AUTHOR'S NOTE: Here we are with another chapter. Thank you for all the positive feedback, everybody. It warms my heart, it really does. Alright, so this chapter was born from the episode five promo, Hen In The Wolf House. I have not seen the episode, so this is purely speculation/my own weird imaginations. I've definitely gone for a different style of writing here (not sure how good it is, but hey, experimenting is always cool). A warning, this chapter is not very fluffy (although it does have a relatively nice ending), so if you were looking for something happier, I suggest you wait for another chapter.
Ah, this chapter should have been called Comply, honestly. Anyway, hope you enjoy. Any ideas/song suggestions are welcomed.
"I'm coming home to you,
Every night,
Coming home to you,
Every night,
My mind is made up,
Nothing could change that,
I'm coming home to you,
Every night."
Every Night - Imagine Dragons
CHAPTER FIVE: Every Night
Sometimes, it hurts. Sometimes, it doesn't. Sometimes she forgets, she indulges herself in her work, her mission. But most of the time, she's just numb.
Simmons isn't exactly an emotionless being. She's never been the best at concealing her emotions - the only time she did manage to keep herself in check was when she was in her medical mode. And even then, she struggles. All in all, Jemma could never be quite like May.
She likes to think of herself as brave. Well, at least a tiny bit brave. She's jumped from a plane, she's taken a grenade for her friends. There's nothing more brave than risking your life, right?
But now, staring into the commanding eyes of Bobbi Morse, security chief of Hydra, Simmons wonders if really, she is a coward. She ran away from the team, from SHIELD. From Fitz.
"We're getting rather suspicious about you, Agent Simmons," the imposing woman says smoothly, and Simmons fights the strong urge to flee immediately.
"My loyalties are with Hydra," she returns, her throat dry with nervousness. Despite May's training and the fact that she has been getting better at lying, Jemma Simmons was never really built for deception.
"I'll be the judge of that," Morse answers simply.
Jemma Simmons leaves a distress call on the concealed SHIELD tablet when she thinks no one is looking.
...
She's running now. Where to, she doesn't know. All she knows is that she must survive. They're chasing after her now - somehow they know what she's been doing. They know that she's SHIELD, and because they know that, now they have to kill her.
And so it's fear that drives Simmons as she tears down the hallways. They all look the same in her harried gaze. Pristine, orderly white corridors. Sterile and clean. Everything a well-kept lab facility should be. And yet, it lacks the warmth that the darker bases of SHIELD have.
Simmons isn't quite sure why she's wondering about the hallways (she's supposed to be running for her life). Maybe it's because her fear-addled mind is absent at the moment. Maybe it's because she misses home. Maybe it's because suddenly, Simmons wishes she hadn't ever taken up Coulson's offer.
But she has, and when she rounds the corner and slams straight into the imposing figure of Morse, she wonders how Coulson will deliver the news of her death to the team.
...
Simmons is too valuable.
They don't kill her. There's a chair and some strange contraption. She wonders whether perhaps it would have been better to die.
Bakshi welcomes her to Hydra with a smile and a black lab coat.
...
Next thing she knows, she's complying to Hydra's every will and bidding. She works hard on set assignments, chats to her supervisor in between breaks (for some reason, Simmons wants to make some friends). It's like everything is normal. Like she's just popped into work like any other normal human being.
And for a while, everything is normal. Nothing unusual happens. She works, and chats and makes friends. Whitehall is pleased, and so is Bakshi. Somehow, she earns the respect and admiration of Hydra agents around her.
Jemma is something she's never been before - popular. She's happy (she is, honestly). But for some bizarre, strange reason (why isn't she happy?), she's scared, more so than anything else.
...
There's shuffling in her flat that night, and with her heart in her throat, she reaches for the gun that's kept tucked away neatly in her bag.
But it's all okay, because it's a very familiar, grinning man with a brown paper bag in his grasp - or in other words, Director Coulson. Dropping the gun immediately, she moves over to peer closer at the items he's set on the table.
Whitehall and Bakshi have warned her of what to do in the case that any agent of SHIELD returns for her. Play it off, cover things up. Gain information. Like a good little lapdog (lapdog? Now, where did that come from? She's not a lapdog, she's a valuable agent of Hydra).
"It's good to see you, Coulson," she smiles, and everything is going smoothly because it's not actually a lie. Simmons doesn't bear any ill will to the man - in fact, he's become something of a father figure to her - but the simple truth is that Simmons is with Hydra now. And of course, that makes them enemies. It's rather strange, she thinks. Jemma Simmons is a triple agent now.
"I brought some more groceries," he smirks in return. "You've really been letting your fridge go, Simmons."
"I've been rather busy," she admits sheepishly, reaching over to pull a packet of pasta from the bag with a curious gaze. She keeps her gaze carefully neutral, as May had taught her once upon a time. Truth be told, Simmons hasn't been eating much recently. She's too worried or stressed to sit down and make a meal. Besides, it's better to stay in shape for self-defence, right?
"Too busy to help me make some chicken carbonara?" Coulson questions, lifting an eyebrow up in question.
Not too long after, they're seated at the table, digging into their meal. It's almost like deja-vu, but it's become a regular routine now. Coulson stops by whenever he can, and they make dinner. But now.. now, she's got to gain information from him.
"What happened the other day?" Coulson breaks the idle chit-chat first, setting his fork down to pick up a glass of water.
"Sorry, sir?" Simmons frowns at him, pausing with the fork halfway to her mouth. Has she missed a call, or a mission briefing from Coulson? Does he suspect that something's up? Her stomach tightens in worry, and it becomes increasingly harder to smile.
"You sent out a distress call, and then cancelled it soon after," Coulson explains as he sets down his glass and watches her expectantly.
"Oh," Simmons draws out the word for as long as can be deemed normal, offering a small smile to fill the gap. What can she say to him? Oh, I work for Hydra now? Sorry sir, but I'm actually working for the other side, oops? "It was a false alarm. I thought that my cover was going to be exploited, but they pulled out someone else instead."
Coulson stays silent for a while, the lines creased in his forehead pulled into a picture of concern. She fights the urge to squirm underneath his gauging expression, instead meeting his gaze uncertainly.
"Tell me if you ever need any help, alright, Simmons? Just tell me, and I'll send May over," he says finally.
"Of course," she smiles in return, but it's forced and fake. Don't send May. I can't lie to the Calvary.
...
That night, when she lies in her bed without even the slightest trace of sleep, she wonders about Fitz. Does he miss her? Does he even remember her?
She's with Hydra now (of course, why wouldn't she be?), but that doesn't mean she doesn't care. He's still her best friend, her lab partner, her team-mate. He's still Fitz. Sometimes, on the really lonely nights when she finds herself crying (why is she crying? Everything's better now, isn't it?), she wonders whether she could persuade Fitz to join her. To join Hydra.
Sometimes, she thinks about turning him in. To Whitehall, just so that they can be together again, just so she can listen to his ramblings and quietly record his cognitive progress.
Progress. That's probably the right word to describe herself at the moment. Simmons is progressing. Alone. Without Fitz. It scares her. It's been a long, long time since she's advanced without Fitz. But she's with Hydra now. Things are different.
Different. Strange. Unwelcoming. Cold.
Cold, like the frigid air when she recieves a call at two in the morning.
...
"Now, Jemma-"
Jemma. Only Fitz calls her that, really. It's a professional work environment, there's no time for a first-name basis or to make friends (despite the amount of time she spends chatting up her work mates). Hydra is a high-tech agency, not some child's tea party. But then again, it's Bakshi. Bakshi always seems to have something compelling about him. He's nice, and he's her boss. He can call her whatever he wishes, if he chooses to do so. But -
"Please, sir. I'd prefer Simmons."
...
She's running again. Why is there always so much running? Simmons wasn't built for running, but she does it anyway, because she's scared (see, she knew that a diet would come in handy).
There's flashes. Bangs. Lights and voices and everything inbetween, and it's all swirling around in her head like a mess of unorganised clutter, constantly jamming and vying for attention. One word sticks out the most amongst the white noise.
Comply.
She's stopped running now.
Comply is what Simmons should do. Obey, and return back to Whitehall and Bakshi. That's the right thing to do.
But there's so much noise, and action, that she just can't quite grasp at it. She can feel the straws slipping through her grasp.
Comply.
Comply.
Comply, comply, comply.
"Jemma!"
Everything goes dark.
...
Comply.
She wakes up in a strange room, in a strange bed, connected to not-so-strange equipment (she's a biochemist, things like that don't just slip away), with people peering down at her like she's a bomb about to go off.
Comply.
Simmons isn't a bomb. She's not about to blow up. She's a human, she's fine, she's -
Comply.
- Hydra? No. Yes, she's Hydra. But.. SHIELD. Something about SHIELD. SHIELD and monkeys. Definitely something to do with monkeys. But why monkeys? Monkeys are irrelevant to the situation, and -
Comply.
Whitehall and Bakshi. Where are they? Have they left her? Left her as bait? Whitehill, Bakshi, and.. someone called Finn. No, no that's not right. It's something.. Fix.. Fix, or something. No, that's wrong again (although he does fix things, she's certain). What was his name again? Something like.. like..
"Fitz."
Silly her, how could she have possibly forgotten? Fitz, of course, the silly little monkey -
Everything goes dark again.
...
The dark is rather lonely, she thinks.
Comply.
Not cold, nor hot. Just.. the dark. It's silent and dull and boring, three things that Jemma Simmons isn't particularly fond of. Sometimes she thinks. Most times she's just there, simply -
Comply.
- sitting there, doing nothing. Perhaps there's nothing wrong with it (where are Whitehall and Bakshi? And that monkey, where is he?), but Simmons has never been a fan of the dark.
...
She wakes with a start, heaving and gasping for breath in a bed not unlike a hospital one. Why is she in a hospital room? It's that monkey, isn't it? It bloody attacked her!
No, no that's not right. The monkey is friendly, the monkey is adorable, the monkey is -
Comply.
- the monkey is staring from across the room at her sullenly, a large dark-skinned man by his side.
"Monkey?" She chokes out. The man looks surprised, but the monkey only frowns and locks his jaw tightly. There's something about his expression that reminds her of an emotion she can't quite place. Wounded. Perhaps that's the right way of putting it.
...
By the third day, the ringing stops. There's still faint whispers lingering in her mind -
Comply.
- but for the most part, she feels better now. Not good, but better. It's a word that can sum up quite a few experiences, Simmons reflects.
That night, after rigorous questioning (questioning that she's adamantly refused to answer), Skye visits her.
She hovers at the end of the bed, clearly eyeing up the various tubes and wires (she can't quite be bothered to name them at the moment) out of the corner of her eye, but she gives her an awkward smile.
"They told me that you were better today."
"Yes," Simmons agrees quietly. "Better."
There's an pregnant pause, and then suddenly Skye throws her arms around Simmons in a careful hug. "I've missed you, Simmons."
"Me too," she smiles in return, but suddenly it's like Skye's far too close, and the pounding in her head is back, and the blankets feel like they're strangling her.
Skye takes a hurried step back, fear filtering through her gaze. "You okay?"
"No," Simmons admits truthfully. "I can't.."
"It's okay. Block it out. That's how I deal with it." Skye pulls out a chair and takes a seat at her bed side, tapping away at her tablet as per usual. "When you were down there.. with Hydra. What did they do to you?"
The memories hurt even now, even as she's safe (safe? Is that the right word? Is SHIELD her ally or her enemy?), even as she's healing up. The words scratch behind her teeth, and it takes effort to spit them out. "They made me.. they made me.."
Comply.
"Comply."
"Comply? Is that some kind of sick of brainwashing?" Skye sounds almost too eager to know, and suddenly it all clicks for Simmons. Skye's tapping furiously away at her tablet, asking too many questions. The amount of times she's reached up to her ear have been absurd.
"You're interrogating me for Coulson, aren't you?"
Skye seems to know the game is up, because she drops the act and leans over her tablet with a sad smile. "What you did in Hydra was brave, Simmons. So brave. But.. they did something to you. To that genius brain of yours. We need to make sure you're safe. To make sure you're still.. Simmons."
"And if I'm not?"
Skye doesn't answer, and so Simmons struggles with her next question. "And Fitz? Where is he?"
"He's fine, Simmons," Skye soothes, but she looks wary. "But we're keeping you apart for safety reasons, precautions-"
"He doesn't want to see me," Simmons cuts off tiredly.
"He's not ready, Simmons."
"Neither was I."
...
"You're not here."
Those are the first words he speaks to her, the first words she hears when she wakes up precisely a week after her talk with Skye. She's far better now - they've moved her from the medical room, but she's forced to have a monitor on her at all times in case of emergency. She's not allowed to return to work, so she spends most of her time reading and attending therapy sessions. The shouts in her head have subsided to a barely audible whisper.
"Fitz?"
He doesn't return the hopeful smile, only shaking his head at her. "You're.. You're not here," he protests again, more forcefully this time.
She swallows and reaches out for him instinctively, but her jerks away. "I'm here, Fitz. Right here."
"No. No, you.. you left. You're not real." The expression on his face makes her all the more confused, and she shakes her head at him.
"I'm real, Fitz. I'm real and here, and I'm back." She fights the urge to give him a hug, and instead offers him a friendly smile. Things aren't the same between them - she doesn't know if they ever will be again - but hopefully she can repair their friendship. Despite everything that's happened -
Comply.
- she stills cares for him, he's still her best friend. She's still Simmons, he's still Fitz. There's nothing that says they can't still be FitzSimmons, right?
"You left me." Simmons can properly see how much it's affected him now, and she forces back the controlling whispers to give him a timid nod. She wants to explain, but she can tell that he doesn't want her to (they've always been on the same wavelength), so she sits instead.
"I left," she confirms quietly.
"Did you leave because of what I said? Down.. down there in the.. the.." he's struggling so much with his words that Simmons is reminded of precisely the reason that she left.
"The pod?"
"The pod."
Surprise strikes her then, because what he said has been the furthest thing possible from the real reason that she left. "Fitz.. I would never leave because of that."
"Oh, y-yeah? Well, you seemed pretty quick to pack up your.. your.. things, not too long ago," he shoots back.
"I didn't leave you. I left for you. For the team. And also for myself. Because I'm a coward. I was scared, Fitz. I was a coward, and I ran away. I'm sorry." When she reaches out for his shoulder again, this time he doesn't resist, and she lets her fingers sit comfortably on his shoulder as a reassuring gesture.
The silence drags on for what seems like eternity, but eventually, it's Fitz that breaks it. "You're not a coward."
She shoots him a questioning glance, but he's slow to respond.
"You.. you.. what's the word.. jumped! Yeah, you- you jumped from the.. uh, the Bus. And you took a.. a.." he mimes the action of blowing up, and Simmons can't help but smile.
"Grenade?"
"Yeah," Fitz nods. "And you went.. undercover. For Hydra. By yourself."
"I told you I was scared," Simmons teases gently, but it falls flat as he doesn't smile in return. "I'm sorry, Fitz."
To her surprise, it's Fitz who envelopes her into a tight hug, one filled with nostalgic memories and the absurd feeling of home. "Me too."
They stay like that for a while, tucked away in the little corner of the Playground, their tiny safe haven in a frightening world outside.
It's a while later before Fitz speaks again. "I hallucinated you."
"What?"