#fsww

To feel the electric pulses of attraction simply by holding one’s hand.

To feel safe and loved and steady simply from the firm grasp of his fingers.

Your best friend who held you for a solid minute as you both reeled from a teary goodbye to two people you will probably never see again.

Your best friend who didn’t even try to hide his amusement when you suggested you two start over back to where you began. 

Leopold Fitz. Engineering.

He still went along with it.

Your best friend who tiptoed around you for three months straight, afraid of stepping on pieces of your fractured heart. 

His politeness and sensitivity simply fractured it all the more.

Your best friend whom you gripped with a ferocity that shocked you both once you realized it was him who survived the excursion to Death. 

Your best friend who embodied weariness, his pained expression revealing more than words ever could before you gripped him with a ferocity that shocked you both once you realized it was him who survived the excursion to Death.

Your best friend who tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear before softly stroking your cheek with his thumb while a piece of you wondered if you’d ever.see.him.again.

Your best friend who stubbornly refused to listen to reason, admitting his selfish need to keep you alive whatever the cost. 

Even if the cost meant his own life in return.

Your best friend whom you kissed -- even as your heart was torn in two. 

Your kiss was deliberate and bittersweet and soft and love and perfect.

Your best friend who surprised you with his impulsivity as he smashed his lips on yours, holding you fiercely. 

His kiss was desperate and messy and passionate and unexpected and perfect.

Your best friend who approached you in the quiet stillness of the dawn, choosing to remain in the stalled relationship limbo you found yourselves in rather than disrupt the perfect moment that lay before you in the light of the sun.

Your best friend whom you watched wrestle a broken heart as he studied the monolith every free and waking moment he had in order to rescue your exiled boyfriend.

Your best friend who broke your heart every free and waking moment because you were finally finally finally in the same room with him and yet the distance between the two of you was infinite.

Your best friend who patiently, quietly sat while you confided in him everything that happened on the planet of despair, knowing it would change things between the two of you. 

Forever.

Your best friend who doted on you with a certain sort of thoughtfulness that made your heart laugh and scream and cry and cry and cry.

Your best friend who held you in his arms when your grief and guilt consumed you, and you couldn’t stop the tears, and still he sat with you, knowing the lovely date he went to great lengths to preserve and prepare was over in a matter of minutes. 

Still, he sat.

Your best friend whom you woke up with that first morning away from the place with no sun, and you had never felt more loved and safe, even as a piece of you longed for Will. 

Your best friend who fell asleep, sitting up, on the floor next to your bed because he refused to be ripped apart from you so soon after finding you. 

Your best friend whose physical presence lulled you into a sense of security and peace while the world spun madly around you and everything you had grown used to for six months was ripped cleanly away from you in an instant.

Your best friend who gripped your hand in his and didn’t let go and rescued you from Hell. 

Your best friend who called your name -- as if from an unfathomable dream -- and it wasn’t a dream, and he had really done it and was frantically calling for you over and over and over....

Your best friend who dove through a hole in the universe for you.

Your best friend whom you never stopped thinking about the six months you lived in an entirely separate solar system from him. 

Your best friend whom you clung to with a certain kind of hope you had to harness deep within your bones. 

Fitz will find a way.

Your best friend who filled you with a delicious sort of nervousness and excitement when he clumsily asked you to dinner. 

Your best friend whom you finally finally finally allowed to see your true feelings. 

Feelings for him.

Your best friend who became your best friend again, and things were almost perfect. 

Almost. 

Your best friend who wasn’t your best friend whom you realized you had feelings for while he alienated you and over and over again.

Your friend who even through the hurt and the pain and the fighting held you against him as the sky of rocks rained down on you in an underground city.

Your colleague who insisted on leaving you, dashing any hope you had of reconciliation.

Your estranged partner who couldn’t even look at you without disdain and hurt and demanded you look anywhere else but where you really wanted to look. 

Your best friend who tried to put up a front when you reunited, closing off any sort of intimacy or vulnerability or closeness that might have occurred before.

Your best friend who wondered where you were every waking moment that wasn’t spent in resentment for your departure. 

Your best friend whom you missed every waking moment the two of you were apart. 

Your best friend who broke your heart again and again and again when he allowed frustration to get the better of him in his stalled recovery: 

His stalled recovery that your presence only exacerbated. 

Your best friend who was in a coma for nine of the longest days of your life while pieces of you wondered if he’d ever.wake.up.

Your best friend who -- in an act of true, gut-wrenching heroism -- handed you his heart before handing you the oxygen, prepared to die. 

Asking you to let him. 

The very thought of that was preposterous. 

Of course you wouldn’t let him.

Your best friend whom you watched with frustration and heartbreak defend Ward again and again until he finally understood the monster Ward was as you fell from the sky.

Your best friend whose feelings of betrayal resonated with you deeply, his eyes screaming the words he wouldn’t say aloud: 

i t ‘ s h a p p e n i n g a g a i n

p l e a s e j u s t l i e a n d t e l l m e y o u a n d s k y e w e r e w r o n g

i t c a n ‘ t b e w a r d

h e ‘ s n o t h i n g l i k e l i k e l i k e h i m 

Your best friend whose arms you raced towards before another thought crossed your mind because he was alive and so was Hydra.

Your best friend who just knew and wrapped you in his arms, holding you while you grieved for a sister you couldn’t imagine your life without. 

Your best friend who was planning on jumping out of a plane to save you from yourself.

Your best friend whose gutted expression and muted screams still haunts you occasionally as you surrendered to the wind and surrendered to the inevitable.

Your best friend who gave you hope when you had none left, working alongside you, insisting: 

there was a way - there was an option C - there was a cure

Your best friend whom you couldn’t imagine beginning this exciting, adventurous journey into mystery without.

Your best friend who laughed alongside you in a sort of light hopelessness of ever passing your field assessments. 

Your best friend who challenged you and made you better and became your trusted second pair of eyes. 

Your best friend who graduated the Academy early just like you did and was determined to remain your partner and best friend after graduation. 

Just like you were.

Your best friend who confided in you the pain he endured and the hurt he wrestled with and the hard lesson he learned again and again: 

blood wasn’t always thicker than water, love wasn’t always a given in a family unit, and fathers weren’t always kind.

Your best friend who became your best friend once he was assigned to you as a lab partner. 

Your lab partner who was assigned to you, and you bristled from the idea because you knew he hated you.

Your rival who tried to compete with you every chance he was given. 

Your achingly shy acquaintance who was quiet and pasty yet so incredibly smart and... 

...handsome.

Every encounter, every experiment, every moment shared, every word spoken, every argument, every movie night, every meal shared, every confession, every act of bravery, every moment of grief, every heartache, every every every every every every every every every 

It all led here. 

In this foreign hotel room on this bed with your best friend who was so, so, so much more than that and -- yet -- still your best friend in the whole world because that part would never, ever change, even as your relationship with him evolved more and more into something beautiful and wonderful and scary and magnificent. 

The culmination of every single part and moment and word shared between you and him rests with you two in the afterglow. 

You scoot closer to him, and he smiles, and you smile, and then he kisses you slow slow slow -- so different from the frenzied, sloppy, rushed kisses you two shared moments before -- as if he had all the time in the world to kiss you, and you revel in the unhurried bliss of it. 

Your lips still against each other, and he smiles against your lips, and you commit that smile to memory -- without quite realizing that’s what you’re doing -- and then you feel his smile against your cheek and your nose and your forehead and then, once you’re settled on his chest, your hairline. 

He starts playing with your hair with a tenderness that astounds you, and you start drawing patterns on his chest, and his hand finds yours, and he breaks the silence: 

“How do you feel?” 

“There aren’t enough words in the English dictionary to describe what I’m feeling right now.” 

You can hear the rumble and feel the slight tremors of his chest as he chuckles softly. 

“I know the feeling.” 

There is living, breathing, all-consuming passion and affection brewing, and you finally understand -- deep in your bones -- what it means and how it feels and why it’s called: 

making 

love

-

A/N: I don’t even know where this came from. But it’s there. And I like how it turned out. I couldn’t wait until normal business hours to post. 

Thus concludes the #fsww challenge. Obviously, I did not keep within the given timeframe, but I’m still really happy I stayed the course. 

And now! To concentrate and get cracking on all the amazing prompts you guys have sent my way. Feel free to keep sending them. The more, the merrier! 

At the risk of making this part longer than the fic itself, here is an extensive list of all the other fics written affiliated with this episode. Get comfortable. 

As We Deviate from That Path - extensive play-by-play of crossing the event horizon (skipping over the very explicit parts -- that’s just for them) through Jemma’s POV

Change Becomes Exponential - extensive play-by-play of crossing the event horizon through Fitz’s POV

This Will Go On All Night - Mack’s POV of that entire night

I’m Doom - Can’t forget Hive’s perspective and two cents! 

No Lab Coats on This One - hidden moments before the mission is in full effect told through Fitz’s POV 

It’s a little foreign, this completely welcome invasion of space. Over the span of their friendship, they’ve cried in each others arms, shared emotional embraces from the relief of knowing the other is alive, and held each other’s hands countless times for comfort. But this. This is a new kind of invasion. The way her hands travel to curl around his neck. The way they stop for half a moment to catch their breaths only to dive back in for more. The way his hands move slowly down her back to the hem of her jumper, teasing her by nearly creeping underneath. They no longer hold onto the fear of stepping too far or saying too much. Because their physical touches match their emotional states completely.

The other foreign feeling is how they both openly and wholeheartedly want this. Yes, Fitz was the one to make the first declaration after so many missed opportunities. And Jemma spoke of how much it meant to her that he would go to the ends of the universe just to save her. But for the first time, their feelings and declarations are finally in sync. In different ways and at different moments, they both assumed that they loved each other more just colleagues. More than just partners. More than just best friends.

Tonight is different.

Tonight, they’ve reached equilibrium.

Tonight, they know.

As they move together in an endless give and take, Jemma can’t help it as her mind suddenly wanders. She feels his hands skimming up her back, feeling her beneath. Just a single layer of fabric separates his fingertips from igniting a fire within her skin. She wants to go further, to prove how much she adores him physically and emotionally. But she doesn’t need to prove anything. And it’s too soon.

And yet.

We can’t waste anymore time.

She shifts to balance more of her weight on his lap and deepens their kiss. He follows her lead, moving his hands down to her hips to assist in cradling her closer to his body. She’s nearly riding him now, their breaths becoming more desperate, the need to feel more, to discover each other physically building between each kiss.

But they don’t get ahead of themselves. Maybe it’s their supposed psychic link or just the exhaustion from the day’s work, but together, they begin to slow their movements, savoring the last specks of this moment, but knowing there are many more to come. They share the understanding that this is probably not the time to shed all of their boundaries with each other. They have that to look forward to.

Jemma pulls her lips back from his, but they continue to press their foreheads together. She takes a deep breath as she watches him lick his lips. Staring at each other, they are unable to help the soft giggles they let escape as they give in to the sheer glee of this moment. She’s about to pull back further to get a better look at his expression when he suddenly pulls her into his arms.

And then they’re just wrapped up in each other quietly, relishing in a familiar and warm embrace, breathing each other in like they’ve done countless times before. Jemma wraps her arms around his neck to pull him as close to her as possible. She has to admit that this is quite nice as well, even compared to the top-notch make-out session they just experienced.

She loosens her grip around his neck to begin painting his cheeks with soft kisses. He smiles through her affection, finally breaking through their silence. “I can’t wait for more of this.”

She pulls back to see his face. “Good. I like to believe I’m a stellar kisser, thanks very much.”

“No, I mean, yes, of course I’m excited for that. But it’s not just that. I mean just being like this. I don’t know what I’m saying…” he lowers his head to find the right words.

“I do.” She squeezes his shoulder to reassure him. She knows this is a heavy moment for him. He was the first to realize that this is so much more than friendship. She can only imagine his agony of wanting this and not knowing what to do about it. Now, she can assure him that they’re both finally on the same page. Now, it’s not about declarations or grand gestures. It’s about them being themselves, and that’s enough.

She shifts, moving out of his lap so she can sit next to him against his bed. He doesn’t let her go far as he drapes his arm around her shoulders and presses his lips to the top of her head. “We nearly got blown up today,” he says into her hair. “I was gonna kiss you in the hallway if Coulson hadn’t shown up.” He pulls back to see her face, raising his eyebrows in a somewhat sultry expression.

She let’s out a soft chuckle. “Oh, really.”

“Yeah, make a big grand gesture of it.”

She pulls at his hand and cradles it between her own, bringing it to her lips.

“I like this version better.”

“Yeah.” 

“Well, then.” She busied herself with her project once more, and Fitz hoped that meant she had dropped the subject. 

As far as first dates had gone... the one he had with Gretchen was simply the worst. 

After ten minutes, she asked the dreaded question. 

“So, how did it go?” 

“Umm...” 

Jemma bit her lip. “You know, you don’t have to share everything about the date. And I understand if you’re uncomfortable talking about it with me. In fact, please don’t share every-” 

“Wait. You think Gretchen and I...?” 

“Well, obviously! That’s why you’re being so guarded about it.” Jemma huffed. 

“That’s not what happened, Simmons.” 

“Then why won’t you tell me?” 

Fitz rubbed the back of his neck. “’Cause it’s embarrassing.” 

“Oh?” He could see Jemma trying to hide a smile. 

“I picked her up, and we went to a movie. She had said before that she liked horror films, so I took her to Hannibal Rising.” 

Jemma wrinkled her nose. “That’s romantic.” 

“I thought so. Would’ve given me the perfect opportunity for me to put my arm around her. Comfort her. That sort of thing.” 

“I see your point.” 

“Well, she lied, or I misunderstood, or... something. Turns out she hates horror and screamed in my ear the entirety of the film.” 

“Did her screams drown out yours?” 

“Hey!” 

Jemma raised an eyebrow. “Did they?” 

“...Yes.” 

He stood up from his desk. “So we leave the theater, and I took her to a nice Italian restaurant.” 

“Giovanni’s?” 

“Yep. And as we’re ordering, she tells the waiter she can’t have tomatoes, cheese, wheat, or chicken.” 

“Oh, Fitz.” 

“After I had ordered a nice spag bol for myself. So I’m there eating my delicious meal while she picks at her salad. Feeling like a total wank about the whole thing. And she and I are just sitting there. In silence. For twenty minutes.” 

Jemma took off her goggles, fully invested in the tale. 

“So then she finally asks me about my new projects. And as I start to list each one, she grows even more quiet, which I didn’t think was possible at this point.” 

He conveniently left out why she grew quiet about it. 

He conveniently left out what Gretchen told him that made him choke on his wine. 

She was way off-base. 

And he didn’t want to make things weird. 

The last thing he wanted was for things to change. 

“And?” 

“And that was that. She stops talking the rest of the evening. Thanks me for a lovely date. And insists on taking a taxi home.” 

“All of this sounds awful, mind, but not irreparable. You should give it another go with her.” 

“Yeah, maybe.”

He had no intention of doing that.

“Why?” Fitz spoke up again, minutes later.

“Pardon?” 

“Why do you insist on me asking her out again?” 

Jemma took off her goggles again. “I don’t know.” 

“You don’t?” 

“No.” 

Fitz started to pace around the lab. 

“There’s no way she’ll agree to a second date.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“Pretty sure I do.” 

“You can’t. Look. I know you think your date was horrendous, but she really seems to -” 

"Want to know why? Because the minute she asked about my projects, I ended up talking about you the entire night.” 

Jemma stood still. “...What?” 

“She thinks I’m in love with you.” 

“Well, that’s... that’s...” 

Fitz slowly advanced towards her. “Why did you want to know about my date so badly?” 

“Can’t a... can’t a girl be interested in her best friend’s dating life?” 

Fitz paused, pretending to think. “I suppose.” He continued to make his way towards her. “But that’s not why you asked.” 

“No?” Jemma smirked. A challenge.

“No,” Fitz murmured, enveloping her in his arms and kissing her. 

“You know,” Jemma said breathlessly once they broke away. “I know the perfect movie for us to see this weekend.” 

“Pirates of the Caribbean?” 

“Paranormal Activity.” 

Fitz groaned. 

-

EIGHT

“FitzSimmons?” 

They both spun around to gawk at the man standing before them. 

“Simmons,” Jemma said, pointing at Fitz, 

“Fitz,” Fitz said, pointing to Jemma. 

Agent Coulson bore a confused expression. 

Oh.

Right. 

“Oh! I’m Fitz. That’s Simmons,” Fitz laughed nervously, extending his hand towards the man. 

Agent Coulson shook it firmly, and Fitz willed himself not to wince from the grip. 

Nailed it. 

“He’s engineering, and I’m a biochemist,” Jemma informed while shaking the agent’s hand. 

“Dr. Weaver told me about you two. I’ve had my eye on you for awhile. Though it took me months to realize that she was talking about two different people.” 

Jemma giggled. “We get that a lot, sir.” 

Agent Coulson looked back and forth between and Fitz and Jemma before finally saying, “I’ll bet.” 

Fitz chuckled with a nice dose of enthusiasm (he hoped). “Good one, sir.” 

“I didn’t...” 

Jemma sighed. “Ignore him.” 

“Keep working hard and learning all you can at Sci-Ops, you two. I have a feeling this isn’t the last we’ll see of each other.” 

And with that, he walked away with the swagger that only Agent Coulson possessed. 

That man was so bloody cool. 

Jemma gripped his arm excitedly. “Fitz! Phil Coulson. Can you believe it?” 

“I need to pinch myself. I think I’m dreaming. Ow.” Fitz gave Jemma a death stare. “Obviously, I was talking figuratively.” 

“My mistake.” 

“Right.” 

“What do you suppose he meant? ‘[T]his isn’t the last we’ll see of each other.’” 

“Terrible impression.” 

“I beg to differ.” 

Fitz shrugged. “I don’t know, Jemma. I just can’t believe he knew our names.” 

Jemma stopped walking. She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun, smiling contently. 

“What the hell are you doing?” 

Jemma sighed. “Just taking in the gorgeous day.” 

“The day we met Agent Coulson?” 

“Exactly.” 

“You made a fool of yourself with him back there. He has to - what - be the age of your father?” 

Jemma snapped open her eyes to stick out her tongue. “For your information, he is much younger than my dad, and I wasn’t trying to flirt. Though I will admit, he is a rather handsome older gentleman.” 

“I’m going to be sick.” 

Jemma slapped his arm. “I just have this feeling, you know? This feeling that this was the beginning of something.” 

“The beginning of a romance between the mentor and the mentee?” 

“Bugger off.” 

“Last one. Sorry.” 

“He said it, Fitz. He said he’s been admiring us. This could mean big things for us, you know.” 

“I get it, Jemma. I do. I’m still a bit starstruck to be honest.” 

Fitz paused, staring at her blinding smile and sparkling eyes in the golden rays of the sun. He looked past her to take in the surroundings of the Sci-Ops courtyard. 

“But that feeling you’re talking about? I don’t feel it.” 

“Oh?” 

“Let me clarify. I don’t feel it right now.” 

“But you have?” Jemma studied his expression.

Fitz nodded bravely. “Once.” 

“When?” 

“It was during another introduction. Years ago.” 

Jemma’s breath caught. “Oh?” 

“The day I met you.” 

Jemma froze. 

“Look,” Fitz began to back-peddle. “I didn’t say that to -” 

Jemma’s lips cut him off. 

And - quite frankly - her intuition was right.

It was the beginning of something. 

-

SEVEN

“Why can’t you just be civil towards him?” Jemma threw her hands up in exasperation the minute the door to her apartment closed.

“Me? Excuse me for not wanting to converse with a guy who takes your side in every discussion we have. How’d he even make it this far in training anyway?”

Jemma stared Fitz down.

“And just what are you implying?”

Fitz put his hands on his hips. “I’m not implying anything. I’ll say it straight. He’s a moron.”

“Fitz.”

“What? It’s true. You’re just too biased to see it.”

Jemma huffed. “Is there something so wrong about having a partner who can be amiable with?”

Fitz shrugged. “’Course not. But that’s not what this is.”

“Do enlighten me.”

“Milton knows exactly what he’s doing by saying what you want to hear, or he doesn’t have a brain to formulate independent thought at all. Either way makes him the absolute worst in my book.”

“Your book, huh?”

“Yeah, my book! Hey, don’t forget your choices in your personal life affect me too. I have to be around the men you choose to sleep with, you know? The least you could do is ask for my input.”

“Yes, Fitz,” Jemma said dryly. “How rude of me to not involve you in my personal life. My sincere apologies.”

Fitz smirked. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Jemma rolled her eyes and folded the empty pizza box into the recycling bin.

“Don’t you find it a bit boring, Jemma?” Fitz asked while turning on the faucet and washing the glasses he gathered.

“I don’t know what you’re -”

“Don’t you want to be with someone who - who challenges you?”

Jemma stared at him, breathing deeply. “I don’t...”

“Someone who forces you to be your best self.” Having already placed the clean cups in the drying rack, he leaned against the counter, feeling his shirt moisten from the excess water.

Brilliant.

It bothered him a lot that Jemma was with Milton. In ways he couldn’t decipher. Milton was a nice enough guy, but for some reason, he really, really got under Fitz’s skin.

Oh.

OH.

“Someone who isn’t afraid to argue with you if you’re wrong.” Fitz inched nearer to her, willing his hand to stop shaking. “Because - let’s face it - sometimes, you are.”

Jemma side-stepped him. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m usually the smartest person in any room. So where would I find such an individual?”

His hands were wet and soapy from the sink, and hers were greasy from the trash, but none of that mattered when he grabbed her arm, pulled her towards him, and kissed her passionately.

One arm snaked around her middle and the other wound up in her hair, and a few soapy water droplets trailed down her cheek because of it, but she didn’t seem to mind.

He let go of her as quickly as he grabbed her.

The ball was in her court, so to speak.

“Isn’t a little bit of a contradiction a good thing?” His voice grew more and more hoarse with each word.

She took a step towards him and then twirled around, grabbing her coat and keys.

“Where are you going?” He turned around, dreading the answer.

“I’m going to go break up with Milton.”

He spun to face her again, daring to...

She flung her arms around his neck, giving him a quick peck. “Wish me luck,” she whispered.

"Maybe don’t look so excited about it.”

“Right.”

Milton was a nice guy after all.

-

SIX

“Jemma?”

“Down here!”

Fitz slowly descended the stairs to find Jemma in his mum’s living room, sprawled out with a cup of tea and flipping through channels.

His mum had left for work for the day (but not before throwing him an embarrassing little grin), so he and Jemma had the house to themselves.

They were staying in Scotland for a couple weeks, recovering from one-too-many hits in training for the field. His fractured rib and her broken ankle made them quite the duo - and quite useless - at Sci-Ops, so their S.O. suggested they go somewhere more peaceful to recoup and work.

He knew just the place.

And Jemma readily agreed.

“How’s the ankle?” 

Jemma eyed her cast wearily. “Fine. I’m just going crazy from sitting all day.” 

Fitz nodded. “I know what you mean. Going a bit insane myself.” 

Jemma scooted over, so Fitz could join her on the sofa. 

“It’s quite lovely here, you know. This was a great idea.” 

Fitz smiled, nudging her softly. “Glad you approve.” 

“I could see myself living here. In fact, when I was a...” 

She trailed off, looking down at her cast, seemingly lost in thought. 

“Jemma?” 

She chuckled a little. “You know what I realized? You got to sign my cast, but I have yet to sign yours.” 

Fitz did a double-take. “You want to sign my bandage wrap?”

Jemma shrugged. “Sure, why not? It’s only fair. You got to sign mine. It’s my turn.” 

Fitz could feel his ears turn red. “Yours is in a hardened substance. And in plain sight. Mine is... well...” 

“Come on, Fitz. It’ll be a bonding experience. Cement our partnership.” 

“If we’re not partners by now...” 

“Ugh, Fitz.” 

Fitz looked wildly around for an out. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her to sign his bandage... it was just that... it seemed rather...

Intimate. 

And then he thought of a genius plan.

“You know, I would, but we haven’t got any pens. And I’m winded from walking down the stairs, and you...” He gestured to her cast. 

He had this in. the. bag. 

Jemma shook her head, smiling widely. She bent down to fetch her... purse.

Bloody hell. How could he miss that too-important variable? 

She triumphantly dug out her marking pen. “Now, go on. Lift up your shirt.” 

Fitz sighed. 

Defeat was a bitter mistress. 

He gripped his shirt’s hem and started to lift it little-by-little. The air felt cool on his heated skin, and he winced a bit from the stark temperature change. 

He caught her watching his fingers inch further and further up his abdomen. 

It made him uneasy. 

She leaned forward and placed one hand underneath his bandage to steady herself. 

He didn’t know why her touch unnerved him so much. 

Because his wrap was a soft fabric, he felt every stroke of her pen. He knew she was being as careful and delicate as possible, and he closed his eyes briefly until she had completed her task.

“There,” she said simply. 

He looked down, deciphering her upside-down (to him, at least) message: 

Love, Jemma

Jemma smiled shyly when she met his eyes. “I wanted to keep it short and sweet. Didn’t have a lot of room to work with.” 

He thought it was absolutely perfect.

She reached up again, and with the lightest of touches, she traced her final product. 

He covered her hand in his. 

They stared at each other for what seemed like a millenia but was only just moments. 

And then.

They slowly, lazily leaned in towards each other until their lips met. 

They broke away from the kiss, breathing heavily, gazing at each other. He reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. 

And he was never more grateful for a fractured rib in his entire life.

-

FIVE

Fitz was glad that Jemma was just as excited to attend their alumni gala at the Academy as he was.

He thought it would require a bit more persuasion from his part.

“Oh, I can’t wait to catch up with Dr. Weaver and Dr. Hall and -”

“Professor Vaughn.” 

Jemma raised an eyebrow at him. 

“What? I can grow fond of the guy now that I’m not in his class anymore.” 

“And perhaps gloat about the fact that you’re advancing so quickly in SciOps?” 

“Well... only if that were to - uh - you know, present itself into the conversation -”

“- which you will ensure will happen.” 

“Damn right, I will.” 

She smiled brightly in response, and he took that moment to take in her appearance. 

She looked really pretty in a tea-length cocktail dress with her hair down in waves and a fringe straight across. 

“I don’t know if I mentioned it yet, but I like your bangs, by the way. They suit you.” 

He didn’t know why it made him so happy to see her blush from his compliment. 

“Thanks very much.” 

Fitz shrugged, smiling. “Sure.” 

They found their name-tags, and Fitz chuckled when he read them: 

  Leopold                                                                                                    Fitz-

  Jemma                                                                                                          -Simmons

“This is getting ridiculous.” 

Jemma bumped his shoulder with hers. “I kind of like it. We were quite the duo here, weren’t we?”

He handed her her name-tag and grinned widely when she put it on her chest with gusto. 

He followed suit. 

“Still are quite the duo if you ask me.” 

They separated for a bit, each making the rounds, greeting alumni and professors alike, and then reconvened at the food table.

“Best. Gala. Ever.” Fitz sighed, popping another prosciutto-wrapped scallop in his mouth. 

Jemma took a sip of her wine. “Seeing as how this is the first one you’ve attended, I should think so.” 

Fitz paused, mid-chew. “Hey, this is your first one too.” 

“Besides the point.” 

“FitzSimmons.” 

Fitz swallowed his food, staring at the woman before them. He could see Jemma out of the corner of his eye look back and forth between the two before she finally said, “Hello, Lacy.” 

Lacy squealed. “I cannot believe you guys are here together.” 

Jemma chuckled. “Well, you know what they say about us being a two-for-one special, and... and, um... they do say that about us, so...” 

She elbowed Fitz who had yet to say a word. 

“Ow.” He tore his gaze away from Lacy to reprimand Jemma, but Jemma merely tilted her head back towards Lacy, wordlessly encouraging him to respond. 

Right. 

“Yup,” Fitz finally said. “I’d like to think I’m the better half... if you know what I mean.” Fitz waggled his eyebrows in what he hoped was a seductive manner.

“Really?” Lacy asked, intrigued. 

“Ow. Simmons, that’s the second time. Cut it out.” 

“You two make such a cute couple,” Lacy gushed.

“Well, thank you. That’s very kind of you to - what?” 

“I was rooting for you two back in the Academy days. I thought it was so weird that two geniuses like yourselves hadn’t figured it out.” 

Jemma stepped forward. “We’re not - that is - Fitz and I aren’t -” 

“We’re not together, Lacy,” Fitz cut in. 

Lacy bit her lip and cringed. 

“I’m so sorry!” She stammered. “I just thought since you guys came here together, and you’re wearing those name-tags, and the way you were just now with... with... you know, I just saw an old classmate of mine. I’ll just...” She darted past them, and he and Jemma waited until she was out of earshot to start talking over each other. 

“Well, that was...” 

“I can’t believe she thought that -” 

“Awkward, to say the least.” 

“It’s a preposterous notion and -” 

“- a ridiculous one, that is.” 

“to think that you and I were -”

“that she thought we were -”

“Together.” They said in perfect unison.

Their eyes met briefly before Jemma took a big gulp of her wine and he reached for another scallop.

And several hours later, when they were back at her apartment, a bit more tipsy, their eyes met briefly again. 

“Well, come in. You can crash on my couch for the night.” 

Fitz nodded, following her inside.

And because of the wine currently in his system, he let his thoughts tumble out. “That was interesting what... what Lacy said, wasn’t it?” 

Jemma handed him a glass of water. “I suppose.” 

“She said we hadn’t figured it out at the Academy.” 

Jemma scoffed. “What does she know? She was there all six years for her schooling.” 

“Jemma.” He took a sip of water and then placed it on the counter. 

He took a step closer to her. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I just want to... to see for myself what Lacy was rooting for.” 

He grabbed her hand hesitantly, and he could feel her eyes watch his every move. 

He ran his hand slowly up her arm, watching his fingers trail each part of her freckled skin. He stopped at her shoulder and was shocked to see her eyes dilated with want. 

They feverishly collided, their hands roaming, their lips crashing against each other again and again.. Only coming up for air when absolutely necessary. 

Best. 

Gala. 

EVER. 

-

FOUR

Fitz opened the door.

“Simmons?” 

“I couldn’t sleep.” 

He stepped aside to let her in, and when he closed the door. She launched herself in his arms. He could feel her shaking.

“You’re upset about Agent Coulson.” 

He wasn’t asking.

She sniffed loudly, pulling herself away from him and wiping her eyes. 

He crossed the living room in two strides, retrieving his box of tissues he had placed on the coffee table (for... for reasons). She followed him and accepted the box gratefully. 

“I know we only spoke with him a handful of times. And he probably didn’t remember us. But his death...” 

Fitz brought his arms back around her. “I know.” 

She rested her head on his chest, squeezing his middle tightly. 

“I couldn’t sleep either,” Fitz continued. 

And then.

He didn’t know if it was the weariness of the past few days they both endured, grieving the fallen agent. He didn’t know if it was the many hours of sleep that eluded them. He didn’t know if it was the warm, comforting presence she provided in his arms. 

But whatever the reason, he slowly cupped her face, wiping the tears from her cheeks his thumb. 

She gasped at the intimate gesture. 

He couldn’t break away from her gaze. 

And all reason left him the moment he trailed his thumb down to her lips, and he became fascinated with the way her bottom lip followed the path of his thumb.

She didn’t move away. 

And he didn’t either. 

And then he kissed her. 

And wondered if he was being tasteless while they were both in mourning for their esteemed acquaintance. 

But when she kissed him back? 

He found himself lacking the resolve to care about appropriate behavior. 

- 

THREE

“Oh, Fitz, it's the most perfect opportunity for us to see the world! We'd be fools to pass this one up!"

They were at her favorite pub in Sheffield in the middle of an all too familiar debate. 

Fitz leaned back in the booth, closing his eyes. 

“Fitz?” Jemma pressed. 

“I’m still trying to process the fact that Agent Coulson is still alive. And not only is he alive, but he now wants us to join his team? In the sky?” 

“I know!” Jemma squealed. He opened his eyes to catch her taking a full swig of her beer. “Isn’t this exciting?” 

“That’s not the word I would use.” 

Jemma huffed, crossing her arms. “Well, I’m not going without you.” 

Fitz set his beer down. “Why?” 

“I don’t -” Jemma stammered under his steady gaze. “Agent Coulson wants us both. He told Weaver we’re a package deal.” 

For some reason, he winced a little from her answer. “That’s it, then? That’s the whole reason why you coerced me to stay with your family for a month on holiday after graduation? To try to convince me to join Agent Coulson’s team?” 

Jemma paused. “Why... why are you being like this?” 

“Being like what?” Fitz countered. 

“Like... “ Her eyes shifted uneasily. “I don’t know what’s got you so upset, but you know I don’t want to work anywhere without you. You’re my very best friend, Fitz. And if you don’t want to do this, then... we can finally give Weaver our answer.” 

Fitz started to peel the label of his bottle. 

“I didn’t say that,” he muttered. 

“What?” 

“I didn’t... you’re right. Let’s do it.” 

“What?” 

“Yeah.” He stopped picking at the label and lifted his beer bottle in salute. “A toast.” 

Jemma lifted her own bottle. 

“To seeing the world with my best friend -”

“- and using science to do it. Cheers.” 

“Cheers.” 

They clinked the necks of their bottles together, smiling widely. 

“Another round!” Jemma exclaimed. “This is cause for celebration!” 

“Jemma,” Fitz protested. “We’ve already had two. And aren’t you always going on about the unnecessary calories?” 

Jemma pursed her lips. “I suppose you’re right...” 

Fitz sighed gratefully. 

She sauntered off to God-knows-where and then returned with two shot glasses. 

“...which is why we’ll drink tequila instead.” 

Fitz groaned. 

And after they each had three shots, the excitement of their new adventure and the pleasant numbing from the alcohol continued to course through the both of them. 

She slid into Fitz’s side of the table until her hips were flush against his. 

Her cheeks were rosy. 

They probably matched his. 

She started giggling at nothing which caused him to giggle at nothing, and their faces inched closer and closer together. 

He wasn’t sure who initiated it, but a couple minutes later, he found himself snogging the hell out of his very best friend, Jemma Simmons. 

And he really, really liked it. 

- 

TWO 

“I’m not Hydra.” 

“We heard... everything.” 

Jemma ran to Fitz, flinging herself in his arms. He gripped her tightly to him.

They stayed like that, unaware that all other personnel had cleared out of the room. He pulled back to study her face, and she pulled back to study his.

He had been so worried about her. 

And before he could stop himself, he hugged her to him more firmly and kissed her. 

Her lips were frozen against his, and he cursed himself for being so impulsive.

So reckless. 

He tore his lips away from hers and let go of her all in one motion, scrubbing a hand over his face. 

Now he’d done it. 

“Sorry. That was... that... ” 

When he removed his hand, automatically cringing at the situation, he realized she had stepped closer to him. 

“FitzSimmons?” Coulson’s voice broke the spell. 

Jemma spun around a bit too enthusiastically. 

“Sir?” 

“We found Ward and Skye. Let’s go.” And then he was gone. 

Jemma glanced back up at Fitz, biting her lip. 

Fitz stared up at the ceiling, wishing the Bus would crash through and rescue him from his discomfort. 

Didn’t even need a pilot. Just the Bus itself would do. 

“Can we... can we just forget about what... what just happened?” 

Jemma sighed. “Oh, Fitz.” 

And then she grabbed his face and smooched him soundly. 

-

ONE 

“Seems the two of them are in love with each other.” 

“Whatever that is, it’s not love.” 

“No,” Fitz scoffed. “Of course not.” 

He paused a bit and then, “Hey, thank you for packing the sandwich before I left. It was really delicious.” 

Jemma smiled warmly. “Oh. You’re quite welcome.” 

She looked down at her shoes before meeting his eyes again. “It was - I actually wanted to - it was my way of - I’m just very, very happy we’re friends again.” 

Fitz nodded. “Me too.” 

“And,” Jemma began. “I’m not sure if - it’s just - I’d like to - I’d like to talk to you about - about what you said to me on the bottom of the ocean.” 

Fitz stared at her, mouth agape. “S-sorry?” 

Jemma balled up her hands in fists. “We were - we’ve been fighting quite a lot, and I’ve wanted to bring it up before, but it just - the timing never seemed right, you know?” 

“And... you... you think now is a good - a good time to...?” 

“No! I mean... I don’t know. We don’t have to... I just. Excuse me.” 

She hurriedly left the lab.

He continued to sit. 

Dazed. 

And then got up and followed her.

He stopped outside her bunk, knocking softly three times. 

“Come in,” came the muffled reply. Followed by an equally muffled sniffle.

Was she - was she crying? 

He gingerly opened the door and stepped inside. Jemma stood up from her bed, wiping her eyes.

“Hey,” Fitz murmured.

“Hi.” 

“About what I said about what you... “ Fitz lamely gestured back in the general direction of the lab with his thumb. 

Jemma shook her head. “It was stupid of me to bring it up.” 

“It wasn’t stupid.” Fitz took one step closer. “I just...” Fitz sighed. He took another step. “I just thought there was nothing left to discuss.” 

His breath caught when she met his gaze with hers. She took his hand.

“Maybe there is.” 

They stared at each other a couple of moments more, drinking each other in. Then he used the hand that was still in hers to pull her closer to him. 

His eyes full of questions.

Her eyes full of answers. 

He brought his other hand up under her chin, leaned in, and kissed her with a tenderness he thought was all but lost. 

They pulled back slowly in perfect unison. He leaned his forehead against hers. 

“’Maybe’?” He whispered teasingly. 

Jemma giggled. 

“Most assuredly there is.” She grinned before kissing him again.

-

NOW

Fitz stretched out on the sofa in the common room, his hands behind his head, thinking about those words. 

It’s been ten years. We can’t waste anymore time. 

And right. She had a point. He supposed they could’ve been happy at any point during that time frame had they realized what was between them. 

He did say it himself, screaming it at her, back in the lab. 

We had years. 

But would it have been as perfect as this night? Minus the whole Daisy turning on them drama, of course. 

Initially, he had cursed his impulsive nature once more. When he leaned in and then dived in to steal a few kisses from her. 

And then her words had reassured him, and her sparkling eyes had reassured him, and her lips had reassured him, and they reveled in each other. Enjoyed each other. And it was the perfect moment. Well, it was the perfect many moments strung together. 

And he wondered if it had happened years ago, if it would have been as perfect.

I’m tired of seeing our friends ripped apart from each other. That can’t happen to us again. I won’t let it.

Then we won’t let it.

He couldn’t say. 

All he knew was that kissing Jemma was an out-of-this-world experience. And he’d dive through a hundred holes in the universe to do it again and again and again. 

-

A/N: Happy My-Birthday, everyone! Here is ten fluffy scenarios of FitzSimmons through the ages (that all end in happy kissing, mind) to celebrate. 

Ladies and gentlemen, I present mega-Glimpse. The longest thing I’ve written to date. And I was struck with inspiration for it two nights ago. 

I wrote this backwards. This is the first time I’ve ever written anything out of order. It was a challenge but super fun! 

Also! The “[i]t’s been ten years” thing always bothered me because if she was referring to how long they’ve known each other, it was really more along the lines of twelve/thirteen years, right? So this is my way of reconciling the two bits of canon in a way where neither contradicts. 

Also! FitsSimmons mention having Dr. Hall their second year in “The Asset”, and Fitz mentions them graduation three years early in “Repairs” and then Jemma says “third year” in “Absolution” so I’m just making the call that both of their concentrations were typically a six-year program that they completed in three.

Crazy belated but tagged accordingly because I really just wanted to finish this challenge. It became a personal thing. Just tell me, and I’ll stop tagging! For week five of #fsww. 

Fitz threw up his hands. “I kissed her, okay? Was that what you wanted to hear? I kissed her, and we’re still rescuing her boyfriend, and that’s that.” 

Hunter nodded a bit and sat down at the counter with his cup.

And then all that been building within him for two days - all that had been building within him for two months - suddenly rose to the surface. 

And Hunter was the unsuspecting bystander. 

Fitz started to pace furiously. “I was just so - she and I have been working so hard at figuring out how to rescue Will, and I keep having these dark thoughts of resentment for helping him, yet I hid it from her, apparently, because she thought everything was just so bloody peachy with me, so she provoked me and I... I just exploded.” 

“Into her mouth?” 

Fitz grimaced.

Really? 

Hunter pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, that was tasteless... even for me. Sorry, mate. Carry on.” 

“It got to the point where we were just yelling at each other. And I asked her point blank if she loved Will.” 

“And I’m guessing...” Hunter began slowly. 

“She does, okay? She bloody does. And she has every right to - that’s not. I don’t... Will saved her life. Will gave her hope. And all I do is muck things up.” 

“You don’t really think -” 

“Who the hell knows, Hunter? It’s just like I told her. He really is the perfect guy for her. And loved her enough to make her return possible. That every decision he made was the right one. Of course she’s going to fall for someone that brave and selfless and charming. And then she fired back with... something... something I wasn’t expecting.” 

“And what was that?” Hunter stood up and quietly made his way to the fridge, pulling two beers out and handing one to Fitz. “This is a more appropriate beverage option than tea, wouldn’t you say?” 

Fitz nodded mutely and twisted the cap off the bottle. 

“So what did she say?” 

Fitz took a long pull from his beer and then said quietly, “That I dove through a hole in the universe for her.” 

Hunter shrugged. “Well, you did. Tell me something I don’t know.” 

“Yeah, but the way she said it... it was like... and she was looking at me in such a different way... in a way that finally allowed me to really, to really see how she felt. In a way that told me that she may have been as in love with me as I am with her.” 

Fitz chuckled humorlessly, staring at his beer, lost in his thoughts. 

Lost in his thoughts of...

After a few minutes, Hunter cleared his throat. "You gonna fill me in on what happened next, or do I have to make my best educated guess?” 

“Don’t know what came over me,” Fitz mumbled. “I just - I just sorta grabbed her and kissed her.” 

After taking a long sip, Hunter finally muttered, “It’s about damn time if you ask me.” 

Fitz scoffed. 

“Well come on, then. What was her reaction? Did she hit you or... better yet, did she return the favor?” Hunter waggled his eyebrows.

Fitz looked down, but he could feel his cheeks heat up all the same.

Busted.

Hunter slapped the counter with unnecessary force. “Bloody hell! She did!” 

“Would you please keep your voice down?”  

“I knew you had in you, mate.” 

Fitz smiled grimly. “You know there was a big part of me that wanted the kiss to be terrible. That if I could... kiss her, and it turned out to be too weird, then we could put all this to rest. She could be with Will, and I wouldn’t care because there was nothing physical between us.” 

Hunter started tapping the counter in an unrhythmic pattern. “We both know that’s a bunch of bullshit.” 

“You don’t think I’d stop feeling this way if I could? That if I could stop feeling like I’ve been punched in the stomach repeatedly, I would?” 

“I just mean, you and I both know there was always something there between you two.” 

Fitz sprang up from the chair he had been occupying. “Of course there was! And now, we both know it. Officially. Great.” 

“She kissed you back. That means something, Fitz.” 

Fitz shrugged. “Yeah, great. We kissed. It was consensual. Doesn’t change the fact that she still loves another guy on another planet.” 

“She loves you too.” 

“And how does that possibly help our situation right now?” 

“All I’m saying is... she’s probably feeling as sick as you are about it.” 

Fitz huffed. “Great.” 

“Hey come on, you know what I mean. She probably wants to snog your face off and is bloody annoyed she can’t.” 

Fitz sighed. “Well, it doesn’t matter, does it? Because she’s taken, okay? She has a boyfriend who saved her life and really needs our help, and both of them deserve to have each other. They deserve to be happy.” 

“And what do you deserve, Fitz?” 

"As long as she’s alive and safe and happy with the one she loves, then that’s enough. I just wish I actually bloody felt that way.” 

“And what if the one she loves is you? What if she picks you?”

“Picks me? This isn’t about some stupid prom at secondary school. Will isn’t going to waltz in with a leather jacket and sweep her off her feet.” 

“What secondary school did you go to?” 

“This isn’t like any of those ridiculous romantic movies. They needed each other at the planet. They have a bond I can’t compete with.” 

“I’m sorry, but what did Daisy say about you two? Something about being ‘psychically linked’?” 

“Your point?” 

“Fitz. Stop moping, and bloody fight for her.” 

What does he think he’s been doing the whole time? Sitting back and twiddling his thumbs? He’s been fighting for her for years. He’s been fighting for her even before he knew what he was doing. 

Didn’t Hunter understand what he was doing? Didn’t Hunter get it? 

“I am fighting for her. I’m fighting for her happiness.” 

Hunter stared at him an incredibly long time before finally saying, “Mate. When are you going to get it through your thick skull that her happiness includes you?” 

Fitz gaped at him, and Hunter gave a final nod and dumped his tea in the sink, leaving his mug there too. He tossed the empty beer bottle in the recycling bin, patted Fitz's shoulder twice, and left Fitz alone in the kitchen.

He couldn’t admit that there as truth to Hunter’s statement. Not to Hunter. Not to Jemma. Not to himself.

Because if he did, then... then that would mean there was hope for them. 

And the minute that cursed individuals latch onto a bit of hope, it always always always is cruelly and brutally ripped away from them. 

He couldn’t admit it. 

So he settled for closing his eyes. 

And almost almost almost felt her lips back on his. 

They were cursed. 

But he had this one memory. 

This one perfect memory. 

And he could ignore the fighting beforehand and stilted conversation afterward. 

And just focus on the blessed middle. 

Where her lips were on his, and his lips were on hers, and their breaths mingled, and their hearts mingled, and he could fool himself into thinking of how content she was to remain his arms. 

He brought his fingers to his cheek, following the path her fingernails had traced. 

He settled for that one perfect memory. 

Of her lips on his. 

And that - he almost succeeded in convincing himself that was all he needed.

He didn’t dare hope for more.

-

A/N: Part of what Fitz says to Hunter was inspired by the interview Iain and Elizabeth gave about the episode. Especially when Elizabeth says: 

“That’s when they know…because I think both of them were probably hoping that it would be terrible, because then the situation is just resolved. But it wasn’t, it was really nice. So Fitz says that they’re cursed, because they can’t see a way through it.” 

Tagging accordingly for week 5 of #fsww, even though the event is over. Please let me know if I’m to cease with the tagging. :) 

Prompts are still so welcome, and I haven't forgotten any of the ones I've been given. They're all in my drafts!

She heard each departing footstep until the sound of them disappeared into the vast nothingness that suddenly surrounded her. 

The noise of the silence was deafening. 

It suffocated her. 

She nodded in understanding. 

Of course. 

What else was she expecting? 

“Oh, God,” she whispered to the void, wiping her eyes. 

She had spent days and nights crying for Will. Forced to accept the sacrifice he made for her. Forced to accept that she may not ever see him again. 

She had spent days and nights crying for Fitz. Her feelings of guilt cutting so deep she could barely breathe. 

And she had finally finally finally told him the truth. Told him about everything. About everyone. 

And it all happened just as she thought it would. 

She told him the truth

so he left.

...

No.

NO.

She had not battled the elements of an unknown solar system for six fucking months for it all to end up like this. 

She would fight for them too. 

She would speak, and she would get him to speak, and they would speak and speak and speak ‘til their throats were raw and their tongues were dry and their eyes were stale from dried tears. 

He could scream and yell and curse and all of it as long as he kept talking to her. 

And that started with trying to get him to consider her perspective. 

What obstacles she had faced. What situations she was thrown in.

She needed him to comprehend the extreme loneliness that plagued her. She needed him to comprehend the intense despair that consumed her.

She found him in the lab, moving things about with force.

He was angry.

She begged him to understand.

He told her he understood all of it. 

Everything. 

"Well then, why won’t you talk to me?” She demanded, her emotions high. 

Her eyes wet. 

He didn’t answer.

She was hurting too. 

Couldn’t he see that? 

She was hurting too. 

And not just because of W-

And he still wouldn’t - 

“What are you doing?” 

He typed forcefully on the keyboard and gestured to the monitor in a manner that - 

He was angry.

He stepped back a bit, breathing hard.

He stepped back a bit, so she could come around the desk and peer at the screen. 

And what she saw

and 

what 

she 

saw

It was tests and schematics and composition readings of the - the 

M O N O L I T H

Did that -

Did that mean - 

She had told him that she needed to get back there. 

And then had meticulously, painfully, gut-wrenchingly explained why. 

But this -

She looked up at him in wonder. 

And he was finally looking back at her. 

Her breath caught.

Because in his eyes, she found more devotion and dedication and determination and LOVE than she ever thought possible. 

She saw pain too. 

He didn’t try to hide it either. 

Clearly, she had hurt him. 

But - right then - he didn’t - he didn’t dwell on - 

“We’re gonna get him back.” 

His words left no room for argument. No room for second guessing. 

He just stood there, his eyes daring her to contradict him. 

She could only mouth a muddied thank you through her sob. 

His gaze on her remained steadfast. 

And - right then - under the most inappropriate of circumstances - she fell a bit more in love with him. 

“Thank you,” she said again, a bit louder this time.

Fitz only nodded. 

And resumed his work. 

She stepped closer to him, taking the book off the desk and stepping aside to study the very thing that caused her so much grief and pain and Will so much grief and pain and Fitz so much grief and pain and - 

Her tears blurred her vision. 

She could barely see the page. 

This wouldn’t do.

“I’m working on developing a simulation,” Fitz’s voice cut through the silence.

She tried to ignore - tried not to notice - how hoarse he sounded. 

She sniffed, wiping her eyes. 

“Oh?” She began, unsteadily. “That sounds like a...” She tried to give him an encouraging grin. 

She failed.

He tried to give her one in return.

He pulled out the desk chair a little and tilted his head, towards it. 

Her lips twitched in an almost smile. 

They weren’t on a date. 

They definitely weren’t on a date. 

This wasn’t like the ones she had daydreamed about on Maveth.

She wasn’t in a dress. A messy ponytail couldn’t even begin to describe her hair. She wasn’t wearing makeup. Her face was caked with tears, and there was a fair amount of snot building up to where she had to sniffle constantly. Her eyes were puffy and red. He wasn’t in a dashing ensemble.

But he pulled out the chair for her. 

They weren’t on a date. 

But - oh.

How she wished they were. 

How she wished they were a normal couple, navigating the newness and awkwardness of first dates. 

How she wished they were a normal couple, silently contemplating on which restaurant to choose. 

Yet, instead, they were not a couple. And there was silence between the two - not because they had run out of things to talk about (like she had feared). Not because they were thinking about restaurants or who was going to make the first move? or whatever else.

No.

The silence between them was more painful. 

More heartbreaking. 

But then he nudged a box of tissues in her direction. 

And their fingers met when she took it from him. 

And in the same way the flare Fitz fired to bring her home...

The sparks from the small touch renewed a sense of hope within her.

They would navigate through this odd situation. 

She was certain of it.

But, more importantly, they would navigate through this odd situation together.

-

Tagged accordingly, but the event is over, so I understand if I’m to cease tagging these, lol. Just let me know. For week 4 of #fsww. 

Don’t hesitate to send me prompts. I haven’t forgotten all of the prompts I’ve been given either. Each one is in my drafts! :) 

“He’s brilliant. But a bit of a loose canon though. Indulges himself in every which way he can. Actually met him once.” 

Bobbi turned to him, eyebrows raised. “Really? What was he like?”

“A bit of an egomaniac. And flirted with everything that moved. But he knows his stuff, no question there.” 

“He hit on Simmons, didn’t he?” 

"Several times,” Fitz grumbled.

-

They brought Randolph back to base, and when he saw the monolith, he visibly recoiled. 

He finally revealed their final lead. 

At least, Fitz hoped it was their final lead.

He could - he could feel it. 

They had never been this - 

“To the plane!” 

It was about damn time.

-

And in Gloucestershire, the team made their way into the abandoned castle.

Fitz knew there was a point to them being there.

He could feel it. 

And when he and Randolph tampered with the machine, it clicked. 

This machine controlled the portal. 

“Do you know that, or is that just what you hope it to be?” 

Okay.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” Fitz challenged.

While they waited for Mack and Daisy, he studied the machine as best he could. 

He could figure this out.

He had to figure this out.

-

And when the other two finally arrived, he had already mastered the machine. 

The others followed his instructions, and the bloody portal opened, and he peered inside, but. he. couldn’t. see.

THEY WERE SO CLOSE.

And he couldn’t see a fucking thing.

“Light! I need more light!” 

The portal stayed open still, but why the hell weren’t they listening to him? 

“I need some bloody light!” 

Coulson tossed him a flare gun, and he fired without hesitation. He could just make out...

The flare went through.

And then it closed.

-

He convinced the team that they needed to send a probe through. 

But something needed to be done about the fragility of the machine.

And then two things clicked. 

Quantum harmonic oscillation theory.

And Daisy.

-

But while they set up the machine again and connected the probe, something still nagged him. 

Based on the stamina of the machine, this could be their only shot. 

And if that probe were to fail in some way...

There had to be another way. 

And that’s when he thought of one.

It was risky. 

It was reckless. 

It was dangerous. 

And it was going to work.

-

He didn’t tell him of the change in plans. They would’ve talked him out of it, the lot of them. 

No. 

This is something that needed to be done. 

Had to be done. 

And he’d be damned if they got in his way.

They opened the portal again. 

He subtly unhooked the rope from the probe and attached it to his belt loop. 

He took a deep breath.

“Hold it open as long as you can.” 

And then he jumped.

-

He landed on something hard and grunted from the impact. He could barely hear himself think there was so much wind. 

He could barely see there was so much sand.

Blue sand. 

None of that deterred him. 

“Jemma!” 

This was his last shot. He was so close. She had to be here.

“Jemma!” 

He paced around, unsure of where to start looking, hoping his voice carried through. 

“Jemma!”

The sand was pelting him, and the wind grew stronger, and he stumbled, but he kept calling for her.

“Jemma!” 

And -

And then.

THEN.

“FITZ! FITZ!”

Her voice paralyzed him

“JEMMA?” 

but didn’t paralyze because he was already moving before he even registered that - that - that - that - that - 

Have to get to Jemma. Have to get to Jemma. Have to get to Jemma. 

Jemma.Jemma.Jemma.Jemma.Jemma.Jemma.Jemma.Jemma.

He climbed and clawed his way up, following where he heard the blessed sound. 

Following his heart. 

And then 

And then 

And thennnnnnnnnnnnn

HE SAW HER.

“Jemma!” 

The rope was restricting his movements, and he’d be damned if some fucking rope was going to take him away from her now. 

She fought the wind, stumbling towards him, yelping.

“Fitz!” 

He stretched more than he thought possible and she stretched, and their fingers touched, and his soul lit on fire, because it was her, and he was touching her, and he could hardly believe it, but he felt himself being pulled back and -

NO WAY IN HELL. 

NOT WITHOUT JEMMA.

And then she was rudely ripped away from his grasp because the rope made him fly backward and 

NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. 

“NO! JEMMA! NO!” He tried to dig into the ground - he kept reaching out - hoping she’d latch on again. 

But she didn’t.

NoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNo

He fought against the rope. 

Like he had fought against the disbelief and despair and hopelessness and heartbreak and surrender that was tying him down those past six months - those past two years - he fought against that fucking rope.

He willed everything inside of him - every piece of him - to move forward. 

And then he did. 

He fought against the rope, and she fought against the wind, and they reached for each other again. 

They grasped each other’s hands with everything within them. 

“Hang on, Jemma!” With a firm hold of her hand, he started to inch his way towards the portal. 

But the rope was still too fucking strong, and Jemma could barely keep up. 

Could barely hold on. 

He could feel her grip loosen and 

NO.

Not when he had her. Not when they were so close. Not when he had her.

“J-J-Jemma!” 

“NO!” 

He kept bringing them closer and closer, little by little, as all aspects of the universe tried to rip them apart. 

His bloody rope was insistent to rip him away, and the unforgiving wind whipped her all about, and the sand obstructed almost all of his view of her, but he allowed none of that to deter him. 

And then he drowned in a sea of rocks.

-

He broke through to the surface hurriedly and glanced up to see his team watch him warily, and he still felt her, so he rushed to unbury her, and she gasped and she coughed and she wheezed and she - 

He still couldn’t believe it.

She stared at him in wonder. In weariness. In - 

“Fitz,” she breathed and sank into his embrace as he held her. 

He looked up at his team again. 

To take in their faces of shock. 

And grinned the biggest fucking grin he could manage.

“Get them back up here!” Coulson commanded. 

Fitz felt Jemma go limp in his arms.

“Sooner the better! She’s out cold!” He screeched, holding her closer to him.

They threw down two harnesses with another bloody rope attached, and he fastened the contraption on her the best he could before he put his own harness on. 

He held her closer still and gave them the all clear. 

Her steady breathing filling him with relief and gratitude with every inch they ascended. 

-

When they got to the top, he collapsed in exhaustion, careful to avoid lying right on top of her. And then he felt many hands unbuckle him and unbuckle her, and she was taken from him, and he would’ve protested, but he was so bloody tired, and Mack had a strong hold on her, and she needed medical assistance quickly, and so he just laid his head back down and closed his eyes for a bit. 

Because

Because 

Because

...

she was back.

-

He felt a hand on his shoulder and saw a hand outstretched, and he smiled a bit, accepting Coulson’s hand, allowing him to help him up. 

They walked back to the quinjet in silence. 

And then when he got a bit of his energy back, he began to sprint instead.

-

He stumbled into the medical compartment, and Mack shot up from the chair he was occupying, and Fitz wasted no time in taking his place. Bobbi was tending to Jemma on the little stretcher but once she was done, she insisted she look at him too. 

He let her. 

He really didn’t give a fuck what anyone wanted to do or not do in that moment. 

As long as he could sit and stay with Jemma. 

He didn’t care.

-

He watched her eyelids flutter open, and she stared at him, and he composed himself enough to try and talk to her.

“Hey, Jemma. You,” He took a wavering breath, trying to keep his tears at bay. “You fainted just after - after we made it through the portal.” 

She nodded, but he could tell it pained her to do so. 

To simply nod.

“I just - I can’t - can’t believe you’re really -” 

But she was already asleep. 

He leaned over, stroking her hair, making sure she was still breathing and her heart was still beating, and when he was assured of both, he waited a beat or two and then left a soft kiss at her hairline. 

And resumed his position beside her.

And waited. 

-

When they arrived back on base, Fitz and Bobbi wheeled her stretcher to a hospital room. 

Daisy - having recovered from her own part in Jemma’s rescue - grabbed a matching set of Jemma’s sweats, and Bobbi and Daisy both raised their eyebrows at Fitz expectantly. 

Oh. 

“Right.” He spun around, giving them privacy. 

“You know, Fitz. Now would be a good time for you to get yourself cleaned up too. Change. Take a shower,” Bobbi suggested.

“Not a chance.” 

“Just a suggestion.” 

He heard more movement and rustling and then a “you can turn around now” and he did, and he saw her sleeping peacefully, tucked in, and he slid against the wall near her, slumping in exhaustion. 

Daisy eyes darted back and forth between Jemma and him, and then she finally said, “Okay. I guess my work here is done.” She made to leave, but Fitz caught her hand, preventing her exit.

“Thank you,” Fitz murmured. “Thank you for - for what you did.” 

Daisy slouched down until she gripped him into a fierce hug. “Thank you for not giving up on her,” she whispered. 

She wiped her eyes and left quickly after that.

Bobbi stayed around a bit longer, re-checking Jemma’s vitals.  

“I still can’t believe she’s alive. She’s here. You did it, Fitz.” 

Fitz leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. 

“We all did.” 

-

The position gave him a terrible crick in his neck, and he woke up, whisking his head this way and that until he saw her sleeping beside him. 

Sleeping beside him.

Jemma.

She was here.

He forgot about the discomfort and drifted off again.

-

And when he woke up again, something heavy was weighing down his leg. He opened his eyes and looked down and saw the back of her head, and then he looked to the side and saw her whole body curled up, and he felt her hand on his knee, and in six fucking months if this wasn’t the BEST way to wake up, then....

He drank in the moment. 

Studied the way her hair spilled out from her ponytail. 

It was longer now. And her highlights were faded. 

She had lost weight too. Her face was thinner. Her frame was thinner. 

He could see visible tension in her back, and he wanted - more than anything - to wake her up and take her to a real bed and just lie with her, holding her, protecting her from whatever horrors she encountered. 

Whispering words of love and hope and comfort. 

Kissing her fears and suffering away. 

But he didn’t. 

He just watched her sleep. 

And that was almost enough. 

-

He decided he needed to wake her. He figured she wouldn’t want Bobbi to see - well, he didn’t know what she did or didn’t want. Not really. 

But he wanted to be respectful regardless. 

“J-Jemma.” He gave into the temptation of stroking her hair softly. 

She lifted her head up and sat up a bit and turned towards him and began to apologize of all things, and REALLY, what on earth did she - 

He cut her off and reached for her, asking her permission silently. 

She nodded. 

He took her hand. And put her worries at rest. 

Well.

As best as he could. 

He explained to her he only woke her up because she was due for another vitals check with Bobbi. 

“Right. Yes - yes, of course.” She scooted closer - ‘til she was flush against him - and laid her head on his shoulder, keeping her hand in his. 

And this time, he didn’t hesitate to kiss her hairline. 

-

A/N: In case you missed it, I’m agentchucklehead (I know. Ridiculous.) now. But hopefully you still knew it was me from the polar bears and my writin’ stylin’?? Still consoledacup on AO3. 

Tagged accordingly even though it’s belated. For week 4 of #fsww. I still haven't forgotten any of your prompts. And they're still very much welcome!! Hit me up. :)