A new fandom to start off the New Year! My first Agents of SHIELD fic, taking place in season 2 sometime. No plot spoilers. R&R and enjoy!

XXX

Hunter sat on his bed, flipping through TV channels. His leg hurt and his head hurt and basically he was miserable. And he had four more weeks, at least, in this bloody cast. He went all the way through the channels again before giving up and turning the TV off. He sighed and closed his eyes. Just as he was falling asleep, though, he was startled awake by a tinny rendition of the Pulp Fiction theme song. He picked up his phone with a groan of annoyance, rolling his eyes when he saw who it was.

"You realize you can just come and talk to me, right Fitz?"

"Hunter?" Fitz's voice was small. "Hunter, there's someone…someone here."

Hunter sat up. "You mean, like, here on the Bus? Like, and intruder?"

"Yes! Yes. And he…he, um…" He trailed off, thinking.

"He…" Hunter prompted.

"He…shot me."

Hunter's heart plummeted and he scrambled for his crutches.

"Fitz, where are you?"

"My, uh…my lab."

"Okay. I'll be right there. You just stay put and hang on. I'm coming." Hunter struggled to keep his voice steady.

"No!" Fitz cried. "You…stop him. First. He's…you have to find him."

Hunter held the phone between his ear and shoulder as he hobbled as fast as he could on his crutches. "Where was he headed, Fitz?"

"I, um…'m not sure."

Hunter took a deep breath. "Okay. Okay, that's fine. Fitz, I need to hang up now, okay? After I do, you call Coulson and tell him what's going on, yeah?"

"Y-yeah. Okay."

"Okay? Hang in there, buddy." As he hung up, Hunter couldn't help but feel guilty, like he was abandoning the kid. He shoved his phone in his pocket before taking the gun from his dresser and checking that it was loaded.

"Hang in there, Fitz," he muttered. "I'm coming."

XXX

Fitz pressed his hands to the bullet hole in his left side, a few inches below his bottom ribs, not close enough to nick a lung, thank goodness. He wasn't as familiar with human anatomy as he was with, say, binary fission, or the molecular structure of vibranium, so he wasn't sure whether any other vital things had been hit. He did know that he was bleeding a lot, and that if he kept bleeding, he'd eventually pass out, and later eventually bleed to death, which would really suck. He had to stop the bleeding, then. He knew there was a first-aid kit somewhere (Jemma had insisted), but he didn't actually know where it was. He was looking around the brightly lit room when Simmons appeared, crouching before him. Fitz grunted as he tried to straighten up, pain radiating from the wound.

"Hey, hey, hey. Easy now," Jemma said gently.

"You're…you're not real," Fitz breathed. "Why are you here?"

"I'm here because you need me Fitz. Now think: Where would I put the first-aid kit?"

"I don't-I don't know."

"Yes, you do. Think, Leopold! Where would I put it?"

"Someplace…someplace logical."

"That's good. Let's see…" She scanned the room, looking thoughtful. "Fitz?" she said suddenly. "How many times did you burn yourself with that laser?"

"Oh, plenty," Fitz replied, smiling a little. "Oh! I see. Logical." His face fell a little as he looked toward the laser.

"What?" Jemma asked.

"It's all the-all the way across the room. I don't know that I'll be able to stand, much less walk over there."

"Of course you can, Fitz. You're strong, remember? It's not really so far. Come on, get up."

Fitz nodded. "Okay." He kept one hand over the wound and put the other on the countertop.

"Good," Jemma encouraged. "Now on three, you've got to get up. One…"

"Two…" Fitz said through gritted teeth.

"Three!"

Fitz pulled himself up, letting out a small shout of pain at the strain on the bullet hole.

"You're up! That's the hardest part done. Now it's just a few steps away," Jemma said. "You can do it, Fitz. I know you can."

Fitz staggered forward, using the counter for support and leaving a trail of bloody handprints in his wake. He breathed heavily through gritted teeth as he tripped over his own feet, stumbling and hitting the ground hard on his hands and knees.

"Damn it!" he cried, tears of pain and frustration slipping down his face. He pushed himself up and tried to stand, only to fall right back down. He sat on the floor with his legs splayed out in front of him, sobs racking his body.

"Hey! Fitz, open your eyes. Look where you are."

Fitz looked up at Jemma, who pointed with her chin. He looked over his shoulder, sniffling.

He was sitting beneath the laser.

He pulled open the cabinet, revealing a white plastic box. He pulled it out and couldn't hold back the cry of relief as he saw the red cross and gray eagle of the SHIELD issued first-aid kit. His hands trembled so badly it took him a couple of tries to open it. He stared uncertainly at the contents a moment before looking up at Simmons.

"What do I do?" he whispered brokenly.

"Shock is setting in. What causes shock, Fitz?"

"Blood-loss and pain."

"Good. Take care of it."

Fitz dug through the supplies, finally pulling out a pressure bandage. Carefully, he pulled his shirt up, wincing as he pulled the fabric away from the bullet hole.

"Damn," he muttered as he saw the wound for the first time, little rivulets of blood flowing steadily from it.

He took deep breaths, puffing out his lips on each exhale. He could feel Jemma's hands guiding him as he wrapped the bandage around his middle. It activated in seconds, tightening around the wound and cutting off the blood flow. The sudden pressure sent a flair of pain up his body, and he blacked out.

"Come on, Leopold!" Jemma's voice pulled him back to consciousness, and he blinked up at her. She smiled. "That's it. The painkillers are in that bottle there."

Fitz picked up the orange plastic bottle. His blood-slicked hands slipped, and he let out a grunt of frustration. "Can't…can't use my hands like I used to," he muttered with a trace of bitterness.

Jemma ignored the comment and took Fitz's face in her hands. "Fitz, look at me. You're doing great. Just-give it another go. It's just you and Hunter here, and lord knows the fool probably needs your help."

"You're right there," Fitz grunted, trying again to open the bottle. The lid popped off, and Fitz shook some into his hand and swallowed them, trying to ignore the taste of blood on his tongue and in the back of his throat. They kicked in fast, the pain dulling and fading until it was nothing more than a warm ebb.

"What now?" Fitz wondered aloud. He expected an answer from Simmons, but she was gone, apparently no longer needed.

Fitz was on his own again. And somewhere on the Bus, so was Hunter. They needed back-up. They needed Coulson. Fitz had to get the signal back up. He hadn't had the heart to tell Hunter that all outgoing calls had been blocked, but now that he was temporarily patched up, he could find whatever was jamming them and shut it off, and then Coulson and the others would breeze in and save the day.

"Alright, Fitz," he whispered, pulling himself to his feet once more. "It's up to you."

XXX

Hunter hated crutches. Any stealth he'd had before his broken knee was gone as he tried to navigate the narrow corridors without banging into things with his big bloody sticks. Not to mention the extra time it would take to draw his weapon if a threat appeared. And also his armpits hurt.

He still had no idea who or where the intruder was or what they were after, which was frustrating, but not as frustrating as the knowledge that his co-worker-his friend-was likely bleeding out all alone on the floor somewhere.

"Alright, you bloody bastard, where are you?" he muttered. A far-off sound made him pause, and he froze, holding his breath and listening hard. There it was again-the sound of someone typing. "Shit."

The computers held all sorts of sensitive information, the sort that, if it fell into the wrong hands, could topple governments, destroy countries, and throw the entire planet into bloody nuclear catastrophe. At least, that's what he imagined was on there. Either way, he had to stop the criminal before it was too late. He started forward as quietly as he possibly could, mentally cursing his knee and his crutches and the whole damn Bus for good measure. He stopped beside the door that led into the computer bay and peeked around.

A skinny man in black from head to toe was hunched over a computer, his masked face illuminated by the glow of the screen. He typed a bit, then paused before unplugging what Hunter assumed was a thumb-drive and putting it in his pocket. Hunter leaned his crutches up against the wall and pulled out his gun, stifling a grunt of pain as he put weight on his injured leg. The man looked up and shoved the drive in his pocket and pulled out a gun in a fluid movement.

"Drop it," he growled in unaccented English.

"You," Hunter retorted. "My team is on the way, mate. You're done. You've got no chance. Put the gun down."

The man regarded him, then slowly put his hands up and bent down, setting his gun on the floor with a clatter. Hunter sighed with relief.

"Good. Now kick it over here."

The man complied, nudging it over to Hunter with his foot. Hunter slid it behind him, keeping his gun trained on the man. He was being strangely obedient for someone who'd already shot one man and seemed to already have what he'd come for. Then again, Fitz hadn't had a gun pointed at the guy's head.

"Now the thumb-drive. Give it here." Hunter held out a hand. "Come on. I can't let you leave here without it. You give it to me and cooperate and we can cute you a deal."

"The people I work for would not be pleased if I left here without it," the man said. "Even if it were in handcuffs. Can you offer me protection from them?"

Hunter smirked. "Who? Hydra? Oh, mate, if you pissed them off-"

"Not Hydra," the man interjected. "Rising Tide."

"Rising-Rising Tide? Really? I thought they…I dunno…dissolved."

"Naw, just disbanded for a bit. The whole thing with Hydra offered the perfect distraction. Now, can you protect me or not?"

Hunter pursed his lips. "We can discuss it. Give me the drive."

The man bit his lip before his shoulders fell in defeat. "Fine."

He lowered a hand, and Hunter cocked his gun. "Uh-uh. Slowly."

"Hey! I'm just getting the drive like you told me to."

"Good man."

The man reached down behind him "Not really."

Hunter barely had time to register the gun in the man's hand before a bullet grazed the back of his hand, making him drop his own weapon.

"Dammit!" he cried, staggering backwards and quickly losing balance. He fell backwards into the wall, heart pounding and hand throbbing.

"You know, I thought your being on crutches was going to keep you out of my way. But you still managed to be a pain in my ass, even with one leg. I can't imagine you'll be much of a problem with no legs, though." And he fired a bullet into Hunter's right knee.

Hunter shouted in pain and crumpled to the floor. He clamped one hand over the wound and reached for his gun with his other. The Rising Tide hack kicked it out of the way before crouching in front of the downed SHIELD agent.

"I know there's no backup, and I know you wouldn't cut me a deal, not after the accident with that little Irish kid. He's probably going to die, if he isn't dead already."

"He's Scottish," Hunter growled, swiping at him.

The man dodged the blow easily, clicking his tongue. "Anyway," he continued. "He's probably dead. So I'm going to need you to do me a favor. Say hey to Skye for me."

He winked, and the last thing Hunter saw was him raising his gun before it connected with his temple and everything went black.

XXX

Fitz went as fast as he could toward where the gunfire had sounded. The bleeding had stopped, and the pain meds were certainly doing their job, but blood-loss and exhaustion were still beginning to take their toll. His steps were becoming clumsier, and any adrenaline rush he's had was wearing off. As he got closer to the computer bay, he could hear someone talking.

"…favor. Say hey to Skye for me."

And then there was a thump and a grunt.

"Hunter," Fitz breathed. So he was still alive, thank goodness for that. Fitz crept forward, holding the gun he'd grabbed from the lab out in front of him.

"Put that down," the man said as Fitz came around the corner. He was standing over and unconscious and bleeding Hunter, his gun aimed at the Brit's head. "Look at you. I can see your hands shaking. Just put it down kid. You'll get hurt. Well, hurt worse."

"You-y-you al-l-ready shot me once," Fitz stuttered, his frustration evident as he struggled to speak smoothly. "You're not doing it ag-again."

"You're not going to shoot me, boy. You're not a killer. Not a fighter. Hell, you're not even a whole person, are you? Why do they even keep you around?"

Fitz's expression darkened and he raised the weapon and pulled the trigger. The blue pulse his the man square in the forehead and a jolt went through his body before he stiffened and fell.

"Screw you," Fitz muttered before kneeling next to Hunter.

The agent was out cold, a cut on his head oozing blood, and his knee was a mess, a small puddle forming beneath the damaged limb. The bullet must have hit something, because it was bleeding heavily, and Hunter was beginning to pale, barely detectable tremors running though him. Fitz felt his pulse, weak and thready. Hunter was bleeding out, and Fitz had left the first-aid kit at the lab. But he had to do something. He loosened his tie and pulled it off, then tied it a few inches above the wound, tightening it the best he could. He puffed out a sigh of relief as the blood flow slowed and seemed to stop.

"You hang in there, Hunter," he said softly. "Help'll be here soon."

A wave of dizziness hit him as soon as he stood and the wound in his side flared for a moment. And then it passed and he headed off again, toward the control panel. He was out of breath quickly, and cursed the enormity of the Bus as he pressed forward. White spots swam in his vision, and he could feel his heartbeat in his head and in the hole in his side.

"Come on, Fitz. You're nearly there."

Fitz smiled. "You're back."

"Yes," said Simmons. "Seems you needed me again."

"Your timing is impeccable. As always." He barely got the words out before he broke into a fit of coughing, and even the SHIELD issued pain meds did little to stem the tide of pain that swept over him. He put his hand on the wall for support as he doubled over, breathing heavily and fighting back tears.

"Jemma…"

"Lea, I know it hurts. I know you're tired. But Hunter still needs proper medical care, and so do you. You're the only chance either of you has of getting help in time. So you've got to be strong, for a little while longer. Will you do that for me?"

Fitz nodded weakly.

"Good. Come on."

He felt her hands helping him as he straightened up and kept on down the maze of corridors. He stumbled into the operations room and cursed. The panel door had been forced open and an unfamiliar piece of gadgetry-all wires and glowy lights and creepiness-was plugged into the circuit board.

"Wh…what the hell is that?" he muttered, examining the strange bit of equipment.

"It's jamming your calls."

"Well, yes, I know that. I've just never seen anything like it. What do I…Should I just…pull it out?"

"What else are you going to do?" Simmons replied with a shrug.

"Alright. Here we go." Fitz wrapped his fingers around the contraption and pulled. Ripples of pain shot through his torso as the wound was pulled on, but he gritted his teeth against the pain and pulled harder. Finally, the thing came free, sparks flying, and the machines whirred to life. Fitz sank to the floor, exhausted and trembling, barely able to get the phone out of his pocket for the shaking. He dialed the number and put the phone to his ear.

"Fitz, now is really not a good time-"

"Coulson! Um…A man broke in and-"

"A man broke into the Bus?"

"Yes, but I stopped him but Hunter is down."

"Okay, Fitz, we're on our way."

"Fitz, you're hurt too," Simmons said softly.

"Yes, Simmons, I know," Fitz huffed.

"What was that?" Coulson asked, obviously perplexed.

"Nothing. Got to go, bye." Fitz hung up and sagged, deflated really, letting out a long, deep breath and allowing the exhaustion to take over.

"No, no, no. Leo, you can't sleep," Simmons said, shaking his shoulder.

He only gave a weak groan in response; he was too exhausted to speak. His eyelids felt heavy and his limbs might as well have been weights. The ache in his side had dulled to a weak throb and a strange warmth spread from the hole. He strongly suspected it to be blood, but he hadn't the energy to check. And then he gave up his fight against unconsciousness, letting his eyes slide shut as he slipped into a sea of black nothing, where even Simmons' voice couldn't reach him.

XXX

"What was that?" May asked, looking over at Coulson in the passenger seat.

"Turn around," he answered tersely.

"What?" Skye cried.

"Yeah, I'm gonna have to go with Skye on this one. What?" Tripp echoed. All eyes were on Coulson now. He calmly ignored them.

"Sir, we haven't even reached the site," Mac pitched in.

"Fitz and Hunter are in trouble. Someone broke into the Bus while we were gone."

Simmons let out a small noise. "Is he hurt?" There was no doubt which one she was asking about.

"He didn't say. He said Hunter was shot, and then hung up on me."

"Aw, hell," Tripp muttered, sinking back into his seat.

"What else?" Skye asked, leaning forward further. "There's something you're not saying.

Coulson took a deep breath. "Before he hung up, he, uh…He addressed someone else."

"Meaning…" Skye pressed, irritation edging into her voice.

"Simmons. He spoke as if Simmons were there in the room with him."

Mac frowned. "But I thought that since Real Simmons is back, Conscience Simmons would become, I dunno, redundant. Obsolete."

Jemma's brow was furrowed with worry, and she cleared her throat nervously. "The me he was seeing, it was what he used to…to cope. With my leaving and with Ward's betrayal. I'm afraid that if he's seeing that version of me again…He's in trouble. We've got to get back."

May pressed harder on the pedal. "I'm on it."

Simmons let out a small sob, and Skye wrapped her arms around the scientist's shoulders.

"Don't worry about him. He's smart and resourceful and can handle himself pretty damn well. I'm sure he's okay."

Jemma nodded, wiping her eyes. "Yes. Yes, you're right. He's just fine." But she wasn't sure she believed it.

XXX

Hunter shut his eyes again as soon as he opened them. His head was pounding, and bright lights did not help in any way. He kept them closed for a moment, focusing on his breathing and trying not to focus on the pain in his head or his leg, and slowly opened his eyes again. He frowned. Why was the Rising Tide guy on the floor like that? He propped himself up on his elbows and saw the tie that was wrapped around his leg. The tie that had previously been around the neck of a certain Scottish scientist.

A certain Scottish scientist that, now that Hunter could think a little more clearly, had said that he'd been shot. Hunter sat up all the way and looked at his legs and cursed. One was in a cast and the other had been torn to shreds; there was no way he was going to walk anywhere.

"Whoa," he muttered as a wave of dizziness hit him. He waited a moment, but it didn't pass, and black spots swam in front of his vision. When he blinked them away, he was lying flat on his back again, with no idea how he'd gotten there. He sat up again, and the world tilted dangerously beneath him. He leaned to the side and puked, the action making his head pound even worse. He tried to stay conscious, but it was of little use, the pain and the dizziness and the pounding in his head all conspiring against him, and he slid into the black.

Suddenly, voices cut through the haze. Hunter knew he recognized them, but he couldn't put his finger on who they belonged to.

"Hunter? Hunter, you with us? Someone go get me a first-aid kit! Geez, look at his knee…"

Hunter groaned and opened his eyes a crack.

"Hey, he's awake! Hunter, you okay, man?" Tripp asked, worry written across his features.

"Mm…been better," Hunter answered, wincing. "M'head…"

"Yeah, I know. Simmons went to get a first-aid kit. She'll be back any minute with the good stuff and we'll get you patched right up."

Hunter blinked, trying to focus on Tripp's face. "Fitz?"

Tripp's expression flickered, but he quickly recovered, masking his worry with a calm facade. "We're still looking for him. Do you know where he is?"

"No, I-Oh, gee, the…Rising Tide…" Hunter tried to sit up, but Tripp put a hand on his chest and gently pushed him back down.

"It's fine. Coulson and Skye locked him up and they're talking to him right now to figure out just what the hell he was after. Looks like Fitz knocked him out with one of those gadgets of his."

"Oh. Good," Hunter said with a grin. "Tha's…tha's my boy."

Tripp laughed. "Yeah. He's quite the kid. Here comes Simmons now!"

Simmons knelt down on the other side of Hunter and opened the first-aid kit. Her face was wet with tears, makeup running down her cheeks.

"Wha…wha's wrong?" Hunter slurred.

Simmons looked up at him and tried to smile. "It's nothing. Here, swallow these." She put two pills in his hand and dug through the box, pulling out a bandage.

Tripp shifted so he was sitting behind Hunter and propped him up against his chest.

"Thanks, mate," Hunter mumbled before popping the pills into his mouth. He winced as Simmons wrapped the bandage around his knee.

"Sorry," she said, though she seemed distracted.

"I've got him!"

Everyone looked up at Mac's shout. He was walking down the corridor toward them, a very limp Fitz in his arms. "Someone tell Coulson I've got him! We need to get him to a hospital, ASAP!"

As he got closer, Hunter strained to see the Scotsman. The young scientist was like a ragdoll in Mac's arms, and pale as a sheet, and his front was covered in blood. Simmons was by her counterpart's side in seconds, holding his bloody hand in hers. Hunter felt a lump rise in his throat, and then he was sick all over the floor and the black spots were back in his vision and he felt like he was falling down a hole.

"Hunter! Hunter, stay with me, buddy," Tripp was saying. He said something else, but Hunter's ears were ringing terribly and his head felt like it was going to explode and then there was nothing.

XXX

Sensation and consciousness came back all at once and very fast, and Fitz found himself in an unfamiliar room with a gnawing pain in his gut and an uncomfortable tickle in his nose and where the hell were his clothes? He noticed the tubes in his arms next, and the beeping that seemed to be speeding up.

"Fitz?"

He looked over and saw Simmons rising from a plastic chair. It all seemed very familiar, and he stared at her a moment.

"How are you feeling?" she asked softly.

He opened his mouth, then shut it again, afraid that if he tried to speak he wouldn't be able to.

"Fitz," Simmons said, even gentler than before. "You were very brave. You saved Hunter's life as well as your own. Though, I'm not sure your tie is salvageable. I, uh, I actually got you something." She picked up a small box off of the floor and opened it, revealing a new tie, blue with Captain America's shield on it. "I know how much you love him, and it's a shield and you're a SHIELD agent so I thought it rather appropriate." She stopped talking and took a deep breath.

"Thank you," Fitz said. Jemma beamed. "I love it. I think Coulson will be jealous though."

Jemma laughed. "You're probably right. Speaking of Coulson, he'll want to know you're awake. Everyone will, actually. I'll just go get them."

"Wait!" Fitz called. Simmons turned. "You don't-you don't have to. Right now. I mean, I like your company."

Simmons smiled. "We'll have time to talk later. If anyone found out I'd kept you all to myself, they'd be furious." She stepped out into the hallway, and a few minutes later, the room was filled with the small SHIELD family, including Hunter who was now in a wheelchair with a cast on each leg.

"You'll have to sign my new cast, Fitz," Hunter said. "I wouldn't let anyone do it until you had. What with you, you know, saving my life and that."

Fitz smiled as the group chattered amongst themselves, content to listen to the conversation and laughter. He tried to stifle the yawn that came, but with little success, and May noticed immediately.

"Alright, guys. He needs some rest. We can visit him later," she said with that tone in her voice that nobody dared disobey.

The agents filed out, waving goodbye to Fitz. Simmons was last, and she lingered by the door a moment.

"You can stay," Fitz said softly.

"I was hoping you'd say that." She closed the door and settled into the plastic chair.

"I was-I was scared. When I woke up. I thought it was going to be like-"

"I know, Fitz," Jemma interrupted. "I understand. You don't have to talk about it. Now May's right. You should get some sleep."

"But-"

"No buts! Your eyes are half-shut already," Simmons said with a small laugh. "Anyway, I'll be here when you wake up."

"Very well," he sighed, closing his eyes and falling asleep almost instantly. He wasn't afraid to wake up this time. Because even if he couldn't speak, hell, even if he sprouted a bushy tail and horns, his team would be there to help.

XXX