“I remember our first year at the Academy. First Christmas away from home and all that, I tracked down a half-decent tea. Was pretty proud of myself ‘til she went and imported a proper care package – baked beans, Hobnobs, crumpets, the whole bit. It’s the fatal combination of thoughtfulness and money. Not easy to compete when you’ve got nothing to your name but twenty-five p and a prehistoric hippie van.”

“Huh.” Daisy smiled to herself, imagining the scandal on Fitz’s face – no doubt quickly replaced by undying devotion – as he watched Jemma come in the door she had constructed in her mind with a comedically large hamper of British goodies. She remembered the first gift Jemma had really ever given her; the hula girl from her van and then her bunk, saved from being trashed or thrown into storage. Jemma didn’t really count it as a gift – it was Daisy’s own belonging, after all – but still, Daisy appreciated the sentiment.

Sentiment. Hula-girl. Twenty-five p and a prehistoric hippie van.

Piece by piece, the idea fell into place and suddenly it solidified, perfect, before her. Daisy bolted out of her seat, sending the hair elastic flying.

“I’m a genius,” she declared.

“I- what?”

Fitz, blindsided, blanked on an appropriately witty response, but it was already too late; Daisy was already sprinting down the hall. At least, she was for a few seconds. Then she came back, and stuck her head through the doorway.

“Can I borrow fifty bucks for gas?” she asked.

“Sure.”

“You’re the best.” Beaming, she was on her way.

--

“Where are we?” Jemma wondered, and not for the first time. She had allowed a very excited, slightly nervous Daisy to blindfold her this morning before they got in the car and though she knew the end of their journey would be nothing but a pleasant surprise, her curiosity was insatiable. They had just slowed down, and Daisy had lowered the music. They must be pulling in somewhere. “Are we nearly there?”

“It’s a surprise,” Daisy explained – and again, not for the first time. She couldn’t help but smile, watching Jemma twist in her seat and listen intently at the window, trying to take everything in. “But yes, we’re nearly there.”

“We’re in a forest,” Jemma decided.

“Maybe,” Daisy teased. Of course, they were – with the smell of pines and the sound of the birds it wasn’t hard to guess. “That’s for me to know and you to find out. Now, wait here, I’ve just got to sort something – B R B.”

Jemma nodded, and Daisy stopped the engine. Her feet crunched across something – gravel, leaf litter, pine needles? Jemma compiled a list of suspects in her mind – and she conversed in a low voice with someone. She laughed, and returned to the car.

Jemma reached for the blindfold. Surely by now it was time to take it down?

“Not yet,” Daisy said. There was a smile in her voice. A thrill of anticipation that made Jemma want to break free of the confines of the car, and touch and smell everything their surrounds had to offer and unravel Daisy’s secrets. But then Daisy reached for her hand and intertwined their fingers, and the curiosity – while far from sated – took its pause.

Jemma couldn’t tell how long it was until they finally stopped again. Daisy had lowered the window, letting the fresh air and the birds fill her mind and distract her even as she tried her best to archive what she was smelling and hearing and where in the world they could be.

No amount of mental cataloguing, though, could have prepared Jemma for what she saw when Daisy helped her out of the car and around the back of the van and opened the doors and sat her on something cushioned and finally – finally – announced –

“Okay. You can take it off now.”

Jemma ripped the blindfold down from her eyes, and the breath caught in her throat.

Stretching out before her was a glorious expanse of pine forest, rolling over hills and mountains and valleys like an ocean of rich green life. The sun was starting to set, bathing the whole scene in a soft pink twilight. Birds returned to their nests, others gambolled toward the horizon. Wind rustled the trees.

“Happy Birthday,” Daisy whispered.

Jemma blinked, freed from the entrancing magic of the scene before her for long enough to absorb where they were sitting – in the back of Daisy’s old van, hula girl and all, surrounded by pillows and blankets and trinkets from layers and layers of life.

“Daisy,” Jemma breathed. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

She leaned across the space between them and Daisy was happy to oblige with a kiss. But while Jemma would have been content to make out for hours in the soft pink light, Daisy had other plans. Grinning, she reached behind her and pulled a picnic basket into the space between them.

“Hold on,” she said, “I’m starving.”

Jemma blinked down at their interruption in surprise as Daisy flipped the lid, pulled out a punnet of strawberries, and commenced opening a bottle of champagne.

“You know,” Jemma remarked, “if you’re hungry, you really should have more protein.”

“Disagree,” Daisy retorted. As if to demonstrate, she bit into a strawberry, took a swig of champagne, and leaned in for another kiss.

“What you looking at?” Fitz asks, standing next to her with the ‘Office’ box in his hands. He peers upwards. “Something wrong with the house?”

“Oh, no,” Jemma smiles, shaking her head. “Just looking at the sky, is all. Very blue.”

“Very sunny,” Fitz remarks. “I wouldn’t get used to the sun if I were you. It’ll just lead to disappointment.”

“You do know that England is hardly Spain, right?”

“Look at the kind of Summer you guys get and get back to me on that!” Indignation suits him; his cheeks flushed with summer and righteousness makes him seem more handsome. However, he sidles over to her, nudges her gently. “Is kind of pretty, though.”

It’s ridiculously perfect and pretty, just the kind of moving day that one could hope for. “Gorgeous.”

He just smiles at her and shakes his head, as though he can’t quite believe it. Well, neither can she. They’re finally here. Outside of their new home in Perth, jobs as consultants and well-wishes from all of their friends with them. For the first time in such a long time, things actually feel alright.

She moves boxes out of the van, piling them by room on the front gravel. The moving van will need to be returned soon, and so they move quickly but still methodical. The sun begins to set but the day is still warm and it’s only when the last box is out, and her new house stands before her in the waning light does she realise how much it looks like home.

The box she carries goes down on the ground and, hands at her hips in a very Fitz-esque pose. Deep breath in then out. The country air smells unlike anything she’s ever smelled before. Well… that’s not entirely true. It smells like it did when she was a child, when she knew that, somehow, someday, she would move right back here after she had made a brilliant life for herself.

Looking over at Fitz, who carries a box labelled ‘Academy/PhD things’ from the bedroom pile to the office pile, she knows that her seven year old self would be very proud of her right now. And she knows that her selves from the bottom of the ocean, from the blue planet with no sun, from the framework, all know that it was worth it, now. She has done it for them. Given them the future that, finally, she knows is deserved.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Fitz moves to stand beside her, mimicking her pose. “Feels like we’re in a picture or something.”

Jemma looks at him looking up at the house, then looks at the seemingly endless piles of boxes all around them. Quite a picture they make.

“This is it,” she says, feeling suddenly sentimental. “This is home.”

“Aw, Jemma.” She feels him looking over, that half smile on his lips. “Home’s always been where we’ve been together.”

And just how does he do that? How does it spill so naturally from him? It would be rather infuriating if she didn’t love it so much. If she didn’t love him so much.

“Oh, I know.” Meeting his eyes, she matches his smile. “It’s just, well it’s just lovely to have a feeling of being settled, isn’t it? Something that’s ours and only ours, for once.”

Of course many things have been theirs over the years. So many moments that, stacked end on end, would reach into the infinite. Glances and touches and kisses that are theirs and only theirs and can only ever belong to them.

But she likes the idea of something tangible. Something to wake up in in the morning and go to sleep in at night. Somewhere to hold each other. Somewhere to, maybe, bring up their own family. It’s this permanence, this thing that cannot be swayed or altered or erased completely, that she needs.

His arm comes around her and she allows her head to fall into his shoulder. Once upon a time she only dreamed of this. “I know what you mean.”

Of course, he does. He’s Fitz. For better or worse, he’s always understood her more than she’s ever understood herself.

Her head goes up and his comes down and they meet in the middle the way that’s become normal of late. Kissing Fitz is not like it used to be. It used to be urgent. It used to be like it had to be right in that moment otherwise it may never happen again. She used to kiss him and taste desperation, and she thought he tasted it too.

It’s not like that anymore and thank God. Now she can take her time. Now it’s slow and soft and sweet because there’s more time. Now she kisses him and tastes love and knows that’s all he can taste, too.

They’ve come so far. Here, in this future, they have finally arrived.

They break apart. Forehead and against forehead. His hand on her cheek and hers around the back of his neck. Love love love all around.

She rarely cries. She learnt very early on that in her line of work how to suppress her emotions because she lost good people all the time. Now, she needed to cry though. Part of her thought she was over-reacting as none of her friends had died. But her body wasn't letting her override the tears. No matter how hard she tried to suppress them, they kept streaming down her face as she sat motionless on the bed.

The door opening brings Bobbi back to reality. She grabs her staves and stands up in case the intruder isn't Hunter. Turns out it is. He emerges seconds later carrying a bag of groceries. As soon as she sees him, she drops the staves and sits back down.

"Thought we could use some food." He explains as he places the groceries on the small coffee table. He begins to ramble an apology for what occurred earlier when he notices the tear marks on her face. He stops unpacking the groceries and immediately goes to sit next to her.

"Are you ok?" He asks sincerely.

"I'm fine." She bites back but more tears continue to stream down her face.

"It's ok if you're not. I'm not." He reassures her whilst intertwining his fingers with her closet hand.

She relaxes into him, letting go whatever they were fighting about before no longer important in that moment. He wraps his arms around her and holds her tightly as she cries. They don't speak. When she finally pulls away he places a quick kiss on her temple.

"I'm sorry." He says softly.

"It doesn't matter about before."

"Not just about before, about all of this."

"This isn't your fault, I just miss them." She shakes her head whilst looking down.

He lifts her chin up until their eyes are level.

He nods understandingly.