Chapter Text
Fitz and Simmons weren’t field agents. They did their best, and even ended up kicking ass most days, but at times like these it was painfully obvious they were out of their depth.
Today, they were handcuffed to metal benches on opposite sides of a concrete holding cell. They had been captured and moved to this location several hours ago and Fitz was starting to get impatient.
“What do they even want with us?” asked Fitz. “You’d think they’d have asked already if they wanted information.”
“Well maybe they don’t want information,” said Jemma. “Maybe we’re supposed to be hostages or something.”
“Then why haven’t they taken a picture or video of us yet? You know, something to prove that they have us?”
“I don’t know, Fitz. Maybe they’re waiting for the order to chop us into a bunch of little pieces.”
Fitz stared at Jemma, “Don’t even joke about that.”
Jemma giggled. The tone was little hysterical but Fitz couldn't blame her for that. He was scared too.
Several proposed escape plans later, the door to their cell rattled and a moment later a large man dressed in dark leather stepped into the room. His face was ugly, one of his ears had a chunk missing and his teeth were crooked and yellow with black around the bases. He looked at Fitz and Simmons slowly, as if he were deducing just how breakable they’d be.
Fitz broke the silence. “So, what’s the agenda here? Catch and release I hope? Because I really don’t think we’re worth the trouble of anything else.”
The man looked back at Fitz and laughed, exposing his disgusting teeth in the process. “Not exactly, little man.”
Fitz bristled but stayed silent. The man continued, “I actually have orders here from someone who isn’t very happy with you. Claims you ruined his plan or killed his puppy or somethin’ like that. Doesn’t matter to me. All that matters to me is that I carry out his wishes.”
“And what would those be, exactly?” asked Jemma, suddenly timid.
The man shrugged. “Oh the usual. Make them bleed and beg and what have you. There was a bit of something special, we’ll get to that before to long.”
The man left the room for a moment, fetching something in the hallway. He re-entered pushing a cart that clattered and crashed over every bump. The door swung closed behind him.
Fitz was scared now. He and Jemma had gone through the standard training but it looked like they were about to be tortured. He thought again of any possible way of escape, even if it meant that only Jemma would make it out. She was a better runner than him. She could make it to safety and tell the others. But his pockets were empty and his hands were tied.
“Alright, now who wants to go first? Hmm? No volunteers? Guess we’ll have to flip a coin then. How’s heads for the lady and tails for the gentleman?” The man laughed a little to himself and started rummaging through his cart for a coin.
Fitz looked at Jemma, trying desperately to see if she had an idea where he’d come up short. She hadn’t. Her eyes were to wide and filled with fear. Fitz tried to calm his heart and focus his mind. They would get out of here. They just needed an opportunity. He looked at Jemma again and saw that she wasn’t staring back. Her eyes were squarely trained on the tool cart. Brilliant girl! Of course. Their pockets were empty but their captor had just delivered a whole new realm of possibility. But how to get close to it? Fitz was still cuffed to a bench, as was Jemma.
Unfortunately for them, the man had found his coin. One deft flick later, and the choice was declared, “Gentleman it is.”
Fitz jerked, trying to loosen his restrains but to no avail. The man slid the cuffs to the end of the bench, dragging Fitz with an iron grip. He secured them and added some more chains until Fitz was lying belly-up on the full length of the bench. Then the man took his time rummaging in his toolbox. Grabbing a battery, wires, and such other instruments of electrocution.
“I thought this had a bit of poetic irony, you see,” said the man, “being as you’re a mechanic and all. Heard you worked with zappers, you might even be used to this.”
Jemma was crying now. Trying her best to be quiet and not draw attention. She had to figure a way out before she was trussed up as well or they would both end up dead. Or worse, begging for death.
Fitz wished Jemma wouldn’t cry. It was kind of nice, knowing she cared about him, but the niceness was outweighed by the helplessness he felt at the sight. At least she was safe for now. And would hopefully stay that way for as long as he could hold out. It was quite the motivator to be honest.
The man finished setting up his equipment and approached Fitz once more. This time he set to work on Fitz shirt. The outer layer was unbuttoned, a nice gesture for the circumstances, but the undershirt was neatly clipped away with a pair of scissors.
“Sorry about that,” said the man, “but it was either clipping the shirt or arm, and I’d thought we’d save amputation for later.”
Jemma felt sick as she watched the man attach electrodes to Fritz’s chest. As a biochemist, she was intimately familiar with the bodily response to all sorts of stimuli and this was going to hurt. A lot. She strained to the edges of her shackles, hoping the man wouldn’t notice her reach for the cart. He didn’t. But the cuffs cut into her skin and she was stopped short, the cart still a foot away. Then she heard a strangled noise from Fitz and a crash of metal against metal.
The man held a button in one hand and a live wire and he smiled down at Fitz. There was a bit of smoke curling up from Fitz‘s side where the hair had been burned away to make room for a red angry streak. She watched as the wire was applied again and Fitz, in convulsions, slammed against his restraints, sending chains scraping against the metal bench to no avail. His pale chest was heaving and she could see his face. He was crying, but his screams were muffled by a leather strap between his teeth. This was too much to bear.
“Stop! Please, stop,” Jemma cried, “Stop hurting him!”
The man’s attention turned towards her and suddenly Jemma felt very, very small.
“A volunteer? Well then, I’m not one to refuse a lady.” The man approached.