Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jemma's heart rate steadily increased as she attempted to navigate through the crowded Playground hallway. Perhaps it was wrong of her to worry prematurely. Perhaps the jolt of panic she'd experienced at receiving the urgent message didn't actually mean anything bad. But after having spent months in the heart of HYDRA's laboratories, Jemma had learned to adopt worry and dread as part of her daily routine. And with all the excitement of the past few days (seeing Coulson struggle at the edge of mental stability, as well as discovering the true nature of the strange symbols), Jemma knew her worry wasn't entirely unfounded.

By the time she reached the Bus's cargo hold, only a few others had arrived before her. "What's going on?" she asked anxiously, a bit annoyed with herself that she was nearly out of breath already. "Has something happened?"

Fitz and Hunter looked just about as clueless as she was, but Trip grinned over at her. "We've got a mission," he said.

As much as she wanted to feel comforted by his words, Jemma could still hear her heart pounding loudly in her chest. "Is it the city?" she asked. "Have we got a lead on where it could be located?"

"Potentially."

Jemma spun around to see Coulson making his way up the cargo ramp, a few manila folders held in his hands. He wasted no time in diving into the briefing, even though it was still just the four of them gathered together.

"We've received word from one of our contacts that in exactly…" Coulson lifted his arm to inspect his watch. "Three hours and four minutes, we'll have a window of opportunity that could potentially put us in the lead at finding this thing. But we have to move quickly."

He stepped forward and handed one of the folders to Hunter. "Here's your target," he explained. "Read it, study it, memorize as much of it as you can in the short timeframe we have. Most of our success tonight is gonna depend on you."

Hunter briefly glanced inside the file. "I'm pretty good with faces, sir," he reasoned with a shrug, closing the cover after a few seconds. "Shouldn't be too hard to take him out."

Coulson's expression remained unchanged. "That's nice," he said dryly. "Only I'd appreciate it if you didn't cross off one of our most valuable sources, actually."

Hunter's brow furrowed in confusion, his confident demeanor faltering somewhat. "Um…I don't think I under-"

"Your mission tonight is information-based, only," Coulson interrupted. "I'll need you to approach the target, get him talking. Preferably away from the wife, if you can. He's military, but he likes his port almost as much as he likes to brag, so I'm sure you two can find something to talk about." In Jemma's peripheral vision, she noticed a smirk on Trip's face as Coulson continued. "Whatever you do, make sure you get the name of his supervisor and when the inspection's supposed to happen. Got it?"

Hunter was examining the file again. "Sure, sure," he said dismissively. "So it's undercover then?"

Coulson nodded. "A gala event, held at a country club just outside the city tonight," he explained. "Our target and his wife were last-minute additions to the guest list. If everything goes smoothly, you should be out of there before the first course."

"Let me guess," Hunter replied in a sarcastic voice. "Bobbi's coming along, too."

"No, I need Agent Morse to stay here and get started on cracking our newest visitor," Coulson shook his head. Jemma froze in place, withholding a shudder. She hadn't forgotten that Bakshi was in their basement, but the prospect still managed to give her the chills. "If we want to get ahead of HYDRA, we've gotta know more about what they're planning," Coulson finished.

Hunter still seemed puzzled. "So I'll be going in alone?"

"No," Coulson scoffed, looking horrified by the suggestion. "God, no. You might as well go in with a target on your back. No, this thing is invitation only, so you'll need someone who actually knows what they're talking about." He opened one of the remaining folders and held up two small squares engraved with golden writing. Jemma barely had time to read the event title, but her stomach still dropped to the floor as she realized what Coulson was going to say next. "Which is why Agent Simmons will be going in with you."

Jemma saw Fitz's shoulders tense up, and Hunter had his mouth open in protest. But Jemma spoke up before anyone else had a chance to. "Sir, I'm not entirely certain if that's the best-"

"It's not up for debate, Simmons," Coulson told her, but his voice was gentle. "You'll be fine. As far as I know, it's just a gala honoring achievements in the biosciences. No HYDRA, and you'll be in and out before you know it."

Jemma had a thousand other arguments as to why she should not be given this particular assignment, but she knew from experience that trying to argue with Coulson would get her nowhere. Instead she cast her eyes downward and gave him a small nod. "Yes, sir."

There was a short pause before Hunter held up a hand. "Wait, hang on," he said, alarm flashing across his face. "Look, I'm not questioning your judgment or whatever, but maybe we can stop to think about this for a second?" He turned his head to look at Jemma. "I'm sure you're…brilliant at what you do, a lovely, chipper person and all that. But Bobbi told me about what happened at HYDRA." Hunter faced Coulson again. "She can't lie."

Jemma briefly thought about protesting, but deep down she knew he was right. (And she was also momentarily thrown by the fact that he'd used the word "chipper" to describe her. What was that all about?) Thankfully Coulson took the burden of responding.

"I actually don't need her to," he said coldly. "She's got two PhDs in fields that you've never even heard of, and a work discipline that would probably scare the living hell out of you. She doesn't have to lie. So I'd be a bit more careful if I were you, because she's your real ticket in there tonight, and your only hope at not sticking out like a sore thumb. The lying part will be your job. Are you gonna be okay with that, or should I go ask Koenig if he wants to go instead?"

Hunter looked more annoyed by Coulson's reprimand than anything else. "Yeah, yeah," he sighed, folding his arms.

"Good," Coulson replied curtly, and when Hunter wasn't looking, he gave Jemma a small smile. It didn't make her feel any better about going undercover again, or about going on her first mission since she'd returned from HYDRA. But it warmed her heart to know that despite her terrible track record in these kinds of circumstances, Coulson still had unwavering faith in her ability.

Just then, a loud clanking sound echoed throughout the hold. Skye came rushing into the space, dragging a metal clothing rack up the ramp. Trip quickly went over to help, and pushed the assortment of ballroom dresses and tuxedos up the remaining stretch of the incline. Skye stepped over to the side to let him pass and heaved a deep sigh, brushing the hair out of her face before she reached into her bag. She had two passports in her hands when she approached Jemma and Hunter.

"Here are your covers," she told them, checking the identifications before handing them over. "The security shouldn't be that bad, so you shouldn't have any trouble using those to get in."

"I guess I should've been more clear," Coulson said apologetically, probably noticing Jemma's panicked expression. "You'll have to lie about your identity, Simmons. You think you can handle a false name?"

Jemma swallowed back her irrational dread. "Yes, of course, sir," she assured him, but it was accompanied by a nervous laugh as she stared at her new identification. "It's just a name, yeah? I can do that. Yes, of course I can do that."

After she'd committed the name to memory, Jemma glanced up again to see that even those that hadn't protested earlier looked apprehensive now. She rolled her eyes, even though she was more irritated with herself than the rest of them. "I can handle it," she promised.

Skye stepped closer, addressing both her and Hunter. "Okay, so you guys are newlyweds, but you're kind of in the final stretch of the honeymoon stage, so you don't have to be all over each other or anything. Just like a hand on her back, touching his arm, laughing because you think the other is so damn hilarious, that kinda stuff." Jemma hung onto her every word, knowing she'd need Skye's voice in her head if she was going to have any chance of being successful later. The desperation was probably written plainly on her face, because Skye seemed to address her more than Hunter as she continued.

"Simmons," she went on. "You kept your maiden name because it's twenty fourteen and you've already made a name for yourself as a successful biochemist. Plus, your father recently passed away, so you'd like to keep his name attached to your own as a way to honor him. Your husband doesn't care because he's not a douche." Jemma heard Hunter scoff quietly next to her, but Skye ignored him. "You're both from the UK, but you live in America right now. Hunter, you like it here and kind of want to settle down. Simmons, you're a bit more torn, because on the one hand your work is mostly in this country, but you also know your mom is in a fragile state after losing your dad. You guys haven't argued about it yet, because you're both trying to keep that honeymoon feeling alive. But there's just a little tension between the two of you. It's barely noticeable, though, so I wouldn't worry about it. And anyway you both have plenty of time to figure out all that stuff later."

"Bloody hell," Hunter murmured. "Do we really need all this?"

Skye gave Jemma a reassuring smile before looking at Hunter. "Simmons does better with a back story."

"Well…" Coulson winced, and Jemma knew he was probably remembering the disastrous incident on the train. "I wouldn't say…that's not…okay," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "Thank you, Skye. I'll take it from here."

Skye simply shrugged and turned so that the five of them were lined up in front of Coulson. Jemma tried to sneak a glance over at Fitz, realizing he hadn't said a word since she'd walked on the plane. But he was staring off into space.

"Like I said, we have a very short window here," Coulson told them. "But if everyone sticks to the plan, we should be okay. Hunter and Simmons will be the only ones attending the actual event, but the rest of us will still be on-site. So it's formal attire for everyone, just in case. When we arrive, I'll enter the premises first and head over to the west wing of the building, where I'll be meeting with a few officials on S.H.I.E.L.D. business. I'll be on the comms, but I probably won't be available to talk, so Fitz and Skye will be in charge of monitoring security and making sure Hunter and Simmons enter and exit without any trouble. Trip will provide tactical support as necessary. Any questions?"

Hunter lazily raised up his hand. "Yeah, I've got quite a few, actually. But my main concern right now is, um…you said this thing's in three hours? How the hell are we gonna get there on time?"

"You know, Hunter, weirdly enough, that's the first thing you've said today that hasn't made me want to punch you in the face," Coulson replied. "We're gonna get there on time because Agent Triplett here will make sure we get there on time." He nodded to Trip. "Wheels up in thirty?"

Trip gave Coulson a wide smile. "Yes, sir." He placed his hands on his waist and turned to face the rest of them as Coulson headed to his office. "And that gives us all just enough time for a crash course."

"I'm sorry, what?" Hunter asked, leaning his head forward like he hadn't heard what Trip had said.

Trip's smile didn't disappear, and the longer he looked back and forth between Jemma and Hunter, the more apprehensive she became. The answer clicked in Jemma's head a second before Trip gave his answer, and she suddenly wished she could sink into the floor.

"We need to teach you two how to dance."

Hunter laughed out loud. "You're joking, right? We're not going to be dancing."

"You bet your ass you are," Trip said solemnly. "You wanna blend in? You're gonna have to dance." He nodded over to Skye, who was smirking as she pulled up some music on her phone. "Now, this isn't going to require anything fancy. Most of the people there aren't gonna be expert dancers. But you guys are supposed to be married, so you have to look like you've at least touched each other before."

Hunter's mouth was hanging open in shock. "I'll have you know I'm actually quite skilled at dancing, thank you very much. And like you said, these people aren't ballerinas. They're scientists. Probably can't even waltz, for God's sake."

"I beg your pardon," Jemma scoffed. "I know how to waltz. I took the dance elective at the Academy."

"SciTech has one of those?" Trip asked in disbelief.

Jemma hesitated. "Well…it-it was a…trial run, that was…discontinued," she admitted. "But I still made it through the course. Fitz and I both did."

"I was forced," Fitz piped up from behind her.

Jemma whipped her head around. "Oh, don't pretend you didn't like it, Fitz," she replied indignantly before she could stop herself. His eyes widened in surprise, and Jemma suddenly realized how the words might have sounded to him. She wished she could take them back, or at least that he would have held her gaze long enough to figure out what she'd actually meant. But he quickly glanced away, addressing Hunter instead.

"Bit of advice, mate," he said lightly. "She has a nasty habit of trying to lead."

"I…" Jemma began, only to let her voice trail off. "I do not…"

As much as she hated to admit it, though, Fitz was right. She remembered spending so much time in their second year going through the steps over and over again, simply because she always tried to take control. It hadn't even been a conscious decision on her part. She'd just approached the problem of dancing like she would have approached any other problem. But while she and Fitz had learned to work together in the lab and on projects, dancing had been an entirely different endeavor for them. They'd eventually managed to figure it out, after countless hours and quite a few arguments (as well as breaking a few dorm regulations regarding acceptable furniture arrangements). But it'd been a nice change of pace, something fun and different that hadn't revolved around any of their other schoolwork. At least, that's how Jemma had felt. She'd thought Fitz had enjoyed it, too, despite his grumblings. But now she wasn't so sure.

Thankfully Hunter's voice pulled her back to the present. "Look, I'm sure we can handle a couple of dances, yeah?" he asked, looking to her for agreement. "We'll take a few turns, find the target, get the information we need, and then we'll be right out. Easy peasy."

"Right," Jemma said quietly, more to herself than anyone else. "Easy peasy."

Skye gave a disappointed sigh and put away her phone. "Yeah, Trip, as much as it'd be hilarious to watch, I've gotta get Simmons into wardrobe before we take off."

"Hey, works for me," Trip chuckled, grabbing one of the tuxedos off the rack. "Just try not to embarrass yourselves too much out there, all right?"

"Whatever," Hunter muttered, retrieving one for himself and heading off to change.

Jemma stepped forward to approach the dresses, suddenly overwhelmed by the choices in front of her, but Skye grabbed her hand and began pulling her down the cargo ramp. "I changed my mind," she explained as they headed back into the Playground. "None of those are gonna be good enough for you. But trust me, wait 'til you see the one I have in mind."

Jemma followed closely behind Skye. "Where did you happen to find all those anyway?" she asked, gesturing behind her in the general direction of the formalwear.

Skye gave her a curious look. "S.H.I.E.L.D. is a spy organization, Simmons," she laughed. "Apparently when Fury restored this place he kept all the old undercover costumes and added a bunch of modern stuff too. Where else do you think May got that sparkly getup? There's no way in hell she'd ever spend money on that thing."

Jemma was so confused by the words "May" and "sparkly" being used in the same sentence that it took her a while to respond. "Pardon?"

Skye hesitated near a doorway marked with the number 537. "That's right," she murmured, pushing down on the handle. "I forgot you weren't there for that one."

Jemma had about a million questions to ask, but she momentarily forgot all of them as she stepped into the darkened room after Skye. At first, it seemed like just a normal closet. But once Skye turned on the light, Jemma realized that it was much, much more than any old closet. For as far as her eye could see (and she had perfect vision), there were rows upon rows of clothing, but not just any clothing. There was something in every possible style, color, and occasion, as well as period pieces that probably dated back further than S.H.I.E.L.D. itself. Jemma found herself trailing after Skye in awestruck silence, unsure how on earth Skye knew where she was going.

Eventually they paused near one of the final rows, the end of which was adorned with a small plaque that read "S.S.R."

"Skye, I can't wear any of this," Jemma protested. "I'll look completely ridiculous, not to mention out of place. I thought I was supposed to be trying to blend in."

Skye laughed as she headed down the row. "Look, Simmons, what's the point of dressing up if you can't go all out? Coulson already said we probably won't run into HYDRA on the op. So it's just a fancy gala with a bunch of nerds, talking about science. That's totally up your alley. And as annoying as he is, Hunter's not gonna let anything bad happen to you. So just relax, okay? You don't get to be Jemma Simmons for the night, but you still get to be a nerd that loves science. So with God as my witness, you're going to be the best-looking nerd in that whole damn place."

Skye reached into the hangers and pulled out one of the dresses, turning around to face Jemma. "What do you think?" she grinned as she held up the gown.

Jemma's heart began racing again, and she was fairly certain there was a fierce blush on her cheeks. How the hell had she gotten herself into this?

"Oh, my."

Chapter Text

"A bowtie? Seriously?"

Fitz reached up reflexively to tug on the material, unsure why he felt so self-conscious all of a sudden. He'd never worn a tux before, not a real one at least. Although it wasn't terribly comfortable (and although it took him a lot longer to tie the knot than he would've liked), Fitz had actually thought he looked fairly decent when he'd left his bunk a few minutes earlier. But that notion was quickly abandoned when he saw the rest of the men gathered around the Holocom in their attire, in addition to Coulson's skeptical expression at his accessory choice.

"Bowties are cool," he murmured weakly, fiddling with the ends as he avoided all of their gazes. "Besides, it's not like I'm actually going in or anything."

"Personally, I think it's great," Hunter told him. Fitz didn't hear any sarcasm in his voice, but there was hardly any way Hunter was actually being serious.

He was about to just take the thing off altogether when Coulson stepped around the table and held out his hands. In a way, having the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. retie his bowtie for him was probably one of the most embarrassing moments of his life. But it didn't take long, and Coulson wasn't condescending, simply focusing on tying the material in front of him. When he was finished he gave Fitz a pat on the shoulder, and Fitz didn't see a trace of pity in his eyes. "You look good, Fitz."

Fitz gave him a nod, hoping Coulson would know how thankful he truly was, even if he still felt like an idiot. Coulson returned the nod before glancing at his watch. He stepped out into the common area, looking off in the direction of the cargo hold with his hands on his hips. "Where are the girls?" he muttered. "We have to be out of here in five."

Before he could change his mind, Fitz stepped through the comm room doorway. "Sir, I was wondering if maybe I could talk to you about something?"

Coulson was tapping his foot now, looking back and forth between his watch and the stairwell. "What is it, Fitz?" he asked distractedly.

"Er…well, it's just…I mean, I know I'm not, um…" Fitz paused, trying to gather his words together. "I know I'm not exactly how I used to be, but I was thinking…or, I-I mean I was hoping, I guess, that maybe you could consider putting me back in the field?" Coulson turned his head to look at him, and Fitz powered through the speech he'd prepared. "It wouldn't have to be anything major, I suppose, but I just, er…well, I appreciate what you've been doing, trying to include me on the ops and all by taking me along sometimes. But Skye actually does most of the work with the security, and I just kind of sit around mostly. I mean, she asks me to do stuff sometimes, and that's really nice of her and all, but I know she just does it to make me feel like I'm actually doing something, and not-"

"I'm gonna stop you there, Fitz," Coulson interrupted, and Fitz couldn't quite read the expression on his face. "Look, I'll tell you what," he sighed, briefly glancing over Fitz's shoulder into the comm room. "If everything goes as planned tonight, then we'll talk. But right now we've gotta focus on the mission, okay?"

"Y-yes, sir, of course," Fitz stammered, his face burning as he stared down at his shoes.

Miraculously at that moment, he heard footsteps coming in from the back of the common area, and he was more than a little relieved that the attention would no longer be focused on him.

"Sorry, sorry," Skye said breathlessly, hobbling into the room wearing heels that were so high they logically shouldn't have given any kind of structural support whatsoever. The small black dress she was wearing was hardly any better either, and Fitz vaguely wondered how her legs weren't freezing. He felt cold just looking at her. "Sorry, we're here now, and-" She stopped talking all of a sudden, probably realizing that she was alone. "Simmons," she sighed, closing her eyes before she spun around. "Come on, hon. Get in here."

There was a long pause before a response was heard, and when it came it sounded like some kind of low whine mixed with a "No."

Skye rolled her eyes, but there was a smile on her lips. "We're gonna fail this mission and it's going to be all your fault if you don't get your ass in here right now."

"Skye-" Coulson began quietly.

But she held a finger up to her mouth, silently telling him to be quiet. And sure enough, Skye's threat was enough for Jemma to finally step into the room, trying to cover her face with one hand while she held her other arm across her torso.

Fitz had known Jemma Simmons for over a decade. And never in all that time had he ever seen her wear a dress like the one she was wearing right now.

"Damn," Trip said as he stepped out of the comm room. "You girls are gonna make the rest of us look bad."

Skye beamed over at him. "Aww, thanks, Trip," she said, turning so that she could pull Jemma further into the room. "So what does the husband think?"

Fitz was so baffled by her question that it took him much too long to realize what she was talking about. But Coulson actually spoke up before Hunter did. "Well, the director thinks that he doesn't remember approving these outfit choices."

Skye gave him a smirk. "Well, that's too bad, boss. Because we've gotta get going, don't we?"

Coulson's mouth remained in a tight line as he looked between the two of them, and in the end he just shook his head. "This is the last time I'm putting you in charge of wardrobe," he said, pointing to Skye. "Trip, are we ready for takeoff?"

"All set to go, sir," Trip replied, heading towards the cockpit. "Everyone get locked in. Wheels up in three."

Fitz didn't realize he hadn't moved from the same spot until after Coulson and Trip had both left the room. And he also didn't realize where he'd been staring until she gave him a small smile. "I like the bowtie, Fitz," she said quietly, pointing to her own sternum, where the rose pendant he'd made for her birthday one year gave him the only indication that it actually was Jemma standing in front of him.

He wanted to return the comment, perhaps say something nice about her hair, or how he liked the red dress that happened to fit her just a little too well, or maybe something about how the color in her lips made her skin look like porcelain. There were plenty of things that Fitz felt would be perfectly all right for him to say under the circumstances. But all he managed to get out was a small "Thanks" as he scratched the back of his head.

Fitz wanted to smack himself, and that was even before he saw Skye giving him some kind of death glare. But just then, Hunter came out of the comm room and leaned against the door, taking in the sight before him.

"Not bad," he shrugged. "You know, for a girl who grew up on a farm."

Jemma's eyes grew wide, and she briefly glanced back at Fitz. "How'd you know I grew up on a farm?" she asked slowly.

"Oh, God," Hunter laughed, lowering his face to cover it with one hand. "I was completely joking."

Jemma's cheeks turned pink. "Of course you were," she scoffed. "I should've known."

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Oh no, I don't know why I should've expected anything else, really."

Hunter was still laughing. "God, you're not an Oasis fan, are you?"

"You know, I think I'd rather wait out the flight downstairs," Jemma smiled sweetly. "You all can have fun with the southern fairy up here."

Hunter's mouth hung open in shock as he watched her descend into the cargo hold. "Did she just call me a southern fairy?" he asked in astonishment, turning to face Fitz.

Skye sat down on one of the sofas and fastened the safety restraint. "I'm so confused right now," she muttered. "Must be a British thing."

Fitz tried to hide his smile as he took the seat next to her. "An English thing, actually," he said quietly, watching Hunter take an armchair by the window while continuing to mumble to himself.

"So," he heard Skye say, feeling her nudge his shoulder. It took Fitz a second to refocus his attention on her, and when he did he suddenly wondered why the hell he'd thought it would be a good idea to sit next to Skye right now. But he could feel the plane starting to take off, so he couldn't escape until they'd at least reached cruising altitude.

"Uh…" Fitz replied, wishing he had a Rubik's Cube or a notebook or something he could use to look at other than the expectant grin of the girl next to him. He ended up settling for playing with the edge of his tuxedo jacket. "So…what?"

He didn't even need to look at her to know that she was rolling her eyes. "Come on, Fitz," she scoffed. "Simmons looks smoking hot and you know it."

Fitz felt a sudden drop in his stomach, and he wasn't entirely sure it was because of the plane. "Uh…I-I mean that's…well, it's-it's not…um…you know-"

"Look, I know, Fitz," Skye assured him with a sigh. "You're not like that or that's not how you operate or…whatever. But do you honestly expect me to believe that you don't think she looks pretty right now? Like not even a little bit?"

He was so confused by Skye's question that he didn't have time to think about his answer before the words were out of his mouth. "She's always been pretty."

For a while, all Fitz heard was the sound of the plane engines humming in the distance. He didn't look at Skye right away, because he was afraid that she wouldn't understand. But when he finally did glance up at her, she had a small smile on her face. Only it wasn't a teasing smile like he'd expected, and he didn't think she even looked that surprised.

"That was a good answer, Fitz," she said softly, unfastening her safety restraint and heading towards the comm room. "You should tell her that one day."

Fitz remained seated, the irony of her words cutting into him.

If only she knew.

Chapter Text

"Simmons, I'm going to need you to stop doing that," Hunter murmured, just loud enough so that she could hear.

Jemma hated herself for it, but all of a sudden she felt like she was going to cry. Her feet were on fire and her dress made her feel too exposed and she was terrible at following Hunter's lead and she'd had to endure three endless songs without any sign of seeing their target. "Sorry," she whispered, blinking back the tears.

Hunter had been scanning the room, but he suddenly looked at her with alarm. "Hey, no, no, no," he said quickly, lowering his head so he could look her in the eyes. "You can't cry right now. We're supposed to be happily married and the tension between us is only supposed to be barely noticeable, remember?"

Despite herself, Jemma laughed. "Right," she nodded. "How silly of me to forget."

Hunter smiled once he realized she'd calmed down, and returned to searching the crowded ballroom. "There you go," he said, giving her hand a small squeeze. She managed to let him guide her for at least ten seconds, which was a pretty impressive feat, before he spoke again. "Are you hearing anything from the others?" he asked. "I think my comms are acting weird."

Jemma suppressed a groan. "It's not just you," she admitted, her worry skyrocketing. "I haven't heard anything for the past five minutes."

"It's probably nothing," Hunter assured her, keeping his hand firmly on her back as he led her past a pair of particularly enthusiastic dancers. "We're kind of in the middle of nowhere anyway."

"That shouldn't matter," Jemma replied, shaking her head. "I think something's interfering with them. This place is chock full of electronics-"

"You think something may have accidentally shorted out our tech?"

Jemma's eyes scanned the booths near the back of the ballroom, where an assortment of scientists were presenting their work. "I don't…" she began, but stopped once she caught sight of a uniformed man. "Wait, is that Crawford?"

Hunter spun her around so that he could look in the direction she'd indicated. "That it is," he sighed with relief. "Well spotted. Let's get this over with, yeah?"

Jemma was so happy to stop dancing that she didn't mind hanging onto Hunter's arm while he led her across the space. As they approached the target and the woman standing next to him, Jemma tried to mentally recall everything about her undercover persona as she could. The task nearly overwhelmed her, but she managed to arrange her lips into a smile and made the immediate decision to let Hunter do most of the talking.

"Sergeant Crawford?" he asked in loud disbelief, placing his free hand on his chest.

Crawford turned on his heel and looked Hunter up and down. The woman, most likely Crawford's wife, placed a hand on his arm and smiled. "It's Commander now, actually."

Crawford gave her a wry grin. "I've told you, dear," he replied patiently. "It's Command Chief, not Commander."

"Oh, whatever," she dismissed playfully, rolling her eyes. "You know Commander sounds better. Even if it does take you away from me for much too long at a time."

"Command Chief?" Hunter repeated, still making a show of looking surprised. "A promotion long overdue, if it's not too bold of me to say, sir."

Crawford drew his eyes away from his wife to inspect Hunter again. "Do I know you?" he asked in confusion.

Hunter briefly tapped his forehead, as if he'd forgotten something. "How rude of me. I'm terribly sorry, sir." He stepped forward, holding out his hand. "Flight Lieutenant Nick James with the RAF, Number Fifty One Squadron." Jemma wasn't entirely certain of the proper procedures when it came to greeting a member of the U.S. Air Force (the only experience she had on the subject had been with Talbot, and she didn't think he really counted), but Crawford returned Hunter's handshake. "And my wife Lizzie," he finished, wrapping his arm around Jemma again.

"Pleasure," Jemma smiled, hoping she didn't sound as nervous as she felt.

"Fifty one?" Crawford asked, placing a finger on his chin. "You boys were on the ground with us at Bastion, is that right?"

Hunter nodded, his smile fading. "Too right," he replied, running a hand over his face. "Lost one of my best mates that day, actually. Yeah, he took a hit behind the Flight Line."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Crawford apologized. "That night hit us all pretty hard." He turned to look at his wife. "I don't know how I would've made it through without my island flower here."

The woman smiled. "Darren," she whispered loudly. "We're in public."

"I know. I'm sorry, dear," Crawford said, turning to Jemma and Hunter. "My wife, Iris."

Jemma was stunned. "You're Iris Crawford?" she asked in shock, although she really should have figured it out sooner. Of course their target wasn't the one that had been invited to the gala. "I'm a huge fan of your research, particularly your latest papers on bispecific antibody engineering and cross-neutralizing antibody discovery. I've got the diagrams of your structural characterizations in the back of the lab at…the back of my lab, I mean." Jemma shook her head, realizing she was rambling. "It really is such an honor to meet you."

"Well, aren't you just the sweetest thing?" Iris replied with a smile. "What did you say your name was again?"

"Je…Elizabeth," Jemma answered, clearing her throat and hoping her face didn't betray her mistake. "Elizabeth. Elizabeth Parker. That's-that's my name."

"You'll have to forgive my wife," Hunter laughed, pulling Jemma a little closer. "She gets a bit tongue-tied when she's star struck."

Jemma's face began to hurt from smiling too much. "I'm sorry…darling," she said sweetly, playfully swatting his arm like Skye had told her to. "It's just…this is Iris Crawford."

"Looks like we fell for the smart ones, didn't we, sir?" Hunter asked, meeting Jemma's eyes as the Crawfords laughed. She gave him a subtle nod. "Listen, I know Lizzie has been dying to look round at some of the stuff here," he said after a pause, as if the idea had just come to him. "And God knows it all goes over my head anyway. Can I buy you a drink, sir? I hear this place brings in the best port."

"You know your drinks, son," Crawford chuckled. "But I'm not sure if I can leave my wife for too long. I have to head out to the base in two days, you see."

"Right, right," Hunter nodded. "Keana Point, is it?"

"Oh, go ahead, Darren, I'll be fine," Iris assured him. "Dr. Parker here and I have a lot to talk about anyway." She gently nudged his arm. "Go exchange your war stories and drink your port. Just don't stay away too long. The dinner starts at eight."

"I won't be long, dear," he replied, giving her a quick kiss before glancing at his watch. "Damn it. Stopped again."

Iris shook her head disapprovingly. "You really need to get that fixed, Darren."

"I really need a new watch, is what I need," Crawford muttered.

"Well, you've just been promoted," she winked. "Perhaps there'll be one soon."

Crawford simply grinned at her, and held his arm out towards Hunter. "Come on, son," he said. "Let's go see about that drink."

Hunter leaned over to whisper in Jemma's ear. "Twenty minutes tops," he murmured. "Then we'll go, all right?" Jemma nodded to show she understood, and Hunter brushed his lips against her cheek before taking off after Crawford.

As soon as the men were gone, Iris placed her hand on Jemma's arm. "Tell me, have you had a chance to look at the booth on conformational fluctuations in the function of enzymes? It's the most fascinating presentation here, I think."

Jemma shook her head and followed Iris down the aisle of presentations, oddly excited despite the circumstances. If being undercover meant getting to discover new research firsthand whilst in the company of a world-renowned biologist (who was not part of an evil organization), she figured she might as well enjoy as much of it as she could.

Chapter Text

"Coulson," Skye repeated, her knuckles white as she pressed her fists into the surface of the Holocom. "Coulson, do you copy?"

The comm room remained silent as they once again failed to make contact. "Damn it," Skye groaned, slamming her palm down on the table before beginning to pace in front of him. "That's a half hour now and still nothing."

Fitz tried to stay calm, not wanting Skye to become any more agitated. "There's probably something in there, um…blocking our feed," he reasoned. "Some kind of transceiver interference, most likely. There's loads of tech in there 'cause of the event. Hardly anything to worry about."

Skye shook her head. "I just have a bad feeling about this, Fitz," she murmured, continuing to circle throughout the room so fast Fitz considered it a miracle she hadn't taken her shoes off yet.

"Hey, it's just an info op," he said gently. "And everyone in there knows what they're doing. They'll be fine."

Skye didn't respond, which was probably the best idea, since Fitz was having a hard time believing the words himself. The longer he waited to hear from Jemma (or any of the team, for that matter), the more convinced he became that something was terribly wrong.

Skye faced the Holocom once more. "Coulson," she called out. "Coulson, do you copy?"

There were a few seconds of silence, and then the brief crackle of static resounded throughout the room. "Yes, Skye," Coulson's voice came in, and Skye nearly collapsed from relief. "I heard you the first fifteen thousand times. I told you I've been in meetings and that I wouldn't be able to talk. What's wrong?"

"If you heard me, then did you notice that we haven't heard from anyone since Hunter and Simmons went in? They're dark in that ballroom, sir."

"What?" Coulson asked, but the sound was coming in and out. "Is something messing with-"

His voice went out completely just then, and Skye looked up at Fitz with wide eyes. "That's not normal interference, is it?" she whispered.

Fitz felt like the air had disappeared from the room, which was an interesting assessment for him but strangely appropriate considering the tight bowtie around his neck. He didn't want to admit it, didn't want to think about the implications, but he had to face the truth. Because he now knew that something was very, very wrong.

"Someone knows we're here."

Chapter Text

Jemma hovered on the edge of the ballroom, feeling out of place on her own but too afraid to leave in search of Hunter. She wasn't wearing a watch (an uncomfortable notion in and of itself for her), but she knew without a doubt that he'd already been gone for over twenty minutes. Iris had been pulled aside for her expertise on something or other, and though Jemma would have normally loved to explore the booths by herself, she was starting to feel more and more anxious, especially with the comm dead zone they seemed to be in.

She was just about to exit the room and start looking in random corridors when she noticed a tall man making a beeline towards her. She glanced around for some means of escape, but she was surrounded by booths and people, and before she knew it the man was standing directly in front of her.

"A beautiful woman such as yourself should never be left alone on the dance floor," he said with a smile.

Jemma pointed vaguely out the doorway. "Oh, I was just…I was just waiting for my…" Her voice caught in her throat as she looked up in the face of the man that had approached her. Jemma hardly ever forgot a face, and for some reason, she knew she'd seen this one before. But for the life of her, she couldn't remember where from. "Husband," she finished weakly.

His smile didn't waver. "I'm sure your husband would agree," he insisted, holding a hand out to her. "May I have the honor? I promise I'll return you in one piece."

Jemma felt cornered, unable to find a way to leave without causing a commotion. And maybe something in the back of her mind was desperately screaming for her not to go with him, but the rational part of her reasoned that one dance couldn't possible hurt. She chided herself for being so paranoid, and tentatively placed her hand in his.

"Is that a guarantee?" she asked nervously as he guided her to the middle of the floor.

He pulled her close as the symphony began to play another piece. "Absolutely," he whispered.

Dancing with this unfamiliar man whose name she did not know and whose countenance she could not place was worlds different from dancing with Hunter. Jemma knew before they'd taken two steps that she'd made a mistake. She should've fled when she had the chance, or at least come up with an excuse. She could think of so many excuses now, but none that would get her out of the uncomfortable death grip the man was currently holding her in.

At least with Hunter, Jemma had had Bobbi's reassurance that he could be trusted. And despite the fact that they had barely known each other, Hunter hadn't let her fall, either on the dance floor or when she'd slipped up her own cover's name. Whatever irritations she had towards him were absolutely nothing compared to the disgust and dread she felt right now. The man in front of her was holding her much too tightly and he was looking at her in a way that made her want to vomit and his grip on her hand was so strong she couldn't feel her fingers anymore. She wanted to speak, to tell him to let go, but her airway was so constricted from the dress and his hands that she couldn't get the words out.

The panic she'd been fighting back hit her at full force. She couldn't breathe.

"Mind if I cut in?"

Jemma felt her knees go weak with relief, both at hearing the voice of her rescuer and at being released from that awful grasp. The man still had that sickening smile on his face as he gestured towards her. "She's all yours," he conceded before disappearing into the throngs of people.

A gentle hand grabbed onto her own, and it was such a stark contrast to the grip that had held her previously that she nearly burst into tears right then and there. In fact, she was so shaken up by what had just happened, and the new hand on her back was so familiar, that she didn't even realize she wasn't dancing with Hunter for at least ten seconds.

"Fitz!" she gasped, nearly coming to a halt on the floor. He was looking off in the direction the strange man had gone, but he shot her a glance that told her they had to keep dancing.

"Are-are you okay?" he asked quietly, his eyes scanning her face as if it could answer his question for him. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm…I'm fine," she lied, figuring he just meant physically. "But what the hell are you doing here, Fitz? You could blow our-"

"Comms are down," he murmured, carefully moving closer to her so he could speak in her ear and lower the risk of being overheard. "Skye's trying to get into the building's mainframe, see if she can figure out where the interference is coming from."

Jemma's pulse quickened. "Do you think we were followed?"

"I don't know, Jemma," he whispered. "But we need to get you out of here now."

She momentarily considered protesting, only giving in once she remembered the strange man. His face played on the edges of her mind, and even though she couldn't remember how she recognized him, she knew that his presence alone would have made her follow an impromptu extraction plan. And she trusted Fitz implicitly. It wasn't a difficult decision, in the end.

She nodded against Fitz's shoulder, taking comfort in the warmth of his hand in hers and hoping they'd manage to make it back to the Bus safely. She couldn't bear to think about any alternative.

"Okay, we're gonna head towards the south doorway," he said quietly, turning them so they were closer to the edge of the ballroom floor. "When we reach the booths, you get to those doors. No matter what happens to me, no matter who tries to talk to you, you don't stop. You get out, do you understand?"

Jemma leaned in closer to him, partly to sidestep past an elderly couple and partly because his words were scaring her. "We're getting out of here together, Fitz."

Fitz didn't respond, simply moving them closer to the doors. Just before they reached the end of the dance floor, Fitz whispered, "Ready?"

"Ready."

They broke away from each other immediately, but just as Jemma stepped forward in the direction of the door, she nearly collided with Iris Crawford.

"Dr. Parker, dear," Iris smiled. "I was wondering where you'd run off to." Her gaze traveled to Jemma's left. "And who is this?"

"Oh," Jemma gasped, staring at Fitz in panic. "Oh, this is just…he's just m…my-"

"Brother," Fitz finished in a near perfect Sheffield accent, holding out both of his hands to shake Iris's. "Alex Parker. It's a pleasure."

Jemma had to bite down on her tongue to keep her jaw from dropping. Fitz had imitated her voice in teasing for years, often to the point where he grossly exaggerated how she sounded. But never in all that time had she ever heard him speak so fluidly in an accent so close to her own. It was one of the most bizarre experiences of Jemma's life, and that wasn't even taking into account the fact that he'd just seamlessly introduced himself as her brother.

Her brother.

The notion was so strange that Jemma lost her voice momentarily.

"Brother?" Iris repeated with a laugh. "Elizabeth, you didn't tell me you had another relative here. Are you also a scientist?"

"Engineering," Fitz nodded, and Jemma almost laughed at how weird the word sounded when he pronounced the "r" like she did. "Liz over here is biochem. I don't know if she told you, but she's got the designs of your structural characterizations plastered all over-"

"Yes, I-I told her that," Jemma interrupted, uncertain how she could feel embarrassed when she was too busy feeling anxious about getting out of there. "Alex."

Iris suddenly waved to someone over Jemma's shoulder. "Over here, honey," she called.

The Command Chief came around to stand next to his wife. "It turns out there are two Dr. Parkers here today. This is Elizabeth's brother, Alex."

Crawford glanced between the two of them. "Brother and sister, huh?" he asked, and while the words were so incredibly weird for Jemma, she didn't understand the skepticism in his expression. "Which one's older?"

"I am," Fitz replied without hesitation. And maybe it was her nerves, but Jemma was so used to this bit that she didn't have to process any kind of answer. It was already a reflex.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Only by twenty three d-"

"Minutes," Fitz said loudly, raising his eyebrows at her.

"Yes," Jemma nodded, nearly wincing at both her near mistake and the implications of what she'd been saying. "Yes, of course. Twenty-three…m-minutes older. Because," she laughed, unable to comprehend how the situation could have possibly gotten weirder, "because we're…"

"Twins," Iris gushed, holding a hand to her heart. "And you both went into the sciences. That's wonderful."

Jemma hoped there was some kind of smile on her face, or at least that her expression didn't betray how utterly bewildered she was feeling at the moment. It wasn't until Crawford made another comment that she remembered the urgency with which they needed to leave.

"Where's that husband of yours?" he asked, pointing to Jemma.

"He's…he's not with you?"

Crawford laughed. "No, he left to take a leak or something," he shrugged. "Never came back, though. Poor guy didn't even finish his drink."

Jemma glanced at Fitz and tried to force down the panic in her chest. "Oh, my poor silly Nick," she sighed. "I suppose I have to go find him now. I'll meet you at the car?"

Fitz grabbed onto her hand to stop her from walking away. "Poor silly Nick…" he said, giving her a pointed look. "Can take care of himself."

"But I should really go and have a look," she protested, silently pleading with Fitz to let her go. "For all we know he could be…sleeping…somewhere. You know how he can be, he can pass out almost anywhere."

Fitz didn't release her hand. "Then I'll go and find him. You bring the car round."

"No, no, no," Jemma insisted, hoping she wouldn't start crying and ruin everything. "Alex. You have to go and…find our…sis-cous-cousin," she stammered. "You need to go and find our dear…cousin, so we can bring her home."

"Cousin?" Iris spoke up, glancing between the two of them. "Is she here for the gala as well?"

"Oh, Alex brought her along as a guest," Jemma explained, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "She's a bit of trouble-maker, unfortunately. And apparently she's been running round the place, so I'm afraid we have to go and make sure she's all right."

She was a little surprised that she'd told such an elaborate lie on the spot, but not surprised enough to miss an opportunity. Fitz's grip on her hand loosened slightly in his confusion, and she quickly darted away from the group. "It was lovely meeting you, Dr. Crawford," she called over her shoulder.

Jemma fervently hoped that Fitz would forgo following her and head to find Skye instead. If someone really was trying to sabotage their mission, then the team had already wasted precious time in extracting everyone. She took off down an abandoned corridor, deciding to start her search near the bathrooms and work her way outwards from there. When she found the toilets, she glanced around the hallway, hoping she could find someone to check the men's room for her. The area was so abandoned that she nearly pushed open the door herself, but just before she could, she noticed a spot of red on the carpet near her foot. She didn't need to inspect the stain to know what it was. There was an entire trail of blood leading down the corridor.

Jemma raced around the corner, her heart nearly stopping as she saw the body huddled against the wall. She was only somewhat relieved when he held up a hand.

"Oh, thank God," he sighed, briefly closing his eyes.

"What happened?" she asked, reaching a hand behind his back to sit him up. "Where are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine, Simmons," he dismissed, gently pushing her hand away. "It's just a scratch. I got ambushed outside of the loo. In case you were wondering, HYDRA's here. Or at least that tosser with the damn knife."

"Scarlotti?" Jemma breathed, her voice coming out in a choke. Because as much as she didn't want to believe HYDRA was there, as much as she couldn't believe HYDRA was there, now she realized where she'd seen the strange man. He'd been there, at the S.H.I.E.L.D. safe house in Belgium, where Scarlotti had murdered Agent Walters. She'd watched the security footage so many times, trying to figure out how the weapons were able to incorporate the Obelisk's power. But every time she'd been focused on the two main people in the video. It's why she hadn't recognized the man on the dance floor right away. He'd been in the background, holding down Agent Walters, while Scarlotti had shoved the Splinter Bomb into her side.

And she'd actually danced with him.

The thought made her thankful she didn't have anything in her stomach.

"Yeah, whatever that bastard's name is, I don't really care," he muttered, a hiss escaping through his teeth as he stood up. "I planted a tracker on Crawford and we've got all the necessary information. So it's time to go."

Jemma peeled back his jacket to inspect the damage, sighing when she realized it would be fine. "I'll wrap this up when we get back to the Bus," she told him. "First I've got to find Fitz and Skye."

"That's not an option," he said firmly, stepping in front of her so she couldn't move past him. "You get to the Bus, and I'll find the others."

Jemma wasn't about to back down. "It's not just Fitz and Skye, you know," she replied. "They're trying to hack their way into the building's mainframe, and I know exactly where that is because I studied the building's diagram on the way in. But Trip is up on the roof too, and he's got no one to tell him what's going on. If we want everyone to get out of here as soon as possible, then we need to work together."

Hunter studied her face for a few seconds, but she saw his resolve crumble. She kept her satisfaction to herself, though. It would've taken Fitz twenty times longer to convince. "Fine," Hunter groaned. "You stick to the most crowded hallways, you hear?" he told her. "Don't go wandering down an empty one just 'cause it's faster. HYDRA's much less likely to target you if there are others around."

"Got it," she promised, squeezing past him to take off down the corridor.

"Simmons," Hunter spoke from behind her.

Jemma turned her head, ready to snap at him for delaying them any further. But he was holding out a pistol towards her. She stared at the gun in confusion.

"Take it," he said, nodding to his hand.

Jemma didn't move. "Well…don't you need it?"

Hunter sighed and stepped forward to lift her arm, placing the gun in her palm. "I'm a merc, Simmons," he grinned, heading in the opposite direction, probably to find a roof access point. "I'd be a pretty piss-poor one if I always had to have a gun on me, now wouldn't I?"

She didn't argue with him, because she knew they were running out of time. She sped down the hallway, surprised at how natural the gun felt in her grasp. It wasn't that odd, she supposed. After all, she'd practiced holding it so many times in her empty flat during her time at HYDRA that it'd probably just become muscle memory.

And maybe it was thinking about muscle memory that made her realize something she'd been too preoccupied to notice. Because she'd been trying to rid herself of the horrid feeling of being touched by one of Scarlotti's men, they'd been trying to escape, and they'd been forced to improvise a cover story. She hadn't registered the extraneous detail, because the extraneous detail hadn't felt anomalous, not at the time. It'd been muscle memory, or at least memory acquired over the course of a decade. It was thought that wasn't fully processed. It was habit that kicked in exactly when they'd needed it to, regardless of preconceived notions or assumptions.

Not once, not one single time, had Jemma's feet refused to follow Fitz's as he'd led them out.

And not once, not one single time, had Fitz stumbled over his words in that ballroom.

Chapter Text

"Skye, we don't have time for this," Fitz said impatiently. "We have to go. Now."

"Hang on, I've almost traced the hack," she murmured, typing frantically on one of the computers in the building's business center. The entire wing was deserted, but Fitz was on edge, mostly because there were no windows in the room and only one exit. If someone stumbled upon them, particularly someone that had followed them there to ruin the mission, he and Skye would have no way out.

Fate must have had a sick sense of humor, because just then Fitz heard footsteps out in the hallway.

"Skye, someone's coming," he whispered, waving his hands frantically so she would either hurry up or at least give him some kind of assistance with their escape.

Skye lifted her head to look at the closed door, but she didn't seem as worried as she should have been as she slowly stood up. Fitz was practically bouncing on his feet, and took a step for the exit as soon as she was standing.

"Shh, don't, Fitz," Skye hissed, grabbing onto his arm and leading him into the back corner of the room.

"What…the hell are you doing?" Fitz asked in stunned disbelief. "We have to get out before anybody comes in, and you decide to play with your hair?"

Skye rolled her eyes, continuing to pull out her ponytail and ruffle her hair with her fingers so that parts of it stuck out in odd angles. "No one knows we're in here, Fitz," she whispered, grabbing his arm again and pulling him so that her back was now against the wall and he stood in front of her. "No one's gonna come looking. Chances are whoever's out there right now won't even come in."

"And what if they do come in?" he argued, wondering how she planned on hiding in front of a wall. "Huh? Did you think about that?"

Skye tilted her head to the side and scoffed after a few seconds. "Seriously, Fitz?" she asked, pointing to her hair and then gesturing towards the rest of her body. Fitz didn't understand right away, but he began to understand in bits and pieces. He first became aware of his hands, how out of frustration he'd placed them on the wall behind her. He then became aware of just how close he was standing to her. Then almost at once he understood the messy hair and the teasing smile on her lips and he practically jumped away from the wall.

"Mother of all things, Skye, are you out of your mind?"

"Shh, they're still coming," Skye whispered, glancing toward the door. She reached forward and grasped his jacket with both of her hands, pulling him so close he was pretty sure he could smell the shampoo she'd used in her hair, some kind of weird combination of vanilla and flowers. She rolled her eyes at him again. "You don't have to actually kiss me, Fitz. I know I have cooties, but you gotta at least try and sell it."

Fitz bit back a groan, wondering how on earth he'd found himself in such an awkward position. He hovered in front of Skye, who continued to stare at the door as the footsteps grew louder. They both held their breaths, and no matter how many times Fitz silently begged for the steps to walk past the door, it apparently hadn't been enough.

Skye waited until their visitor had pushed down on the door handle before she wrapped her arm around Fitz's neck and pulled his head towards her face. It was clumsy, and it was awkward, and he wasn't sure if his lips collided with her cheekbone or her chin but all he knew was that there was some of Skye's hair in his mouth and this was definitely not how he'd imagined kissing Skye would feel like.

Not that he'd ever imagined kissing Skye. Recently. In fact, the notion was so strange to him now that it practically felt like it'd never happened.

He wondered when they were supposed to break away, or if they were supposed to break away. His face was still uncomfortably pressed against hers, and he knew that if they kept this up, the person that had come into the room would either think the two of them were clueless when it came to kissing or that they'd obviously been snooping around.

Eventually he heard the person clear her throat, and the sound was so familiar that it simultaneously sent him into relief and panic mode. He backed away from Skye immediately, moving so quickly that he practically fell over the desk behind him. Skye looked to the doorway and smiled. "Oh," she shrugged, stepping away from the wall and heading back to the computer like what had just happened had been a normal occurrence for her. "See, Fitz? It's just Simmons."

Fitz narrowed his eyes in Skye's direction, but before he could retaliate, Jemma spoke up from the entryway. "We've been made," she declared casually, also as if she hadn't just witnessed one of the strangest sights she'd ever seen. Fitz was beginning to think he'd just imagined the whole thing.

"Do you know who followed us?" Skye asked, returning to the program she'd had opened. "Maybe I can try and scramble their-"

"There's no time," Jemma shook her head. "We have to leave now. HYDRA is-"

What happened next almost occurred in slow motion for Fitz. Behind Jemma, a man moved to grab her, the same man Fitz had seen groping Jemma earlier, the same man that brought about a quiet rage in Fitz he hadn't felt in a while. He reached into his jacket pocket for his ICER, willing his hands to move faster. The man had Jemma wrapped in a chokehold, and Fitz could see her struggling against him with all of her strength and Fitz's hands had to move faster. He saw her lift her foot up to kick him in the groin, and the man's grip loosened enough for her to get out of the chokehold, but then he struck her face with the back of his arm, and then she was motionless on the ground, and Fitz finally raised his ICER.

But he never got to pull the trigger.

Just then, an ICER bullet hit the man square in the eyes, coming from somewhere behind Fitz. Skye rushed past him out into the hallway, and Fitz somehow followed her because the next thing he knew he was kneeling in front of Jemma, letting Skye use her steadier hands to check for a pulse.

"She'll be fine," Skye nodded after a few seconds, and Fitz released the breath he'd been holding in. This kind of thing was becoming much more frequent for them than he would've liked. "But I don't know how the hell we're gonna get her out of here."

"What are you lot just standing around for? Come on, let's go."

Fitz turned to see Hunter waving at them from the end of the hallway, but he stopped once he caught a glimpse of Jemma lying unconscious on the floor. "Oh, bloody hell," he murmured, racing towards them. "Please tell me she's only knocked out."

"She's only knocked out," Skye said quickly, and Fitz saw Hunter's shoulders sink forward. "We don't know how to move her, though."

Hunter leaned his head to the side, staring at Jemma like he was trying to figure out a puzzle. Eventually he sighed. "Yeah, all right," he muttered, almost to himself. "If you guys can sit her up, I think I can carry her."

Fitz and Skye each grabbed one of Jemma's arms and supported her back as they got her into an upright position. Hunter leaned forward, his jacket falling open slightly.

"Holy crap, you're bleeding," Skye said, her eyes widening in alarm.

"Of course I'm bleeding," he replied with a scoff. "You think I'd need help lifting her if I wasn't?"

"But maybe you shouldn't-"

"Too late," Hunter groaned, slinging Jemma over his shoulder. "Trip's covering us on the way back to the Bus, but we've gotta leave now. He's waiting by the door."

Skye looked like she wanted to argue with him, but even Fitz had to admit he wanted to get out of there as fast as humanly possible. He pulled out his ICER again, following behind Hunter as they all rushed to the emergency exit. Fitz's attention was torn between making sure HYDRA didn't sneak up on them from behind and making sure Jemma didn't look too uncomfortable hanging over Hunter's shoulder. The task became much more difficult once they tumbled out into the pitch blackness surrounding the country club.

Skye took point as they made their way through the trees, and Fitz felt much better when Trip fell in line behind him.

"Man, what the hell happened back there?" he asked, swinging his ICER back and forth behind him in case they were being pursued.

"Tell you what, mate," Hunter gasped, somehow managing not to stumble over the countless tree roots below his feet. "You get us up in the air, and I'll tell you all about it on the way back."

"Can't argue with that," Trip replied. "Where's Coulson?"

No one felt the need to respond, because as soon as they breached the tree line of the clearing the Bus was located in, the cargo ramp appeared out of thin air. Coulson was waiting at the top, stepping forward to make sure Hunter got up the stairs safely with Simmons. Trip raced up to the cockpit, while Fitz and Skye remained in the hold, kneeling down on either side of the opening to escape the bullets that had just begun firing at the plane. Thankfully only a few of them managed to make it inside before the ramp closed, and then they both stumbled over to the wall, strapping themselves in as the plane ascended.

Fitz didn't bother waiting for cruising altitude this time. As soon as he felt like he could handle walking up the staircase, he was out of his seat and into the common area as fast as his legs could carry him. Hunter was leaning back in one of the armchairs, holding an arm over his torso, while Jemma was lying serenely on the sofa.

Fitz quietly opened the door to her bunk, digging through her wardrobe until he found her favorite blanket. He carefully draped it over her sleeping form, and then worked on taking the heels off of her feet. They were nothing like the ones Skye had been wearing, but Fitz was still alarmed to see red welts on parts of her ankles. And through it all, Fitz paused every so often to make sure she was still breathing.

Eventually Coulson came into the common area, briefly glancing at Hunter before walking up to stand next to Fitz. "How's she doing?" he murmured.

"Er…okay, I think," Fitz sighed. "She should still get checked out, though, um…you know, for a head injury or…or whatever." He realized too late how poor his choice of words had been. "Poor thing," he chuckled, trying to make light of the situation. "She's always getting knocked out, isn't she?"

Coulson had a curious look on his face in response to his comment, almost the same look he had whenever Fitz brought up monkeys. But Fitz figured he'd probably just imagined it, because any amusement disappeared from his expression. "What happened tonight should never have happened, Fitz," he said quietly. "I'm sorry."

Fitz glanced away, glad that Jemma was there so he'd have an excuse not to look the director in the eye. "We all knew the risks, sir," he said.

"Even so," Coulson replied. "I should've known we'd be followed. We have one of HYDRA's leaders in our basement."

"Wasn't a total waste, boss," a voice mumbled from the other side of Coulson. Hunter didn't get out of his armchair, didn't even open his eyes. "Got the intel you asked for."

"Jeez, you look terrible," Coulson winced. "Come on, first aid kit's downstairs."

"I'm good here, thanks."

"Or I could just pour antiseptic on your stomach."

Hunter stood up so quickly he had to place a hand on the table to keep from falling over. He still had his eyes closed, and though Coulson looked mildly annoyed at the prospect, he let Hunter lean on him as they headed downstairs to the supply room.

Fitz stayed by Jemma's side for the remainder of the flight, growing more and more worried the longer she went without waking up. But she was still breathing, and she was such a peaceful sleeper. Anyone else would never have been able to tell what kind of ordeal she'd been through that night. Fitz knew, though. And perhaps it was because of his personal experience, but the thought of Jemma sustaining a head injury was one of the worst things he could ever imagine.

When they landed, Jemma remained on the sofa while Coulson retrieved a couple of the Playground's medical doctors. They did their initial assessment in the common room, for fear of moving her too much. But once they ascertained that she was experiencing normal sleep patterns, they gave her the clearance to be moved into one of the Playground's makeshift hospital rooms. Fitz's eyes burned from staying awake for so long (just outside the Bus windows he could see the sky brightening with the sunrise), but he was determined to make sure she got in okay.

She stirred awake with the sunlight, looking around in disorientation until Fitz explained what had happened. He wasn't sure if she'd remember it, or if she'd even been fully conscious at the time, but she held onto him the entire way into the Playground, only loosening her grip on him when she fell back asleep.

As he stationed himself in a chair near her bed, Fitz couldn't help but think how close it'd been that night. It'd been too close, actually. Much too close for his comfort. But that wasn't the worst part, though. The worst part was that he had been powerless, positively useless in ensuring that she walked away unscathed. He'd had to watch in horrified helplessness as she'd nearly been choked to death, his reflexes falling too short of good enough.

He'd nearly lost her again, and all because of an error in communication.

"Heard you guys ran into some fun surprises last night."

Fitz had been brushing a piece of Jemma's hair out of her face, but he immediately yanked his hand back and stood up quickly to see Mack standing in the doorway. "Um…I don't know who you talked to," Fitz murmured. "But their idea of a fun surprise is a bit concerning."

Mack shook his head in quiet laughter. "You doing okay?" he asked once his smile had faded.

Out of habit, Fitz opened his mouth to dismiss Mack's worry. But he was tired and he'd nearly lost Jemma again and Mack had never cared for Fitz's lies anyway. He didn't answer, letting his silence serve as response enough, and he found himself grateful when Coulson showed up outside the door.

"Fitz, can I have a word?"

Fitz glanced back at Jemma, as if for her approval or to make sure she was still there, before stepping past Mack into the hallway. "What is it, sir?"

Coulson cut to the chase. "You still want to get back in the field?"

It was a question he hadn't been expecting, but Fitz knew he couldn't hesitate. "Er…yes, sir."

"Good," Coulson replied, seemingly unsurprised by his response. "Because Hunter's intel checks out, and we need to leave immediately if we want to make sure we stay ahead of HYDRA on this thing. Skye and Trip are already on the Bus. You good to go now?"

Fitz actually did hesitate this time, because the questions were being thrown at him almost faster than he could understand them. On the one hand, he wanted nothing more than to stay behind at the Playground with Jemma. But on the other hand, Coulson had been right earlier. What had happened tonight should never have happened. And the longer Fitz spent away from the field, the longer he took to address the fears that kept him awake at night, the more likely it became that he would never actually get better. He needed to return to his work, to do things with his hands again, to figure out how to make do with the persistent tremors that would probably never go away.

Because if he couldn't do it now, he didn't think he ever would.

In the midst of his indecision, his gaze must have lingered too long on Jemma, because he felt someone nudge his shoulder. "I'll keep an eye on her, Turbo," Mack said softly.

Fitz gave him a nod after a few seconds, all he could manage in terms of thanking him. And before he could change his mind, he broke his gaze away from Jemma and followed Coulson towards the Playground's hangar. "So sir, uh…where are we headed?"

Despite the heaviness of the moment, Coulson gave him a smirk.

"You ever been to Hawaii, Fitz?"

FIN