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Leo woke up to a tear-streaked face and a sore throat. He wiped his cheeks angrily as he cursed Ward again, for the nth time. Jemma, sweet Jemma, was watching him from the corner of her eye, pretending that he hadn't woken crying from yet another nightmare.
"I'm fine," he promised her.
Her smile was sweet and sad. "Of course you are, Fitz."
Okay, so maybe he was lying. Maybe he wasn't as fine as he pretended to be. Maybe Simmons and Skye and Coulson were just humoring him when the told him they believed him.
Maybe he was suffering from a bit of a broken heart.
Triplett, the bastard, was the least understanding of all. When Fitz told him that he was fine, really, leave him the hell alone, the former field agent grimaced and said, "Dude, you're not fine. But it's okay to be not fine."
Bastard.
The real problem was that he'd never said anything. Or maybe it was because, even if he had said something, it wouldn't mean a damn thing anymore. He would have opened himself up to even more ridicule and pity than he already felt from his team.
"Stupid, stupid Fitz," he whispered to himself, tugging at his curls. He stared into the mirror, saw the tracks on his cheeks and the red in his eyes and the shadows under his lashes. Sometimes he felt like a real baby, just a child, or even a monkey. Here he was, feeling sorry for himself, when he knew that Skye had been through worse. She'd had to kiss and pretend to be in love with the bastard, knowing that he was a murdering psychopath.
Surely that was worse than never getting to kiss, or even touch in a way that could be construed as anything other than friendly, the murdering bastard that he was still, possibly, a little in love with.
Dammit! Fitz squeezed his eyes shut and wiped away the newly gathered moisture before setting to wash his face. He knew something was up! He knew when Ward came back that something was different, but he'd chalked it up to some sort of remorse over having to kill his old SO. He should have dug deeper, somehow, ignored Ward's brush off and really pressed. Maybe he would have discovered that he was Hydra and saved Koenig's life.
Maybe, he thought this very quietly, in the smallest deepest part of his mind, maybe he could have changed Ward's mind and made him not want to be bad anymore. It wasn't likely, but he couldn't change the past anyway, so what did a little fantasy hurt? Besides his heart, anyway.
He wandered around the perimeter of the motel, watching laughing children with their parents and lovers with tangled fingers and he ached.
"Fitz, you're worrying Simmons," Triplett informed him softly, standing not too close.
"Tell her not to worry then," Fitz ordered roughly. "I told you, I'm fine."
Triplett chuckled, dark and sad. Fitz looked up at him and saw his slumped shoulders, downcast eyes, and sad mouth. "I don't think any of us are fine, Fitz." It was the most honest thing Fitz had heard the man say. "But I think we'll all be a little closer to fine if we stick together."
Fitz swallowed his rising emotions, throat clicking, and he nodded. "Maybe you're right." He stumbled toward Triplett and took the solace from the man's brotherly arm across his shoulders. "I thought he was our friend. I thought he cared about us."
"He may have," Triplett allowed. "Guys like him, able to put on a face and make it stick, they do care about the people they're with, in their own sick ways. Doesn't mean he's not a crazy bastard, and it doesn't mean he won't try to kill all of us first chance he gets."
"Yeah," Fitz agreed. He could see that. It even made him feel better. Maybe he wasn't as fine as he pretended, but he started to think that he wouldn't have to pretend at fine much longer. Maybe he would actually get there again. Maybe.