╔═════════════╗

✧·ﾟ:CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO*:·ﾟ✧

╚═════════════╝

✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ:* 　shadows　 *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧
date: 30th May, 2014
location: the Playground, Classified

━━"Fitz," he closed his eyes, trying to block her out. Focusing on the frequencies in his ear, he gripped the edge of the lab desk, trying to make sense of his head. There was a pain in his temple, something he couldn't get rid of. Fitz had Skye's findings out in front of him, trying to be useful. But he couldn't with her nagging in the back of his head. "Fitz now would be the time I'd have you test the resonate frequencies of the metal so that I could determine what properties we're dealing with."

He shook his head, letting out a deep breath he had been holding. Come on, he told himself, just breathe, just think. Fitz heard Clara's footsteps as she came to stand closer to him. "Fitz? Fitz, can you even hear me?"

Annoyed, he gave up and pulled out the earplug from his ear, giving her a look. "Yes, Roy, I can hear you." She gave him a happy smile, but he scoffed at it. "I'm trying to hear the bloody resonant frequency you keep going on about, but all I can hear is you."

She gaped at him, offended. "Calm down! I'm only asking━" she followed him back to his desk, hovering over his shoulder; a shadow he couldn't get rid of, "━you haven't been able to isolate━?"

"No, I haven't been able to isolate the ..." Fitz closed his eyes at the pause. He knew the world, it was on the tip of his tongue. Caged and held back. "The ..." annoyed, he snapped his finger trying to remember. "The━uh━the..."

"Rate of oscillation," prompted Roy and he pushed off his desk.

"Yes, I was about to say that, actually. And, no, I haven't because it keeps ..." Fitz pulled at his ears, trying to remember, trying to push the word off his tongue. Turning back to his desk, he tapped his foot. Deep breaths, deep breaths, Fitz━ "What's the word again? Give me the word."

"Fluctuating━"

"Yes," he cut Roy off and grabbed his pad of paper, travelling to the other side of his desk to look at his notes. She followed. "Good. Fine. Thanks. Go away."

He tried to write what he heard━or lack there-of, thanks to Roy━, but Clara's gentle hand on his back sent shivers. Fitz closed his eyes, shaking his head. No, go away. Go away. "Have you taken your medication?"

Fitz grabbed the bottle with a frustrated, "Yes!" and rattled it in her face. His anger got the best of him when he threw it back down onto the desk. Roy's gaze followed the bottle, and soon, she gasped. She leant closer past Fitz's shoulder, and he felt her hair brushing his cardigan. Quickly, he held his hand out, "No. Don't. Don't. Please don't touch anything."

"That's the cloaking technology for the plane!" said Roy, grinning proudly. He refused to look at her━don't look at her, then maybe she'll go away. "How is it coming?"

"Good," he muttered. "Slower than I'd like. I've had a few bumps but it's━I'm close. And I don't need you mucking it up."

Hurt. He knew she'd be hurt. "Fitz," breathed Clara. "I'm only trying to help..."

"I know. I know. But━but I also know how important cloaking is, okay? So, I just need everybody to be ... I just need everybody to be, um ..."

"Patient?" she offered and Fitz slammed his hand on his desk, walking away. He returned to the table he was examining the metal and hung his head, closing his eyes. Just think, breathe, think ... her hand gently touched his shoulder, and he slumped. Clara's grip tightened. "You need to be patient with yourself, Fitz. You're almost there!"

Longing, Fitz reached up for her hand. His fingers grazed hers━a familiar feeling that he couldn't get out of his hand. "Yeah ..." he whispered. "Yeah, I'm almost there..."

━━The plan was to reach Talbot before Creel could get the intel inside that folder. At least, that's what Fitz has been hearing. They needed to find that intel, too—it was better off that they had it instead of HYDRA (obviously). So, Coulson decided to kidnap the General. Fitz thinks there's a law against that ... Either way, Creel was in custody by the military (probably not the best option, but what else could they do?) and the General was in theirs in the interrogation room on the Bus. Fitz watched everything happen from outside the Command Centre. He was too scared to join the others in listening to the comms and watching the footage of Coulson interrogating Talbot━for no reason specifically except for to rile him up so he'd grip the arms on the chair━hence giving them his fingerprint so they could sneak into the military facility to get the 0-8-4. Fitz scoffed quietly to himself a the sight of it. They don't need him anymore. He was just useless.

"Look at Koenig, running analysis," Fitz pursed his lips. "Well, it looks like we've got our new golden boy."

"'New'?" Roy tilted her head, sitting on his old bunk with her knees close up to her chest. She glanced around the corner shielding her from what was going on. "As opposed to the original?"

"Yes. Me," Fitz told her, pointing to himself. "And I've been sidelined."

Her shoulders slumped, not believing him. "Oh, I wouldn't say that," she said. "Well━" she backtracked, "━I mean, yes, but in the same way that a player is sidelined due to injury in a football match."

He turned to her, annoyed. "Football or American football? 'Cause a head trauma joke, right now, Roy, that's in severely poor taste━even for you." She went red, sheepish. Leaning closer, he continued in a whisper, "And I see the way they look at me. Especially when they keep on asking about the ... the ..." he snapped his fingers.

"Cloaking."

"Yeah..."

"No, they're just anxious about it," she reassured him. "They know you're nearly done."

"Yeah," he muttered, starting to believe her. "Yeah, well, I may not seem like the genius I used to be, but I still have ideas," she nodded, smiling. "I'm just having a hard time ... a hard time ..." he went to kick something, but Clara stopped him.

"You're having a hard time expressing them," she said. "And they understand that. They're just trying to help."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean that they have to treat me like ..." he sighed, and Clara frowned, concern lacing her pretty features.

"Like what, Fitz?"

"Treat me like I'm gonna break," he murmured, fiddling with the sleeves of his dark blue cardigan. He won't break. He's not going to break. He's not crazy. He is fine. Perfectly fine! "It's ... it's distracting. And━you know━taking to you is the only time I feel clear. And calm," at the bright smile on her face, he started to feel better. "Like I might actually get better."

Clara stood up, placing her hand on his shoulder. "You are getting better," she told him. "Every day! I see it, they see it, and soon, you'll see it yourself! Simmons sees it! She sent you that wonderful tinker gift to help your hands!"

"Yeah ..." he reached up for her hand, managing a smile. Her eyes glinted, happy. Fitz took a deep breath before returning his attention back to the others. "You know, they really should be analysing speech patterns and tracking voice ..."

"Voice biometrics," she nodded. "Yes, Fitz. I think they are."

✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ:* 　making friends and influencing people　 *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧
date: 30th September, 2014
location: Castle Comb, England

━━In a small house, on a small street, in the small town of Castle Comb in England, woke a small, young woman with bright, lime green eyes and bountiful waves of strawberry blonde hair. The clock on her bedside table blared an alarm that made her groan and throw her hands to her eyes, shutting out the sun that was beaming out through the small window. Beside the alarm, the letter still sat, unopened━and to be unopened for a very long time (forever, if Clara could help it). Dearest Clarissa. It was her mother. She knew it was her mother. She may be the only parent she had left, but that didn't mean she was family. Clara couldn't look at it without feeling sick, knowing that she was perhaps behind the death of her father. How could she do that? How could she be so evil? Her father was a good man, a wonderful man━a man who would do anything for anybody, and she had killed him in cold blood.

And so, when she got up out of bed, she paid it no mind. Glancing around her old bedroom, she felt waves of nostalgia at the star stickers on her roof pointing out different constellations that glowed in the dark. Her old posters and her David Attenborough 1997 calendar. Her old doctors kit sat in the corner (one that her father got her after saving up plenty of money). She didn't have much as a child, but she had a lot. She had her father━that was more than she ever needed. And now, he was gone.

(How could her mother be so cruel?)

Turning off her alarm, and picking up her phone, Clarissa smiled at her home screen of her, Fitz and Simmons. Fitz-Roy-Simmons. She missed them; she missed them so very much. But she had to leave. She had to look after the house, she had to help Coulson, she had to help herself; she had to let Fitz help himself. But Clara still watched the video sent for her birthday; constantly. She'd smile at seeing Skye, May and Coulson, and Trip and Fitz ... they had made a cake for her even if she wasn't there, smiling and clapping a, "Happy Birthday, Clara!"

"Happy Birthday, Clara," Fitz would then say by himself, and she was so proud of his words he had managed to get together without any trouble. He had grown so much, gotten so far in his rehab. He went from not being able to speak to being able to speak full sentences (that he probably rehearsed, but progress was still progress). "I hope you're doing okay. I can't wait until you come back. Miss you."

Coulson had come for her birthday with slices of the cake to give to her. A Doctor Who cake. She had cried, which seemed very dramatic, but even now, her father's death was a fresh wound that made her feel like exposed flesh. Every hit was painful, no matter whether it was about him or not. 

But it was getting better each day ... slowly ... very slowly ...

Walking down the stairs, Clara took a deep breath seeing the books she was still yet to pack away back into the bookshelf. They lied on the desk, the last books her father read before he died. She couldn't manage to touch them━to move them from their spot. She felt as though if she moved them, if she even touched them, she was going to upset him. She was hanging on to those books ... it made her feel like he was still there. It was stopping her from moving on, but she just couldn't. Like she couldn't enter his room. Like she couldn't enter his study. Like she couldn't open up his tea collection. Or go to the park he used to take them to see the stars.

Turning on the kettle, Clara rubbed her eyes. She grabbed her caffeine-free tea bags from her stash next to her father's, and her fingers lingered over the intricate box. She felt the need to cry then and there, but she didn't. She just moved pass, prepping her mug and setting the tea bag inside with a long sigh. Checking the time, she made sure to grab another cup and make another tea.

Sitting down at the small round dining table, Clara had her steaming cup of tea in front of her. Opposite, was the second mug of tea. She stared at it, hoping it wouldn't go cold. If it did, she could easily reheat it, but it was never as good as the first time.

He arrived a few minutes late. At the knock on the door, Clara stood up and made her way over. Opening it, she managed a tired smile in seeing Coulson. He returned one of his own, looking quite tired himself. (She guesses that is what happens when you're Director).

She opened the door wider, and he stepped in. In his hands, he held a grocery bag and Clara felt her heart clench. He showed it to her as she closed the door behind him. "I'm a bit late because I thought I'd get some things to restock your fridge."  He wandered over to her kitchen and opened up the fridge. Coulson nodded to himself. "And I was right too," reaching in, he pulled out last night's dinner, some take away chips. "Take-away chips? Seriously?" He held them up, giving her a disapproving look. "What kind of diet is this?"

Clara rubbed the back of her neck, sheepish. "I also have tea?" She offered. "Though, yours has gone cold since you're late."

"Well, it's good I was late, wasn't I?" Coulson closed the fridge door and set his bag of groceries on her table. Clara watched him unpack them, feeling an overwhelming emotion weigh down on her shoulders. He showed her what he bought as he did. "We got ... steak, grass fed ... fingerling potatoes ... kale ... butter ... milk ... whole-grain bread ... marmalade ... Jaffa cakes ..."

Clara let out a small gasp, "You got Jaffa cakes?!" she hurried over and picked the packet up. "They're my favourite ..."

"You're welcome," Coulson told her, placing the steak into the fridge.

She smiled, holding the packet close. "Thank you," she mumbled, and Coulson gave her a squeeze of her shoulder.

And Clara meant it. Ever since her father died, Coulson has been there for her. He was a busy man━the new Director of the new and improved S.H.I.E.L.D., and yet, he never missed a weekend to visit. Clara knew she wouldn't have gotten this far without him. She would still be in the state where she wouldn't leave her bunk back at the Playground. And now, she lived in the house her father died, allowing the memories around here to slowly not make her burst into tears, but give her a bittersweet ache in her chest. Slowly, but surely. And Coulson helped her with it. He gave her time off, gave her time to herself, checked up on her, gave her jobs every now and then to look out for possible candidates for the agency who had it in them for the science department.

Clara owed him much more than she could say.

Perhaps he was there for her so much because he lost his father, too, at a younger age than her. He knew what it was like, and when the only other family member Clara had was the person they believe killed him ... Phil Coulson took on the role of looking after her without any hesitation. And she owed him much more than she could say.

"How have you been?" He then asked her, popping some of the whole-grain bread into the toaster. Clara decided to help in unpacking the groceries, placing them into her fridge specifically to the system she had. (She's a very organised person, sue her!).

"Better," she said truthfully. "It's hard to think that it's been six months since he died ... but, I think it's good to think about it, too."

Coulson saw the fall of her face. Clara was thinking of the Dearest Clarissa letter. She grabbed the milk and place it into the side shelf down at the bottom of the fridge. "We'll find her," he promised her. She nodded.

"I know," she said softly. "And you ...?" She met his gaze, seeing him butter his toast. "How have you been going?"

"Been busy," he told her, and she nodded.

"Anything you can share?"

"That's classified," Coulson sent her a mischievous smile, and Clara's eyes sparkled with amusement.

The two of them sat back down at her small dining table opposite each other, feasting on their small breakfast; toast, tea and Jaffa Cakes. Clara spread her marmalade with her butter knife, thinking of words to say. She's gotten close with Coulson over the time her father died. She looked up to him; admired him. He had become her friend. Someone she went to for advice when things got really rough. Someone she trusted. Someone she wanted to make proud; which perhaps has been good, helping her get through this much quicker than she would have alone.

"How's Simmons?" she asked, sipping her tea.

Coulson broke apart a Jaffa cake. "She's going well. She's handling herself remarkably." He plopped one piece into his mouth.

Clara nodded, "That's good. As long as she's safe..."

"I have one of my best agents keeping an eye on her," Coulson assured her. "I actually came to talk to you about some intel she found."

Her interest piqued. "Oh?"

"Remember Donnie Gill?" Coulson set down the other half of his Jaffa cake. Clara frowned, nodding. "Well, turns out he's more than a gifted scientist. He's actually a gifted."

Clara's eyes widened. "Donnie?" She remembered the boy being quiet, unable to make friends, but oh-so-very smart. She remembered Fitz being impressed by him, by his work and his ideas. She also remembered being unable to save his friend.

"Simmons theorises that when the storm hit the ice machine, it might have caused some reaction," he explained, and she thought about it.

"Could work ..." Clara propped her chin on the palm of her hand. "So ... he's got ice powers, now?"

He nodded. He took a sip of his tea, too. "It seems so."

"Well, I can't tell you much," she sighed. "Fitz knew him much better than I did. I remember he was quiet, had a hard time making friends ... he was easily manipulated by someone who promised to be that friend. Information I'm sure you've already heard."

"No," Coulson shook his head, and smiled softly at her. "Thank you, Clara. Anything his helpful."

Her next question made her stomach clench. She was scared to ask it, knowing she might not like the answer. But Clara took a deep breath and asked it anyway, "So!" She forced the smile on her face. "How is everyone?"

Seeing right through her, Coulson met her gaze and told her, "Fitz is okay." She pursed her lips, looking down to her fingers. She fiddled with her rings. "He's hanging in there."

✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ:* 　face my enemy　 *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧
date: 9th January, 2015
location: the Bus, Florida

━━They changed the lab on him, without even asking him. When he walked past all the new mechanic and engineering equipment that had replaced Roy's workplace in the back, and Simmons in the middle, he had a bitter taste on his tongue. This was his safe place, and they completely changed it on him. He hates change━and everything has changed. He wanted to be able to escape back here, chat with Roy and Simmons, joke ... be able to actually speak.

"Do you really think running away is the answer?"

He didn't glance at her. Fitz fiddled with a clamp, twisting it back and forth. "I'm not running away," he told her. "I wanted to be alone."

"Oh, nonsense," said Roy. "You hate being alone."

Finally, he met her gaze, glaring. "As evidence—by you."

She didn't take his glare into accounts, and instead leaned back on the motorcycle Mack had been working on. "You're avoiding something."

"Talking," he answered. "They're just talking. And, I'm having trouble with that, lately..."

Roy pursed her lips. Tilting her head, she muttered, "You're doing fine talking to me."

"Yes," he rolled his eyes. "But I think you're ignoring a rather significant elephant in the room."

(You're not really here━the elephant being).

Clara narrowed her eyes, determined. Pushing off the motorcycle, she approached him, "You're not afraid to talk," she stopped right by his side. "You're afraid you'll have nothing to say. Just tell them what you're thinking! How you're feeling, you know?"

"Yeah, sure..." he brushed past her. His feet shuffled on the floor. "'Cause that's worked out so well for me in the past," Fitz gave her a pointed look, and she frowned, guilty. "Besides," he continued, his hands in his pockets, "don't even have anything in common with that lot. Not anymore. I'm not even a ... a part of ..."

"The team?" with a sigh, Fitz hummed to tell her she was right. Clara tottered her way back over to him. "Of course, you are! O━or you could be, if you'd just engage with them instead of hiding out here in the Garage."

This angered him. It's not the Garage! It's their lab━at least, it should be. But it's not anymore. "Yeah, well, it's not supposed to be a Garage," he snapped at her. "It's supposed to be our lab. Our place. But they changed it. Didn't even ask me, just did it."

"The new lab is beautiful!" Roy exclaimed. "Simmons designed it! It's amazing and bigger; it's got━"

"Yes, but it's not ours!" Fitz cut her off, exasperated. "And they didn't ask me because they don't care what I have to say."

"Fitz━"

"Even Ward more valuable than me," he walked away. "And ... he's perfectly able to speak in complete sentences." Fitz's fingers brushed against the dust on the side compartments lining the walls. "You should've heard the excuses he had for what he did to us. What he did to you."

"Listen to me, Leo, okay?" Her hand was on his shoulder again, and he sighed, shaking is head. She's not here, he reminded himself, dropping his head to his hands. But I want her to be, he realised over and over. "You may be stumbling and stuttering on the outside, but you have to let them see who you really are underneath all that."

━━"Guys, drop everything," Hunter barged through the lab doors with a six-pack of beers. He was an abrasive man, and he was from South London, so, it kind of made sense. Fitz stared at him blankly as he set the beers on the table, holding a chemical container in his ginger hands.

"No, this is worth a fortune," he replied. "I'm not gonna drop it."

Hunter frowned, "Just━just put it down."

Fitz did so, quietly while Hunter passed over a beer to Mack before capping open his own. "What's all this?" asked Mack; a burly mechanic with arms the size of tree trunks.

Hunter gaped at him, wondering whether he was serious. "We survived a HYDRA attack, saved the Bus. I turned out to be a genius at mechanical engineering. Calls for a celebration."

Mack's brows jumped, satisfied. "I like the way you think."

Fitz thought about it, staring at the beers. He glanced back at the chemical containers, and then to Mack and Hunter. "Um ... no, actually I should probably just━"

"Fitz," Hunter stopped him, and he stared at the ex-mercenary. "This team wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. This is big. Let me buy you a beer, mate."

There was silence as Mack watched Fitz intently to see what he would do. The mechanic couldn't help the small proud smile on his face when the young scientists picked up a beer and opened the cap. He took a sip. Hunter tipped his in cheers, happy.

"We haven't gotten to work much together yet, but, I thought this was a successful mission. And if we keep up with this teamwork, there will be more successful missions and plenty more beer, plenty more━"

"Yeah, hey, so━" Fitz decided to speak up, and Hunter stopped. The engineer pursed his lips, fiddling with the beer in his hands. Join in, he told himself. Bond with them, Roy━or he━had said. "━um━I don't have an ex. But ... but there was this girl that I liked, and I told her how I felt but she doesn't feel the same way as I do, and then her father died, so, she left."

Hunter gaped for a second, taken-aback. He glanced at Mack, unsure on what to do, but in the end, he decided to speak up. "Her loss, then, mate. From what I can see, she's missing out." He held up his beer. "To moving on."

Mack drank to that. And it seemed that Fitz would, too. He gave a small, sad smile, and said, "To moving on." He sent a wink before taking a swig and Hunter grinned.

━━Clara went into her father's office today to pack away the books. Finally. It was terrible, opening up the door and smelling the dust. She cried in seeing the telescope, maps of stars, Clara's first model of the solar system from school ... but it was good. It was good that she did so. She placed those last books he read away, and felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She cleaned the room; vacuumed and dusted. She killed the spiders and whacked the webs that had formed in the corners. She found it strangely therapeutic. Crying, and then cleaning, and feeling strangely at peace with her father's death for the first time since she got the news.

She was proud to then go up to his room and make his bed. She wouldn't pack away his things yet━not just yet. But she cleaned everything up. She made it presentable and neat. For him. (He had always been a slob).

Clara cried, and cried, but she also smiled, laughing at the photograph beside his bed of her when she was younger. She had been a wild, young child who thought she was better than every other child in her school (because none of them could name all the stars in the Lyra constellation━dummies).

When she rang up Coulson to tell him what she had done, she was smiling; happy and at peace. She had a tea from her father's stash, and enjoyed the chamomile. The letter still sat on her bedside table; Dearest Clarissa, but that was okay. That didn't matter. She didn't care what her mother thought. She just cared about her father; and she was strong enough to know he was still with her. In the air, in the tea she drank, in the books he read in his bookshelf, in the photographs, and most importantly, in her heart.

(Here's to moving on).

✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ:* 　a hen in the wolf house　 *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧
date: 11th January, 2015
location: the Playground, Classified

━━When Skye nearly barrelled into Hunter, she just gave him a look before walking around him and up the spiral staircase. Hunter stood there for a second before rolling his eyes. "Don't mind me just standing here."

Fitz frowned, confused as to why Skye would be stealing the painting. Beside him, Roy pursed her lips, but she wasn't focusing on Skye, but instead Mack underneath the SUV van. "Mack certainly has an impressive physique, wouldn't you say?"

He gave her an annoyed look as Mack stood up, "Bugger off."

"No, it's true!" She said. "Look at him. He's got quite a lot of man!"

Fitz rolled his eyes. He let out a sigh, crossing his arms. "Well, obviously, I agree, what with you being my subconsciousness and everything." He noticed her staring at him, and he faltered. "What? I can say that to you. It doesn't mean anything. It's just a casual observation, that's all it is."

"No, I know that," she was grinning and it was annoying him.

"Yeah, well, why are you still staring at me."

"Because you just admitted that I'm not real!"

He scoffed, "Oh, please, I'm not having this conversation with myself again."

"Fitz," Clara stopped him. "This is a good thing. You've got friends now, real friends. You don't need me anymore!"

"Yeah, but I still miss you," he quickly said, before realising. "I mean, I still ... miss her."

Clara pursed her lips sadly, "But she left and moved on," she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Maybe it's time you do the same."

There were tears in his eyes, he could feel it━see it, blurring everything around him. Slowly, Fitz reached his hand up to meet her's━the old her's, the one who hadn't left him. The one who was his best friend━but he knew she wasn't there. He knew he was holding onto his invisible past. He looked down, and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, she was gone.

━━Simmons was back. Fitz was very nervous. She looked different. She had cut her hair so it settled just above her shoulders. But she was safe, and she was back from being undercover. Fitz was happy she was here, instead of seeing the messages, opening the gifts, reading the essays she sent and watching inspirational medical recovery youtube videos she linked in anonymous emails. But he was still nervous.

Seeing her step inside the lab, he fiddled with the ends of his sleeves. Show her that you've improved, he told himself. That you're better!

Carefully, he walked closer as she closed the door behind her. She sent him a tearful smile, "Hey, Fitz."

Fitz had a lump in his throat. "Simmons," he greeted stiffly.

"You look good," she said, tilting her head. "Better."

"Thanks," he mumbled.

Simmons walked up to him, her eyes slowly and slowly getting more and more tearful. There was an awkward silence between them, neither sure on what else to say. In the end, Simmons took a deep breath and decided to just go forward. Leaping forward, she wrapped her arms around Fitz and held him into a tight hug.

Fitz froze, but in the end, found himself returning the hug and relaxing. Simmons was back, he realised. One of his best friends are back.

"I'm sorry I left," Jemma mumbled into his shoulder, crying. "I didn't want to leave you━but I had to. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," he said, rubbing her back. They ignored the other lab-tech's giving them glances. (Screw them, he thought). "I━I understand ..."

"I'm not leaving again, now," declared Simmons. "I'm staying. I'm staying."

(She's staying ... Fitz smiled. He held his best friend closer).

━━When Coulson entered the little house, on the little street, in the little town of Caslte Comb, he was suprised to see the photographs━many of them, all set up along the walls. Photos a little family; a little daughter and a much bigger father. And amongst all of them, was the daughter (a lot bigger now, albeit still rather little) lighting a candle on her small and round dining table. The litte house, on the little street, in the little town looked a little different. It was the same, and yet it shone with a fresh light; a light that was Clarissa Roy in all her decorations and personalisation to the home she grew up in.

Coulson smiled. He was proud of her, and he wished she knew that.

Seeing him, a smile broke out on Clara's face. "Hello, sir! It's good to see you! I made some souffle! Wanna try some?"

"You're very happy today."

Clara was. Clara was very happy. She was happy, and she was proud, and her home was feeling more like hers and not a constant weight on her chest. She was peaceful today, she was light. She was happy. "I guess I woke up on the right side of the bed."

He nodded. He was hesitant to ask her the next thing he wanted to, when he saw her bouncing around and grabbing a plate for him to show off her freshly baked souffle. But he had to. "With that attitude in mind, I hope you'll be happy to come back?"

Clara froze. A frown etched it's way onto her face, and she glanced back to meet his gaze. There was a fresh pang of fear in her stomach, and her chest━the punch of water hitting her like a million bricks to the gut. Her good mood seemed to disappear almost immediately. "I━I'm sorry?"

Coulson sighed. Walking up to her, he was gentle in his words. "I know you wanted some time away, some time to think and heal. But I need you back on the Team. HYDRA and Whitehall have the Obelisk, and I'm down a few agents. And that's not the only thing, Clara..." he walked around the island bench so he stood right in front of her, hating the fall of her face. "I need your help."

And he told her everything. About the carvings, and the symbols, the Obelisk━the search for what the writings meant. He trusted Clarissa Roy very much, and it wasn't hard to bring her along to help him. He needed someone who had medical experience; someone who would be there for him; someone who was stubborn and driven enough to help.

(And he will be honest. He missed her).

"You need to come back and see everyone," Coulson finished, seeing her gaze fall and her chest shudder as she tried not to cry. "To find something else to focus on."

She was still reluctant, "Sir..."

He knew what she was thinking. So, Coulson placed his hand on her shoulder. "Clara, what happened to Fitz isn't your fault. It's Ward's fault. If it weren't for you, Fitz wouldn't be alive. You saved his life."

A tear fell down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away. "It was the other way around," she mumbled.

"Either way," said Coulson. "I need your help, Clara. I need you to come back. And if you don't believe that you're ready, know that I believe that you can handle much more than you realise. You are much stronger than you realise. You can do this. I believe in you."

There was a small silence. But in the end, Clara gave a tearful nod. She was coming back. She's coming back ... She was strong. She can do this. She will help him. She will be there for the man who had been there for her through a really terrible time. Clara will come back. She can do this; she will show him that she can do this, because he believed in her (even if she didn't believe in herself).

Clara shuffled forward and wrapped her arms around Coulson's neck. It was quick, but he hugged her back, holding her soothingly as she let out a few more tears. She was coming back.

(Here's to moving on, right?).

━━The quinjet landed a little ways away from the Bus, and Clara took a deep breath, before she undid her seatbelt and got her bags ready. Trip was there with her, having piloted to and fro to England and back with Agent Roy now at his side. It was good to see him again, and while Clara was scared, seeing him made her feel a little better, and hearing his catchphrase━ "Come on, girl," when she shook her head at his offer to help carry her bags, her chest lightened. She had missed him. Coulson helped as well, grabbing her father's tea box that she had brought with her. Inside it, she had stuffed her Dearest Clarissa letter. She didn't want to open it, but she also didn't want to leave it there on her bedside table ... she wanted to, but she just couldn't.

Together, the three of them exited the jet down the ramp. Upon the concrete floor, Clara's boots shuffled as she dragged her luggage behidn her. Before her, they were all there, all standing in line. Except, they all weren't. Clara's eyes immediately passed through the line, seeing Skye, Jemma and May (with the addition of three new faces she did not recognise), and her shoulders sumped when she saw Fitz wasn't among them. But she pushed through it, greeting them with a strained smile.

The air was tense. Jemma gave her a smile in return with a slight wave. Skye crossed her arms, arching a brow. She now had a frindge, covering her brown eyes. May━like usual━stood still with a straight face. The one on the other side of May━a man she didn't recognise━tilted his head, examining her; taking her in to see whether she was trustworthy. Next to him, was a hunk of a man. His skin reminded her of mocha-beans, smooth and dark. His biceps were the size of tree-trunks, and Roy found herself shifting under his narrowed gaze. Okay, so he already doesn't like me. Finally, next to him, was a tall and beautiful woman. Her pointed features were handsome and strong, and her hair━long and blonde━cascaded down her back. She was slightly intimidating.

They stopped in front of them. Clara took a deep breath. First, she fixed her gaze on Jemma. She managed another smile and said, "It's ... it's good to see you."

Jemma's brows tilted upwards, and before Clara could do anything, Simmons pulled her best friend into a tight hug. And like that, the tension fell away. Roy relaxed into her hold, wrapping her arms around her back and sighing. "I missed you," muttered Simmons. "I missed you so much━I'm so glad you're back..."

When she finally pulled away, Clara turned to Skye, who looked past her anger of her leaving to barrel into her friend for a hug as well. Roy was happy, holding her close. She missed her, too━so much.

Skye hated how she was tearful, but let her eyes blur. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too," whispered Clara. "You have no idea how lonely it's been."

"It hasn't been the same without you here," mumbled her friend. She didn't mean to take a jab in reference to Fitz, but Clara couldn't help but take it that way. With a clearing of her throat, she pulled away and greeted May with a warm nod of her head in which she returned. At the confused look on Roy's face when she glanced at the newcomers, Skye quickly explained, "That's Hunter, Mack and Bobbi."

Clara nodded, before walking over to him. She held out her hand to each in turn. "I'm Clara Roy."

"We've heard," said Hunter, and Roy arched a brow at the English accent.

She moved on to Mack. He shook her hand stiffly. Roy pursed her lips when he didn't say anything, and so she stepped onwards. Bobbi took her hand with a warm smile, and she no longer seemed so intimidating.

"Come on," May spoke up, taking everyone by surprise. She placed a motherly hand on Roy's shoulder, one she was taken-aback by. "Let's take you to your bunk before debrief. There's a lot you've missed, Agent Roy."

Skye took the bags and box from Coulson and Trip, helping out and shuffling along behind her S.O as the three of them stepped through the large metal doors. Not much has changed since Roy left the Playground. There were a few adjustments, like making things look nicer; the ground had been retiled. The S.H.I.E.L.D. logo re-polished. The Playground reminded her of an industrial loft, with exposed brick and its warm interor. It used to be an SSR Base before Fury had it restored, so it did kind of make sense.

They passed the lab on the way to the bunks. When they walked past the large glass windows, Clara found herself stopping. Her eyes were fixed on the figure in the back, working by himself and no one else paying attention to him. Fitz was in his own little world, and she wasn't sure whether that was good or bad. Noticing the look on her face, May tilted her head. "Go and talk to him."

She and Skye left her standing there, staring with a gaped mouth. Fitz still hadn't noticed her, not turning around to see the pained look on her face. Roy tried to pluck up the courage to step into the lab, to say hello, just to whisper his name ... Fitz ... but it seemed so wrong and foreign.

It only took three steps to enter the lab through the open door. The heels of her boots changed from concrete to pristine white tile, echoing. Clara fiddled with her rings on her fingers, but slowly, she walked up to him, giving nervous glances around at the other scientists in the lab. They paid her no mind and continued with their work. Roy stopped a few paces in front of Fitz, trying not to show how terrified she was.

With a deep breath, Roy forced a small lopsided smile and said, "Hey, Fitz..."

He jumped and spun around. When he saw her, he froze. His mouth fell agape a little bit, his fingers falling down to fiddle with the sleeves of his cardigan. There was a tense silence, until he finally swallowed hard and said, "You're back," still staring.

He looked much better than the last time she had seen him. Fitz had put on weight, had small scruff and cropped his curly hair. Still dressed in cardigans with jeans and a checkered shirt, Clara couldn't help the smile that formed on her face. He had gotten a lot better, and she knew that he would.

She nodded. "Yeah ... yeah, I am."

"Is it ..." he tried to keep his words together. He wanted to show her that he was better. But his nerves didn't help. "Is it really you?"

Clara let out a small chuckle, "Of course it is, who else would it be?"

Fitz opened his mouth, as if to say something, but thought better of it. Instead, he shuffled his feet on the tiles, anxious. Clara pursed her lips. and her gaze fell away.

(To moving on ...)

✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ:* 　　 *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

a/n: is this chapter just a whole montage of angst? you betcha! is it terribly written and i'm not happy with it at all? you betcha! am i disappointed with my writing skills? you betcha! Look I wrote this a while back cos I've prewritten most of season 2 as well, so like, I'll automatically think it's bad ahahaha. If there are any mistakes I is sorry