They had nowhere to go, the window wasn't an option, the fall would surely break something and then they'd be left helpless, waiting for whatever it was to finish them off.

Simmons knew there was a physiological response to situations like these, the acute stress response, in which the body prepared to either fight or to flee and, since running away was out of the question, she found herself reacting with the later. Strength buzzed through her and she resolved that anyone wishing to harm either of them was going to be met with all the resistance she could put forth.

Squirming out of Fitz's hold on her, she left the pseudo safety of their comforter tent, along with the real safety of his arms, to search for something to use as a weapon.

"Jemma what-?" Fitz squeaked, clinging to her for a moment before letting her go. He made his way out from under the tent and skidded after her. "What are you doing?"

"We need a plan in case they get in," she told him, unplugging one of the desk lamps and wrapping the cord around it so it wouldn't catch on anything.

The thudding had stopped and in the quiet the followed she could hear their quick, panicked breaths overlapping.

"Is it... is it gone?" he wondered, taking a step away from the entrance so that he stood beside her.

"I'm not sure," she whispered.

Limbs stiff, ready to jump back at the slightest noise, Simmons tiptoed towards the door, lamp in hand.

"What are you doing?" Fitz questioned, pulled along beside her like iron to a magnet.

"Checking the peephole," she explained, words high and hushed.

"Let me," he offered boldly, stepping ahead of her. "In case someone sticks a saw through."

"No one is going to stick a saw through the peephole," she insisted, rolling her eyes at him and catching his arm. "And even if they were, why does that mean you need to be the one to do it?"

"You know why Jemma." He turned to her, smiling sadly as if reminding her of a tragedy they weren't meant to talk about except in the most desperate of circumstances. There was a world just behind his eyes made of swirling light and darkness, pain and joy, achingly familiar.

It was the same she realized with a jolt, it was that part of him he'd shown her in what seemed like another life, only moments before he'd almost ended his. It had made it through everything that had altered him, altered them, a constant among countless changing variables.

She shook her head, unsure exactly what the buzzing in her stomach meant but certain that his argument was invalid and his insistence on using it made her prickle with frustration.

"I'll do it." She moved past him before he had time to stop her and adamantly hovered her eye in front of the tiny round window.

There was nothing, the hallway was empty.

"What do you see?" he asked anxiously, a hand on her shoulder. "Be careful. Pull out if you see any... um... any saw-like objects."

"I will," she soothed, moving her own hand up to place over his, sorry she'd worried him but not that she'd put herself at risk rather than allow him to. "There's no one out there."

"There was," he pressed.

"Yeah," she agreed. "But whoever it was is gone now." She frowned, glimpsing something against the door, too close and too low for her to see properly but too small to be a person. "I think they might have left something." She placed the lamp on the floor and felt for the lock, turning it slowly when she found it, still scanning the hall. "I'm opening the door," she informed him, taking a breath before dropping her hand to the doorknob.

He gulped. "...OK..."

Before she could freeze up, she turned the knob and pulled the door open. Something fell onto her feet and she let out a startled gasp, herding Fitz behind her with one arm and holding the other out in front of them defensively.

A tiny, familiar face grinned back up at her.

"It's the doll." She giggled with relief, muscles loosening, allowing her shoulders to fall. "Nothing to be afraid of."

"What the hell," Fitz hissed, stepping around her to see. He narrowed his eyes distrustfully at it. "There's something very wrong with this place."

"I'm sure there's a completely innocent explanation for all this," she asserted.

He raised his eyebrows, skeptical. "Do you really think... the.. um..the...," he pointed towards the doll, "that was bashing itself against the door?" he asked before crossing his arms.

"Of course not, that's ridiculous," she answered dismissively, shaking her head.

"It's not... um... there isn't..." He puffed out a breath and pointed once again at the doll. "There's nothing innocent about leaving that thing waiting outside someone's door."

"Oh Fitz, it's only a doll," she dismissed, bending over to scoop it up. The fabric of its dress was cool and scratchy and its porcelain head, hands and feet created a bizarre distribution of weight.

He grimaced as if she were holding something rotten and smelly. "So was Chucky."

"Chucky isn't real," she reminded him.

He grunted at that but didn't argue.

"We should return it," Simmons declared. She found her shoes and slipped her bare feet into them, wondering if she should put on a jacket to cover up her pyjamas but quickly deciding it was unnecessary. "I'm sure the owner will be worried if he finds it missing tomorrow."

"Or relieved," Fitz muttered, earning himself another eye roll.

"Are you coming?" she questioned when he didn't move to put on his own shoes.

"Can't this wait until the morning?" he fretted, peering uneasily into the hallway. "When it's light outside."

"Light doesn't turn monsters to dust," she reasoned, even though she too would have rather waited for daylight to venture out into the open.

"I never said anything about monsters," he grumbled.

"You can stay here if you'd like," she offered, though her stomach twisted at the idea of finding her way downstairs alone.

"I'll come," he mumbled, finally pulling on his shoes. "If there is a bloodthirsty killer on the loose they can't... I won't...um... they're going to have to face both of us together." He met her gaze earnestly and she could see his courage overtaking his fear, expression determined as he stood tall. "I'm with you."

"Fitz..." she trailed off, touched by his (completely needless but incredibly sweet) sentiment, searching for a response that would accurately convey how much it was returned without actually telling him the truth, but finding none.

He shrugged, cheeks a rosy shade of pink, and stared down at the carpet. "Let's get that thing back before it... uh... before it grows fangs... or... or something."

She nodded, feeling her own cheeks flush as her mouth curved upwards involuntarily into a quick smile, slightly flustered and glad he wasn't glancing her way to see. "Alright then."

/-/-/

Shoulder to shoulder, they crept carefully down the hall. Simmons felt like a frightened rabbit, twitchy, listening intently for any sound which could indicate danger, her heart hammering against her ribcage.

They made it to the stairs without incident and she flinched as each step creaked, far too loudly, beneath their feet. She had the doll tucked under one arm and, with her free hand, she reached out to Fitz, finding his hand and brushing the top of her palm against his cool skin, shyly asking permission to take it.

His knuckles slid over her own and he wrapped his fingers around hers, squeezing lightly but remaining silent.

Warmth radiated from her chest, reaching her lips and curling them up into a smile, clearing away a bit of her fear.

The reception area was dark except for a tiny light plugged into the wall, casting shadows between the orange glow.

"We'll just put the doll back and be on our way," she decided, hoping she didn't sound as nervous as she felt.

"Yeah," he agreed, keeping a firm hold of her hand.

The doll's glass enclosure had fallen to the floor and was scattered into uneven shards. One crunched under Fitz's foot and the two of them jumped towards each other, startled, before they realized what it was.

"That's... odd..." Simmons commented uneasily. She placed the doll back onto the wooden table, sitting it upright so that it stared forward with unsettlingly empty eyes, wondering what to do about the mess. "How did this happen?"

"I hate being right," Fitz muttered, shaking his head as he stared down at the broken fragments.

Simmons chuckled and nudged his shoulder lightly. "No you don't," she teased, attempting to alleviate a bit of their anxiety.

"Well I do when it's about... um... the... you know..." he gazed expectantly at her.

"I don't, actually," she admitted. Being honest was easier than taking shots in the dark. He'd find a way to convey his thoughts eventually.

Before he could however, a low snarl sounded from the staircase and Fitz reacted automatically, pulling her around the corner, into the hallway which led to the dining room and the laundry machines, where they pressed themselves flat against the wall, gasping in quick, frightened breaths.

"Th-that," he whispered.

"Shh," she hushed, carefully leaning towards him so that their shoulders rubbed, their hands still linked steadfastly together.

It was coming, quietly, slinking towards them with surprising stealth, and she gathered up her nerve, ready for a fight.

"Jemma-" Fitz began softly.

"It'll be OK," she promised, because she had already decided long ago that she wasn't going to let anything happen to him, not ever again.

"But if it's not," he pressed. "I... you... I mean...I-" His voice caught and she turned her head towards him, risking a brief glance away from whatever was coming.

He stared at her with bright, round eyes, desperate to communicate and, this time, she understood.

"I know," she murmured, lifting his hand to touch her lips to his fingers. She smiled bravely at him. "Me too."

He smiled back, shining gently like the flame of a candle and, for a moment, she thought about how easy it would be close the gap between them and kiss that smile, because the world was always ending wasn't it? There was always something to be afraid of, but that didn't mean they couldn't be happy, it didn't mean she needed to keep her heart (and his) under constant lock and key.

Then another snarl returned their attention to the creature stalking them and the moment ended, popping like a bubble that they'd been encased in and allowing the outside to flood around them.

Simmons tensed, adrenaline pulsing through her again, prepared to go down fighting, protecting the person whose hand she had in her grip.

"Ready?" she asked.

He took a breath. "Together," he vowed.

"Together," she echoed.

A long shadow rose against the wall across from them and they moved closer so that her side pressed into his, breathing steadily against each other, waiting.

'If only we had an ICER,' she despaired, 'or a fire extinguisher.'

Another pair of footsteps clapped against the wooden floor and the lights flicked on, the shadow disappearing.

"Rufus?" The hotel owner called. He let out a gasp. "No, Rufus... Bad cat! Look at this mess. What am I going to do with you?"

Fitz and Simmons glanced at each other, eyebrows raised.

A cat? That was what had been snarling at them? That was what had broken the glass?

Side by side they rounded the corner, ears red from embarrassment. They must have looked incredibly silly hiding from such a small creature like a pair of frightened mice.

The hotel's owner was holding a sleek black cat, sighing exasperatedly as it purred in his arms.

"Hello," he greeted, setting the cat down on the counter where it stretched itself out lazily and watched as he reach for a broom. "Did you need something?"

Simmons opened her mouth, eyes darting between him and the cat which lifted its head and growled in their direction, but found she didn't know what to say.

"Did old Rufus here scare you?" he guessed, shaking his head disapprovingly at the animal. "Sorry about that, he's more bark than bite."

"Your doll was upstairs," she explained, still puzzling out what exactly had happened.

Fitz was silent, looking as bewildered as she was, however, when the owner gazed down at their hands, his cheeks reddened again and he gently pulled away. Simmons let him go, a little disappointed. It had been pleasant, having his fingers wrapped around hers, their palms pushing against each other. The sensation had made her feel grounded and (when she wasn't terrified of being torn to pieces) happy.

The man tisked, once again frowning at his pet. "He likes to play with it," he told them. "He drags it around behind him, trying to push it under people's doors. That's why I put the glass over- but I guess I'll have to bolt it down." His last words were aimed at Rufus, as if it could understand, but the cat took no notice, licking a paw before running it over the top of its head. "Thanks for bringing it back."

"Er... you're welcome..." Simmons replied, polite, but still confused because what he was telling them didn't add up. "We should be getting back to our room," she added. "I'm sure you want to go back to bed and we're leaving early tomorrow."

He smiled at them. "Sure. Goodnight, and thanks again."

"It was no problem at all," she assured him as he began sweeping the glass into a pile and she and Fitz climbed the stairs up to the rooms.

"That was not the cat," Fitz insisted when they'd reached the second floor, keeping pace beside her down the hall.

"It might have been," she answered unconvincingly.

He snorted. "And I might be lord Voldemort."

"It isn't impossible," she objected, the corners of her mouth twitching up in amusement.

"The cat turned the doorknob?" he questioned flatly.

"Maybe it jumped..." she suggested. The cat did seem like the simplest explanation, but Fitz was right, it was a bit a of a stretch to blame everything on it.

They found room 266 and she took the key from her shirt pocket.

"That banging was too loud to be a cat Simmons," he pressed, arms crossed as he waited for her to slip the key into the lock.

She bit her lip, searching for an alternative idea. "It could have been the pipes..."

"The pipes?" he repeated, eyes widening in disbelief. "You know, um... those...that kind of thinking is what... uh... what gets people chopped up into pieces in horror films."

She groaned. "This isn't a horror film Fitz."

"Of course it isn't," he retorted as she opened the door, turning defensive. "I know what's real and what isn't, it's just... it's..." He sighed, throwing his hands up and following her back into the room.

"I know you do," she assured him, pausing to touch his arm, ensuring he was aware that she hadn't meant it that way.

He smiled fleetingly, acknowledging what she'd said, before continuing.

"What are we going to do?" he asked, worriedly pulling at his thumb.

She shrugged, unsure what there was to do. "Go back to sleep."

Neither of them moved.

"We should lock the door," Fitz suggested after a moment.

"Yeah," she agreed swiftly, stepping forward to turn the the lock, reassured slightly be the heavy click.

Fitz peered over her shoulder and nodded. "Good then." He still sounded nervous but he turned away from the door and threw off his shoes, walking wearily over to his bed.

Simmons followed and watched him crawl back under his comforter, hovering beside him and fiddling with her hair uncomfortably.

"Would it be alright if..." She motioned nervously towards the empty spot beside him.

His cheeks became rosy again but he smiled welcomingly and lifted the blanket. "It might be safer... uh... for us to... to stick together."

Simmons smiled back gratefully. "Right."

She settled in so that they were facing each other and he threw the comforter over her, soft, heavy fabric reaching up to her chin, hiding them both beneath it.

"Goodnight," she whispered.

"Goodnight," he replied softly.

They continued to stare at each other.

"We're leaving the light on?" she guessed, hopeful.

He nodded, sliding his cheek against his pillow and rustling the thin case. "Yeah."

She blew out a small sigh of relief. "OK."

It took a while but, soothed by the sound of his gentle breathing and the knowledge that he'd be there, only inches away, when she opened her eyes, Simmons eventually managed to fall asleep.

/-/-/

They had made it through the night without getting mauled, kidnapped, turned to dust or boiled into a stew which, for Fitz, was an incredible victory.

Simmons kept insisting there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for what had happened and, though part of him was certain there was, there was another part that knew there was nothing reasonable about blaming it on the cat or the pipes.

Something malevolent had happened that night, whether it was a prank or a ghost (or a bloodthirsty murderer) he wasn't sure but he was certain that they were never, ever staying at a hotel again unless it was on their map and devoid of creepy paintings and horrifying dolls.

"Is that everything?" she asked, checking through their bags once more.

"If there's anything left they can have it," Fitz replied, dancing on his toes, ready to leave.

She shook her head at him as she tossed the bags into the back seat, shutting the door behind them.

"Well we checked out didn't we?" she teased watching him over the roof of the car, a glint in her eyes.

"I said might Simmons," he defended, however couldn't help but grin back, amused. "I said we might never check out."

She chuckled softly before placing her hands on the car and leaning her chin on them, eyes moving across his face, as if she were examining him, trying to decide something.

"What?" he asked, puzzled by the way she was staring at him, suddenly serious.

Her lips pressed together and she didn't answer. Instead she circled the car, striding purposefully towards him, stopping incredibly close, so close that her scent encircled him and he could see the flecks of light and dark in her eyes.

Then, before he knew what was happening, she kissed him, quickly, their lips touching for only a few seconds, but long enough that tiny wings began fluttering in his stomach and his face became flushed, mouth tingling amazingly.

She pulled away, sunset pink, and watched him, visibly growing more and more uncertain, the pink darkening to red, as he stared back, shocked into silence.

"Sorry," she finally mumbled, averting her gaze. "I thought... never mind, that was impulsive and inappropriate... I shouldn't have assumed-"

"Jemma." Though he spoke quietly she stopped mid sentence as if he'd shouted and her chin rose, eyes meeting his, hopeful. He smiled at her. "Can... can we do that again?"

She beamed at him, glowing brighter than the sunlight shining down on them, and nodded. "I'd like that."

This time he kissed her, hesitantly leaning forwards, heart beating forcefully against his ribcage as their lips met, and warmth poured pleasantly down into his chest, sinking into his stomach and pulsing in all directions so that every part of him hummed wonderfully.

Her phone buzzed, rudely interrupting, and they grudgingly pulled away from each other so she could answer it. She couldn't seem to stop smiling at him, eyes shining and giddy, her cheeks once again painted pink as she lifted it to her ear. She was adorable.

"He-hello," she greeted, pitch higher than it usually would have been. "Yes... no, everything's fine." Their eyes met and her grin widened. "It's fantastic actually. No... no, well they did have a lot of... I wouldn't call them 'doodads' but it was interesting. I'll tell you about it when we get back..." There was a long pause as she listened to them tell her something. "Alright... we will, see you soon." She hung up. "That was Skye," she told him needlessly (no one else would refer to laboratory equipment as 'doodads'). "We have a mission... apparently there's a new gifted using their powers to rob banks-" her voice chirped enthusiastically, "-by walking through walls."

He tilted his head, intrigued. "Like Shadowcat?"

She grinned excitedly. "We'll soon find out won't we? I wonder how they're doing it..."

"Well... a lot of umm... there's a lot of empty space even in solid objects...," he put forth. "So if you could... um..." he held out his hands, shaking them rapidly. "um... if you..." he repeated the motion, hoping she understood. "... you might be able to slip between it."

"If you could vibrate yourself rapidly enough, you could slip through the empty space you mean?" she guessed.

"Yes!" he exclaimed, nodding happily. "That's it."

She seemed pleased she'd gotten it right. Her eyes sparkled with glee and she laughed delightedly, sunbeams lighting her hair. He couldn't believe how beautiful she was, that she'd kissed him, that she'd wanted to do it again.

"So... er... do you want to talk about... what just happened?" he asked, wondering why he was so nervous. She was the one who'd kissed him after all. Surely she wanted... something. Something that involved more kisses.

"Yes," she answered, eyes continuing to sparkle.

"Can I kiss you again?"

"You don't need to ask every time Fitz," she laughed. "There's nothing to be frightened of... well... actually there are a lot of things to be frightened of but... not... me... not us." She pushed as strand of hair behind her ear, as nervous as he was, growing serious. "I know it's scary- especially for us- because of all we've been through, and because of everything that we are going through, with Hydra and rebuilding SHIELD... but I don't want to live my life too afraid to be happy." She met his gaze determinedly. "I want us to be together... if that's what you want too."

"It is," he told her, her words seeping into him, filling him with joy.

"Good." She scrunched her nose, giggling. "I thought you were going to kiss me," she reminded him.

He laughed. "You're an impatient one aren't you?"

"I've waited a very long time actually," she chuckled.

He smiled softly, wondering why he wasn't more frightened at how complete her hold over his heart was, at how much he loved this amazing person whose life was constantly in danger. He decided it was because he too didn't want to live his life too afraid to be happy and besides, whatever they were to each other, his heart had always been hers. Fear couldn't change that.

"Yeah, me too, but it was worth it," he told her, moving forward to kiss her once more.

/-/-/

Tada, I know it's not Halloween but (as one of the people at work told me) it's still Halloween in my heart. Haha

The Fringe reference is the gifted who robs banks by walking through walls. This occurs in not one, but two, episodes of Fringe. One on our side and one in the other universe (different people doing it). First in 1x10 and next in 3x05. Also in the show they don't have powers, they use a machine, but the concept Fitz explains is the same one that explains both occurences in the show. (I have no idea how realistic it is but there certainly is a lot of empty space in matter).

I put a Harry Potter reference in this one because the FitzSimmons kiss was inspired by the first Harry/Ginny kiss of the book series.

Thanks always to Notapepper for all your help. Without you I'd still be writing swam instead of swum haha.