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Concussed twice over, sullen, and just getting into work after being cleared by SHIELD medical for altered duties (whatever that means), Leo shuffles into the lab about three hours later than usual. The bag over his shoulder is flung over his neck and allowed to fall to the floor with a loud thud. He peeks around — things haven't exactly been cleaned up yet, but he's also not aiming to contaminate any ongoing work. Unlike the Skrull counterparts, he has a vested interest in keeping the science as pure as possible.
His throat clears, "Jemma?" there's a gentleness to his voice and a general disorientedness. His breath emits from the back of his throat and his eyes clamp shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose — the headache that looms behind his eyes has turned dull, but it is still present. "I just want…" his voice breaks. "…are you okay?"
*
Simmons is sitting in a corner near the back of the lab. Her hair is braided gently back into a twist. Her scalp is still sore from being dragged by the Skrull Agent intent on taking them away. She had attempted to visit Fitz in the infirmary, but was denied and redirected in order to make various statements as to what happened in the lab.
The biochemist has a few results in front of her, scanning them, obviously not really looking at the numbers or words. When she hears the door open, her head lifts curiously. At Fitz's voice, though, she shoves herself up and starts running. "Fitz! Goodness, you've had me so worried!" She attempts to be gentle and mindful of his injuries, but she also attempts to fling her arms around the man. "You're the one that needs to answer the 'are you alright' question, you daft sheep. Are you alright? They released you?" Quickly, her concern turns more into a doctor approach. Gently, she moves to touch his temples. "Is it another concussion? Oh Fitz, I'm so sorry. I tried to stop them."
*
Simmons embrace is automatically reciprocated. Despite his eagerness to return the hug, Leo winces slightly under the touch, but he eases into the touch. "Jemma, I was worried about you!" he urges softly as he keeps her close. "I'm fine… honestly… it's…" he manages the vaguest flicker of a smile "…confusing."
He emits a soft sigh and nods vaguely, "It is another concussion, might've ducked it if it weren't for the first one, yeah?" His lips quirk up into an unconvincing smile. It's not confident, not warm, but definitely present. "And stopping them, Jemma, I just wanted you to get away. You can't — you //shouldn't — you need to be safe — " his eyebrows draw together and he frowns.
*
Simmon's hug is gently given and held for a little while. "Me? I was barely injured! You were clocked in the head with a pistol. The most that happened to me was a yank on the hair. Agents Maximoff and Danvers really got them to leave us alone." However, there is the matter of the fact that they were after the two of them and neither of them know why.
"You're not fine. You've had two concussions in a short amount of time. That's very dangerous." Her tone is more concerned than it is lecturing, as doctors are wont to do. "I wasn't going to just leave you to them. Not when they'd knocked you out. What kind of friend do you think I am?"
*
Fitz relaxes in the embrace and he hums softly, "I think it's not quite that simple." There's a quiet tell in his stance. "Look, they replaced the Director without people knowing. We're… the ones who could write a report. Coulson has you working on that madness to get an autopsy done in order to find some kind of detection reagent. If they replaced you…" he frowns. "…they could make anyone else show up as alien." He shrugs. "Maybe. It's a theory." That he's been considering, clearly.
Slowly he takes a step back. "But more than that, they can't take you anyways. You know that, right? I can't… I couldn't function here without you." Pause. "With or without a concussion."
*
"We are the ones currently writing the report," Simmons gently corrects Fitz. That's their duty and job. The thought that they would replace her with someone who would fudge the science outrages her on many levels. It's hard to tell whether it is the idea that someone would parade around like her or that that doppelganger wouldn't adhere to scientific integrity. It's, honestly, a tough call.
"Fitz, you'd be fine," she tells him, reassuring. "I'm not about to leave you if I have a choice in the matter." Guiltily, she looks down at his words, hands still lingering on his arms as he pulls back from her. Before Danvers and Maximoff truly intervened, she offered herself for the safety of the others. That wasn't truly a choice, that was a stopgap. A necessity to save Fitz and the other Agents. "It's you we have to worry about. You're the one getting concussions and knocked out at every turn. I've barely been scratched."
*
"Occupational hazard when you're the engineer," Fitz assures quietly. "Being in the field and all, yeah?" He lingers for a few moments, keeping close to Simmons' bubble. "I don't think," he starts and then stops as he sucks the inside of his cheek. Right. They're still them. No one took over. Concern isn't worth the weight. His hands tuck away into his pockets, and his chin drops towards his chest while his feet become the most interesting thing in the room.
Awkwardly, his feet shuffle, not quite walking, but not quite standing still. His throat clears and he manages a vague shake of his head — a motion intended to retreat some unspoken thought, "There was a fellow at the Triskelion disaster site," what he's taken to calling it lately, "who helped us. He gave me a blood sample… it's… weird." He cringes slightly. "Thought you might want," he motions towards the breakroom fridge. Yup, he used the fridge for a small bloodsample on a slide. "Put it under the microscope when you have time."" He swallows hard.
"
*
"That is not an occupational hazard of being an engineer," Simmons sighs and keeps her hands on his arms for awhile, gripping them harder. "You have to be more careful. Another concussion and you could get brain damage!" Her voice gets tighter as she says it. This is something that has obviously been weighing on her. "You keep talking about how you can't lose me, but how do you think I would feel if you were seriously injured or killed? Fitz, you're my best friend, too. It would kill me to lose you. You have to be more careful."
As Fitz shuffles, she allows her arms to drop to her side. For a moment, she pauses, but then she takes the change of topic. "Weird? Weird how?"
*
"It is when you're an engineer in SHIELD," Fitz offers back as his eyes remain fixed on his feet. The questions, the assertion, it's enough to keep him staring downwards. "Look, let's just.. agree to not turn into green wrinkled alien imposters." His cheeks puff out and his lips press together tightly as he forces a very vague, very tight-lipped smile. He hums, finally registering the question. Right. The case. "Two nuclei on the blood cells. It has two very obvious bumps in the structure. I've never seen anything like it. He's a mutant of some kind. Took the sample while he was in a very Hulk-like form."
*
"That's more about SHIELD than engineering." Simmons can't help but argue back. There's a worried smile that she gives Fitz. While she doesn't attempt to push his chin up, she is trying to get him to look at her. "I promise I'll do what I can to keep myself from being an alien imposter. Just as long as you do, too. You've got to be careful."
The puzzle laid out before her is met with a raised eyebrow and a barely surprised need to go look at the sample immediately. "You wouldn't—-?" she gestures toward the fridge and takes a step backward toward it in order to retrieve the sample to study it. "Oo, that does sound interesting."
*
"If I lived in the lab, it wouldn't happen," Fitz counters. His eyes remain trained on the floor — but it's possible that has more to do with the concussions than anything else. "But we're here to work on a prison. To hold powered people. Under the directive of a Director who ended up being an alien." He finally lifts his chin. "So. That's a thing." He lets Simmons fill in blanks for herself.
"I thought it'd be of interest to you. He helped at the site, and was concerned about radiation poisoning." His eyebrows draw together slightly. "Explained to him at the time that he didn't have symptoms of radiation sickness, but to be safe, I took a sample. He's coming back to get another test next week to make sure there's no difference between them, yeah?"
*
Simmons moves to the fridge and pulls the sample that Fitz labeled so kindly for her. "You can't live in the lab," She tells him with a good-natured sigh. "We've done too many dissections and autopsies lately. Your constitution wouldn't handle it." She knows how much he hates when she dissects things in the lab.
For a moment, she lets the statement hang in the air as she prepares the sample onto a slide and then moves to a microscope. As she slides it into the hooks, she frowns and looks up. "You worry about what that prison may actually be for," she fills in what he's not saying. "You're afraid that we've been working toward something that the aliens wanted as opposed to SHIELD."
*
Fitz hums a sound of agreement. Yes, Simmons is right. His hands remain tucked in his pockets. "NATO wanted this project forever, but then it gets green lit by an alien Director, and we finally find a non-nuclear power source for it all in one go." His eyes lid and he inhales a sharp breath, "Not saying we should abandon it. It's a good project. Important. I still believe that."
He swallows hard. "But…" his head shakes. "It's possible I'm just chasing ghosts."
*
Despite the fact that her hands are on the microscope, Simmons has yet to actually study the sample Fitz brought her. "I doubt that it is simply the false Director that wants this jail. There are quite a few people who did before that. However, as you said before, the worry remains. If the Director was replaced by an alien…who else might have been?" She frowns at that thought. It's possible NATO is also compromised. "I still believe it is important, but it also brings about the troubling worry as to who might be imprisoned there. It's something we should certainly worry about."
Finally, she shivers, looks at Fitz with a worried expression and then lowers her eyes to the microscope.
*
"Exactly," Fitz replies. He shuffles back towards Jemma and lingers a few paces back. That thrum in the back of his head, a nearly constant uncomfortable, pained feeling behind his eyes, only feels worse with the stress. He gently rubs his temples and leans against the lab bench where Simmons inspects the sample. "Our problems may be much bigger than we anticipated is all," Fitz offers in reply. He inhales a slow breath and then allows his gaze to linger on Simmons. "And what we do here, what we create," he frowns, "that's our responsibility. We have an obligation to know what happens to it — to choose its final destination. I'm not saying technology can't have multiple applications; I'm saying we need to watch how we apply ours."
*
"We have to be careful," Simmons agrees. The things that they've done, the fact that the aliens wanted them to legitimize themselves is a very sobering thing to think about. Her eyes barely touch the microscope before she straightens again. There will be another time to look at interesting blood samples. Right now, she needs to be assured of something.
Stretching out a hand, she attempts to take one of his in hers. "I think…maybe for a little while…we can only trust each other?" It's a thing she never thought she might say. "I thought we could trust the Director, but we can't. I thought we could trust Doctor Weaver, we can't. I'm not sure I trust anyone else here other than you."
*
There's a small twitch of Fitz's lips and a general melting of his already nearly-squishy exterior. Leo Fitz has no armour; he never has. Even when they were competitors in the Academy, he was easy to read. Even now, as his eyes reflect the fondness, warmth, concern, worry, and stress, he knows he's reads like an open book. But those nuances in his expression remain untapped, and he knows too-well that they won't get considered for what they try to express.
He accepts the hand, granting hers a sharp squeeze as the contact is made. "Jemma, I trust you with my life," he replies smoothly. "And, I wonder," his expression takes on a pinched quality, nearly pained as he attempts to get out the latest thought, "should I sabotage the project." His eyes stare up at hers. "We can fix it in a heartbeat, but wiring problems are small. People won't be able to tell. We could keep the crystal from creating a bigger array, keep the prison contained to whoever is already there — "
*
"I trust you, too," At the thought of sabotaging their project, Simmons eyes widen even as she squeezes Fitz's hand. "Fitz, I'd think they'd know. And what if SHIELD does want to use the prison for a high risk target and it's not properly attuned? It could hurt someone." However, she pauses. The idea has taken hold. "But, if we could fix it quickly? If we know the mission is going to involve a dangerous acquisition?" There's a very dangerous waffling happening. "Oh, I don't know Fitz. It could be dangerous. I thought you were the cautious one!"
*
"Jemma," Fitz stares into Simmons's eyes. "This is caution." His jaw tightens, his lips turn downwards, and his shoulders slump. "Both of our superiors have proven to be aliens. Both." His eyes search hers. "You can't tell me that coincidence doesn't unsettle you. I know you." The butterflies in his stomach lurch on their edges. "It'll be small. Minor enough no one will be able to figure out what's wrong, and maybe it can buy us some time." He swallows hard and his eyebrows draw together. "And you know we could fix it quickly. We know that machine inside and out." His lips part wordlessly and he squeezes her hand again. "But I won't do it without you. You'll know exactly how to fix it. It'll be a circuitry issue. Simple wiring problem. An easy fix but a hard-to-find-issue," if you don't make it on purpose, that is.
*
There's a long pause. Jemma's hand remains in Fitz's. She gathers a warming strength in knowing that truthful, trustworthy Fitz is beside her. He often speaks of how he couldn't go on without her, but she knows she would be devastated if she lost him. In this moment, she knows she would do anything for Fitz. And, more than that, the inner voice in the back of her mind thrums with the knowledge that things have not been right in SHIELD since they arrived. This is the best way to make sure they have control over this prison when nothing else around them is certain.
In the end, what matters the most is that she trusts Fitz implicitly. Everyone else around them is dubious. In that situation, she can't in good conscious deliver a prison that could hold innocent people because it fell into the wrong hands. Putting her other hand over their clasped hands, she nods once, decisively. "Okay. Yes, you're right. We have to do this. Just in case. We can't trust them to use it properly."
*
Fitz's chin drops. It's a motion of assent; it's bittersweet, but they both know what needs to be done. "Alright, Simmons, I'll do it this afternoon when I'm a little more right in the head. I'm supposed to be finding a permanent way to contain that gamma radiation at the site," it's encased in a prison forcefield at the moment. "After that, I'll see about doing some light sabotage." His eyes clamp shut, and it's only as they close that he realizes he's still holding Simmons's hand, and he makes no motion to release it.
"Promise me something?" Those dark eyes open and try to meet hers again, "You won't go anywhere?" His eyebrows lift and his head cants to the side. "I mean… if you do… we'll go together, yeah?"
*
"I can help," Simmons tells Fitz. Either on the gamma radiation or the sabotage. The biochemist squeezes his hand. "We're in this together, Fitz." As he raises his eyes to meet hers, she looks back at him, first curious and then serious. "I promise. As long as you promise to do the same. Like I said, it's you and me. I know I can trust you. Everyone else? I don't know."
Simmons squeezes Fitz's hand again fondly. "Okay, we should stop talking about this before we're caught out." Who knows who is listening in the Lab. It could be anyone. "You should get some rest. We'll talk soon. I'll look over this bloodwork and we'll regroup tomorrow?"