Hello everyone! Here's a little hurt/comfort for our boy that deserves so much better. There's a surprisingly small amount of Fitz-centric stories on here and I couldn't help but make episodes 5x18/19 whumpy. I also can't believe that he didn't have more serious health problems after all the jabs to the torso took.

I also felt the need to remedy his relationship with some of the team, because I think they treated him too harshly in the show. I mean, after Daisy was swayed by hive and did all those terrible things as well as betraying her team and becoming a merciless vigilante, they forgave her like it was nothing. But when Fitz made one bad choice to SAVE THE WORLD they treat him horribly!

deep breaths*

Okay, rant over. Sorry about that lol. And to all the Daisy fans, don't get me wrong, I don't hate Daisy; I don't fully condone Fitz's actions either but I just get annoyed with her sometimes, okay? So no flames, please!

Obviously, it will vary from canon a little bit, so don't be shocked if it doesn't go like the episode, or if there are small changes in details. Also, this probably won't be more than 3-5 chapters.

Disclaimer: I don't own Agents of Shield (If I did, season 6 would be coming out now instead of next year.) I'm not a doctor so all of the medical mumbo-jumbo you see is what I've learned from the internet and tv shows.

Alright, if you happened to read that whole thing heheh, sorry for such a long author's note.

Hope you enjoy

"I remained too much inside my head, and ended up losing my mind."

— Edgar Allan Poe

Part I

Nine times.

Fitz was hit nine times with Ruby's superhumanly strong fist.

And Jemma had to stand there and watch every single punch meet its mark without being able to do a thing.

Sure the person who did it is now dead, but that doesn't mean Simmons still can't be bent up about it. As for right now, they have new problems to attend to. Coulson is back but, Talbot has been brainwashed, Polly is unconscious, and General Hale has disappeared to God knows where. At the moment the bad seems to be outweighing the good.

The group is in the Zephyr getting away from that dreadful facility and heading back to the Lighthouse. Jemma goes straight to Fitz but he brushes her off.

"Go help Yo-Yo, I'm just tired." He deflects as he sits down on the opposite row of seats that line the walls of the plane. He wipes at his face with his sleeve, trying to clean off the dried blood that was previously flowing from his broken nose. Daisy comes over with her serious face and plops down in the seat furthest from the group. Obviously still agitated with them. He doesn't blame her.

Fitz leans his head back and tries not to think about everything but fails. He just wanted to do this one mission and then go back to his cell where he can't hurt anyone else. He wonders what Coulson thinks about his actions.

He probably resents me.

Daisy is like the daughter he never had and Fitz hurt her— intentionally— although it's not like he had a choice with the LMD's programmed to shoot Jemma if he didn't finish, but then again it was technically him that did that too

He deserves the disdain and resentment. Every. Last. Bit of it.

With that being the last morbid thought present in his mind, his eyelids slide shut and sleep involuntarily starts to overtake him.

He feels like he closed his eyes for only a second when the Zephyr hits a bout of turbulence, jarring everything inside. Fitz awakes with a gasp of pain, startled. He sucks in a sharp breath of air and reminds himself that he's safe. His ribs throb in time with his face and he feels hot and sweaty and all he can smell is the overwhelming coppery stench of blood that coats the inside of his nose and—

"All right, I don't think this will need stitches as long as you don't push yourself," Jemma says, after cleaning Yo-Yo's head wound, her clear voice being a light at the end of the dark tunnel Fitz was lost in, effectively snapping him out of his trance.

"Thanks, but I don't think I'll be doing much without my arms," Yo-Yo replies sardonically. Fitz had taken her prosthesis off as soon as they boarded the Zephyr as to not cause her any more pain.

"It'll be alright. Once we get to the Lighthouse Fitz is going to adjust them right away." Jemma assures her, glancing over at him.

Poor thing. His ribs are probably agonizing. She thinks to herself.

Once Jemma finished up looking after Yo-Yo, she glides over to the bench on the other wall of the plane where her husband is sitting and takes her place beside him. As soon as he feels her presence his head unconsciously finds its way to her shoulder, using it as a pillow. She reminisces about all the times the position was the other way around.

She feels his body trembling against hers, but can't tell if it's from exhaustion... or something worse. She hopes it's the former. He hasn't slept in days, and she can barely get him to eat anything. She cards her fingers through his soft curls as he sleeps, willing him to get the rest he needs.

By the time they reached the Lighthouse Fitz was out of it. He kept twitching in his sleep which was disconcerting, but he was sleeping nonetheless. Simmons hated having to wake him, but they had work to do. Just as Jemma was about to wake him, Daisy is walking over to the exit and slams her fist on the red button, opening the cargo door, and effectively jolting Fitz out of his restless slumber once again.

"I'm awake— I'm fine." He says quickly.

Daisy just keeps walking in the opposite direction without looking back. Fitz runs his hands over his face and lets out a shaky breath before shooting out of his seat. Jemma grabs his arm.

"Let me look at you. Ruby hit you pretty hard..."

"I'm okay, Jemma. I can tell it's only a cracked rib." He responds, "I mean... I've had enough experience to know it's not... completely broken." He elaborates disconcertingly.

He gives her a quick kiss on the head saying, "Trust me, I'm alright." and grabbing Yo-Yo's prosthesis, striding to one of the Lighthouses corridors.

And for the first time since they met... she didn't trust him.

oOo

For a long while, Jemma and Elena just sit on the plane seats in silence. Taking comfort in each other's presence. Yo-Yo goes to stand up but starts to lose balance, making Jemma shoot up to help her. Yo-Yo sighs in exasperation and looks at her amputated biceps.

"Don't worry, it shouldn't take Fitz too much longer to calibrate your prosthesis. Let me go check on them for you." Simmons offers, and pads away to see how close Fitz is to fixing them. What she didn't expect was to hear raised voices arguing from the workshop.

"—ing to help. I helped developed this tech, and I think I've figured out the adjustment patterns to factor in her speed. I'm almost finished with the calibration, I just need to tweak the senso—"

"Yeah, we all know by now that you helped make these robots." Mack cuts him off bitterly. "I can figure it out the rest without you. Right now you need to get back to your cell and wait until we can sort this out with Coulson!"

"Enough!" Jemma shouts, effectively shutting both of them up. She walks forward so that she's standing between an exasperated Fitz and angry Mack.

"This is not the time to be fighting one another!"

Both men stepped away slightly flustered. She was speaking to both of them, but in actuality, she was defending Fitz. He wasn't doing anything wrong! She looked between the two for a moment. Mack had on his usual stony demeanor; only the furrowing of his brows to show any hint that he was angry.

Fitz, on the other hand, looked like he was about to drop.

He had paled considerably since she last saw him, which is saying something— save for the purplish red bruises on his cheek that give a stark contrast. And now that she's really looking, he definitely seems thinner than he was at the diner, or even a few weeks ago.

Thin beads of sweat are gathered at his forehead and there is a slight tremor in his hand as he wipes them away.

"I'm sorry," Fitz mutters tiredly, squeezing his eyes shut, and it breaks Jemma's heart.

"I'll take it from here," Mack says, more subdued. "Come with me. You need to get back to your cell."

"I can't let you do that," Simmons interjects.

"Jemma, please." Fitz pleads. She looks into his eyes, and can read them as if he's saying 'this is how it has to be'.

"I'll be fine."

Mack gestures in front of him, signaling Fitz to move and Jemma tilts her head in defeat as she watches the taller man lead her husband away like he's nothing more than a common criminal.

How did we come to this? She wonders. Fitz and Mack used to be best friends, and now after one mistake, it's as if they're adversaries.

In truth... Mack doesn't know how to deal with all the crap going on. He's just doing as he's told, and he was told by the acting director— Daisy— to keep Fitz locked away until she or Coulson says otherwise. A part of him doesn't want to do this, but he knows Fitz is still somewhat unstable. Mack's thoughts are interrupted when May stops them just as they turn the corner.

"Hey, we just gathered the other SHIELD operatives. Coulson wants Fitzsimmons to try and prep the Zephyr for space before a briefing in 20." May informs them in her usual clipped, professional sentences. Fitz looks between May and Mack in a silent question of confirmation, to which the female agent gives a curt not. "You," She points to Mack. "with me."

Mack glances at Fitz once more before leaving the room with May. As soon as he gets out of sight, Fitz's posture slacks and he allows his walls to come down ever so slightly. He still going to keep up his appearance in front of Jemma, as to not make her worry even more than she already is. He places his arm on the wall to steady himself, taking a deep breath and steeling himself, before making his way back to Jemma.

His stomach does a back-flip as sudden nausea rises, and he makes his way to the bathroom as quickly as he can without alarming anyone he passes by.

He has only enough time to dart over a trash bin in an obscure corridor before painstakingly losing his stomach contents. The spasms in his stomach jars his ribs and his vision whites out.

The retching subsides since he barely had anything in his stomach to begin with, and goes to try and make himself look presentable before returning to Jemma in the workshop. He crashes through the doors of a single bathroom and locks its behind himself hastily. He wipes off the remnants of blood from his nose and mouth and watches the pink water swirl down the drain of the sink. Staring at himself in the mirror, a small red spot soaking through the fabric of his sweater catches his eye. He slowly lifts the edge of it to reveal his blood-soaked button-up.

He knows exactly when this happened. He can remember his flesh ripping open as they were pinned against the wall, nose starting to stream blood again, more than before. Hauntingly similar to the feeling of being quaked.

He pulls up the sticky fabric of the second layer and stares in horror when blood leaks onto his hands as he prods the reopened bullet wound. The rivulets roll down to his shaking fingers and drip off of their tips like rain. Blood on his hands. Just like when the blood from Agnes' chest sprayed after he shot her. When he decapitated Kree's heads with the wire. When Daisy's blood was on his hands after he cut into her.

Fitz turns to the sink and scrubs at his hands vigorously in scalding water as if to wash away the darkness. Red water splashes onto the mirror, tainting his reflection. It won't stop. His vision blurs and the next thing he knows, he's surrounded by shards broken glass. Small chips of the mirror are embedded in the knuckles of his right hand which is still curled into a tight fist.

He stands up and numbly, washing away the mixture of old dried blood and new dripping blood, as well as the glass from his hands. The cracked remains of the mirror taunt him with its corrupted reflection and it's the first time something reflected how he truly felt inside. Turning off the faucet with a trembling hand, he slides down the wall resting his arms on his knees which are bent up in front of him. He slams his head back against the wall and growls in frustration. Angry tears threaten to fall.

The mirror isn't the only thing that was broken.

oOo

As he enters the main control room, Fitz notices a few people eyeing him with curiosity or maybe even concern— probably both.

They don't care about you. They just want to use you. The voice in his head says, but he ignores it like he always does... well... tries to. He'd been doing a sufficient job until his brain injury relapsed a few days ago and he started hallucinating again. Great, another thing he's failed at.

Piper's eyes shoot down to his legs for an instant. A normal person wouldn't even notice his concealed limp, but he's entering a room full of highly trained intelligence agents. He feels as if he's been thrown into the lion's den. All of them staring at him, stripping off layers of his facade piece by piece making him feel vulnerable. Too vulnerable. And though the glances only last for a fleeting moment, it feels as if they've been staring at him for hours.

Coulson and May look at him with concern, May's is less noticeable but he's known her long enough to spot it. Daisy pretends not to notice—in contempt— and the other agents have questioning looks on their faces. Their faces start to swirl with dark spots before he blinks away the mirage and directs his attention to Simmons, who made her way to his side.

He gives her a small wave and she notices his hand trembling. He must have caught her gaze because he immediately crosses his arms after.

"Are you okay?" She whispers.

"I'm good." He whispers back with a small reassuring smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

It never does anymore. Jemma thinks to herself. He buttons his blazer closed.

He never buttons his jacket... Especially since the Doctor.

During the meeting, he tries to make himself as small as possible. He presses a hand to his ribs when no ones looking. Hugging himself a little tighter with every pointed or suggestive word from Daisy, avoiding as much attention as he can... that is until Yo-Yo and Jemma bring up his cracked ribs. People eye him; their glares burn into him, making him feel like an ant under a magnifying glass.

He curls in on himself slightly, avoiding eye contact, staring at the floor: an old childhood habit he's reverted to lately.

His panic starts to rise as the meeting drags on, voices swirling together and pounding away at his skull like a hammer and chisel. He needs to get away from everything. It's too much itstoomuchitstoomuch

Keep it under control...

He does everything in his power to hide how much he's actually panicking. How much everything is hurting. How much the blood is starting to soak through the shirt under his blazer, even though he re-bandaged it.

He really should've let Jemma check him out.

He scrunches his eyes shut and lets out a shaky breath.

oOo

On the other hand, Jemma suddenly feels the urge to be alone. She strides into and uses the bathroom right outside her and Fitz's room, also washing up and processing for a moment. She slumps a little and takes a deep breath. Everything going on is exhausting her. She pinches the bridge of her nose to relieve some of the pressure, before washing her hands and looking up to see what she looks like in the mirror. Why is everyone being so—

The mirror is nonexistent.

"...heartless..." She finishes her sentence aloud.

Eyeing the bathroom critically for a moment, something catches her eye. Something reflective on the usually matte concrete floor.

She steps closer to inspect it. Pinching her fingers, she plucks the small bead of glass from the floor. One side of the particle an odd reddish color. Her expression changes from curiosity to doubt.

It couldn't be from... could it? She hopes her suspicions are wrong.

She glances around the room once more with new eyes.

She doesn't see anything alarming at first. Overall the bathroom looks pretty clean. For a moment she wonders if she's in the wrong bathroom, but she distinctly remembers a plain square mirror in place above the sink. She leans over to look in the trash can. The plastic bin filled with an empty bandage box and the shards of the recently broken mirror; some of which are tipped with specks of red.

Oh no.

She rounds the corner to their bedroom and searches for something else to confirm her hunch. There wrapped up in a ball on the floor was the shirt Fitz was wearing not too long ago. Once unfurled, it reveals a blossomed patch of blood where Fitz bullet wound was not too long ago.

Why didn't he tell me it was so bad?

The shirt is left forgotten on the floor as Jemma rushes to find her husband.

oOo

Finally, most of the agents file out of the room to do their appointed jobs for the mission, leaving only Coulson, Mack, and Daisy. Fitz takes this opportunity to get out. He strides across the grated platform, getting out his only goal. A high pitched ringing starts to take over his ability to hear.

Suddenly, Daisy's voice resounds behind him. He spins around quickly.

"What?" Fitz questions, not having heard her through the ringing.

"Oh please. I said: Quit trying to play the victim."

'What is she spouting on about?'

"Victim—? I haven't done anything to insinuate that!"

"Oh yeah, like you limping in here, and Yo-Yo and Simmons bringing up your 'injuries'," She uses air quotes to emphasize the word. "in front of everyone wasn't a plan to get our pity, is that it? Well, just so you know, it didn't work."

"It wasn't! I don't want anyone's pity, definitely... definitely not yours." Fitz defends, brows furrowed, gasping to catch his breath in the middle of the sentence.

Coulson jumps in. "Daisy that's enough."

"God, can't you see he's trying to make everyone feel sorry for him so they forget about what he did?!"

The yelling is drilling into Fitz's head. His memories are jumbled and he can quite seem to get his thoughts together. He thinks someone said something about pity.

"I— I can handle it. Pity is for the... the weak." Fitz cuts in. "That's what Father always said..." He adds in almost a whisper. He has the urge to smooth his hair and make it presentable but just settles for brushing his hand through it anxiously instead. He can see his father staring at him disapprovingly from across the room.

Control it. You can't let them see your weakness. They won't respect you. Father won't respect you.

"Uh... okay. Fitz?" Coulson try's to get through to him. "Are you okay?"

"I um— yeah. I'm... fine." He stutters, having trouble thinking properly. "I was just uh... Father will... probably need me in the lab. I have to go before he... uh..." Blood rushes through his head as the ringing increases, tasting metal. His stomach feels uncomfortable with nausea, twisting and turning with the rhythm of his pounding head as he fights the urge to throw up.

"Oh great, Is he having another mental breakdown?" Daisy asks.

Coulson says something but doesn't have an answer.

The air is choking him. Constricting. Suffocating. Not enough... Too much... he can't tell. Something hurts... it's warm and irritating. He presses down on the irritation, squishing the shirt against his side. The stickiness makes it worse so he pulls the fabric away from his skin. Pulling up his hands, he goes to inspect them. He hates the color red anymore.

"Wh.. s... at.. .. od?" A voice says.

The voice sounds warbled and strange, and he can't quite comprehend what it's saying.

He's and cold at the same time not being able to decide which. The heat starts to be suffocating. He tries to pull off his blazer, fumbling with trying to get his fingers to work properly. He rips it from his shoulders and shivers as the cold air hits his sweat-soaked dress shirt. The sharp air catches him off guard and he tilts to the side catching himself on something hard. There's a gun just sitting there. He hears an eerily calm version of his own voice.

"Father would be disappointed with you."

"Go away." He whispers, glancing over at the empty space where his father was previously standing. "...Father is gone."

"Go on... Step up. Show them who's really in charge."

He feels the Doctor's presence get closer before a hand touches his shoulder. He jumps and reaches for the gun to defend himself, instantly aiming at the Doctor's chest. The Doctor steps back a little bit and raises his hands patronizingly.

"Now that's more like it."

"Leave. me. alone." He squeezes his eyes shut. "You're not real... you're not real..." He says as a mantra, hoping the Hydra agent will disappear like the subconscious Simmons. It doesn't work.

"They're never going to forgive you for what you've done."

"You don't think I know that?" He cries.

"And pointing that gun at me isn't going to do anything. I am you. This version of us you're seeing is just a hallucination."

"...he's a monster..." He hears Daisy say from across the room. She's not wrong.

"You're right..."

This is never going to end unless he does something. The only way to keep Jemma and everyone safe is to get rid of the Doctor completely.

He raises his arm and presses the cold metal against his temple.

"It's the only way to protect her. It's the only way to get rid of you."

Someone keeps yelling, and he doesn't know why. Won't this fix their problems? He's finally giving them what they really want.

He adjusts his finger on the trigger and a loud bang resounds.

Everything goes black.

To be continued...

Before you ask, no. He's not dead.