Fitz sat, flipping his phone back and forth in his hands while he watched the final flights touchdown on the runway of the small airport.

It was late, the sun had set hours ago, but the bright orange lights that left the runway illuminated also blotted out the stars, leaving the sky a hazy black.

He felt hazy. His back hurt from the long flight and his head was filled with fuzz from lack of sleep. Both of which problems he blamed bitterly on his stupid, uncooperative chair that he had begun to suspect (in the later half of the flight) was actually made of several bricks covered in the thinnest fabric available set up specifically to torment him.

It had been a very long trip.

He'd been looking forward to reaching his own, flat, bed after only one more short 90 minute flight, but it seemed as if the weather had other plans and, heart heavy, he dialed the number that had been waiting on the tips of his fingers, ready to deliver the bad news.

It didn't surprise him in the least that, when she picked up the phone, she knew why he was calling.

"You've been grounded," she guessed, disappointment dampening her usually cheerful tone.

A hook snagged on his heart and Fitz found himself leaning into the speaker, drawn by the sound of her voice even though he knew that she was, in actuality, hundreds of miles away. His shoulders rose in a weary sigh, worn from an already long day of travel and fiercely missing her warm embrace and the aura of sunshine that haloed around her, even more than he was missing his soft (brick-free) bed.

"I'm sorry darling it's the storm, it's covering half the… the…" Though she couldn't see, his free hand flew up as he huffed, tired and frustrated. "You know."

"It's covering half the Eastern seaboard," she finished and he could picture her, brow knitted in a frown as she ran her fingers through her hair or rubbed her free palm over the back of her neck. "And it's a monster. You won't be flying for a while." There was a brief pause and her next words were quieter, taught with concern. "You're safe though?"

"We're far enough inland to… uh.. to avoid the worst of it," he assured her. "They're just being… being… uh, overcautious."

"They're following safety protocols," she corrected, though she sounded about as exasperated as he was. "You must be at your wits end, flying all that way only to be stuck at an airport," she fussed. "You should find someplace with an actual bed to sleep on."

That did sound like a good idea, he wasn't going anywhere tonight, the endlessly patient woman at the help desk had made that abundantly clear. However he wasn't ready to hang up just yet.

"How are the Spray-n-Track cartridges coming along?" he asked, hoping to distract her with science so he could keep the conversation rolling, even only a few minutes longer.

She let out a long sigh, scolding but sympathetic. "Fitz..."

"I know, I know, I've come up with.. come up with, uh… better than… than that," he said evasively, shoving a fist against his mouth to cover a deep yawn, losing his battle with his own exhaustion.

"Go get some sleep, sweetheart," she urged gently, obviously not fooled.

He sank into his chair, pouting and cursing his stupid, fuzzy head. "I miss you," he told her quietly. "It's been-"

"Four days, five hours and twenty eight- twenty nine minutes," she finished patiently.

That brought a smile to his face, warmth raising in his chest. "You've been keeping track," he teased.

"Don't sound so smug, I know you have too," she shot back, though her tone was sweetened and soft with affection.

"Four days, five hours, twenty nine minutes and forty three seconds," he answered, smile widening further when he heard her tutt at him.

"Next you'll be counting fractions of a second," she mused.

He shook his head, laughing. "Nah, the information would be… it… it would be inaccurate by the time I could uh… by the time I could…" Another yawn, and he was too late to muffle it this time.

"Bed," she ordered.

"No, actually I was going to say communicate," he joked flatly. "Are you sure it's only been four days?"

"Four days, thirty minutes and fifteen-" she began before she caught herself and groaned at him. "Ugh, Fitz."

He didn't need to see her to know that she was rolling her eyes (but he wished he could see her, rolling her eyes, shaking her head, sighing impatiently, he wasn't going to be picky at this point).

"Alright, alright, I'll go start the hunt for somewhere to stay," he relinquished.

"Someplace close by," she suggested swiftly. "The rain should be coming any minute now and when it does the roads are going to be a mess. You aren't going to want to be out there when that happens."

"I will," he promised.

"And if you get one of those adjustable mattresses, don't set the setting too low," she reminded him. "I know it seems more comfortable but it's awful for your back, especially after so long sitting upright."

He smiled, pushing back a chuckle as he realized that she was stalling now. "I know."

"You'll have a good nights rest and tomorrow you'll only have few more hours to fly. We'll be together again in no time at all," she assured him optimistically. She was silent for a moment and he leaned his head against the back of the chair, waiting patiently until her voice filled his ear once more. "And Fitz?"

His eyes had closed on him, but he nodded again, still listening. "Mhmm?"

He could hear her cinnamon-sweet smile in her breath, even before she spoke. "I love you."

The words lit his heart, lifting away some of the dense, weary fog that hung over him.

"I love you too," he answered warmly, nearly nuzzling the tiny phone but catching himself just in time to avoid embarrassment. "I'll be home soon."

/-/-/

The closest hotel had been completely booked and he'd needed make several phone calls from the hard, plastic airport chair, before he finally found one within a reasonable distance.

By the time he'd found a taxi and been given a room, it was already well past midnight and he wondered grumpily what the point of the entire struggle had been if he was only going to be able sleep a few hours.

Then he actually thought about sleeping, even for a bit, on something that didn't force him to remain vertical, and decided it was worth it.

Halfway down the hall towards the elevator, his phone buzzed and as he scrambled to get it out of his pocket he dropped his trunk, cursing loudly when it toppled onto his foot.

It was the airport, messaging him that he was going to need to wait until 10 am for flights to resume. At least he'd be able to get some sleep but now his foot was throbbing and his trunk was tipped off its wheels.

His shoulders sagged and he plopped heavily down onto the hallway bench, debating whether or not to call Jemma again.

While he weighed the pros and cons, he noticed a man, tall with dark hair, formal clothes and a pair of bright, focused eyes, shuffling towards him from the lobby.

Rather than take the elevator, or move further on to the rooms on the first floor, he eased himself down onto the bench. There was something in the way the man sat purposefully beside him that set Fitz on edge, hinted that something wasn't quite right.

Instinctively, he reached for his phone, his hand moving cautiously towards his pocket, ready to hit the first number on his speed dial, knowing that if he called for it there, help would arrive soon. Whether soon was soon enough wasn't something he wanted to think about, but he wasn't about to go out without a fight.

The man's next words, however, stopped him in his tracks.

"I can save her," he told him flatly, still staring ahead. "She doesn't have to die."

Fitz whipped his head to the side, narrowing his eyes in confusion, his attention captured by the strange, ominous statement, chilled by the clear lack of emotion from its source.

"Who…?" he asked, not understanding. "Who's… who needs saving?"

"The woman you were about to call," he replied, unnervingly calm even as Fitz felt the blood drain out of him.

"Jemma…" he breathed, ice creeping over his heart when the man spoke in unison with him, continuing after he'd fallen into stunned silence.

"Simmons," he supplied easily.

Heart racing, the rest of Fitz's body swiveled towards him and he leaned urgently forward. "What's happening? What's going to happen to her?" he growled.

Head turning slowly, the man's gaze shifted towards him, detached, as if they were discussing a particularly dry topic of conversation. "It hasn't happened yet."

A burning ball of anger rose in Fitz's chest. "Enough games," he warned fiercely. Jemma's life was not some plaything to be toyed with.

"You are going to take the elevator up to your room," the man told him, ignoring the threat and the searing glare that was now being shot at him. "There are two enemy agents waiting there to capture you- you will fight them, but you will not escape." He spoke with such finality, such certainty it was as if he'd already seen it happen.

"What the hell is this?" Fitz snarled, frightened but rooted firmly in place by the potential danger hanging over Jemma.

"They will take you away, somewhere SHIELD will not find you, not for weeks, and they will torture you day and night to get what they want- most of which you will not give them." His head tilted slightly and he studied him, a spark of curiosity lighting his otherwise blank slate of a face. "Your skin will burn, your bones will break, and for what will seem like much longer than it is, that is all there will be for you."

Fitz swallowed a lump of terror, wondering if this was some sort of trap or if were a warning. But then why not get to the point? Why not simply tell him to run?

"Eventually SHIELD will find you," he went on evenly. "But they won't be able to send anyone, not right away. It will be deemed too dangerous to proceed, but agent Simmons…" He shook his head with a slight look of sympathy, a tiny shred of evidence that he was a human being rather than a soulless robot, which only added to Fitz's fear, churning his stomach unpleasantly. "She knows what they're doing to you, she hears your screams in her head every second you're gone and she doesn't know it but it's more than just her mind playing tricks on her. You are connected in a way neither of you- none of you- understand yet and she will come for you, despite her orders."

He was lying, that was the only explanation, the only one that made any sort of sense and yet… And yet how could he know? How could this stranger know that he worked for SHIELD, about the bond he shared with Jemma?

"She'll make it to where they are keeping you," he predicted, as if it were there in front of them, playing out like a film. "She'll see what's left of you, have just enough time touch the part of your face that is still intact, trying to comfort you." He ran a finger down his own face, past the side of his eye, ending about three quarters of the way to his jaw. "She will be horrified but she is brave- like you- and she'll hide it. She will be lying to you, promising that you will be OK, when she is shot from behind. The bullet will pierce her heart and you will be awake to watch her die."

The statement hit him like a torrent of ice-water and Fitz shook his head roughly, tears stinging his eyes. "No."

"It will be over quickly," he said, a feeble attempt at reassurance. "Her final thought will be that she couldn't save you, that she failed you. And your final thought- several hours later- will be that you couldn't save her, that it was the other way around. It will be the most helpless you've ever felt in your entire life."

"You can't know this," Fitz spat, recoiling away, head still shaking stubbornly as he refused to believe what he was hearing. "None of this… it's… you can't… This is insane!"

"I can save you," the man told him seriously. "I can spare you the agony and I can spare her death."

He wasn't sure if he believed that either, but if any bit of what he was saying was true Fitz needed to do something to stop it. It crossed his mind that the mysterious stranger might be a gifted, that he had powers beyond their current understanding, that he was trying to help and he took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself.

"How?" he asked. "How can you save us?"

A small smile appeared on the man's lips and he reached into his own pocket, pulling out a, sleek black canister, only a little taller than Fitz's phone. "By taking you away," he answered simply, holding it up so that tip hovered just a few inches in front of his face. "I'm going to spare you from all that misery. A painless exit from a living nightmare."

At that, he pushed down on the top of the canister, spraying a clear mist into the air, that landed gently onto the surface of Fitz's eyes, sinking into them through the membrane and quickly finding a vessel to spread into his bloodstream.

There was no pain, he didn't have the time to blink before it was over and he was gone, in strictest sense of the word, for what seemed like no time at all but was actually much, much longer.

/-/-/

Thank You so much to notapepper for betaing these chapters and providing great suggestions! She knows Fitzsimmons inside and out and writes some really cute/funny fics

Thanks also to Artesuna for letting me bounce ideas off of her. She has some really in depth knowledge of Fitzsimmons characters and her story Waking Up is Only the Beginning is an amazing Simmons POV

The man with the spraying stuff is based off of a character in the fourth season Fringe episode Making Angels and the line "I'm going to spare you from all that misery, a painless exit from a living nightmare" is a quote from the episode and a reference to the show itself, which I like leaving in my stories.

I don't actually know if airports will text you in the future, but wouldn't that be cool? (this is only a few years in the future, not too far)