Chapter Text
November 25, 2017
The Doctor fought the urge to lick Jemma’s orgasm off his fingers, just to see that indignant blush bloom even more on her beautiful face.
But Leo refrained, knowing that he could not provide any more fodder for the gossips. The low level political fixer on this video meeting was puzzled enough by how often the Doctor’s attention wavered. Lazily, Leo wiped the wetness of her climax from his fingers with his pocket square as he said the words that emphasised her defeat in their salacious wager.
“Listen,” he told the confused Australian staring at him from the laptop, “as I’ve had my fill of meetings tonight, just summarise as quickly as possible so we can be done soon.”
True, he did have to cheat a little to make her release a noise, but in the end, they both won, didn’t they?
Jemma Simmons didn’t think so.
“And you’re a bastard,” she hissed as she slid off of his desk. He surmised that she must have been truly annoyed that she forgot basic discretion. She also seemed to be externalising some internal monologue. Funny, that.
Well aware that any response would have wound her up even further, Leo only offered her a disingenuous grin before she marched out of his home office, brandishing an unwarranted gesture behind her with one dainty finger.
Once he heard the lift doors slide open, Leo pulled out his mobile and checked his security camera app. Okay, Jem was definitely gone.
Then he darted out of his office and into his loo, where he managed to have a quick and half satisfactory wank, narrowly averting the disaster of coming in his pants. The first time that happened with Jemma was embarrassing enough. There was no need to give her something to tease him about so soon after winning this recent battle of wills.
As he washed his hands, Leo glanced at his reflection and grinned at the pitiful sight he made. Jemma had wanted to reciprocate after she had fallen apart on his desk, and the idea was tempting even if he hadn’t finished with his remote meeting. But luckily, Leopold remembered why it would've been wrong to take her up on that enticing offer. Despite the fact that their recent activities left her sensitive and sore, Jemma would no doubt sacrifice some of her comfort for the sake of pleasing him. Or torturing him. Well, those two were one and the same, occasionally.
Leo returned to his work so that she would have no idea of his desperate lust by the time she returned, prepared for her overnight stay. This was one of many instances when he didn’t understand her, not really. Her “losing” of this bet was hardly a loss to either of them, seeing as it gave him the chance to enjoy her presence through the night, and she did not have to sleep in her shoebox of a home.
But if he pointed that out, she’d only respond with the irritating reminder that he was the one who assigned her the hovel.
And Leopold didn’t want to relive his missteps during their early friendship. Yes, he had technically forced her into that unit, but it wasn’t as if she had to stay there. Jemma continued to live one floor below him in his former servant’s apartment even during their awkward relationship hiatuses, so she obviously liked it. Or she liked living near him. So some of that was her fault.
He heard her slippered feet shuffle in, but wanted to look industrious, and kept his focus on his screen. “Leo?” she asked and he looked up from his computer and smiled at the sight of her. Even when dressed in something as simple as a robe, she looked lovely. “Have you eaten?”
He nodded. “You?”
“Yeah, I had a bite downstairs. Do you have much work to do?” When he confirmed it, Leo was unsurprised to hear her say she would join him in a minute.
He made a half hearted attempt to get her to rest when she returned with her own tablet and settled herself on his sofa. “Jem, you don’t need to work so hard on a Saturday.”
“Yes, but we both fell behind this weekend,” she reminded him with a smirk, no doubt remembering what had postponed their professional tasks these past few days.
Leo gave up after that. He hadn’t intended to goad her into making a naughty wager and sully his desk when she arrived earlier — really, he wanted her to hear how Hydra was taking baby steps towards some harmless democracy, but she either didn’t notice or she wasn't very impressed.
Instead, Leo had simply wanted her company, and would now take whatever he could of it, not minding her idle chatter while he sorted through documents requiring his review. Simmons seemed to be sitting with him more for his benefit than hers, actually. Out of the corner of his eye, Leopold caught how often she’d yawn, or rearrange herself. She was probably knackered from taking her CEO job far too seriously this afternoon. With a sigh and a shake of his head, Leo quickly arrived at a stopping point so that Jemma would get to bed.
It was another small example of how Jem, for all her brilliance, never seemed to notice how often she inconvenienced herself for her loved ones. Leopold saw that flaw in her straight away when they first met in March. Tumbling into a relationship twice hadn’t softened his dislike of her habit of self-sacrifice. He was only grateful that she was now with him, and that he would be a partner who would not take advantage of such generosity. It was what she deserved after everything she had been through.
As they prepared for bed, Leo was struck once more how right this domestic tedium felt with her. His room had never seemed too large until he learned how much nicer it was with her in it.
“What?” she asked with a smile when she caught him staring. Jemma had one eyebrow arched as she scooted under the duvet. Before he could answer, she teased, “You know, you can take your eyes off of me once in a while. I won’t make a break for it.”
Leo hid his embarrassment with a scoff. He wasn’t sure if it was an innocent joke, or a reference to his incidental surveillance on her. Or maybe a reference to how obsessed he was with her? People tended to dislike his prolonged observation of them, and, despite being miraculously tolerant of his failings, Jemma was no exception.
“Just noticing your overnight bag,” he lied as he settled in beside her. The item in question sat next to her nightstand. It was not her usual messenger bag but a larger, black holdall. Perhaps that meant that she had packed more than the last time she stayed over, so that she’d stay longer? He found himself absurdly chuffed by the thought.
“What of it? Goodness, Leo, are you going to bang on about how tacky it is? Because I’ll have you know that it was Skye’s. And before that, Ward’s.”
That explained how Simmons came to own something not totally offensive to the eyes. “No,” he contradicted softly. “It’s just in the way.” Jemma snorted at the flimsy excuse, which he ignored. “I should … I should probably clear out the other closet for you.”
It hadn’t occurred to him until now, but once the words hung in the air, Leopold found that it wasn’t the worst idea. Sure, Jemma had shown some reluctance when he hinted at it before, but it was inevitable, wasn’t it? She couldn’t ask him to move into her flat, because doubling the tenants of that small space was probably a fire hazard. Or, he remembered, they did not have to continue living in the Triskelion. Lots of bad memories lurked around every corner, the least of which was the fact that Ophelia had once shared this space with him.
Yeah, he decided, they could move back to the UK once he got a handle on the major problems here. May could probably act as a steward for this part of the world afterwards.
“What do you think?” he said when she said nothing. At her noncommittal hum, Leo looked over and found his partner sleeping. He wasn’t sure if she was actually that tired or avoiding the subject, but, being the generous man he was, he decided to let it drop.
As he switched off her lamp, Leopold wondered how he managed to be so lucky. Jemma Simmons was somehow his perfect match, even with their glaring differences in ideologies. She didn't want to use his intelligence for his own schemes, or gain power through his position.
It baffled him, that lack of ambition. Leo tried to study her face, but with the darkness so opaque, he had to settle for listening to her quiet breathing. She had a surplus of cunning, he knew that from experience, yet it still surprised him how much she wasted that intelligence on lost causes, like Inhuman rights or servant's rights or … hell, everyone's rights, he supposed. It just didn't seem like enough for someone as resourceful as Simmons to not want more for herself.
Nonetheless, Leo could not completely disapprove of her altruism. Without her softness for lost causes, he wouldn't be with her now.
Warmed by those blissful musings, Leopold happily sank into his dreams.
As Leo observed the interrogation, his smile matched the anticipatory one Jemma wore. She showed beautiful progress, and watching how expertly she intimidated the suspect now, one would hardly know that she started as a quiet, industrious worker in Hydra’s R&D department.
Leo paused and laughed at that wildly incorrect description. No, no, that wasn’t right. Jemma showed progress from the prim little scientist she’d been back at the academy. In fact, they both did. Leo knew that while he wasn’t the most formidable agent SHIELD had to offer, he was now ten times the man he had been when they first joined Coulson’s team. Being with Simmons played a large part in recognising his own capabilities.
Shaking himself from his reverie, Leo focused on Jemma again. The ex-KGB, ex-Hydra, current Watchdog she was intimidating quailed at what was in the box.
Just how hard of a man was Yuri Zaikin supposed to be? he wondered. The wanker was behaving as if Ophelia was the first severed head he had ever seen. In his line of work —
Ophelia!
Leopold suddenly lurched forward, meaning to save his former partner, only to find the floor sinking from beneath his feet like quicksand. He looked up and saw the walls melting, shifting in offensive defiance of basic physics, only to snap back in place. When the world solidified again, everything was familiar, with the same cold, dark feeling in the air, same floor, same smell —
But this time, he was the one with Ophelia’s head.
She — it? — sat in a locker, of all things, with a pool of blood growing steadily beneath the jagged lines of her neck. Oh god, oh god, he could see her vocal cords move when she said, “Thank you, Fitz. Thank you.”
He couldn’t understand why she was thanking him, or why he remained so calm. Yes, yes, he’d dismembered people before, but this was Ophelia. He was meant to rescue her, not … not …
Instead of his former partner, he was looking at his hand? Leo frowned; that blood coating his palm was wrong, but not for the right reasons.
Wait, maybe it was right. Of course Ophelia was bleeding. She was real, she was human, she loved him —
“Fitz?”
Leo, somehow more frightened of Jemma’s discovering his activity than his talking dead partner, quickly shut the locker door before Simmons entered the room.
That choking panic shoved Leo into the waking world. His eyes shot open and he would have stared open mouthed like an amazed fish if not the frantic movement against his side. Shaking off the disturbing images, Leo turned and he realised that Jemma was in the throes of her own nightmare. He propped himself up and shook her elbow slightly, prodding, “Jemma! Wake up —”
She promptly slapped him for his efforts.
“Oh shite,” he muttered and grabbed her flailing hands.
That served to frighten her more, from what he could tell in this darkness, but that fear was enough to force her awake.
“Oh god, Leo,” she gasped, and her words sounded thick with tears. “I hit your face, didn’t I? I’m sorry!”
“It’s fine. You didn’t put much force into it,” he lied. Inwardly, Leo was impressed with her strength, even in sleep, but he knew that Simmons would only wallow in guilt if he let on how much her strike had actually stung him.
After he had turned on the light, Leo observed her. Normally, he’d have slept through her fuss, but his slumber had been made delicate at just the right time.
He wondered what had her so shaken. As Jemma had said before, she was blessed with a fine selection of traumas to choose from. Leo wasn’t sure if she even would tell him the truth of her nightmare if it had something to do with her SHIELD past.
Leo didn’t mind when Jemma gave a succinctly unhelpful explanation of her nightmare now. Probably did have something to do with her former colleagues, then. He liked to think that he wouldn’t use such information to hunt down Hydra’s enemies, but they both knew that they could not trust one another.
“Anything I can do for you?” he asked when Jemma refused to offer more.
“No,” she mumbled but then shook her head. “Oh, you need to fire Hess.”
That mention of one of his assistants was random, but then there were times it was difficult to follow the path of her thoughts. “Okay,” he agreed. Leo was a bit relieved her request was so easy. “Want anything else?”
“An upgraded brain,” Jemma joked, but her smile was clearly not heartfelt.
“We can leave the lamp on,” he said gently when she still seemed apprehensive to fall asleep again. That suggestion, as well as drawing her close, comforted her enough to rest once more.
Leopold tried to doze off as well, only to snap open his eyes in frustration minutes later. He knew that he preferred to sleep with minimal light, but he thought that cuddling would have made up the difference. What could be keeping him so tense now?
Trying to reach his previous level of relaxation, Leo idly rubbed slow circles on her back as he looked at her. Lovely little thing. Perfect.
Well, there were still a few darkish splotches on her neck where he’d been a bit rough lately, but that only added to her beauty — that vulnerability, of course, not that he’d managed to bruise her. Leo hadn’t known that any sort of vulnerability, physical or emotional, was allowed until Jemma showed him the benefits of letting his guard down.
Without thinking, Leo reached out to trace one love bite, just there on her pulse, and swiftly drew his fingers back when Jemma frowned in slight annoyance. Probably best not to bother her, he decided as he let his eyes wander around the room instead.
He considered Ophelia's closet again. It was still shut up on the other side, barely in better condition than it had been after the Triskelion attack. The cultists had made a mess of it, but investigation showed nothing had gone missing from his late partner’s belongings; they’d just been barbarians spreading havoc without prejudice. Leo tried to bore himself back to sleep with those details.
The image of Ophelia’s head awaited him behind his eyelids.
His entire body started in fear, causing Jemma to let out a small, annoyed grunt before burrowing closer into him. Leo looked down at the top of her head for a moment and kissed her, breathing in the scent of her hair as he tried to calm down. Hopefully, the rapid rhythm of his heart would not disturb her either.
That’s right. He had seen the most horrific image possible before he woke up, hadn’t he?
Leo frowned at the ceiling, trying to sort out the terrifying vision. It was one of those dreams in which the nonsensical context was simply known right from the start, without being said. For whatever reason, he had dreamt that he was a SHIELD agent. And so was Jemma. There was a ridiculous moustachioed military man with her while they grilled some Russian agent … and they were in a base of some sort, some dingy, poorly lit basement and … and…
Poor Ophelia, he thought suddenly.
He hadn't missed his late partner in ages, a stark contrast to their youth, when hormonal romance had him missing her even when she was just a few classrooms away from him at the academy. His ability to think of her without that old yearning was perhaps a little cruel considering they spent over a decade together, but her involvement in his father's death helped his desire to repudiate whatever lingering softness he might have had for her. Additionally, Leo had learned early on from Alistair sentimentality rarely coupled well with success. Chock full of wordy gems, that one.
Psychology is a daft soft science, he could hear his da scoff in his memories, and for the most part, Leo agreed with him. But if psychology was what helped him dismiss what he saw tonight, however, he’d use it.
Leopold tilted his head as he forced meaning into the macabre episode. He was well aware that he once felt some guilt for replacing Ophelia so quickly, and with someone she apparently hated no less. But by this point, he would have thought that that remorse was a thing of the past. It certainly felt as if it ran its course?
That guilt, the one borne from not immediately disposing of Jemma just as Ophelia had intended, began as a tiny, irksome seed in March. It germinated later in April as Leopold found himself tolerating her disrespectful refusals to transfer to another department where her nigh prescient intelligence was sorely needed. Then his guilt bloomed but went ignored after he had invented an excuse to have Simmons work in his private lab in May. When he and Jemma finally shared their first kiss, whatever self-reproach he tried to muster for Ophelia’s sake wilted and crumbled away in light of this new opportunity for romantic bliss.
Right. Okay. This dream might have meant that he moved a bit too fast for his subconscious’ taste?
Leo himself couldn’t explain why he felt compelled to have Jem near from the very beginning. In those early days he’d allow himself to listen to her interesting theories and jokes, to steal her snacks for the sole purpose of seeing her lovely hazel eyes flash in irritation. Other times he’d remember his loss of the world’s most perfect partner, and snap at Jemma into sullen silence. Even when he’d been rude, however, and despite his clumsy ability at reading people … he could tell that Jemma did not resent him, not for long anyway. Perhaps it was sympathy that kept her from treating him like the spoiled child he’d been in those first few months. Either way, he was grateful for her saintly understanding at the time. One day he would retroactively thank her for it. They had only had a few months together, but Leo already knew that he was comfortable telling her anything.
Er — not anything, he amended a second later.
Leo wouldn’t tell her that, when the idea that he’d been harbouring her as a mole in his very lab occurred to him back in July, he had almost been as relieved as he had been hurt. If Jemma Simmons was a traitor, then there was a simple solution to all the flummoxing feelings he had for her. She simply had to meet the fate of anyone who betrayed Hydra. If she was gone, then there would be no pesky, mystifying feelings in relation to her.
That relief was shot out of the water when he heard that she’d been attacked, though. In its place, a burning anger grew. At the time, Leo told himself that he was only seething at Will Daniels’ audacity in a proprietary sense. This mercenary coward, already responsible for ruining his father and partner, had taken it upon himself to injure the Doctor’s lab partner as well? Insupportable.
Jemma presently mumbled something and rolled onto her other side, freeing Leo’s arm. Carefully, he pulled away from her and scooted to the edge of the bed, grabbing his mobile from the nightstand as he did. Might as well use this short bout of insomnia to take care of a few emails. But as he neared the door to dart to the living room bar cart for a scotch, Leo paused and looked over his shoulder at his partner thoughtfully. There was a chance she’d have another nightmare. It was probably best to stay near.
He changed course and sauntered tiredly to the loo for a glass of water as he deleted a few new messages from his subordinates. Leo shook his head; he had told them time and time again that he refused to answer stupid questions, and they were lucky he was too tired now to be proportionately annoyed.
Leopold set the mobile down and filled a waiting glass. Absently, he scratched his hair down, trying to maintain the side part even in bed. Jemma seemed to like it the other way, but he was not one to take advice on his appearance from someone with such questionable wardrobe choices, no matter how much he loved her. Then again, the outfit she wore in the interrogation room with that criminal Zaikin had been nice. Why didn’t she wear that before —
“It wasn’t real,” he interrupted that thought aloud. His reflection showed a confused world leader, so Leo turned away from it and leaned against the counter. It wasn’t real. It was just a dream, just a silly, realistic, vivid dream. Even if it had that same unnervingly immersive feeling as the other vision he had in October … it didn’t warrant any drastic measures, did it? The last time he took action against the exasperating visions, he had ended up losing both his mind and Jemma.
So seeing the strange, impossible scene of Simmons using Ophelia’s head like a sick prop just to interrogate a difficult criminal…
It was a manifestation of guilt. Or fantasy, as well. Leo couldn’t deny that he did enjoy seeing Jemma’s brutal side.
As to why his subconscious made him a SHIELD agent… Leo drummed his fingers along the counter edge as he tried to sort that one out. But he couldn’t figure anything logical for it; being a SHIELD pawn was the worst occupation he could ever imagine. Even being a custodian was better. He didn’t have Jemma’s proclivity for self-punishment, yet there was always the chance it was contagious?
So many theories, not enough research. Furrowing his brow, Leo opened the browser on his mobile and searched for “dream interpretation.” The results were too numerous or silly to be helpful, he soon learned. The first one spoke of how natural features, like the ocean and such, could symbolise unsettled emotions, but another site said that the very same things surprisingly meant inner tranquility. Which proved that it was all bollocks. Really, Hydra ought to shut these sites down for misinformation.
Making a mental note to look into that later, Leo shook his head and shuffled back to bed. He was no less dumbfounded by the inexplicable visions, but the sight of his sleeping partner did manage to allay his uneasiness.
Jemma had turned on her side again, and was facing him when he insinuated himself back under the covers. She looked so … defenceless like this. There weren’t many people who felt safe enough to fall asleep in his presence. Even back then, in that hospital room after Daniels’ attack, she was bafflingly at ease with him. It had been novel for him to hear that someone was not only comfortable enough to nurse a small crush on him, but also comfortable enough to ignore him for a good nap.
It was hard to believe that the battered, silly woman from that night in the hospital was the same one who efficiently saved his arse when he absolutely hadn’t deserved to be saved. In more ways than one, Leo was embarrassed to admit. At least they had the rest of their lives for him to repay her for kindness.
November 26, 2017
“And wait, what did Skye buy with my card?” Leo remembered to ask, but the doors slid closed before Jemma could answer.
Huffing in annoyance, Leopold crossed his arms as he waited for the next lift up to his flat. Everything was so … so … so stupid! It was stupid of him to trust her with his mobile, and it was stupid of her to be going to work for Skye’s friend’s sake. It was stupid for both of them to have this row at this unholy hour too.
Leo knew that he had no right to be as surprised as he had been when he awoke to all the confirmation emails responding to Jemma’s sneaky arrest reforms sent out from his account. Really, he should have been more surprised that she hadn’t tried something like this sooner. Leo only thought that she’d have been patient enough to enact the changes she desired through official means. Like as an advisor or something.
He was still in a foul mood when he returned to his room. There was enough time to nip the problem Jemma created for him in the bud, but after the disruptive sleep of last night, Leo reckoned he earned a bit of a lie in.
As wound up as he was, Leo assumed that it would have taken him at least a few minutes to fall asleep. So he was pleasantly surprised when his mind went under after mere moments in bed.
Leo barely sat still long enough to be examined by the medics. Somewhere out there, Jemma was missing and being forced to do god knows what. Somewhere here, the man responsible for her peril was walking around without punishment.
Punishment, he scoffed inwardly and looked down at himself. Even before this latest misadventure, Leo knew that he wasn’t the type to mete out physical comeuppance. Still, even if he couldn’t thrash Mace, the very least he could do now was tell him off.
Leopold clenched his fist, much to the annoyance of the agent who was attempting to get his blood pressure. This was how SHIELD repaid him, repaid Jemma? As if they hadn’t produced saves for this agency, not to mention the entire fucking world, time and time again? They had earned transparency by this point, paid for it with blood, and yet so much of what their superiors did remained in the shadows.
Without warning, Leo pushed off of the examination table and strode to the door, ignoring his colleagues’ exasperated requests for patience, which was rich. Patience was what he’d run dry of while trapped in some daft, ghostly dimension. He’d been wanting to confront Mace for too long, and now that he was back thanks to…
Somebody saved him — them. Who had done that? The answer was there, Leo was certain, somewhere in his mind, but hidden and forgotten like dusty treasures in an attic. He was missing a large chunk of the bigger picture, and had no idea where to find it.
Suddenly disconcerted, Leo paused at the doorway and looked around. Here in the Triskelion’s medical ward, the halls were usually bustling with medical professionals and patients. But they were empty and dim, and the walls were brick instead of beige, and —
“Mace, where is he?” he demanded to a passing woman. She walked by without a word, and Leo narrowed his eyes in annoyance. Whoever she was, he’d have her shipped off to a reeducation camp in Siberia for that disrespect. Before he could ask her name, however, he caught sight of his boss at the end of the hall.
“Mace!” he shouted with breathless anger. Jeffrey Mace cut an imposing figure, but Leo refused to be intimidated. After all, the agent reminded himself, he managed to tell off Coulson for stepping down as director and letting SHIELD fall into shambles, and that man with the bland smiles was scarier than a hundred Maces.
Mace stood at the end of the hall with his lackeys. Leo stared and blinked; one moment, the SHIELD director was clean cut and ready for business. The next, he was a grizzled subversive in his combat gear. Yes, that looked more appropriate.
Leo’s disdain grew tenfold as he neared. Mace had probably been off doing some heroics as the Patriot while smiling for the cameras. Somehow, the flashy weasel fooled everyone with those grins. But Leo knew better, he knew what he deserved… Perhaps he could lure Mace into the Framework, under the guise of some training exercise, and give him a proper shoeing in there? He’d have to code it so that Mace possessed only a tenth of his usual strength though. The director wouldn’t even have to know he was in a simulation. It’d be unjust but then the Patriot wasn’t the type to play fair either. More importantly, beating the larger man until the light died from his eyes would be one way to release the frustration simmering under Leo’s skin.
“I know what you did,” Leopold growled. “Where the hell’s Simmons?”
“Agent Fitz, it’s good to see you back,” Mace responded in the most condescending, infuriating tone. “Simmons will be here in a moment.”
Lies. That’s all SHIELD ever gave him, lies and brain injuries and pain and —
Leo’s fingers itched, squeezing the air as if pulling the trigger on a gun. God, he should shoot him here and now, but then he’d never know what happened to Jemma.
“Yeah well I’ve heard that line before,” Leo replied, hating how hard it was to get the words out. Why was he struggling to talk, so discomposed? As if he didn’t handle global crises on a daily basis with his usual grace? His emotions swirled chaotically within him, and Leo hated the total lack of self-discipline. If he could — if he just felt less, or reined in more, Mace wouldn’t be wearing that smirk now.
“I want to know where she’s coming from,” Leo demanded, jabbing him with one finger and wishing it was a knife. “‘Cause I heard you on the —”
“Fitz?”
Despite Simmons using the wrong name, his body jerked toward her voice as if it was a puppet string tied to his heart.
“Where is he?”
At the sound of her urgent tone, Leopold forgot his confrontation with this overrated action figure. “Jemma?” he called.
“...Fitz!”
Leo! he wanted to correct her, but instead he could only mutter her name again in pure relief when she stumbled into the hall. Was she all right? No signs of bleeding, no bruising, yes, all fingers and limbs attached, oh if Senator Nadeer harmed a hair on her head, he would make her disappear, ruin her family, make an example of her…
He bit back a sob when they finally clasped each other, stunned by the force of his feelings. Leo didn’t understand this world. Who were you supposed to trust, if not the good guys? But he had Jemma. She was all he’d need, the only person he could put his faith in, because he needed at least one person. His mother, father, Ophelia…they were gone but he had Jemma. He’d keep her safe.
Leo opened his eyes and stared upwards, dazed. Dawn’s weak light fought to slip past the clouds and through the window screens, so the ceiling was layered with shadows. Looking down, he found his hands fisted in the sheets.
As he released the fabric and sat up, Leopold thought he could feel erose reminders of his dream skate along his spine like dead leaves caught in a swirling dust devil.
The Framework. The other Leo had pondered the virtual world and discarded the memory of it a second later, too focused on Jemma’s safety to give much more thought to his creation. But now Leopold wished he had dwelt on it, for the fleeting mention felt key to his next steps.
He shifted and looked down at the bunched material in his lap. Unbidden, his mind summoned the colour values for the dark shade of the duvet. With a growing frown, Leo’s eyes wandered away to the nightstand, then the lamp, and the rest of the room. It was staggering, the amount of information he automatically envisioned for each item, and in so many different types of coding languages.
It was far beyond the basic systems he learned in his youth. There was more to it — some hidden, vital element that brought the characters to life. Leo didn’t know what it was, what could have pushed these designs from mere graphics to a second reality…
But Jemma Simmons did.
The reality that Leo scrutinised so intensely now faded in light of the simple solution. Of course Jem had the answers; she’d had them all along, keeping them hidden so she could manipulate him. Jemma was the enemy…
No! Leo didn’t understand how his thoughts escalated so quickly to such a dark conclusion, and he shook his head in a desperate attempt to silence anything that incriminated the woman he loved.
Even if she doesn’t love you?
But she does, he hotly contradicted that snide voice in his head. She does. Wholeheartedly. Just as she always had — Wait no, not “always.” That word always seemed to pop up whenever he thought of Jemma, despite never having met her until this year.
Since October, then, she had loved him. A bit short for a romance, true, but Leo did not consider time to be a valid marker for a relationship’s health. After all, Jemma had been with her ex for ages and it was the worst, to say the least.
Leo caught his breath. Her ex?
Each time he dreamed about that strange, other life, Jemma called him Fitz. Even in that first vision, in which he and Jemma faffed about in a lab, she’d murmur his surname to show him her findings.
“Fitz,” she had moaned the first time he made her fall apart. “FITZ!” she had shrieked when he angered her beyond coherency. It happened each time she forgot herself here, when her emotions were so pure that she could not remember caution.
“We shouldn’t complicate things between us when you’re still so uncertain about … about whoever is inside you.”
Jemma had said that just a few days ago, when he smugly told her that he had used his mental exploratory machine with surprising success. At the time, Leo hadn’t expected her to approve, but Simmons had been so much angrier than he expected. She’d furiously mentioned that he wasn’t the only one affected by his reckless self-cure.
Leopold had thought she meant herself. But now … now, however, it seemed that Jemma meant Fitz.
Ice gripped his heart as he considered what her past slips meant with the context of his dreams.
There might have been … another him outside of this world? Or … Leo frowned, remembering what sparked their second hiatus. Perhaps Fitz wasn’t outside. Was Fitz living in the iters of his mind, waiting for any opportunity to resurface and ruin whatever Leo had managed to build with Simmons?
Not that Jemma would view it as “ruining,” oh no. Leopold didn’t have to rewatch the lab surveillance footage from a few weeks ago to recall how odd Simmons’ expression had been when he admitted that he had broken off their relationship because he had a nightmare starring another version of himself. Foolishly, Leopold assumed that hope flashed in her eyes because his confession meant that she’d help him overcome the problem, paving the way for a reunion. It had never occurred to Leo that she’d been hoping that the same problem would grow and overpower him.
That was the only logical conclusion. There was another man with his face, whom Jemma loved first. Loved more.
Leo tried to make himself grasp the possibility head on. Rip the plaster off, as it were. Okay, so what if it were true? What if everything they had endured and built together these past eight months had been a convoluted deception?
I’d die.
Dramatic, was his next dismissive thought, but oh god it felt true. It felt as if life as he knew it would be an impossible thing to continue without her by his side. And to think that Jemma would’ve seen that, and exploited that —
He shook his head. He couldn’t do it. Leopold couldn’t reconcile such cruelty with the woman he loved. Now Ophelia, yes, she’d measure and capitalise on people’s usefulness in the blink of an eye, regardless of their feelings. But Jemma would never be so ruthlessly efficient. Not with him.
Leo released a choked laugh, shaking his head at himself as he wiped at his eyes. “For fuck’s sake! What am I doing?”
What was he doing? None of it made sense, not Jemma’s supposed heartlessness or any of the other rubbish. Logistically speaking, how could he have founded this world, even if he wanted to? He was good, brilliant, yes, but not patient enough to expand a simulation to encompass a universe. Even with AI assistance, the power needed to create this place would have to be … to be inconceivable.
That doubt threw everything else in his dream into question. Was he currently living a false life in an alternate reality designed by a weak version of himself? Or was his mind spinning fantastical tales to force him to address his and Jemma’s trust issues?
Even more unnatural was the idea that he would, yet again, condemn the woman he loved over a few dreams? Oh, Leopold could only imagine her indignance if he were to accuse her now of some bizarre sci-fi love triangle.
I’ll just tell her, Leo decided, and scrambled out of his bed to hurry to his closet. Jemma was better versed in the human mind, and he’d trust her interpretations more than any of the dodgy voices that slithered in his head. It took longer than he expected to dress because of the way his shaky fingers struggled with the buttons. Leopold considered his cufflinks on the dresser for a moment before abandoning the idea and rolling his sleeves up. Jemma liked his arms and besides, he didn’t want to reintroduce any other unpleasant possibilities when it came to her involvement with those trinkets.
True, Leo acknowledged as he all but jogged to the lift, he’d been nursing some doubts when it came to her role in the cufflinks fiasco. A simple interrogation with the supposed perpetrator would have allayed them, but Leo hadn’t wanted to spend any time with the white collar criminal who had caused Jemma so much trouble. That’s what he told himself at the time anyway. Now Leo wondered if he had avoided interrogating Hamilton because he knew that his former ally would offer some damning truths when it came to Jemma Simmons. Truths that not even Leo could explain away.
With a sharp exhalation, he shook his head. If he had nagging doubts, that was his fault for sitting on them for so long. She’d have a perfectly rational explanation for any inconsistencies, as well as for these elaborate alternate lives he had caught glimpses of in his sleep. And, once he relayed these questions, Jemma would appreciate how much more mature he was handling his trepidation the second time around.
Tucking in his shirt as the lift descended, Leo tried to land on the proper phrasing so that he did not subject Jemma to the long silences that peppered his conversation whenever he tried to tell her something difficult. He would have liked to blame his brain injury for such failings in communication, but he recalled that he had trouble telling Simmons his feelings even before then —
The doors slid open and revealed one Leopold Fitz, petrified by how easy and natural that last thought came to him. With another deep, calming breath, he dragged a hand through his hair.
What is wrong with you? He demanded as he walked out, pace purposely sedate. There had never been a brain injury! There had never been any of that, because it wasn’t real!
Despite every appearance of repossessing himself, his frantic knocks betrayed his growing distress. Leopold didn’t bother with subtlety when he knocked even faster and longer. He’d been ready to flush her out until his knuckles threatened to bleed from the force. Growing furious that she would ignore him, Leopold dropped his hand with a growl, only for his fingers to accidentally brush against the doorknob.
He heard the telltale metallic slide and click that meant that Jemma Simmons’ door was now unlocked.
Leo stared down at the doorknob. He hadn’t meant to. This invasion of privacy was one of the main things that pissed her off the last time they fought. In the chaos of their reunion, he hadn’t had time to remove his biometric permission from her lock. Simply because he had inadvertently unlocked her door was no reason to abuse her trust again.
But this was an emergency, he decided as he turned the knob and walked in. Simmons would understand in an emergency.
“Jemma?” he called. Leo did not like how frightened he sounded, and evened his tone. “Jem?”
She still wasn’t home then. How long would it take to give a tour of Transia anyway? Oh, but she was a busy bee, he remembered, and would probably get caught up working while there.
In her absence, the surrounding smell of Jemma was enough to comfort him. He sat on her bed for a quick moment before springing up to pace. What could he do? Logic said these dreams weren’t dire; his gut insisted they were a matter of life or death. Leo was embarrassed to need his partner’s assistance so desperately, but it wasn’t as if he could resolve it on his own. It wasn’t as if —
“Oh god, I’m an idiot,” he remembered mournfully.
The machine! The mental machine he made in his lab! Even if it did not destroy the cells that were causing these malfunctions, he could at least take a look around! Leo took one step to the door before the sight of her bed stopped him. In that very bed, she had entreated him not to take advantage of his invention. He had all but promised her that he wouldn’t use it without her.
Leo sighed. Well. She wasn’t here, and would probably forgive him once she learned the urgent circumstances that forced him to use it behind her back. He could survive pissing her off, but he couldn’t survive another moment of this careening confusion.
His agitation left him clumsier than ever, and he grunted with impatience when he took two more steps only for his shoulder to bump against the closet door. She shouldn’t have left it open, what with space being scarce as it was in here! Leo nearly slammed it shut until he noticed something looked different.
Hardly aware of what he was doing, he crouched and looked closer at the corner. The case that held Hamilton’s hand wasn’t there.
He hadn’t intended to snoop when he slept over a few nights ago. While Jemma had prepared for bed in the loo, Leo had only meant to search for more pillows, since the two on her bed seemed of poor quality. He hadn’t found pillows, but he had found Hamilton’s hand. At the time, he thought nothing of where she had decided to store the gruesome souvenir.
But she hadn’t had the case with her when she walked into the lift earlier this morning, Leo remembered with a frown as he stood. Had she hidden it elsewhere? And if so, from whom?
Now there was no polite hesitation as he searched every inch of her bedroom, then the loo, and then the rest of her home. The only thing of note that he found was her dendrotoxin weapon in her nightstand. The dusty gun summoned the blurry memories of the night she used it to save his life on the night of the Triskelion attack.
He tried to find comfort in the fact that, whatever she was up to, Jemma saw no need to be armed. She only thought it was necessary to keep her warehouse investigation a secret from him.
“That’s allowed though,” Leo muttered to himself as he sat on her bed again. He was starting to feel ill at the thought of her being so surreptitious, but it wasn’t as if he told her everything he did during his average work day. Leopold had just assumed that, since they worked together to obtain the key to unlock the mysterious warehouse, they would have used it together as well.
Yet … it wasn’t as if they had specifically agreed upon it. This was just a minor hiccup of miscommunication. Every couple had them.
These mounting excuses were starting to gnaw at him, but they were beginning to be the norm, Leo had to admit. Ever since they first met, Jemma Simmons had felt like someone he could get on with and trust, and any evidence that said otherwise was dismissed. That affinity had never made sense, and now every rational part of him was now screaming for him to get ahold of himself. Regardless of whatever he saw in his sleep, there was no denying that Jemma’s current furtiveness was suspect. If she wanted to check out the warehouse, why not just tell him? She had had no qualms of expressing her eagerness to get in there before.
The Doctor was not one to indulge something as unreliable as intuition. He was more partial to hard facts, peer reviewed data, and tangible proof. Yet it was his swerve away from rationality that had led him to Jemma Simmons, wasn’t it? It hadn’t made sense to pursue someone so diametrically opposed to his own character and yet he respected her. Wanted her. Seduced her. Why? Why had he behaved like that so soon after Ophelia’s death?
“Because we were together before,” he heard himself answer the silent question.
The Doctor clenched his jaw so angrily that his teeth ached from the force. Furious with these incomprehensible references to a past he refused to recognise, Leo’s hands squeezed into equally frustrated fists. He itched to destroy something, but some last threads of self-control restrained the urge. Jemma would have his head if he broke one of her shabby things in a moment of blind rage.
Falling back to an old technique of stabilising himself, Leo focused on her open closet. One, two, three, four… twenty-seven hangers. Eight tops, seven bottoms, four trouser suits, four dresses, and four unknown items hidden in the corners.
As he took in the colours and condition of her clothes, Leo realised with a faint smile that they served as a sort of timeline for Jemma Simmons’ evolution here. One end of the rack held her older items, the misshapen, drab things she would wear when she began her job in R&D. At the other end hung nicer pieces, and more feminine choices from her mother that still had the tags attached.
Then he lifted his gaze up to the shelf.
Leo’s stomach should not have twisted at the sight of her sling. Her injury had been so long ago that he wondered why she kept it. Only he couldn’t think of her now, because another memory was shoving its way to the surface…
He squeezed his eyes shut, but that did little to prevent the bizarre image of his left arm in a sling. That’s right … he had broken it ages ago, hadn’t he? How? Alistair?
Oh no, Leopold corrected himself. There was a fall.
Christ, that had hurt. Lucky for him that there were so many med supplies around. Simmons had been unconscious, but he managed well enough on his own. Watching her sleep could have been peaceful, except — except — they were in danger, because they were on the ocean floor? Because of Ward, of Hydra, of SHIELD —
As if those memories had been physically thrust upon him, Leo stumbled away. He winced when his spine bumped into her dresser, and that pain jerked him back into the present. Leo turned, desperate for a rational explanation for everything he had seen, only to find his reflection awaiting him in the mirror.
Despite his desperate attempts to tame the curls, his hair hadn't cooperated this morning. Leo looked at himself, truly looked at himself. It wasn't his disheveled appearance that jolted him; it was the fear screaming in his wide eyes. Aye, he had often been afraid in his early days as a SHIELD agent. Having Jemma nearby helped him muster his courage, though.
To Leopold’s anguish, the face in the mirror blurred and crumpled as tears assailed him. That was him, but he was a stranger.
And Leo could feel that stranger’s life inside, how easily Fitz’s puzzle pieces fell into place. Not all of it though, not the entire picture … instead the fragments of the truth were islands, with seas of ignorant blankness between them.
Leo Fitz, agent of SHIELD. He worked under Fury, then Coulson, and then Mace. SHIELD allowed him some freedom to make his projects a reality — like the Framework — but the cost was too great. He had nearly died for this organisation, which was inept at best, and so had Simmons —
Oh. Jemma.
She had lied. Jemma had lied about it all. Everything he dreamt and suspected was real.
Leo tried one last time to find some excuse for her, only the attempt was drowned out by the undeniable truth. There was more to her, more to them, than she had ever let on. And she’d been using him since they met. She’d sacrifice him for that other life, wouldn’t she? She’d abandon him in a heartbeat for that other Leo Fitz.
No, there was no love triangle here. There was only the grand saga of Simmons and Fitz. If Jemma had her way, the Doctor would be reduced to a tiny footnote in their dramatic history.
As it became clearer and clearer that he was freed from the romantic shambles Jemma wove for them, Leo felt something akin to relief stealing over him. This inward hollowness was cold, quiet. Even if it wasn’t exactly what he’d call peace of mind, he could work with it.
He shook his head, wondering what to do next, like a ship at full sail with no directing wind. Leo abhorred being so indecisive, as his intelligence and position meant that he should always have the answer. And if he didn’t, there’d always been someone there to guide him, like his mum, then his da, Ophelia…
Snapping his eyes open, Leo seized that stray thought. How had his father died, then? Alistair had saved Jemma Simmons’ life! She did not seem the type to earn his da’s respect, so why had Alistair stepped in front of a bullet for the former SHIELD subversive? It was Ophelia’s involvement in his father’s death that had comforted Leo when he felt some niggling reservations regarding his crush on Jemma. If he had blamed the wrong woman, that would make his romance with Simmons even more despicable.
Leo had the feeling that if he pushed his current partner for more details about Alistair’s death now, she’d find some convenient answer. Hell, it wouldn’t even have to make sense and some soft part of him would probably still yearn to believe her.
Sake. Leopold scoffed at his pathetic reflection and roughly scrubbed at his face. What would Alistair Fitz say at the state of him now?
“Don't buckle to guilt or womanly sentiment.”
Right.
He was the Doctor, the only worthy and capable protector of this world, and neither guilt nor womanly sentiment was allowed to sway his judgement now.
With borrowed aplomb, he took her firearm and walked down the short hall to take in the gray view of the waking city from her living room window. If Leo stopped to think about it, really think about it, what surrounded him and Jemma was nothing short of extraordinary.
The city, the building — hell, even the floor beneath his feet were mere illusions, shadows cast by a softer Leo Fitz shining the light outside the cave. It all felt real, in any case. Whether or not the people here weren’t physically alive was immaterial; they met some criteria of existing, didn’t they? Sure, they were only bits of bytes, but photons were only bits of lights and nobody discounted them. Simmons obviously thought they mattered at least a little, or she wouldn’t care so much about what happened to them. Not that he put much stock in Simmons’ opinion.
The Doctor was more comfortable pondering the first reality now, despite his paltry knowledge of that world. Context clues from his dreams gave enough for his swift analysis. Leo concluded that his protection was just as needed back there. Hadn't his and Simmons’ contributions prevented global catastrophes left and right? But so inefficiently. Even with only a small sample of retrospection, Leopold had sensed Fitz’s frustration with the rogue agency. Infuriating rules and outdated regulations, idiotic public opinion and private reservations, not to mention arbitrary ethical limitations imposed by a flawed scientific community … all that rubbish hindered cleverer people like Simmons and him from implementing what the world needed, in one way or another. And to what end?
If he left this place, this Framework, Leo knew he’d only be returning to an untidy, dying planet, where well-meaning but ultimately ignorant superiors stood in the way of progress.
Faced with such options, it was obvious which reality he ought to save now. He didn’t doubt that he could whip that other reality into shape if he put his mind to it, but to be honest, he didn’t see the point. He only needed one home, after all.
That was settled. Leo felt himself fully relax for the first time since he awoke. He found peace in remembering his original mission, before he ever met Simmons, or Ophelia, for that matter. His duty had always been to the greater good.
Jemma Simmons was a true danger to the greater good, and thus, his only worthy adversary. And if she was truly meeting with Skye, and their friendship was genuine, chances were that that incorrigible agent posed a danger to the masses as well. Grant Ward, then, was also suspect…
Jesus Christ. Was Melinda May a turncoat as well? The Cavalry was the quintessential Hydra agent, but she had formed a recent alliance with Jemma. And Leo had heard something or other that hinted she hadn’t been spending as much time in her Triskelion flat as she used to. True, May could have developed a social life, but he thought it more likely that the stoic woman had involved herself in Simmons’ untoward activities.
Leopold grimaced. Was he supposed to place all of “Jean Simone’s” friends under surveillance? They’d have half the Triskelion tailing the other half if that was the case. She was a popular actress that way, and that sunny, upright character of hers might have attracted the hardest of hearts to the wrong side. Jemma probably knew all the traitors infesting the Hydra ranks.
So she wouldn’t have to die, at least not right away. Perhaps tomorrow then. Or the day after, if it took too long to wring all the available information from her. The Doctor tried to shrug off the pinprick of unease at the thought of his partner shot and bloodied against a bullet ridden wall. He told himself that any qualm he felt regarding Jemma Simmons’ death was just a byproduct of that other life, the pathetic one who only wanted his happy ending but lacked the strength to seize it.
Although it was morbidly amusing to imagine Simmons’ umbrage from being executed by a common firing squad, Leo dismissed the idea. As uncomfortable as it would be, he knew that it would have to be him who pulled the trigger; the personal touch was the only way to contain any possible rumours of yet another example of his poor judgment. He was well aware that he’d been erring excessively since Ophelia’s unfortunate death, but he’d make up for it with decisive action in the future.
Starting with the procurement of Jemma Simmons’ intel. Oh, and he wanted whatever was inside the Transia warehouse. Leo was sure that, whatever it was, it was valuable, or Jemma wouldn’t have worked so hard for it. After all, Simmons didn’t truly care that Hydra had been supposedly cheated out of an order of the implosive compound promised by the corporation’s last CEO.
With the dendrotoxin weapon — ICER, his mind supplied insidiously — in his waistband, Leopold pulled out his mobile from his pocket with the other as he strode to the door. Luckily, he had the contact information of everyone Jemma knew already in his phone. His near obsession with her had been embarrassing, but now he was grateful that his thoroughness served him now.
“Guérin, it’s the Doctor,” he said once Simmons’ assistant picked up and, instead of a noise of excitement as he expected, there was a strange pause.
“Oh haha,” Guérin then replied flatly, “I’ll admit that your impression has gotten a little better, Vinson, but I don’t think he sounds that Scottish unless he’s mad —”
“Guérin,” Leo cut in shortly, “I assure you that this is the Doctor and not August Vinson. But I appreciate you telling me about his disrespect.”
There ensued another long pause during which Camille Guérin’s wee brain processed the actual identity of the caller. “Oh shit,” she emitted, panic raising the pitch of her voice, “I mean, I’m sorry sir. He’s probably sorry too, he doesn’t mean anything by it —”
Leo rolled his eyes. “Come to my flat as soon as possible.” For a moment, he wondered if he should have straightened everything he had rummaged through before he left Simmons’ place, only to dismiss the idea. For one thing, Alistair hadn’t raised his son to tidy up after anybody. And for another, Simmons likely wouldn’t have the chance to return there and notice anything amiss.
“Your flat?’ the daft girl echoed. Walking down the hall to the elevator, Leo frowned in confusion. He hadn’t expected any hesitation from the assistant. The Hydra fan seemed the type to jump off a cliff if he commanded it.
“Yes,” he confirmed as entered the lift. Leo scanned his hand and hit the button for his floor. Glancing at the scanner now, he wondered if that was what prompted her confusion. “I’ll allow you temporary biometric access.”
“Will … will Dr. Simone be there?” Guérin asked nervously.
“No,” Leo replied, gritting his teeth to stifle the irrational surge of anger he felt at the alias. His expression was dark as he stalked out of the lift and into his home a moment later.
He had been the one to choose Jem’s new identity shortly after they first met, because a small part of him thought she would find a name so obviously similar to her own funny. They hadn’t even been friends at the time, and still he had childishly wanted to make her laugh. Shaking his head, Leo added, “And don’t tell her either. Don’t tell anybody.”
“Oh.” Why the fuck did she sound so disappointed? What the hell kind of agent was this Guérin? Just as Leopold was ready to roar at the young woman, she said shakily, “Look, I really respect Dr. Simone and I don’t think I can … uh…”
As she struggled to explain her hesitation, Leo’s impatience shifted into pure bewilderment as he strode to his room. Only when he set the ICER down and noticed the unmade bed did he realise the misinterpretation of his request.
“— she’s really great and I’m sorry but whatever rough patch you two are going —”
“Guérin, this is a matter of security,” Leo ground out, incensed that she’d think so lowly of him. Christ, the girl was barely out of her teens! He wasn’t Hamilton, for god’s sake! It was almost enough to make him doubt that he truly was living in a virtual reality. Surely any version of him would have instituted an IQ minimum for these simulated citizens?
“Oh? Oh!” She sounded almost relieved before she emitted a worried, third, “Oh. Is Dr. Simone in trouble?”
Leopold raised his eyebrow at the loaded question and he grabbed a suit from his closet to lay on his bed. “Yes. So, to save her, you need to come here now.”
“Got it.” Her young voice had hardened, and it irked Leo to hear proof of the loyalty “Jean Simone” had garnered in such a short time. “I’ll be over ASAP.”
She was bound to be disappointed, Leo predicted as he quickly showered, to learn that Dr. Jean Simone was a bloody double agent. But, like him, Guérin believed civic obligations superseded personal ones. No matter what they felt for her, they could not allow her to undermine the world’s safety while secretly working for SHIELD.
As he dressed, Leopold used his laptop to tap into Transia’s security footage archive. Seeing Jemma arrive with the suitcase that held Hamilton’s hand shouldn’t have infuriated him as much as it did considering he predicted her to have it, and yet he found himself glowering at the screen when she arrived with Skye and an unknown woman. Of course she had lied about them meeting her later. Everything that came out of Jemma Simmons’ mouth was counterfeit.
Other footage showed them entering Hamilton’s daft little golf cart and neatly skirting most of the security cameras. There would be the corner of its bumper here, the edge of one wheel there. Clever of them, but it was plain to see that they were headed to the back of the main building, where the locked warehouse awaited its gory key.
He switched to a live feed and changed the angle of one camera so that it scanned the area around the Transia warehouse normally not within range. Whatever these women were doing, they were probably too distracted to notice the shift of it.
Ah. There. The rain obscured the view a great deal. Still, he’d bet his life that Jemma Simmons sat in that clear curtained golf cart. There would be no reason to park it so far away from the warehouse if all three had gone in, with the threat of implosion looming over their heads.
Tightening the knot of his tie, Leopold pondered how Jemma managed to get this far. When, under his orders, his people leaked whispers of a big holiday event requiring nitramene in the summer, it had simply been a casual ruse to flush out subversives and loose lips in the Triskelion. Certainly, Jemma hadn’t expected to become CEO of the company that was meant to produce the compound, but she hadn’t put up much resistance after she had settled into the position, had she? At the time, he had dismissed her obstinate search for nitramene as her silly need to prevent Hydra from doing any damage, but now he understood it could have been another ruse altogether.
But whether or not Jemma truly wanted nitramene wasn’t as pressing as what originally had been stored that locked warehouse? And who had put it there before Simmons ever took control? The building hadn’t been there when Rowan owned the company, Leo remembered with a frown. It had been added in some sort of bargain Ophelia sorted out … with Collin Hamilton.
Well, to get Simmons in for a proper interrogation would require some time and patience, but at least Collin was available for questioning down in the bowels of the Triskelion. Wringing answers from his former ally would serve as a way to prepare for his eventual confrontation with Jemma, actually.
By the time his guest had arrived, Leo had already arranged for Hamilton to be pulled out of his cell and intravenously intoxicated, sent false summons for potential cultist attackers via wireless printers around DC, and lastly sent actual summons to a handful of Hydra soldiers whom he knew not to be particularly loyal to Melinda May.
Leopold was walking out of the lab with Simmons’ ingestible QNB-T16 in his pocket when the lift doors opened. Guérin marched out and saluted him like a wind up toy soldier, which would have normally drawn a snort of laughter from him. But the Doctor was in no mood for such theatrics at the moment, and only waved away her overt deference impatiently.
“I thought you were going to be here ‘ASAP’?” he demanded.
“I biked here as fast as I could,” Guérin said apologetically. Her breathlessness and rain-dampened clothes supported her claim, but neither pulled much sympathy from him.
“Next time take the training wheels off,” Leopold suggested in a scathing tone and handed her the ICER and an old smartphone. “You’ll need these. There’s going to be an attack on Transia.”
Guérin stared dumbly at the weapon and device in her hands. “Sir?”
Leo suppressed a sigh. Then again, considering the processing power needed to run something like an entire virtual universe, he supposed it made sense to economise the effort put into the creation of its denizens. Nobodies like Camille Guérin here didn’t need that much mental complexity if they were simply meant to be sacrificed for law and order.
“It will be much like the Triskelion attack last month,” Leo continued. “I’ll arrange for cultists to swarm the place, but you needn’t worry about them, as they will be led by other Hydra agents.”
“So I should worry about Dr. Simone?” Guérin finished eagerly. “Keep her safe while it happens? But wait, why use the —”
“You’re going to get there ahead of the attack,” Leo corrected her. “Simone, Agent Skye, and a friend are already at the warehouse. Whenever they talk, use this. I’ve outfitted it with something that should pick up audio within twenty metres.” When Guérin stared down at the phone in wonder, he asked suspiciously, “You know how to use it, correct?”
Guérin bit her lip but nodded. Leo raised one eyebrow, wondering just how old she had been when that tech had been banned. Just to be sure, he showed her how to enter the passcode, as well as how to hit the “REC” button on his note taking app.
“It will transcribe it and automatically send it to me,” he finished. “I’ll be reading it in real time, and let you know when you ought to shoot Simone with this.” Leo gestured to the ICER, which she continued to hold as if she had never handled a weapon before.
“No!” Camille’s nearly hand flew to her lips, but she aborted the motion when she realised she’d have effectively pistol whipped herself in the process. Leo wondered if he had chosen the proper person for the task, but it was too late. The fewer people who knew about Jean Simone’s humiliating betrayal, the better.
“I mean, I mean —” Camille was flailing for a proper excuse as she pocketed the mobile and holstered the weapon in her waistband. Leo was mildly relieved she knew to check the safety before doing so. “You said I was going to save her?”
He shook his head impatiently. “It’s just a tranq gun, Guérin. It will look a little bloody, just like when the Resistance shoots our agents with theirs, but all you’ll be doing is giving her an instant nap. Chances are Skye will catch her before her head can hit the ground. The chaos of the cult will distract her friends from helping her too much, and I’m sure Transia security will have her transported to a hospital, where I’ll deal with her later.” When the agent visibly relaxed, he added in a harder tone, “But even if it was a proper gun, who are you to question my orders?”
Guérin’s mouth opened and shut several times as she tried to defend herself. “I don’t mean any disrespect,” she finally said, “but I don’t get why we’re pretending there’s an attack? And Dr. Simone —”
“Simone’s betrayed me,” Leo replied coldly. Of course, Simmons had done more than that, but he had neither the time nor the inclination to inform Guérin the true extent of her sins. Especially now when the girl looked as if she was ready to sob at the revelation. “I need answers from her, as well as control of Transia. This attack will lead to both. And if — for fuck’s sake, Guérin!”
Leopold was normally unmoved by the sight of feminine tears, having dealt with enough treasonous women in interrogation. But he couldn’t continue his instructions if the imbecile was sniffling too loudly to hear them.
Guérin shook her head, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “I’m sorry. I’m just — are you sure?” Before Leo could berate her, she answered herself. “No, I’m sorry, you wouldn’t have summoned me if you weren’t sure. But … but if she’s been led astray, she can be led back, right?”
Although Leopold believed a porcine flight to the moon was more likely, he nodded sharply, leading Guérin’s eyes to take on a pitiful, hopeful shine to them. “Don’t send her to a reeducation camp though. You could send her to Annapolis?”
England.
A faint line of annoyance creased between Leo’s brow as the unbidden thought supplied the alternative. He could send Jemma to England, to Polynesia, to one of the poles even…she’d be so far away that she could not endanger him or herself while he took care of business in DC.
No … Leo shook his head. No. Neither hell nor high water could keep Jemma Simmons safe from her own stupid bravery. Distance wouldn’t save her. Instead, the best place for her would be here. Locked away, yes, but it wouldn’t have to be a dungeon-like situation. He wasn’t uncivilised. Leo wagered that he could just make all traces of Jean Simone disappear, and the Resistance would simply assume she had become just another sacrifice for their cause, and —
“I’ve heard things about those camps,” Guérin continued pleadingly, misinterpreting his reticence. “And I know those measures are necessary for the other traitors, Dr. Simone is different. She deserves better.”
The bold claim anchored Leo’s wandering thoughts.
What the hell was he doing?
Why was he searching for a lenient alternative for the woman who used him so carelessly? Simmons was lucky he hadn’t sent a missile to Transia as soon as he learned the truth. That was the limit of his mercy, and he’d be damned if he wasted another moment’s thought on the matter.
The Doctor looked up at Guérin’s young face and gave a cold grin. “She does, so you’re here to help her. And if you are caught, you can produce a believable excuse to be there. Afterwards, you’ll help the other agents with the clean up before returning to the Triskelion. No survivors. Oh, and Simone or Skye should have Hamilton’s hand. Grab that as well.”
The morbid detail jolted the young woman from her distracted dismay.
“There’ll be a case for it,” Leo said with a frown. “You can put it in that so you’re not carrying around a severed limb.”
For whatever reason, Guérin only looked more horrified by the perfectly reasonable suggestion, and Leopold had had enough.
“Go to Transia, record the conversation, shoot your boss, help dispose of the cultists, and then come back to the Triskelion,” he summed up curtly before dismissing her.
The Doctor made sure to show his dissatisfaction with her performance as Guérin hurried back to the lift. He wanted to concentrate on the more pressing matters, but as Leopold made further arrangements, he could not drag his mind away from Simmons. Leo wished that he could isolate and then amputate whatever parts of him still hesitated to punish her, only he suspected that there were bits of Jemma embedded in every fiber of his being. Once upon a time, he had believed being so branded by her was a good thing. Now he could see how foolish he’d been to celebrate what was clearly a curse.
His mind warred with itself in that fashion as the morning dragged on. When he finally received a message from the warden that stated that Collin Hamilton’s BAC had been raised to his specifications, Leo was grateful for the distraction. He strode to his bar cart and nearly picked up his best whisky, only to remember Hamilton’s preferences with a wry chuckle. Kneeling, he reached for a dusty bottle of amaretto on the bottom shelf and then strode to the lift.
Leopold was pleased to find his image unruffled in the metal doors as they slid shut. His somewhat distorted reflection showed nothing except an immaculate world leader on his way to have a chat with an old friend.
Many minutes and even more floors later, the smell of Collin Hamilton greeted him before the sight did. Accustomed as he was to these types of suspects, Leo of course recognised the reasons why his former ally was so noisome now; since his arrest, Hamilton had been stabbed, shocked, beaten, half-blinded, a little dismembered… In short, everything but bathed.
“Is that anticipation or gangrene in the air?” Leopold joked upon entering the dingy morgue where the man was strapped to what was fast becoming his usual autopsy table.
Collin's eye widened at the sight of him, and Leo didn't blame him for cowering even more. This was the first time they had talked alone since before Simmons arranged Hamilton's downfall. Of course even someone as thick as the former Transia CEO could recognise that this was a special occasion.
Without further ado, Leopold set the bottle of amaretto on the slab next to Hamilton’s squirming, strapped down body, pulled out the capped syringe of QNB-T16, and looked over the medical chart left on the counter. “You’ve lost weight,” he observed.
“They forget to feed me sometimes,” Collin muttered, his words bleary from the alcohol. He sounded wheezy, which would be annoying to listen to over an extended period of time. Leo hoped this wouldn’t last too long.
“I don’t think it’s so much ‘forgetting,’” Leo told him idly. In search of specific equipment, he opened a drawer, and then a cabinet. With a triumphant noise, he pulled out a gallipot and showed it to Hamilton, who, aside from more squirming, gave no reaction. “I’ve told them to inversely base your food rations on how much you whinge every day.”
Hamilton glared like the world’s least intimidating pirate, but said nothing. He looked more preoccupied with Leo’s actions than his words, and with good reason. After calculating how many millilitres would be enough for someone of Hamilton’s diminished weight, the Doctor added the necessary QNB-T16 dosage and a few ounces of amaretto in the gallipot. Leo approached his old friend with a smile.
“Open up.”
To his surprise, Hamilton obeyed. Leo nearly paused in suspicion before shrugging it off and emptying the terrible cocktail into that waiting mouth. Either the man was dying of thirst — which was a distinct possibility — or he knew that it would be more painful to resist.
Leo wondered if he had grown rusty as he looked down at the fallen businessman. There was none of the usual burning bloodthirst speeding his pulse. The ready medical instruments on a tray nearby didn’t excite him. He hadn’t asked for those, but whoever prepped Collin must have assumed the prisoner was due for another session of torture.
“How are you, Collin?”
Hamilton said nothing, and at first Leo assumed the nonce was showing some late spine. But when he finally looked at the man’s noseless face, discoloured with a poorly treated infection and a tapestry of bruises, Leo realised that Collin was distracted by the effects of what he had just swallowed. His squirming against his restraints quickly stilled, so that his entire, frail body was limp within seconds. Only his forgettable face remained under his control, and it twisted in horror as he recognised the drug that paralysed him for a second time. No doubt he was remembering that the last time he was in this condition, when Leo and Simmons stole his hand.
Ever a man of unoriginality, Hamilton immediately began to plead for his life, an effort that baffled Leopold to no end. What on earth was he pleading for? Thanks to Simmons, Hamilton no longer had his wealth, his family, or his victims. Really, he ought to have been pleading for a merciful end. Then again, Leo reflected, a man as depraved as Collin most likely feared the chance of a punitive afterlife.
“Collin,” he interrupted, “before your arrest, were you taking any medicines you preferred to keep hidden?”
“Cialis,” the man immediately answered. “And supplements.”
“Supplements,” Leo repeated, interest piqued. He had known about the erectile dysfunction prescription, but nothing else had been recorded in Hamilton’s file.
Hamilton’s ruined face contorted with shame. “For growth.”
For a moment, Leopold almost felt like a child, for his first thought was that Collin Hamilton was tall enough, and the desire to surpass 180 centimetres was downright greedy. But then Hamilton’s face became more flushed, and Leo realised the growth was for a specific part.
Leo chuckled at his mortification. It was good to know that, even when mixed with alcohol, the effects of the serum were fast-acting. Leo imagined pulling answers from Simmons would be easy as pie if he gave her a dose with her wine. And while there were any number of ways he could have tested Collin’s forced honesty just now, that was the funniest. He needed a laugh this morning.
“God, you’re so stupid,” Leopold said. “If some pills could actually enlarge dicks, a quarter of the population would’ve turned into insecure tripods by now.” Before Hamilton could process that common sense, the Doctor shook his head. “But never mind. What’s in that warehouse behind Transia?”
“Ten underground levels and a machine,” Collin said promptly.
Leopold paused, because, of all things, he hadn’t expected that answer. Ten underground levels explained why the women’s current investigation was taking so long, at least.
“‘A machine’ is a bit vague, Hamilton,” he observed in annoyance. When Collin gave no response, Leo snapped twice at him. “Anything else?”
“Booby traps,” Hamilton finally supplied after scrambling for a better answer. “I’m sorry, I don’t know anything about the machine.”
Booby traps, Leo repeated to himself with some alarm, only to quash the niggling feeling in the next second. Jemma was safe from any trap because of her accomplices and, even if she did get hurt, that was her own damn fault.
“How is it that you don’t know anything else?” Leo demanded. “What happened after you took over Transia? You were at least there for the construction, I know that for a fact.”
“Madame Hydra had it built and told me to keep it locked up and secure. I only had to check on it once in a while for maintenance and change the passcodes.”
Leopold waited for more, but raised his eyebrows when Collin trailed off in pathetic silence. “That’s it? That’s all?”
“She didn’t like it when I asked questions.”
Leo rolled his eyes. Part of him wanted to scold Hamilton for lacking initiative, but his recent revelations stalled the castigation. Who was Leo to berate this idiot, when he had turned a blind eye Simmons’ manoeuvering?
As if reading his mind, Collin slurred, “Doctor, please, you have to believe me. I didn’t plant any tracker on your assistant. It was Simone, it had to be. And I had no idea Crawford was the one who killed your dad! I didn’t do anything except embezzle, I swear, I swear, please…”
Leo furrowed his brow, wondering at that strange insistence. “Of course I believe you, Collin,” he tutted, “because you can’t lie to me in this state.” When the ruined man was foolish enough to sigh in relief, he added, “But that doesn’t matter. You did touch Dr. Simone, didn’t you?”
Hamilton’s remaining eye filled with panic. His chapped lips twisted with some sloppy defence, but the serum forced him to admit, “Yes.”
“Why?” Leopold had some idea, of course, but he was feeling generous enough to guide Hamilton to the obvious logic behind his impending doom.
“I — I wanted to have her —”
“Why? Why her?” Leo failed to check his rising fury as he pushed for Collin to damn himself even further. He told himself it was another matter of proprietary principle; he wasn’t angry on Simmons’ behalf, but his own. This was the same hot emotion he’d feel if Hamilton had attempted to steal his pen or something. “Bit older than your usual type, isn’t she?” Leo sneered.
“Because she … she was yours and I just — I just hate you, god, everyone hates you —”
Instead of being insulted by that sobbed admission, Leo gave a slight smile. Yes, that was probably true. Being hated, though, was better than being disrespected.
“What a poor reason to risk your life,” Leo chided before he took a few steps back. He was by no means finished, but something had to be done, or his nauseating odour would reach unbearable heights.
Leo pulled out his mobile to arrange for some minimal cleaning. Then he frowned at the time and lack of updates. Either the women had been overcome by the booby traps, or Guérin had somehow botched her simple eavesdropping task. A text to Simmons would probably progress things a bit further.
Leo (11:03 AM): Lunch?
Jean (11:04 AM): Sorry, still busy.
Leo glared at the feeble excuse and sauntered to the other side of the room. His tap into Transia’s security feeds showed the golf cart zooming closer to the warehouse. Good.
The Doctor messaged the seven agents charged with corralling the cultist attackers to warn them that their mission was set to start as soon as Guérin tranquilised Simone. Leo then returned to the automatic transcription app, pleased that there was something useful being recorded there already. Hopefully the women would provide more answers than Collin here.
Speaker 1: “You were in there for hours! Of course I came in, I should have done earlier!”
Leo put away his mobile. There would be time enough later to review whatever they discovered in the ten stories below the surface. He messaged Guérin to carry on recording and tranq Simmons when all conversation was finished and before the CEO could investigate the warehouse herself.
As he returned to Collin’s side, his intention to fetch somebody for the smell discarded, Leo reached for a medical mask on the tray.
“Do you know,” he began casually, “contrary to popular belief, I’m not a complete bastard. I’m man enough to admit when I’ve made a mistake.” Collin’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, which was a funny sight with just one eye. Nodding, Leo added, “It doesn’t happen often, so I can understand your disbelief.”
He pulled on the mask, which helped with the smell a little, and then reached for the box of latex gloves. “There’s no harm in telling you,” Leopold continued, “that I think I erred in many of my decisions lately. Dr. Simone being the chief one among them. That’s why I brought your favourite liqueur. My way of apologising for not believing you when you claimed she set you up.”
Instead of seeking an advantage in this unexpected camaraderie, as Leo had expected, Hamilton only paled in fear. “Why is there no harm in telling me?”
Collin Hamilton had flashes of astuteness, Leo decided. It was a shame they were so few and far between. Of course, Leo would not have confided in him if there was any chance of him surviving this ordeal.
“You see, Collin, this is why we were never proper mates, besides you hating me,” Leopold scolded as he looked over the options of tools on the tray. “You’re so bloody selfish. I’m trying to vent and you bring the conversation back to you.”
“Gotta look out for number one,” Hamilton excused himself tiredly. Leo glanced at that revolting profile and realised that Collin was sinking back into resignation again. It was a little disappointing, because these sessions tended to be more interesting when the subjects had more fight in them.
“Right, but what number would you be?” Leopold wondered with a malicious grin.
Hamilton sighed. “Cheap shot, Doc.”
“You make it so easy,” Leopold replied, picking up a tiny torch. It was a dainty thing, meant for finishing crème brûlées, and he had no real use for it considering Hamilton’s ignorance and the serum in his blood. But then the thought of Collin laying one disgusting finger on Simmons intruded in his mind, and suddenly Leo wanted nothing more but to make Hamilton’s remaining appendages just as black as his weird little nose.
“You always did — everything about you, Hamilton. Easy, easy, easy.” Leo shook the torch and, judging by the faint slosh, it was half filled with butane. “The way you set yourself up for jokes, the way you lazily ran Transia into the ground, the way you went for the most vulnerable victims … god, weren’t you bored?” Leo tilted his head down at him and undid the torch’s safety lock before flicking on the flame. The tiny hiss of blue heat filled the silence between them. “Didn’t you ever want a challenge?”
Simmons might’ve been appalled by the logic of his questions now, Leo reckoned, but it was a more productive question. There was no use in trying to make Collin understand why his crimes were wrong. Criticising the style of his crimes, however, was something a man as superficial as Hamilton would detest.
“No,” Hamilton answered hoarsely. “Because I didn’t want to lose to a challenge.” His dark eye flickered up to meet Leo’s. “Like you have.”
The Doctor laughed before he could help it. What a surprisingly good point. Simmons was easily the most daunting being Leo had ever encountered, and look how well she defeated him. “They say people get wiser as they get nearer to death,” Leo smiled, pleased. “Who knew it would take so much to get you to a basic level of competence? Why didn’t I ruin you sooner?”
Although the question had been rhetorical, Hamilton did not take it as such. “Madame Hydra wouldn’t have let you,” Collin answered with a wince.
Leo’s grin broadened. “Why?”
“Because I was the only other one who knew the secrets she didn’t want you to know.”
“That sounds interesting,” Leo murmured, “Why didn’t you mention that earlier?”
“You didn’t ask, but now I’m hoping to bargain my way out of here with valuable information,” Collin continued to confess against his will.
“Your ‘way out of here’?” Leo scoffed. “You must be forgetting that any way out of here for you results in your guts becoming gory confetti.”
Hamilton said nothing for a few long seconds, but finally his eye widened as he remembered the GPS-based explosive implanted inside him, one that detonated if the pervy perpetrator ventured too far from the Triskelion. Not every prisoner was so lucky to receive such an accessory, but the Doctor had ordered the cruel measure because the former CEO was wealthy and wily enough to have secret allies who would have attempted a rescue.
“Oh,” Collin bleated, crushed by the reminder. “Oh right. Stupid of me.”
“Well, you’d breathe fresh air for a few seconds before detonation, so it’s still somewhat of an understandable goal,” he allowed. As he spoke, Leo felt a distracting buzz in his pocket. The Doctor set the torch back onto its base on the tray — not close enough to burn Collin’s temple, but near enough to make the man feel as if his hollow skull was roasting — before he pulled out his mobile. He was annoyed to find Guérin ringing him.
“This moron,” he muttered. Leo waved away Hamilton’s pleas to move the torch and swiftly exited the morgue. “What is it?” he barked as soon as he accepted the call in the dark corridor.
Then he had to jerk the phone away from his ear, which met with an explosion of noise. There were shots and yells and obvious violence unfolding on the other end of the line, but above it all was the hysterical shrieks of Jemma’s assistant.
“She was shot, really shot!” Guérin sobbed. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened —”
“No,” Leo contradicted before he could ponder it.
No. Jemma Simmons hadn’t been shot. He shook his head. Of course she hadn’t been; of course she was safe. His men had their orders, and Guérin only had the ICER.
Swiftly heading for the lift, he corrected Guérin through clenched teeth, “You mean tranquilised.”
“No! No, I mean — she stayed awake and they brought her inside and now everyone’s fighting — I don’t know, I don’t know —”
Had Jem been hit by crossfire? Christ, why hadn’t he thought of that possibility? Even if his soldiers were disciplined enough to train their aim elsewhere, there was no guarantee that the recruited zealots would have done the same. It was such an obvious danger that Leo could only shake his head at his past blindness. How on earth had he missed that?
Because I was angry, Leopold answered himself grimly. He had allowed his temper to overwhelm him and for that, Jemma had been hurt. One would think that accidentally losing Ophelia through the red haze of fury would have taught him a lesson but no. No, his emotions had bested him again.
He took a quick, deep breath to wrestle away those thoughts; he needed all his rationality now.
Right, so something went awry, but ten to one it was repairable, Leo concluded. Simmons was simply grazed or something — it was improbable for her to have sustained anything more serious, of course, not with Skye and his other agents right there. Minor errors were bound to happen with such inchoate plans, but all was not lost. He’d fix this, and then arrange for Jemma to receive her comeuppance when she felt better.
“What happened?” he demanded.
Guérin’s answer was more tears than words, and Leo bit back a snarl as he waited for her to regain her composure. Once he was safe in the lift, he placed the call on speaker and summoned his pilot via text message.
“Doctor,” Guérin wept, “I don’t know what happened! I —”
“Which hospital?” he demanded as the elevator car swiftly rose through the Triskelion.
“What? What do you mean —”
Leo’s heart leapt into his throat. Jemma was on the way to a hospital, wasn’t she? He suddenly envisioned his partner lying in a puddle of red, face pale and eyes vacant, all for his ill-conceived gambit. That wasn’t what he wanted.
Not yet, anyway, Leo reminded himself sharply.
“Which fucking hospital you stupid —” The demand died at the sight of four interruptions on his screen. Two of his assistants were ringing him, another one had emailed, and the fourth had texted, which was shown immediately.
Hess (11:29 AM): Dr. Simone’s injured & on her way to Washington University Hospital. I gave the info to your pilot.
Leopold wished he could have felt some modicum of relief that one of his employees was competent, but there’d been no news of Jemma’s condition in the message, so there was no easing the tightness in his chest. The doors slid open to reveal the gray, wet day and Leo ran against the damp winds to join his pilot.
He belatedly realised he shouldn’t have sat up front. Leo was sure that his pilot noticed how much his hands shook in his struggle to buckle himself in. He tried to excuse these physical reactions as remnants from his interrupted torture session.
Ignoring his pilot’s assurances of Dr. Simone’s well-being, Leo’s eyes darted between his mobile and the streets below during the short flight, irrationally latching onto any large white vehicle that might have been transporting Jemma. They should have airlifted her, Leo realised with belated fury. They should have taken her to the Triskelion.
If it wasn’t just a minor injury… if Jemma died … if something happened to her…
Leopold shifted uncomfortably in his seat. If something happened to her, then it would be tremendously difficult to get the answers he needed. True, he still would have Skye, Coulson, and May to interrogate, but — but it was best to get the intel from Simmons. She was cleverer.
There was no time to dissect his vacillation. Within minutes, they were landing on the roof of the hospital and Leo was ducking out and running again, ignoring the older woman who had been awaiting his arrival to introduce herself. Then, after he followed her into the building entrance, Leo saw an emergency medical team awaiting them by the open lift in there.
“Where’s your A&E?” he demanded, cutting through the tangle of their voices as he stepped inside the car.
“First floor,” one masked doctor hurried to answer, “but she’s not there. We couldn’t find the source of the bleeding fast enough so we immediately placed her in an R-gen cradle on third.”
“We’ll take you directly there,” somebody else assured him.
“Where was she shot?”
“Here.” One doctor pointed to her own right side, just below her ribs.
Then the first woman, whom he guessed was the dean of the hospital, was saying something about being in communication with his assistants, but Leo couldn’t concentrate. Instead, the location of Jemma’s wound had his eyes flickering over the protective gowns and gloves of the medical team.
There was so much blood. His mind couldn’t grasp it, there being so much red on them. They looked like survivors of a horror film. How could Jemma survive… Leo fought the bile that threatened to rise in his throat.
“You in charge?” he demanded the woman who had answered him earlier. She shook her head and gestured to the man next to her. “You are? How is she?”
The doctor hesitated. “She’s — it’s strange —”
Leopold nearly lunged for him for such an inane answer. He managed to catch a hold of himself, so that he only clenched his fists at his sides instead of around the man’s neck. Despite his restraint, the other man drew back in trepidation. “What does that mean, ‘strange’?”
“Just th-that — from what the guard said and what we saw, it looks as if she’s lost more than litre of blood, almost two, but —”
The lift bell chimed, and the dean timidly told him they were here. Forgetting the update, Leo turned and followed the woman out and down the hall. In his periphery, Leo caught the dean’s gesture to the med team to keep their distance, presumably because he looked ready to murder the lot before. Leopold hardly noticed when any nearby staff fled at the sight of them, for all he could see was Jemma. First in his mind, with horrific images of her lifeless body choking his every breath, and then in his actual vision when they entered her room.
The ceiling lights were dimmed, so that the machine cast an ethereal glow from the centre. He barely heard the dean excuse herself and close the door. As he forced himself to take one shaky step further in, and then another, Leo knew that this was the worst thing he had ever seen. Yet he could not look away.
Leo had never noticed before how much a regeneration cradle resembled a glass coffin until this moment. Inside it, Jemma looked like a fairytale princess, with her face serene and her body unmoving beneath the viewing pane. Only, instead of a regal dress, she was wearing a thin patient gown, scrunched up and pulled aside so that her abdomen was exposed to the machine. And instead of awaiting a rescue from her true love, she’d been hurt by hers.
“Oh hen,” he breathed, “I’m sorry.”
Leo thought he wanted this. He thought he would be satisfied to see her defeated and humiliated. But as Leo stared down at his unconscious partner and her face became distorted by his rising tears, he could not think of anything worse than Jemma Simmons being harmed in any way. All his fantasies of retribution now seemed petty and insane when faced with the reality of what a dying Jem looked like.
Her arms and hands were mottled with dark red, with some clean streaks in spots where they had to disinfect her skin for injections and her IV. There was even some dried blood on her neck, and the ends of her hair was matted with it. Despite the grisly stains, Jemma looked as if she was merely sleeping, instead of unnaturally recovering from massive blood loss.
Perhaps… He tried to shake off something as useless as hope, but her lack of deathly pallor had him wondering. Perhaps, outside of this false world the other Leopold had created, there were failsafes in place that would prevent her death now? Maybe, on the flipside of this reality, her SHIELD agents were monitoring her declining biometrics and taking more effective action. God he hoped so. Imagining another team working frantically to save Jemma’s life managed to lessen his terror by a few degrees. But what little comfort he gained from the vision was countered with a new fear.
Even those “real” agents managed to save Simmons there, what good did that do him here? What if the only way to save her would be to steal her from him? Leopold did not know how to grapple with the possibility that the only way for Jemma to survive was to leave him forever.
Turning away from such crushing thoughts, he attempted to do something useful, say something encouraging, but seeing her like this only prompted his spiralling imagination to fill the blanks in the patchy narrative the others provided. Skye must have been too distracted by the attack to help Jemma right away, if it was a Transia security guard who tended to her. Guérin mentioned something about Jemma being in a building, out of her sight.
So she’d been without any friends, Leo concluded in quiet devastation. Some random security guard might very well be the last person Jemma might have seen before — before —
“I’m sorry,” he told her again, but the useless apology broke beneath the weight of his remorse. Leo pressed his hand to the glass in a fruitless attempt to be closer to her. Jemma needed to stay in there to survive, he knew that logically, but his heart insisted that he hold her. He needed to feel her pulse, needed to hear her breathe. Anguished, Leo scanned the rest of her, wondering if there was anything he could do now to hasten her healing somehow and get her out of the awful box.
How much blood had that man said? One litre, two? That was — Leo didn’t know her weight, but estimated her body normally had a little less than four litres of blood. He wished he had exact numbers, so he could better theorise what the cradle was healing at the moment. Hopefully, the exsanguination hadn’t been so extreme that her organs suffered from shock.
“And really,” he reminded her desperately, “we both know how unreliable visual blood loss assessment is.” There probably hadn’t been enough time for them to run other tests.
No matter how much blood she lost, all of Jemma’s systems must have been painfully disrupted by this attack. She — actually, nobody could have seen this coming. Of course, as the Doctor’s partner, she should have been protected more than anyone else in the world. Only she hadn’t been safe from Leo himself.
Leo had seen these cradles snatch agents from the brink of death before. Jemma should have been no different, no matter how much blood she lost. And yet, he could not silence the acute, irrational fear that she would be taken away from him simply because he had just proved, yet again, that he didn’t deserve her. Why shouldn’t the universe finally save her from the Doctor?
“Please,” he told her hoarsely, “don’t go just yet, even if I deserve it. I can’t… It feels different, Jem. It feels different — worse — if you go too.”
He was no stranger to loss. They both knew that. Even before the consecutive tragedies in spring, Leo had grown accustomed to losing family and friends to natural or political deaths. But nothing, not even his mother’s passing, could compare to the blackness that threatened to swallow him whole at the thought of losing Jemma. If this had happened yesterday, Leo might have wondered at why this one cut at him like a thousand blades.
But today he knew the answer. He knew it was because he’d loved her before. Although the details of their true lives together were murky, the devotion from that other Fitz was so fierce it had burned within him even when Leo remembered only a fraction of it. The Doctor saw that now; he accepted that his early partiality to Jemma was owed to Fitz’s latent steadfastness. Then it bloomed into his own love, much younger than Fitz's but just as real. Her death would destroy him twice over and it was more than one man could possibly bear.
“I’ll fix this, Jem, I swear. ”
He tried to think of something else to say, but everything else he could promise would probably appall more than reassure her. Already, his mind was brewing with the possibilities of butchering imprisoned dissidents for whatever Jemma might need — blood, organs, skin grafts…
When the buzz of his mobile interrupted his grisly thoughts, Leo nearly threw the damn thing at the wall if not for the name of the caller. He stared at the screen, contemplating what to do next. Whether or not Jemma survived, he knew he needed to protect whatever parts of her he could, including her reputation.
After a deep breath and wiping at his eyes, Leopold accepted the call and answered coolly, “Guérin.”
“Doctor! I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t call, but I have to know! Is she —”
“You don’t have to know anything,” he growled. “If you had followed my instructions, she wouldn’t have been hurt!”
“No … but … Doctor, I did follow your instructions!”
Leo’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“I did! I swear I did!”
Leopold eyed Jemma’s blood splattered body. So, the plan had gone accordingly but something obviously went wrong? Perhaps Jemma’s ICER had been faulty… He shook his head. No, it couldn’t have been that. He had seen Jemma wield that weapon the night of the Triskelion attack, and she simply wasn’t the type to use it on humans without knowing its effectiveness first. Sometimes her soft heart even made her hesitate to test her products on their lab rats if she thought it would result in “unnecessary” pain for the rodents.
He very much doubted that Guérin tied her own shoes each morning, so he wouldn’t put it past the halfwit to somehow use the wrong weapon in confusion. It was a matter he’d have to investigate later. Taking a calmer tone, Leo asked, “Where are you?”
“I — we’re approaching the Triskelion,” she answered with a sniffle.
“Who is ‘we’?”
“Oh, um … I don’t know their names —”
“So Skye isn’t there? Her friend?”
“No. They both chased after the other cult people who got away. I’m in the van with the other agents.”
“How many?”
“Uh… One, two, three … seven. Doctor —”
“You lot eliminated the surviving attackers?”
“Yes.”
That satisfied Leopold somewhat. He wasn’t sure if Guérin had it in her to kill blindly, but at least she proved she was a little bit worthy to wear Hydra’s insignia.
“Please,” Guérin attempted again, “tell me, is Dr. Simone okay?”
Leo clenched his jaw at her continued audacity. “The hand?” he asked next. “You have it? And the tranq gun?”
Guérin gave a shuddery sigh as she did her best to quell her worry. “Yes, I have them,” she answered, voice small and resigned.
“Good.” Leo glanced down at Jemma and wondered if he ought to speak elsewhere so that he did not disturb her recovery. Perhaps she was hearing every word he said now. But his worry for her peace was outweighed by the small possibility of her awaking alone, terrified and disoriented. Although he didn’t deserve the privilege, he resolved to be the one to comfort her and remained by her side as he gave his next set of instructions.
“Leave the hand and the tranq gun in the morgue. Hamilton should be there. Gag him first, and then the eight of you will escort him to our Annapolis campus. Use the pedestrian bridge at the back of the Triskelion. Tell the guards there, as well as Hamilton’s keepers, to clear out before you get started. Under no circumstances are they to witness the transfer. Understand?”
Leo waited until he heard Guérin’s quiet acceptance of the plan before he ended the call.
There. Now he only had four more people to eliminate. The most efficient way would be to have May and Ward search for Skye and her friend. The mission would result in all four of those traitors in one convenient location for a targeted missile.
Leopold looked at Jemma again. If she lived, she would be heartbroken to discover what he had arranged for her accomplices. But he didn’t care. He’d prefer her to be protected and livid than dying so at peace.
Of course, he could always lie. Pretend it was some terrorist attack that killed her friends. But Jemma had a way of ferreting out the truth, and chances were postponing the inevitable would result in her yelling —
“FITZ!”
He jumped back in shock.
Leopold had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t realised Jemma had awoken until the muffled shout of his surname and the thump of her hand on the glass startled him. Eyes wide, he stared down at the irate woman in the cradle, flabbergasted not only to see her well enough to struggle, but also energetic enough to be absolutely pissed off at him.
“Where am I?” she demanded. “Let me out!”
“Washington University Hospital,” he answered in distraction. Leo stepped closer, hands out in a quieting gesture as if he were dealing with a spooked horse. “Jemma, Jemma, you need to lie still. You’ve been shot —”
“Oh bollocks, no I haven’t,” she retorted. Jemma gestured down at herself as if presenting proof, only to widen her eyes at her blood stained arms. Evidently she remembered nothing of what happened to her this morning. A trauma response, he guessed, or a reaction to whatever drugs the emergency team gave her. Shaken by her condition, Jemma stopped her struggle, but with no less confusion in her eyes.
He frowned and checked her stats on the monitors. Then he looked at her again. While her movements were still clumsy and her expression was that of bleary disorientation, Jemma did not appear to be in the critical condition one might expect from that much haemorrhaging. He searched for a chart to check the time her cradle session began, only to give up in favour of watching her. Even without it, he was certain that there was no way it was long enough to make any meaningful impact.
“I don’t understand,” Leo confessed. He shook his head as he tried to assess her injury through the glass. “There was so much blood loss…”
As he spoke, Jemma gingerly reached down to touch the dried red at her side. Leo watched with growing suspicion as she rubbed at blood there.
He’d been reluctant to open the cradle in fear of sabotaging Jemma’s healing until her eyes flickered nervously to his. Then all hesitation vanished. Clenching his jaw, Leo reached over to the controls to stop the regeneration process and release the lid.
Leopold pushed the lid of the cradle farther up so he could lean down and observe her side. Jemma had no ready excuse to prevent his inspection, but she did instinctively squirm away as if she wished for one. Leo did not find any deadly hole. Instead there was a small, grotesquely plugged puncture, in which the butt of familiar looking ammo sat.
“Fi — Leo,” Jemma corrected herself worriedly. “I…”
When she didn’t finish, Leo glanced at her, only to find her words interrupted by an enormous yawn. “God,” she murmured in quiet surprise, “why am I so sleepy?”
He did not bother to answer. Instead he contemplated whether or not he ought to touch her. Gloves were vital for such examination, as it wouldn’t do to lose Simmons to infection. But something told Leo he needed to feel that blood loss, in a way that her emergency medical team hadn’t been able to when they worked on her because of the latex. Just as cautious as Jemma had been, he touched the dried smears on her middle and rubbed the residue between his fingers.
He straightened. That didn’t feel like blood, not exactly. It wasn’t flaking right, and it lacked the proper roughness. Having endured his fair share of splatter during his interrogations, Leo knew that, although Jemma had genuinely haemorrhaged during this ordeal, whatever this was that spilled out of her and onto the doctors was not purely her.
Just as Guérin claimed, it was the ICER ammo that had landed in Jemma’s side, and he was distantly relieved that he stopped the cradle before it had regenerated her skin over it. She was fine.
She was fine!
What. The hell?!
“For fuck’s sake Simmons!”
Leo backed away from her to double over, bracing himself on his knees as he tried to catch his breath after this deluge of livid relief.
“God, I can’t believe — I — But you looked like —!” The rest was lost in a long exhale and frustrated snarl.
“What? What?” She sounded angry but unsure as well. Matching his mood out of pure habit.
Leo straightened and stormed closer. “I thought you were dying!” he accused.
Jemma tried to give a wide, incredulous gesture, only for her hands to thump against the walls of the cradle. “So sorry to disappoint!” That total disrespect provoked a hysterical chuckle from him.
“Don’t say that,” he ordered, struggling to pick an emotion to settle on. There was more Leopold wanted to say, like how now was not the time for sarcasm, but he choked on the words. When he loomed over her, he didn’t blame Jemma for shrinking back. He must have looked like a lunatic. Granted, Leo knew that he was one, just a little, but he wasn’t a danger to her, never her. Instead, he seized her shoulders and gripped her tightly to him. She let out a whimper, perhaps because the position caused her some pain; he didn’t care.
He took those precious few seconds to finally quiet the chaos unraveling inside him. There was no need to worry about having her taken away from him, by death or by anybody from another reality. There was nothing to fear, Leo told himself over again as he breathed her in. She smelled like sweat and rain and disinfectant. Her shuddering breath was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.
“Love,” she murmured against his collarbone, “it’s all right. I’m all right.”
Leo snorted at that obviously wrong statement. He felt her shivering and decided to find another blanket for her as his first act of atonement. But when he finally released her and stepped back, he learned it was him who’d been trembling from the imbalanced adrenaline in his system. Though he was calming down, there was still some lingering indecision within him; he wanted to laugh, cry, scream, all at once and forever. He felt as if he’d been given a second chance. He felt as if he’d been tricked for the nth time. The best thing to do, he decided, when so much whirled inside him, was to suppress it all. Leo clenched and relaxed his fists as he tried to regulate his reaction.
“Diluted blood,” Jemma explained as he backed away. She seemed apprehensive, and he could only guess it was because she understood little of the situation and didn’t know how to proceed safely.
Leo remembered the first project he assigned Simmons when he promoted her as his lab partner. The specs he gave her showed a railgun whose bullets were meant to break apart beneath the subcutaneous tissue. The dendrotoxin level had been the only thing stymieing his progress back in May. But if she designed this on her own since then, Leo was unsurprised to see that she had had trouble with perfecting the stopping power.
“I suppose I have been shot, but with the kind of tranq gun that the Resistance uses … I think?”
She sounded reluctant to blame her friends, but Leo wasn’t listening anyway. Feeling as if he had just run a marathon, Leo leaned against the opposite counter and stared at her as he tried to decide what to do next. Having suffered the results of half-baked planning, he was reluctant to behave so rashly again. Perhaps he wouldn’t send a personalised airstrike to Skye and company.
“But … why would they shoot me?” she murmured. “And why am I awake … wait, how long have I been out?” That confusion was sincere, as far as Leopold could tell.
“At best, no more than two hours,” he intoned.
“That’s strange. The Resistance’s tranquillisers normally knock out a person for at least eight hours…” It was sloppy of her to reveal so much of her knowledge concerning that subversive group’s weapons. The details of Hydra soldiers’ injuries were in classified documents that only he, May, and a few other high ranking officials knew. He supposed the disorienting injury and “cure” was to blame.
Her unintended openness, as well as the entire ordeal, placed Leo in a contrary mood. He remembered how Jemma reacted to pain medication the last time she’d been hospitalised. There was a good chance she’d forget whatever they discussed next if she received more.
“But it wasn’t one of the Resistance’s tranq guns that shot you, was it?” he pointed out, now deliberately casual.
Simmons, who’d been studying her side, now let her patient gown drop again. He caught how her eyes lingered to his hands, which he had slipped into his pockets without thinking. In spite of everything, Leo could have laughed if he had less composure; he supposed that if he had a tell that he was ready to attack, it was probably this habit. Of course Jemma picked up on it, having been his quarry on more than one occasion.
“We’ve seen what the Resistance’s weapons do to our agents,” he continued. “There’s never this much blood. And, as you said, the victim is usually out like a light for at least a day. You know that dendrotoxin weapon of yours?”
She frowned at the swerve in topics and swallowed nervously. “What of it?”
“Does it work as it ought to?”
“I … I dunno. I think so? I haven’t been able to study the people I’ve shot with it,” she admitted sheepishly.
Leo tried not to smile at that embarrassment. So Simmons had cut a few ethical corners, had she?
“But it has nothing to do with my situation now, does it?” she asked. Jemma's eyes narrowed when he didn't deny it right away. “Does it, Leo?”
Ah. She wasn’t bothering to hide her suspicion now. Her ICER was supposed to be in her night stand. Only Jemma Simmons and Leo Fitz had access to it.
Quid pro quo. He had already bared his soul to her; he wasn’t about to do the same with his mind unless he gained something in return. Now that her distrust was rising, the likelihood of her giving up something like that was low, but he saw no harm in trying.
“What did you find in that warehouse, Jem?” Leo asked as he sauntered over and looked over her IV drip control panel.
“What?”
Leopold could feel her stare scorch into him as he considered her opiate dosage.
“Why would you ask that?” she demanded when he didn’t answer. Instead, he spotted and checked her medical chart to ensure he wouldn’t overdose her. “I’ve been shot — er, well, attacked at least! You’re worried about your nitramene while I’m sat here and —”
“And you don’t want to answer my question,” Leo finished calmly. “Just as I don’t want to answer yours.” After placing the clipboard back on its hook, he bent closer, so that she saw him and him only. Perhaps all the heartache from this morning’s discovery still shone in his eyes, for Jemma looked as if she spied something that made her face soften with regret.
“I’ll tell you,” she offered in a half whisper. “But only after you tell me what you’ve done.”
He cocked his head. What a bold one, bargaining from her disadvantaged position. “Oh,” he murmured with a small, rueful smile, “I think you know.”
Leopold, of course, had no way of knowing exactly which conclusions she had come to in the few tense seconds that followed. At the very least, Jemma probably surmised that he arranged for her current predicament. And the only reason he’d have ordered the attack was her own, traitorous activities.
She looked afraid of him, or afraid for him — whatever. Either way, Leopold saw that he’d have to erase this apparently obvious look of knowing from his eyes before the next time she awoke. It would ruin everything if she realised that he knew the truth about her and the Framework.
“You must hate me,” she mumbled, now struggling to keep her eyes open. The worry lines on Jemma’s face relaxed as the increased pain meds eroded her consciousness.
“No.” The reply escaped him before he could really ponder it. Leo opened his mouth to modify his answer somehow, only to come up short. Whatever he felt this morning was certainly hateful, he admitted, but it dissipated at the possibility of losing her.
No, he didn’t hate her. Despite everything, he did love her.
The “why” behind his weaknesses didn’t matter. All he knew was that if he was still concerned about her well-being even after learning the crushing things she had done, then … then there was no fighting it really. He loved her. They were both doomed by the paths they had chosen, but at least they’d suffer it together. He had bent so close to her so that she would not see his hand increasing the dosage on her IV drop control panel, but now Leo took advantage of the proximity to give a reassuring kiss to her cheek. “I thought I did, but I don’t. Not really.”
Jemma gave no reaction to that and Leopold straightened with a pensive sigh. He looked at her one sleeping face last time before checking her stats again.
Despite how cool he’d been before she drifted off, his heart burned with a determination to never let Jemma so close to leaving him ever again. Whatever future schemes he wove to thwart SHIELD and the Resistance, they’d have to be done around Jemma Simmons. It would be tremendously difficult, especially because he planned to have her moved into his flat for safekeeping, but the alternative option — actually losing her — frightened him more than anything in this or the other world.
He called her name twice to ensure she was truly sleeping before stepping out into the hall. Leo looked around and did not see a soul in sight. It was somewhat worrisome, considering that “Jean Simone” should have been this hospital’s most important patient, but for now he was grateful for the privacy.
The Doctor leaned back against her closed door and released a deep sigh of relief. Perhaps another tear or two were shed before he annoyedly wiped at his eyes and pulled out his mobile.
Jemma’s assistant sounded fearful when she answered his call with a shaky “Sir?”
“Hello Guérin. Where are you?”
“We’re loading Mr. Hamilton into the van. He really didn’t want to go and gave us a lot of trouble —” Leo heard the faint voice of one of the other agents in the background, apparently advising her on what to relay. “We’re sorry for taking so long but we’ll make up the time during the drive, they said.”
“He’s still gagged, correct?”
“Yes sir.”
“Well done,” Leo chirped. “You in particular won’t be going to Annapolis, though, so send the rest of the team off. I’ve decided you need to take the hand and tranq gun back to my flat. Leave them on the dining room table and then go home.”
Guérin muttered her compliance. She was a moody little thing, Leo noticed, but forgave her in light of what a shit morning it had been.
“And what do I do after today?” she asked miserably. Leo heard the chime of a car’s open door notification, and then the slam of that door as she presumably left the vehicle. He raised his eyebrows, amazed by his own good timing.
“Tomorrow you will start work as my unofficial assistant, Guérin,” he told her. “I’ll have a list of tasks made up for you by then. Dr. Simone will be out of commission for a little while but —”
“Like Madame Hydra was ‘out of commission’?”
Despite the tremor in her tone, Leo was actually impressed by her bravery. And that loyalty to Jemma he found so loathsome before now pleased him — if Guérin was still partial to her boss, but obedient to the Doctor’s demands, she was the ideal candidate to spy upon and protect Jemma Simmons. It would probably cause some cognitive dissonance in the girl, but that wasn’t his problem to sort out.
“No, not like Madame Hydra,” he told her blandly. “Simone will return to Transia in due time, Guérin.” Leo ignored her dramatic gasp. “Agent, you have your orders.”
“Yes, Doctor,” she confirmed with a great deal more enthusiasm.
“Good. I’ll be in touch. Oh and, if you tell anyone about today, I’ll make you shoot your grandmother.”
Leo rang off and opened the app that held access to the Triskelion’s CCTV. It took longer than he liked to finally find the camera trained on the pedestrian bridge at the back of the building, where the van was parked. The bridge wasn’t designed to hold motor vehicles, but Leo wasn’t concerned about its stability now.
The Hydra soldiers and Hamilton barely started the short journey across it before the windows shattered outwards and the van swerved, easily breaking through the wooden railing before crashing into the water.
The Doctor tsked as he deleted the footage from the archive. With the torrential rain and hazardous weight of their people carrier, such a disaster was unavoidable.
“Really. Whatever possessed them to use that bridge?” That’s what he’d say, Leo decided, with artificial surprise when his assistants informed him of the accident. He was indifferent as to whether or not some later investigation would reveal that their deaths were owed to an explosion and not mere drowning. Those details would be hushed up, not only from the public, but from a majority of Hydra — Melinda May especially.
In better spirits, Leo left to tell Jemma’s doctors they ought to give the ICER ammo to him once they finally removed it from his partner. The fact that her session in the cradle had been cut short would explain why she’d still have a scar from the procedure, as well as why she’d recover from the “gunshot wound” quicker than expected. Though he was still drained by today’s cyclone of emotions, Leo grinned a little, pleased that Jemma Simmons helped him with his future deceptions. Even fortuitously, they worked well together.