Agents of Shield One-Shots

Just a little longer

Jeffery Mace Introspective in the Framework at the time of his death. I always feel like Mace in the Framework was so underrated. 

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They say that when one is faced with death they see their lives flash in front of them. The people they've loved, their joys, their sorrows, all of their regrets. Jeffery Mace saw no such thing. 

As he yelled at his team to run, to save themselves before the building collapsed on all of them, all he could think about were the people he had to protect. Chris Adler, the teen whose only fault was questioning HYDRA. Phil Coulson, the high school teacher who risked his life to save innocent teenagers. Antoine Triplett, the double agent who went undercover for information. Agent May, the high-ranking HYDRA agent who had decided on a whim to help them. Jemma Simmons, the biochemist who kept telling him that this was a false world (He still wasn't convinced). Grant Ward, his second in command, his trusted friend. Their names repeated inside his head. Chris, Coulson, Triplett, May, Simmons, Ward. Chris, Coulson, Triplett, May, Simmons, Ward.

Mace breathed in and out with deep laboured breaths. Just hold it up a little bit longer, he told himself, meeting the eyes of Agent May. She nodded ever so slightly, glancing at him in respect instead of hate now, before running out of the collapsing building. He was suddenly reminded of the Greek myth of Atlas, forever cursed to hold up the sky. It was mystifying how his brain would think upon the most random things at the strangest times. 

He had already accepted that staying behind meant his own death. He knew he was trading his friends' lives for his own. Yet in that moment, he didn't feel one shred of regret. It was worth it, he felt, to sacrifice one's life for others', knowing they had so much more to live for. 

The rubble pressed down on him. He felt his arms tense, sweat trickling down his forehead. Just a little longer. 

How long would it take for his teammates to make it out? He thought back to when he had first entered the building. One minute. Two minutes. Three. Four. And another minute to account for any difficulties they might encounter on the way out. 

How long had he been holding up the rubble for? It felt like forever. Focus, he told himself. Your team needs you. With effort, he brought his scattered brain back together. Two minutes, his mind lazily answered. Just three minutes left. Only a little bit longer. 

His thoughts drifted back to Jemma Simmons. He never would've imagined that a biochemist would be able to incur the full wrath of HYDRA. Yet she did. She risked everything to warn him that this world was fake, that his companions were only snippets of code. What if she's right? Mace wondered. Will that make the lives of all these people mean any less? Will it make my death mean any less?

No, he concluded. Code or not, these were still people. Their actions contributed to the world he lived in. And if his death could help Simmons and her friend escape this horrible place, to finally end the oppressive regime of HYDRA, he would willingly die a thousand times over. 

He heard the sharp creak of metal, the exhausted groan of concrete. He felt the weight of the ceiling grow, bringing him to his knees. Two minutes left. 

He wished that he could breathe in fresh air and feel the wind brush his face one last time. But all he could smell was the lingering odour of sweaty teenagers trapped in a hot room, and all he could feel was the crushing weight of the building on top of him. 

A single glistening tear slowly slid down his face. 

Whenever he imagined his death (as all in his line of work do sooner or later), he imagined taking a bullet for his partner, being stabbed, falling off the edge of a building. He never would've guessed that his death would be a test of endurance, that his corpse would lie beneath heavy concrete, steel beams, an explosion of fire. 

It isn't a such bad way to go, he mused to himself, saving people. He knew that if he had to choose between this death and all his imagined ones, he would always choose this. He would always choose to save his friends, his teammates, those innocent teens. 

One minute left. 

He was pressed close to the ground now. His arms were bent, his head bowed. Supporting the building with every part of him. His breathing slowed. Just a little longer.

He felt no fear, just a calmness that radiated through him, numbing his senses.

The world was so heavy, and he was so tired. 

With a final breath, he let go. 

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Well, I think this has been the best thing I've ever written so far! I guess I write better when I'm tired. Interesting. 

-browneyedgenius