A Bouquet From A Man Who Never Loved Me

Four

Fan art credit to @ki-2146 on tumblr

Five A.M. Pacific Standard Time. Fitz was on his back in the glory of one of four bedrooms he had miraculously won. It wasn't the biggest one, granted, Matt snagged that one almost as soon as he walked in the door. So why wasn't he basking in the sleepy victory he so rightfully deserved?

The coughing. Swagger's heart-wrenching coughing. Each gasp for air sent a pang of white hot pain down Fitz's spine. He learned that this had been happening more frequently, and when he wasn't around the house, it happened only on occasion. Bee must really be getting to him...
The coughing and wheezing had gone on sporadically for the last hour; no one really seemed to be concerned—but that was probably due to the draining three days they had just left behind. Fitz felt the need to check on Swagger.

"No, that's stupid, he wouldn't want me choking on him like a child," he whispered, lips barely parting with those words. Others probably made their rounds anyway—he had heard footsteps outside a few times after all. As he was beginning to drift off from the lack of energy in his body, and to the lullaby of dry coughs, his body was wrenched from its tired stupor when Swagger let out a choked gasp. Then came the heavy thud of a body. Adrenaline coursing through his veins now, Fitz tore the covers from his body and lurched for the door, his hands fumbling with the knob. When he pried the door open with a great amount of force, he stumbled from his room. Panic fueling his already exhausted body, he pushed down the hall.
The others hadn't heard the commotion from his stomping around yet, but he was so deadset on opening Swagger's door, the amount of noise he made wasn't his first priority.
He burst through the door, and when the immediate response wasn't a sleepy grunt or some kind of yell, the panic surged again, doubling over him. The room was dark—as it should be at night, but this darkness was eerie and downright chilling.
Fitz never liked horror movies, but this felt like one.

"Swagger?" He called out, trying to reassure himself that Swagger was maybe just in a heavy sleep " Swa—Eric, are you okay?"
He kneeled on the guest bed, hands sweeping over the covers, which had been pulled to one side. Cold, cold, cold, warm. He swiped at the pillows and pulled at the blankets, which didn't budge. Getting off the bed he quickly, reached for any sort of light on the nightstand.
His fingers brushed the side of a lampshade and he almost threw himself at it, patting it up and down trying to find the button or chain. When he found the little button he pressed his thumb against it. The lamp flickered on and the room was filled with dim yellow light. Eyes adjusting, he blinked a few times and surveyed the room. Helmet atop the small dresser with the balaclava folded and the chain mail plopped carefully next to it, his suitcase, sticking out of the partially open closet door. He shifted his view back to his priority. The covers had all fallen together in a lump.

Fingers grazing the sheets of the bed he made his way around the end and his heart nearly stopped. Crumpled on the floor was his bearded friend, blood on his fingertips and palms. Fitz pulled a hand to his chest and crept forward slowly. The blood was one thing; but Fitz nearly began to weep when he saw the cause.

Flowers.

Not yellow this time, but pink.

His instinct kicked in like a truck hurtling towards him at full speed. Fitz tore the covers from over Eric onto the carpeted ground, pulling his shorter friend onto his back. Eric's head lolled to the side, crimson blood oozing from his lips and off his cheek.

"Oh my god, oh my god," did he perform CPR? He didn't know that. Pull the flowers? Would that work?

"It'll have to do," he grunted, his fingers wrapping around the stem of a camellia.

"Don't do that!" Matt voice yelled from behind. Fitz whipped around, retracting his hand back with fright. Matt knelt down next to him, with the forethought to have at least have put a shirt on.

"You can't pull those out." The brunet advises, "it'll tear his lungs to shreds and kill him."
Fitz nearly toppled back from that information.
Had Matt not been there he cold've killed his friend.

"What are we going to do then?"
Matt shook his head silently and held a hand to Eric's chest which was weakly rising and falling.

"I'd say call nine-one-one," Fitz jumped up to go get a phone, but a heavy gasp stopped him.
The coughing began again. Fitz swiveled around and nearly fell as he knelt down next to Matt again. Eric's opened slightly, adjusting to the low amount of light.
His coughing had slowed when he saw Matt next to him but when his gaze met with Fitz's, he tried to turn towards the small waste bin in the corner of the room, grabbing at it helplessly. Matt's eyes darted from Eric's outstretched hand to the white waste bin and made the connection. Leaning, the brunet yanked it forward and set it next to Eric, who struggled but managed to lift his upper body over the trash and heave the garden in his lungs out once again.

"Eric," Fitz said between the sounds of violent retching. "Are you alright there mate?"
Eric spit into the waste bin and lifted his head, wiping the blood and petals from his beard with his arm.

"Yeah, I'm-Im fine," He said, wobbling a bit, clearly far from fine. Getting some assistance standing and laying back in his bed, he repeatedly reassured the two taller men that he was, in fact, fine, and that if anything did happen he'd call for help.
Matt and Fitz both bid him goodnight and filed out of the room, Fitz closing the door behind him. Matt gave a small wave in the dark hall, yawning and muttering about how late it was. It was pretty late in the night and after the adrenaline in their systems had faded away, Fitz realized how tired he was too.
How did he do it? Fitz thought. How did he know what to do about the flowers?
"Matt," Fitz said, eyes trained on the ground with the two questions repeating him his head. Matt lumbered around to face the taller,

"Whas'up?" Matt slurred, tilting his head to the side, his bed head drooling over his left eye. Fitz looked up in his general direction, barely making out the silhouette.

"How did you know? What to do I mean,"
Matt pulled a hand down his face sleepily. Almost like he was trying to process the question correctly.

"I..." he hesitated "it's late, man, I really don't want to discuss it."
Fitz grabbed his wrist as Matt turned away.

"Please," he begged. The brunet sighed, slumping his shoulders.

"I know from experience, okay?"
Matt pulled his wrist from Fitz's loose grip and padded down the hall to his temporary room. Fitz sighed, running a tired hand through his messy, dirty blond hair. Crossing the narrow hall in half a stride, he went back into his own space. He closed the door with a soft click and fell back onto his bed, the springs letting out a small protest as he did. His bare back welcomed the cold sheets under his body and he gave a tired stretch. Throwing an arm over his head, Fitz's last thought that night was one that resurfaced from three days prior. It was so simple but oh so stupid.

"I should get Bee and Swagger together."