitz even hears him, because he closes his eyes and breathes fast and shallow. It sounds like he’s about to hyperventilate

“Just breathe, it’s alright. I’ve got you,” Hunter tells him over and over again, while holding him. “I won’t let anything happen to you … I won’t …”

Someone finally throws them a lifebelt, and Hunter grabs it, leading Fitz to hold on to it too.

 
When they’re finally back on the ship, both trembling and dripping, everyone is gathering around them. Worried voices ask questions, but Hunter only sees and hears Fitz, who started sobbing helplessly.

He wraps his arms around Fitz’s shaking body and presses him close.
“I’ve got you,” he mumbles. “I’ve got you …”

I’ve got you.

*

Later, Fitz is in a bed with Simmons fussing all over him, wrapping him in three thick blankets while talking to herself angrily about stupid men with their stupid ideas and their stubborn minds.

But Fitz is smiling up at Hunter weakly and shrugs.

“Hey,” he breathes.

“Hey,” Hunter says.

Simmons looks between them.
“Rest,” she tells Fitz firmly and glares at him.

He nods, still looking at Hunter.

Simmons sighs and leaves the room. Hunter could swear he sees a smirk on her lips when she passes him.

"How are you?" Hunter asks.

Fitz shrugs.
"Fine ... Thanks for, for getting me out," he says, looking aside embarrassedly.

Hunter swallows. He remembers Fitz's eyes, blank from shock and horror, and shivers slightly.
He walks into the room and sits down on the chair beside the bed.
“You shouldn’t have risked your life on this ship like this, mate,” he says, trying to sound calmer than he is. "What were you thinking?"
What were you thinking, almost getting yourself killed or worse?
What were you thinking, almost disappearing, right after I've realized - he quickly stops thinking, telling himself that those thoughts are quite selfish.

Fitz shakes his head and raises his chin.
“I had to. I can’t just sit a-a-around doing nothing, you understand? Especially, when, when it’s, um, Ward. I have to … to show them, him and myself, that I still can do things. I So maybe you call this stupid, but for me, it’s … it’s … it was … I … I’m not weak,” he breathes and frowns in frustration, looking at his hands in his lap.

Hunter nods. He sighs.
"No one thinks you're weak, Fitz. And I get that you want to prove yourself, but ... you're valuable. And ... and," he stops, nervously wiping his face. Damn those feelings. He's been never really good at this .. .
“Listen," he continues in a tight voice. "I just … I was scared, okay? I was scared I would lose you. I couldn’t … I like you Fitz.”

Fitz shifts on the bed, until he sits upright, his eyes searching Hunter’s.
“You like me?” He repeats, sounding somehow disbelieving.

Hunter nods, smiling crookedly.
“Yeah. I do. Do you like me back?”

Fitz blinks.

Hunter laughs. It sounds a bit nervous, what surprises himself.  
“Yeah, well, it’s alright. I’m not exactly that type of person you would want to be friends with, right …”

The next moment, he stops talking, because Fitz leans forward and kisses him on the lips feather-lightly.

Hunter gasps.

Fitz moves back, his eyes widening.
“Sorry,” he breathes.

Hunter shakes his head.
He inhales shakily.

Then he leans forward and kisses Fitz back, with the same feather-light touch.

“Oh.” Fitz blinks.

“Yeah. Oh,” Hunter breathes.

They look at each other, and a smile slowly spreads on their faces.

*

It’s summer and the days are belonging to them.

They are driving through a quiet, calm nature, for quite a long time.
Fitz doesn't ask Hunter where he's heading to.
Instead, he leans his face against the cool window pane and closes his eyes.
Eventually, he dozes off, while listening to the quiet music from the radio and Hunter's humming.

He doesn't really dream. But there are pictures in his mind, pictures of the last pleasant weeks, that were filled with careful approaches. Light kisses and touches, that steadily got more confident.
They make slow steps. There's no need to hurry. And there's too much old baggage to go quick. It's alright like it is. For both of them.

Hunter stops sometime, in the middle of nowhere, and Fitz startles out of his light doze.

He sees that a lake lays in front of them.
The lightblue water sparkles in the sun, bright and clear. The surface is calm. Only sometimes, a light breeze ruffles it.

Fitz looks at Hunter questioningly.

His boyfriend grins.
“I want to show you something.”

He gets out of the car and gets rid of his shirt and pants, until he’s only in his underwear.

Fitz follows him out of the car, watching him undressing, with a frown.
“What are you up to?”

Hunter throws his shirt at Fitz.
“Just do what I do.”

Fitz swallows, but obeys. He throws a nervous look around but they are as alone as they could be.
He undresses, folds his clothes and lays them on the car.

When he turns around, he sees Hunter walking into the lake.

He goes in until his knees are covered in water, shivering slightly.
He turns to Fitz and smiles, reaching out a hand.
“Come in.”

Fitz swallows. He hesitates.
Water.
It’s still … it’s not his area.
So he uses to tell himself and everyone else.
But at least showers aren’t so scary anymore, when Hunter’s with him.
And that lake … It’s not that deep, is it? It’s not moving. It’s … calm.
It's not the dark cold ocean without any hope of seeing light again ...
He shivers.

Hunter looks at him knowingly.
"Come in," he says softly. "Trust me."

It's not the ocean.
And Hunter's there.
Fitz takes a deep breath and walks into the water too.

It's cold, and he makes a surprised noise.

Hunter chuckles.

Fitz swallows, when the water reaches his tighs, and eventually his hips, but he can still stand.
He takes Hunter’s hand and squeezes it.

Hunter smiles at him.
“Good. Now a bit deeper, alright?”

“Deeper?” Fitz repeats nervously.

Hunter nods.
“Hold on to me.”

Fitz nods hesitantly. He follows Hunter step for step. And suddenly, he can’t stand anymore. The ground is gone. He gasps and struggles for a moment, but then Hunter’s hands are around him and hold him.

Fitz presses his face against Hunter’s chest, trying to calm his breath.

“It’s alright. The water isn’t controlling you, love. It’s just around you, but it’s not trying to do anything,” Hunter tells him softly, his hand stroking over his back. “You’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you, remember?”

Fitz nods.
He closes his eyes and feels.

Actually, it feels quite nice, to float in the now comfortably cool water, with Hunter’s solid warmth against him.

He feels safe.
Hunter is an anchor. Real and solid.
And he won’t ever let go.

“Just … don’t leave,” Fitz mumbles into Hunter’s skin.

Hunter presses a kiss on his temple and smiles.
“I won’t.”