A/N: I was kind of hoping to do something a little happier and fluffier for my next fic, but I got a Tumblr prompt from the wonderful barriss. My prompt was to create something for my OTP (FitzSimmons of course) based on the song "Numb as the Winter" by Chelsea Wolfe.

If you listen to the song or read the lyrics, you will immediately find that it is a pretty sad, angst-y song – so therefore, be prepared for a sad, angst-y fic. I decided to reimagine the ending of T.R.A.C.K.S. What would happen if Fitz had been the one shot instead of Skye? How would Simmons react?

This is currently planned as just a one-shot. ((Disclaimer: I obviously do not own Marvels Agents of SHIELD, any of its wonderful characters or the Chelsea Wolfe song "Numb as the Winter".))

Numb. That was all Fitz felt. His face was marred with shock as he moved his hand to his stomach. He lifted his hand up and saw it stained with blood. His blood. Slowly his knees collapsed under him, a cold sensation trickling through his body. He fell backwards, his back impacting the wall. He tried to move his mouth, tried to scream for help, but nothing came out. The only sounds were his own labored breathing and heavy footsteps as Quinn walked out of the room, the gun he had used still hanging by his side.

Fitz reached out his hand, grasping at the air. He could still see the sunlight trickling in from the small window, the only remaining light, as everything began to go dim around him. Tiny pinpricks of light - stars - filled his sight as his eyes continued to lose focus. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, squeezing a single tear out, sending it rolling down his cheek. He coughed, desperate to catch a breath, his lips now stained with blood.

Struggling on the floor, he tried to get to the door, desperate for someone to help him. But it was impossible. No one was coming. His limbs were ice, frozen in place.

Was this it? Was this what death felt like? There was no pain. Even his fear was ebbing away. There was nothing left. He took a labored breath - one of the few he had left - as his body limply slid down the wall.

Leopold Fitz remained frozen, sinking into a dark pool of his own blood.

Numb as the winter.

Fear flooded Jemma, a feeling of icy cold fingers wrapping their way around her spine. Why had he gone in? Why had he not waited for the rest of the team?

The home was a beautiful Italian villa. Green vines covered the outside walls and large, well-groomed bushes lined the property. But as Jemma ran through the house, adrenaline pumping through her veins, she could think of nothing but finding Fitz.

Room by room she searched, frantic to find him - scared of what she would find when she did. She made her way into a wine cellar, the smell of blood immediately hitting her senses. Fitz was lying, unmoving on the floor, dark red blood pooling around his body.

"Fitz?" Her voice was quiet, unbelieving, as she tried to process what she was seeing. Jemma's body went completely numb, her senses shut off, as she collapsed next to Fitz. Her hands instinctually went to the wound on his stomach, her hands shaking as she tried to stop the flow of blood.

She franticly cried for help, her voice feeling distant to her own ears. The others ran into the room within moments, but Jemma knew that his fate lay in her own hands. She felt around for a pulse, feeling only a light flutter in return. "Fitz. Fitz. Stay with me," she pleaded. She slammed her hand down on the floor, tears streaming down her face. "Leopold Fitz, you can not leave me now." Her voice caught as she strangled a sob.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, calm and steady, but she didn't turn to look at who it was. She couldn't look; she couldn't rip her eyes away from Fitz. Her eyes were wide and desperate as she looked at the blood around her. "Too much, too much blood," she said, her voice high and frantic.

Looking around the wine cellar she saw a hypobaric chamber, open and waiting. "Put him in there," she said, her voice shaking.

"Do you even know what that thing is?"

"It's a hypobaric chamber, and I said put him in there," she yelled back, her voice suddenly stronger. "Now."

The others grabbed Fitz and placed him in the chamber as Jemma ran to the controls. She was the only one who could work the chamber. It was up to her to make sure it could work. She didn't have Fitz by her side to help her. She was alone.

Her shaking fingers pressed the buttons, leaving blood on the controls. She watched the carefully as the temperature in the chamber dropped and the pressure stabilized, but she didn't say anything. She couldn't. Her body was in shock – she was amazed that she was even standing upright. She waited desperately for a sign that it was working, that the chamber could be the miracle they needed.

The miracle she needed.

Moving away from the control panel, she barely noticed the others around her. She heard their voices, but they sounded like a badly tuned radio. She put her hand on the chamber, her bloody handprint staining the glass, but it was the closest she could be to him. Her body was numb, filled with ice, as she watched Fitz. He was completely still and she felt the ache of fear and despair surge through her body.

They had been too late. She had been too late.

She was in hell.

And then it happened, a single breath fogging up the glass. She felt a small feeling of relief, but she could not let herself get relax. She knew the road that they must still travel and it was not a smooth one.

It was far from over.

Jemma collapsed to the floor, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. Her fists clenched and her head drooped as her emotions broke. Why had he gone in? Why hadn't he waited for the rest of the team?

Her fear and sorrow turned to anger, a fire burning through the ice in her heart – anger at Fitz, anger at the others. Anger at herself.

Why had she even talked him into leaving the lab?

SHIELD was supposed to be their opportunity. They were going to see the world. They were going to see the world together. And now he was barely holding on, his life dangling by a thread. She couldn't do it without him. She couldn't go on alone.

'This is the moment we will regret.' He had said it – he had told her from the start.

Numb as the winter.

Numb as the winter.