"Jemma," she heard a familiar voice saying. She was lying on her back, eyes closed. Wherever she was, it was rocking, as if she were on a boat.

"Jemma!" the voice was yelling now. She opened her eyes. All she saw was a black ceiling, but this wasn't her bunk on The Bus. She tried to sit up, but she sat up too fast and felt a pain on the back of her head and got dizzy. Once the room had stopped spinning, she looked around. She was in a black, rectangular room that had a singular window in its singular door, with a few boxes and their contents against the wall opposite. She was almost in the center of the room, facing the boxes.

"Oh, Jemma, thank God you're alive! You got hit in the head and you wouldn't wake up and… just, thank God you're alive." She turned around to see Fitz, in the corner to the left of the door, clutching his leg.

"I'm fine," she said, rubbing the sore spot on her head. "Just a bump on the head. Maybe a minor concussion. How long was I out?"

"I don't know. Twenty minutes? Maybe half an hour? It's difficult to tell in here."

"We're lucky that the crate landed upward, I mean-"

"Why? The door won't do any good. If we open it, water would come flooding in and the crate would sink and we would drown."

"We're probably in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico, we're bound to wash ashore somewhere. Wouldn't you prefer the door to be the proper way if that were to happen?" Fitz looked embarrassed for not thinking of that. He hated it whenever Jemma thought of something before he did, but at the same time he was always proud of her. Jemma noticed Fitz's shamed expression and tried to change the subject.

"Now, what is in these crates?" asked, gesturing towards the opposite wall.

"As far as I can tell, not much of use for our survival as ocean-crate people. Just some Hydra weapons and armor, I think." Jemma sighed and after a few attempts she stood up and looked out the window and saw nothing but the ocean and a black speck in the far distance in the sky.

"I'm sorry," Fitz whispered. Jemma looked down at him.

"What are you apologizing for? It's Ward's fault that we're here, not yours," she insisted. She sat down next to him on his right.

"But it is my fault. I wouldn't listen to you, or Coulson, or Skye, or anyone. I wouldn't believe that Ward would be Hydra or do any of those terrible things by his own choice. I'm sorry Jemma. I was wrong. Utterly and completely wrong. And now it's my fault that we're stuck in a crate filled with a couple of useless boxes in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico." He looked down and started sobbing quietly.

"It's all my fault," he whispered softly. Jemma put her arm around him and he looked back at her.

"Nonsense," she reasoned. "Ward could have easily dropped us over land, killing us instantly, or he could have left us there for Garrett to kill us, had he recovered from your brilliant EMP, or-" she paused, noticing that this was only making it worse. She decided another change in subject would be in order.

"Here, let me take a look at that leg of yours," she said. He took his hand off of his shin, and winced as he gently pulled his pant leg up. Jemma examined it thoroughly and said, "Well, it's definitely broken, but it looks like a clean break so if I set it and splint it now it should heal up nice and proper. Now, if I could just find something to use as a splint…" She trailed off as she got up and searched through the boxes. It wasn't long until she found a Hydra baton and deemed it suitable. She made her way back over to Fitz and kneeled next to his outstretched leg.

"This is going to hurt," she warned.

"How much?" he asked nervously. She bit her lip and looked at him pitifully.

"A lot." He squeezed his eyes shut and scrunched up his nose.

"Just get it over with." She thrusted his leg back into its proper location and Fitz screamed.

"It's okay, the worst part is over. Now, give me your tie."

"What? Why?"

"Because, Fitz, I need something to secure the splint with."

"But this is my favorite tie, Jemma!"

"You can replace the tie! Do you want to walk normally again?" He groaned, took off his tie, and handed it to her.

"Okay, what I need you to do is hold your leg."

"Hold my leg?"

"Fitz!"

"Alright, alright. Holding my leg." She grabbed the baton and put it next to his leg. She heard him wince a little as she tore his tie in half, tying one part around his ankle and another towards his knee.

"There we are. All done," Jemma proclaimed, "And now we wait." She slumped back next to him and exhaled deeply.