This story takes place in the future (a while after the events at the beginning of the first season) AU in which Fitz and Simmons have, for the most part, settled their issues and are getting along.

/-/-/

"We should pull over," Simmons suggested, scrunching her eyes to see the road through the blur of rain on the windshield. "We've still got another three hours to go and it doesn't seem like it's going to let up anytime soon."

They'd been driving back from a short visit to one of SHIELD's remaining research facilities, having agreed to meet their team back at the Playground that evening, but the rain wasn't stopping, if anything it had gotten thicker, obscuring their view and turning the road into a long, paved waterslide.

"This isn't safe," she fretted. "I can't see a thing, Fitz could you check if there are any places nearby where we can-"

"Stop?" he finished, already holding their GPS and scrolling down the list of overnight lodgings. "There's a hotel five miles from here."

"What about the one right there," she told him, pointing ahead to the ancient-looking neon sign which glowed through the flowing sheets of water that the windshield wipers were currently losing their battle against, despite their valiant efforts.

"It isn't on the list," he frowned, then shrugged. "It's... well... um... it's obviously there though, let's take a look."

Simmons pulled into the parking lot and they stopped as close as they could to the entrance before hurriedly opening their doors and dashing inside. It wasn't a far ways to go and they reached it in less than half a minute, but the pair still managed to drench themselves so that they were shivering and dripping onto the tiled floor as they approached the reception desk.

Simmons was not looking forward to going back out to retrieve their bags.

"I don't like it here," Fitz decided, his gaze darting around the room wearily, wearing an all too familiar expression of paranoia.

"Fitz-" she sighed, already tired and not in the mood to deal with his overactive imagination.

"Just look at it Simmons," he insisted, holding out his arms.

Admittedly, the place was a little creepy. It was old, dimly lit with yellow light from a standing lamp. The walls were a faded red and a staircase made from dark, warped wood led into up to a door marked Level 2. Dusty paintings hung around them, each depicting a scene that seemed normal enough in its theme but was put together in a way that made it feel off. A family posed for their portrait but one of the children stood away from the rest, like a specter who didn't quite belong to them anymore. A man and a woman sat together and, though they appeared to be a couple, they did not appear at all content in each other's company. An elderly woman stared back at Simmons from her frame on the far wall, mouth set in tight line and eyes narrowed as if she were accusing them of some wrong doing.

Worst of all was the doll which sat on a wooden table under a yellowed glass dome, staring back at them with shining eyes that reminded Simmons of a corpse. It grinned invitingly, 'come play', but the twist in its smile made her think she wouldn't like the game it chose.

"It's... charming," she went with, not wanting to offend the owner, wherever they were.

"It's disturbing," Fitz muttered, inching closer to her.

"Shhh," she scolded. "Someone might hear you."

"May I help you?"

Fitz gasped and his arm snapped in front of her, a thin barrier between Simmons and the completely benign looking gentleman who had stepped out of the back room and was now watching them benevolently from behind the counter.

She shot Fitz a look and pushed down his arm.

"Hello," she greeted, smiling politely. "I know it's late but we were wondering if you had any rooms available for the night."

"We were?" Fitz asked, eyes widening in alarm and she frowned at him before turning back to the man.

"Yes we were," she said, as if she needed to remind him. "Because it's too risky to drive through the storm and it's late and this place is lovely."

He gave the owner a strained smile. "Yes.. lovely." He lowered his voice, turning back to her. "Can I have a word with you?"

"Of course," she chirped, mouth twitching upward. "Excuse us."

"Have you lost your mind?" he hissed when they'd retreated to entrance. "We can't stay here."

"And why not?" she questioned, arms crossed, even though she already had a hazy idea of what his answer was going to be.

"Because it's... there's weird," he fidgeted, gesturing around as he searched for the words to describe what he was seeing, "... the..um.. it's creepy, " he finally settled on, as if it should be obvious. Simmons groaned as he continued. "Who knows what horrible things might happen to us if we stay here. They could... they might...," he fumbled to keep up with his imagination. "We could be sewn into one of those terrifying paintings or... um... be injected with tiny little trackers that make pigeons follow us around or-"

"Or we could sleep, safe and warm and dry in a nice bed instead freezing and soaked in the car," Simmons added reasonably. "It's been a really long day, can we please just check in, get our bags and go to bed?"

"If we check in-" he began.

She rolled her eyes. "You're being ridiculous."

"We may never check out," he finished, looking as if he were halfway to believing his own joke.

She felt the corners of her mouth twitch upward, fondly amused at his attempt to add humor to the situation, but she held back the chuckle that tickled the back of her throat because she didn't want to encourage his unwarranted suspicion of the hotel's safety. She wasn't driving another half hour through the storm just because he thought it was creepy.

"I'm staying here tonight," she let him know firmly. "It isn't safe to go on driving. If you'd rather sleep in the car-"

"I can't let you stay here alone!" he hissed.

"Then stay with me," she replied, returning to the desk.

Scowling, he followed. They both knew she wasn't really going to let him sleep in the car but she was glad his sense of protectiveness had saved them an argument. (And, admittedly, the knowledge that he was looking out for her as much as she was looking out for him had sent happy tingles to the tips of her toes, softened her slightly.)

"Sorry about that," she apologized.

"Not a problem," the man assured her good naturedly. "Together or separate?"

"Do you have any rooms with two beds?" Simmons inquired, as Fitz peeked up the stairs suspiciously.

"Certainly," he told her, spinning around to examine the wall of bronze coloured keys behind him. "Let me see, room 266 is available, it's right next to the snack machine." He winked at Simmons. "Just in case you kids get the munchies."

Simmons smiled at him, he seemed pleasant, and the hotel was fine, Fitz was just being... Fitz.

"We'll take it," she said.

/-/-/

"Why is the carpet so dark?" Fitz questioned, glaring down at it as if it were plotting against him, while they walked over it, down the hall to their room.

"They probably liked the colour," Simmons answered absently, watching the numbers on the doors, key in hand.

Her head was beginning to fill with fuzz and her eyelids kept drooping shut. She was ready to go to sleep, once she'd changed and dried off, and all she wanted to do was find their room so she could do that.

"I'm sure that's what they tell the guests," he muttered, still eyeing it.

She was too exhausted to reply to that.

They found room 266 and Simmons hastily unlocked the door, throwing her bag down and searching for a towel.

Once she was dry and donning her second favourite pair of polka dotted pajamas, she emerged to find Fitz, still soaked and in his day clothes, staring at a large mirror embedded in the middle of the wall. The chipped gold paint of the frame made it look like something from a fantasy world and he knocked against it with his fist, as if expecting someone to knock back.

"I think there are... um.. it's...," he held up his hand and flipped it back and forth to show her what he was trying to say. "I think it has two sides, a mirror and... um... a window," he announced, like the knock had brought him to a conclusion.

She sighed. "I doubt that."

"It isn't hanging on the wall, it's in the wall," he persisted, running his hand along the frame. "Why do you think that is?"

"It's just a mirror Fitz," she answered flatly.

"Aren't you worried there's someone, um... someone might be watching us?" he fussed, tapping it again and leaning in to take a closer look, the tip of his nose threatening to smudge it.

"I'm going to bed," she decided, walking away from mirror and slipping under the covers.

"You've brushed your teeth already?" he asked, surprised, shifting his attention to her.

"Yes," she replied, rolling over and pulling a pillow over her head to block out the light.

"Oh." Why did he sound disappointed? "I guess I should go do that then... on my own..."

"I'm sure you'll manage," she assured him, hearing his muffled footsteps shuffle past her, eyes already shut.

Ten minutes later Simmons was drifting off and he was squirming his way under his own comforter.

"Simmons?" he called.

"Hmm?" she mumbled sleepily, bracing for another conspiracy theory.

"Sweet dreams," he murmured unexpectedly, his voice sweet and warm like a fresh pastry.

Charmed, she smiled and rolled over again so that she was facing him, pulling the pillow off her head to hug it to her chest.

He was wearing his blue flannel pajamas, the ones with little hammers dotted all over them, and watching her sideways, head on his pillow. She melted a little, at the way he was staring at her, as if she were made of sunshine or monkeys, and she found her annoyance quickly slipping away.

How someone could have such a complete hold over her heart and have no idea was beyond her, but she was glad, for now, that he was oblivious, because she wasn't ready for him to know just yet that when he looked at her the way he was now she wanted to kiss him. She wasn't prepared for him to know that she'd often found herself daydreaming about what it would feel like to press her lips against his.

They'd only just gotten back to being comfortable around each other again, had only recently cleared away the fog that had obscured their ever present bond, and she didn't want to risk it returning on the winds of all the new, complex emotions and problems that would come along with such a confession.

That he had once, and hopefully still did, return her feelings didn't change the fact that they were partners, with an already established relationship, working for an organization whose members had to constantly fight for their continued existence. It didn't change the fact that they were perpetually worrying that the world would crumble around them, had a growing list of disasters they needed to prevent and that their enemies would look for any sign of weakness, any opening to use against them.

It didn't change the fact that she was scared he'd changed his mind.

So she masked the hold he had over her and smiled at him with simple, undefined affection. "You too Fitz," she answered.

He smiled back, melting her a little more, before turning out the light.

/-/-/

"Simmons," Fitz hissed, gently shaking her shoulder and pulling her out of a pleasant dream. "Simmons there's someone outside."

"What?" She opened her eyes and blinked slowly, hazily taking in her surroundings.

He'd turned the lamp on again, the light from it stung her eyes and she squinted uncomfortably as he came into focus, sitting beside her on the edge of the bed, his hand still resting on her shoulder as he stared, wide eyed, towards the door.

"Ugh, Fitz!" She groaned, irritated at the awakening. She'd just fallen asleep. "We're in a hotel, of course there are people out-"

Something banged against the door and Fitz let out a yelp as she bolted upright, instinctively sliding towards him.

"Shhh," she whispered, taking a breath to calm herself. "It's probably someone who's had too much to drink... stumbling around-"

Thud!

It happened again, and then again. The doorknob clicked, as if whoever it was was turning it, trying to open the door, to come inside.

"Th-they must have the wrong room," she reasoned, winding around him and touching her feet to the carpet even though she felt the familiar sensation of static arcing under her skin and along her spine that told her she was afraid.

"Jemma no!" Fitz squeaked, grabbing her arm. "How do you know... um ...they won't...that...how do you know they're friendly? What if they're trying to get in so they can-"

"Fitz stop, we're going to be fine," she scolded before he made both of them more nervous than they already were. "Wait here."

"Like hell I'm waiting here," he protested, tiptoeing behind her.

Simmons didn't say it, but she was glad to have him close by- not that there really was anything to be worried about- it made her feel safer.

"H-hello?" she called.

Silence.

"I think you have the wrong room," she told them politely. "We're already in here."

A sudden bang caused her to squeak in surprise and Fitz let out shriek before the two of them took off, scrambling like cartoon characters back to her bed where they hid underneath the covers, sitting upright and holding onto each other as they waited for their runaway pulses to slow down.

"What do we do?" she whispered, her voice high.

"Well what we should have done was keep driving," he answered, more scared than smug.

"Fitz," she groaned.

"I don't know what to do!" he exclaimed. "What do I look like, the bloody ghost whisperer?"

"It isn't a ghost," she objected, quietly disapproving. "There's no such thing as-"

Thud!

"Go away!" she shouted, letting Fitz pull her towards him and pushing her face into his chest.

"We aren't virgins so you can forget about sacrificing us!" he told it.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, pulling back to frown at him. "They don't need to know that."

"I'm just.. um... I'm just trying everything I can think of," he explained defensively.

"And that was first on your list?" she accused, managing to break out of her fear for a moment to wonder at how his mind worked.

"It's better than 'go away,'" he argued.

"No it isn't," she protested.

Slow scraping made its way down the door, dragging on, sending a chill down her spine like fingernails on a chalkboard, and the pair turned in horror towards the source of the sound, tightening their panicked embrace so that they were quivering against each other.

Something hostile was definitely out there and that something wanted in.

/-/-/

Da, da DA! Stay tuned for part 2, coming out on (or possibly sometime before) Halloween.

The hotel is inspired by an actual hotel I stayed at once with a friend (though the bathroom there wasn't in our room, it was a shared one) but the colour of the walls, the stairs and the creepy paintings are based off of an actual place (which really was lovely and more fun than creepy).

Thanks again to notapepper for all your help :D. And reminding me how to spell Ugh haha.

There is a reference to the TV show Fringe in this story. It is the tracking devices that allow pigeons to follow you around. A man named Joseph Migar has been altered so that pigeons can be trained to track him in 1x05 Power Hungry.

Also because this is fanfiction I have taken a leap and writen Simmons as returning Fitz's feelings at this point. That doesn't mean I am assuming that she will in the show (though I really hope so because 3 their love would be a beautiful rainbow)