Chapter Text
He isn’t there when she finally comes back.
Not in the room, not in the Playground, not even in the same damn country.
Instead, he’s getting his ass handed to him on an Op somewhere in South America that’s already left him with a lot less blood and an incredibly bruised body.
Surprisingly, the bullet to the shoulder hurt a hell of a lot less than whatever the Inhuman had managed to do to his insides. He’s not sure how many ribs are broken, but the next punch the other man lands on his torso definitely adds another fracture to his growing list of injuries.
He’s lasted far longer than he should have, stayed past the point where he’d usually tap out and frantically call for back up, and there’s a brief moment of pride at the fact that he’s still fighting.
For some reason, today had been different.
His usually simmering rage had consumed him the moment he’d put on his tactical gear and he’d quickly decided that this would be it. This would be the day where he’d go toe-to-toe alone or die trying.
He doesn’t let himself think about the small part of him that had hoped he’d fail when he’d made the decision.
Such thoughts hadn’t plagued him for awhile but… for one reason or another, this mission had brought forth such despondency that he likely would have left the op crippled even if he hadn’t been on the receiving end of the sharp jabs of the Inhuman.
This was a dead end like all the others they’ve come across over the past few months and Fitz knew it the second he’d gotten a good look at who they were dealing with.
The Inhuman was powerful, sure, but couldn’t be any older than him. He was reckless and dangerous, but likely had no knowledge about any past legends of Inhumans and Kree aliens that would actually help SHIELD figure out what the hell to do about the hulking mass sitting locked away at the base.
The next punch is one that sends him sprawling across the floor and using his one good arm, seemingly the only good bone in his body, to drag himself to the wall and flip his torso around so his back is supported by the structure behind him. His legs are sticking out uselessly in front of him, blood steadily streaming down his arm from the gaping bullet hole, and internal organs begging for him to stop. To finally call for backup or just give up completely and let the pain end.
He wonders briefly whether there’s really any point in getting out of this alive.
It’s been 7 months since he first watched the security footage that had plagued him with nightmares and guilt every day since.
7 months since Jemma Simmons had been taken from his life without a trace.
7 months since he’d felt anything other than complete and utter misery.
The small semblance of hope that he’d had in the first week of her being taken had dissipated almost immediately. He’d tried to put on a brave face for the others, to spout nonsensical science jargon at Skye that he knew wouldn’t make sense to her since it didn’t even make sense to him; to lie to Coulson about the possible internal structure of the rock; to assure May during their new training sessions that he wasn’t letting his anger and fear distract him.
He’s not sure if anyone had actually believed his false optimism, but at the very least nobody questioned him about it. He’d spent two months successfully avoiding any real discussion of himself until Skye caught him sitting miserably in his bunk with a bottle of pills he hadn’t needed in nearly half a year placed teasingly in front of him.
The soft, “Oh Fitz,” that she’d released upon seeing him had caused the sobs to break free and he’d spent the entire night curled up in Skye’s lap crying his eyes out and trying to explain that a part of him was missing while struggling to breathe.
Now he’s struggling to breathe for a completely different reason, namely that a rib had likely punctured a lung during the particularly solid kick that the Inhuman had landed on his torso, and he’s warring with himself about what to do and which path to take.
It’s a weird ultimatum for him: call for help and live an empty life, or sit here in defeat and be taken away from the world much like Jemma had been taken away from him.
Neither option sounds particularly appealing to him if he’s being honest.
He fumbles with the watch on his wrist before flicking the small button on the side that he was supposed to have pressed the moment the team had stepped through the building. All field agents were required to wear the small devices now since they monitor even the slightest change in vitals, sending them directly to both the mobile unit as well as HQ to ensure each agent’s safety.
The Inhuman lands another kick that leaves Fitz wheezing and he crumples forward, which ends up providing him with the perfect opportunity to turn on the comms that he had foolishly shut off upon splitting up with the others.
He hears them crackle to life and grunts in pain when the Inhuman’s foot once again makes contact with his torso. The tears are coming down fast now and Fitz feels his entire body protesting his decision to come on this mission at all.
“Fitz? FITZ?! Is that you?!”
He lets out a garbled, “Skye,” in response and closes his eyes as he hears her begin to shout for the others to get his location.
“Fitz, god what is wrong with you?! You can’t just go dark like that!”
He hears the combination of anger and worry in her voice but can’t focus much on anything other than the pain that has spread throughout his body. He can only manage enough breath for one short word at a time so he decides to focus on the important ones that might make the gravity of the situation a bit more apparent to Skye and the rest of the team.
“Need… help… Inhuman… shot… bleeding…”
He hears her sharp intake of breath and yelled order of, “Get me his damn location,” and tries to concentrate on getting as much air into his lungs as he can between each of the sharp jabs that his opponent is landing on him. His eyes fly open when the other man’s foot stomps down on his leg, easily snapping the bone and causing a strangled cry to come out of his lips.
He’s not really sure why the Inhuman is still here, still wailing on him with a force that is, well, inhuman. He’s no longer putting up any sort of fight and, if he were in the other man’s shoes, he would have considered escaping before back up arrives to be the better option over beating an already broken man.
Skye is talking in his ear, no doubt trying to keep him conscious, and her steady stream of chatter is the only thing that’s keeping him in reality and preventing him from shutting his eyes and escaping. Naturally, his acceptance of his fact means that Skye immediately stops talking, growing silent as she listens to voices that are just faint murmurs to Fitz.
He hears the sharp inhalation of breath that is followed by what sounds like a choked sob and wonders if it’s Skye or if the sound is actually coming from him. His mind wanders at this thought and he feels his limbs relax as he closes his eyes again and accepts the pain that is creeping along his body.
Skye’s repeated, “Oh my god,” echoes in his ear but he can’t hear whatever it is that’s causing his friend to hyperventilate on the other end of the comms.
“Fitz…”
He passes out, falling slowly into unconsciousness, and isn’t sure if it’s because of the searing pain that is permeating its way through his body or the crackling words that Skye is saying in his earpiece.
“Oh my god… Fitz… Fitz she’s back. FITZ, JEMMA’S BACK. SHE’S BACK AT THE PLAYGROUND. FITZ? WHERE ARE YOU? FITZ?!”