#simmorsefic

“Are you kidding me? Is itreally starting to rain?” questions Bobbi as she stares up at the sky.

Jemma really can’t help herself;she chuckles at Bobbi’s behavior.

“A little drizzle never hurtanyone though should the drizzle change into something harder then we’ll needto find some shelter in order to wait it out,” comments Jemma.

Bobbi snorts.

“If that happens, I’mholding you personally responsible,” she states.

Jemma playfully rolls hereyes.

“If that happens, I’ll keep you warm.”

This gets a bright smileand an improved mood from Bobbi.

As if on cue, the rainstarts falling harder causing the two women to run beneath the trees to avoidthe falling water. They still have several miles to go until they reach the rendezvous point.

They’rein luck, stumbling onto an abandoned cabin.

“We’llbe able to dry out and wait the storm out here then make our way to where weneed to meet the others,” comments Bobbi.

Asmuch as Jemma’s opposed to breaking in and entering into a stranger’s cabin, herpractical side comes out and she knows this is better than being out in therain where one or both of them could fall deathly ill and or get injuredsomehow.

Bobbigets the fire going while Jemma looks for towels or something they could use todry off with.

Turningaround, Jemma freezes.

Bobbi’sin the middle of stripping down to her undergarments – shirt is off and she’sworking on her pants.

“Uh,wh-wh-what are you doing?” asks Jemma.

Bobbismirks.

“Weneed to get dry and dry our clothes and it’s easier to that when we’re not inthem. Besides, you said you’d keep me warm so...Come on, Jem. You don’t want tocatch a cold, now do you?”

Blushingslightly, Jemma never thought this would be happen but here she is, about to besemi-naked with her crush. Daisy can never find out because she’d never let herlive it down.

Jemmafollows Bobbi’s lead and removes her top, followed by her pants.

Theyhang their clothes on an improvised rack near the fire.

Bobbitugs Jemma down next to her on the rug in front of the fire place so they canfeel the heat of the fire to warm up.

“Ido have to say; this is less embarrassing than if I were stuck with someonelike Fitz or Coulson. I’d probably never be able to look Coulson in the eyeagain,” comments Jemma offhandedly.

“I’mhappy that I’m with you here too,” replies Bobbi.

Bringingher hand up to Jemma’s face, Bobbi wipes some of her hair out of her face thenstrokes her cheek gently with her thumb. Then she wraps her arm around Jemma’swaist and pulls her with her as Bobbi lays down backwards on the carpet.

Fora while, they simply lay there and listen to the rain hit the roof.

ThenBobbi’s phone goes off as the rain stops causing both women to groan.

“Guessthat’s our cue to get dressed and make our way to the meeting point,” comments Bobbi.

Bitingher lip, Jemma considers an idea.

“Wecould continue this later….in my room and on a comfortable bed,” she suggestshopefully.

Bobbigrins.

“Thisis why you’re the genius. Now, if there’s only something we can do to keepHunter from finding out and bugging us,” Bobbi responds.

“Payand or bribe Daisy to keep his distracted?”

“She’dhave the easiest time doing that, out of everyone.”

Jemmaraises an eyebrow at that.

“Youknow something. I’m not asking. You know something, Bobbi Morse.” Says Jemmafirmly.

“Ikick ass and I know things,” responds Bobbi with a smirk.

Ignoringher, Jemma grabs her close then pulls them on; thankfully, that they’reslightly drier than they were before. Bobbi follows suit and once they’redressed, they check for their things, put out the fire then leave the cabin.

“Next time I think we’re going to have to spring for gold label,” she remarked. “Get Coulson to let us come back in summer and have a proper swim, hm?”

“What?” Jemma teased, though the thought of swimming in this cold made her bones ache. “You think it’s too cold to swim? Pfft! You call yourself a spy!”

“Oh, I could swim in this if I wanted to,” Bobbi retorted, and stuck her chin up, bragging a little, “it’s just, the last time I swam in this weather, it was either that or cut off a toe. And believe me, I had to think about it.”

Jemma laughed, and rolled her eyes, but before she could think of the next thing to say, she found herself walking straight into Bobbi’s pack. She blustered to a halt, wondering why Bobbi had stopped; they couldn’t be there already, she was sure.

“Oh, shit,” Bobbi cursed.

“Come on,” Jemma waved her off. “I’m not going to make you swim. I brought a picnic. I even found that cranberry salad thing you-“

“No, babe,” Bobbi interrupted, pulling Jemma by the wrist up onto the track beside her, at the top of the hill. “I meant that.”

“Oh. Shit.”

The land fell away before them, covered in thick forest, near-pristine wilderness all around for miles. In the distance a bird was returning to its nest, and here and there, rocks or shining water broke up the blanket of green. It would have been positively breathtaking, if not for the turbid grey cloud looming over it all, sailing ever closer; like a shadow, inescapable. Beneath it, rain fell in a torrent so thick it seemed to consume the forest. It would scarcely stumble over doing the same to them.

“We need to get back to the tent,” Jemma admitted, though she screwed up her face and watched the storm in profound disappointment, briefly longing against all logic to simply will it into retreating, or at least pausing its onslaught for the rest of the afternoon.

“Look at the size of it, Jemma,” Bobbi pointed out. “I think we should get back to the car.”

“No, I…” Jemma trailed off. She had no argument to bring to bear; nothing but the dream of a perfect weekend, to which she’d been clinging all this while. Nature was a powerful force, and her plans were naught in the face of it. She sighed, and turned back the way she had come. Though the track was narrow, Bobbi kept up, and put a hand on her shoulder briefly.

“I’m sorry babe,” Bobbi offered. “I just don’t think this weekend was meant to be. We’ve still got some leave though, right? Why don’t we pack it up, head into town? I’m sure we could find a place.”

A place. Jemma tried to swallow her disappointment. It wasn’t supposed to be just a place, if all she’d wanted was a place they could have gone to a nice hotel in the nearest city to base, maybe bought a spa day, lived on room service. That sounded nice. But she had chosen this place, this trip specifically. She had wanted to get outside, really and truly outside. She had wanted to see the wildlife and the scenery in this place. She had been imagining herself and Bobbi walking amongst these glorious trees, admiring the birds, stargazing together in near-unpolluted skies; all manner of away-from-it-all fantasies for months. Literally, months. It had taken her that long to get the leave, with disaster after disaster being thrown at them, and she couldn’t bear the thought that a little rain was going to take it all away. Even if it was actually a lot of rain. But she couldn’t explain all that without sounding like a stroppy child, so instead she stammered -

“Just- Just don’t slip, okay?”

The rain was getting heavier around them, the storm already well on its way. The dream was dead. She gritted her teeth and pulled away from Bobbi, marching on ahead with the excuse of packing up their things before the worst of it hit.

“Jemma, wait!” Bobbi called, and jogged after her. “I didn’t mean we should just give up- I mean I did- but not… like that…”

Bobbi trailed off. The terrain was becoming increasingly treacherous and rain saturated her clothes, her pack, her hair. With the steep downward slope on top of it all, she had no choice but to focus on the slippery ground or risk falling, and with thick sheets of rain between them she wouldn’t have been surprised if Jemma had disappeared from sight by now anyway. Gritting her teeth, she picked her way slowly forward, thinking. She could imagine the frustration Jemma was dealing with at her plans finally being rained out beyond saving, but more than that, she couldn’t bear the thought of Jemma believing she was disappointed, or that she’d simply been waiting for an out. Was that the impression she’d just given? Or, perhaps, had she indicated she would have preferred to spend the time in a hotel, being pampered? Pampering was nice, but this – ancient redwoods, nature’s beauty, and a level of privacy Bobbi hadn’t experienced in years – this was unbeatable. Why was she so terrible at expressing things like that? Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself as fast as she dared, desperate to catch up and clarify things before they spiraled into disaster.

Perhaps a little too desperate, in fact, as Jemma had stopped and Bobbi hadn’t noticed until she was practically upon her. Startled, Jemma jumped, turned and slipped. She lost her footing on the side of the track and fell with a strangled yelp. Bobbi reached out to try and catch her, and that only made things worse as her heel slipped and her knee buckled and she fell too. For a few seconds, the two of them were a tangle of limbs in a miniature mudslide of their own making, but fortunately, even then, they only managed to fall a few feet down the slope before they tumbled apart and flattened themselves against the earth.

Feeling herself flung away from Bobbi, Jemma thrust her hands into the dirt. She looked up, struggling to see through the rain, and spitting water and loam as she climbed back up to Bobbi’s side. Bobbi was lying prone, hissing through her teeth, clearly in pain. Jemma’s heart plummeted.

“Bobbi?” she asked, almost shouting over the sound of the rain, and praying it was just the momentary shock of the fall that had shaken her, and not a serious head or back injury. “Are you alright? Did you hit your head?”

“It’s my knee,” Bobbi told her, fortunately able to sit up after a moment, if gingerly, and examine her own injury. “My bad knee. Must have twisted it or something. It’s not serious. We should keep moving. I’ll look at it when we get back.”

“Right, okay. Come on.”

It was slow going after that. The rain pounded down and evening deepend around them, but Jemma stayed by Bobbi’s side, limping slowly through the wilderness. She let Bobbi focus on nothing but moving forward, keeping her eyes on the light at the end of the tunnel; on all the things they would do when they got to that hotel in town. A warm bath. A nice hot burger with chips. Thick, warm dressing gowns. It was a long time before Bobbi realised Jemma wasn’t leading her back to the tent.

“Jems,” she objected. “This is a road. We’re out of the camp, what are you doing?”

“If our tent’s still around, we’ll find it tomorrow,” Jemma explained. “This is safer, better for your knee. Besides, there’s more likely to be a building of some sort this way, where we can get proper shelter and wait this thing out. You keep walking. I’ll scout ahead.”

Jemma gave Bobbi a brief kiss, and then disappeared into the rain and the darkening sky. This time, Bobbi was not stricken by a panicked need to follow. Instead, she caught herself smiling at the thought of how close the words I love you had come to spilling across her lips. She stood a little taller and walked on.

-

Soon enough, Jemma was running back down the road to Bobbi, announcing in a flurry that she had found a holiday inn not much further down the road and had already booked them in for the night. It was no five-star hotel, she qualified, but a compromise she hoped Bobbi could accept. More than that, of course, the news was music to Bobbi’s ears, which Bobbi went out of her way to impress upon Jemma. Yet darkness had well and truly fallen by the time they staggered into reception. As the innkeeper, Barry, asked his staff to fetch towels and discussed rooms and payment with Jemma, Bobbi looked around at the adorable woodland décor and still-lifes of canoes and decided she would like nothing more than to curl up and go to sleep on the warm, dry wooden floor. But she was determined to keep her guard up, for just a little longer.

“You ladies look a right mess, if you don’t mind me sayin’,” Barry remarked; somewhat incredulous and, if Bobbi was not mistaken, a little impressed. “You were up the mountain in this?”

“You know what they say about courage and stupidity,” Bobbi replied, easing herself into a seat and trying not to wince at the whole different kind of pain that flooded through her leg at the motion. Jemma was fussing over her, but Bobbi waved her away.

“What brings you out here this time of year, then?” Barry wondered. “Not exactly hiking season.”

“It was the only time we could get off work,” Jemma explained. “I just wanted to try something a little different, you know. I didn’t think it would be that bad. Thought it would be romantic."

She laughed at herself and rolled her eyes as she signed them in, and Barry huffed quietly to himself.

“Romantic? And you asked for the cheapest room?” He gave Jemma an exaggerated look of shock, plucked the key he’d given her out of her hand, and then eyed Bobbi as if she was in on the joke. “Where’d you catch this one? Tsk tsk. No, that won’t do at all, ladies. I have something much better for a romantic weekend away.”

He reached for a different set of keys, and a brochure. Jemma blanched.

“Oh, no, I’m afraid we really can’t pay-“ she promised, but Barry waved her off.

“No extra cost. Like I said, it’s not the season down here. We’re practically empty. You’ll still have to pay the amenities, of course – I’m not made of money – but we’ve got some wiggle room in regards to the accommodation. Plus, in your state, I think you’ll appreciate the, uh, private facilities. Come on with me.”

Barry led the way out of the reception cabin, and Jemma turned and pulled a face to Bobbi that said something along the lines of well, isn’t this fancy? With her knee burning, her clothes drenched and muddied, and her skin feeling like it was going to be cold to the touch forever, Bobbi was grateful for Jemma’s good humour. She pulled herself up and put one foot in front of the other, chasing that relentless warmth across the site.

“… windows to the west, sometimes you can see the deer grazing in the morning,” Barry was saying to Jemma as Bobbi finally approached their designated cabin. He smiled at her, and waved Bobbi over. “You alright with that knee there?”

“Yes, thanks. Just an old injury. Field hockey’s a violent sport.” Bobbi explained.

“Don’t I know it?” Barry chuckled, and finally handed over the key. “If you need anything, let me know – details are in that folder there. Otherwise, I’ll leave you ladies to get acquainted. Y’all have a good night.”

They thanked him and made their farewells, and then wasted no more time before pushing into the cabin. As they wandered in, the two of them stared about in awe, their energies momentarily replenished as all expectations were blown away. There was a cozy lounge with a large television and a log fire, and stacks of books and magazines. The kitchen was simple but adorable and Jemma hurried to turn the kettle on, and peek out the window overlooking what Barry had promised was a frequent deer grazing ground. Bobbi quickly found the bed and dropped herself onto it, hardly having the energy to spare a thought for the mud and muck she’d just walked in. She closed her eyes, relishing the way the soft, cushioned blanket cradled her aching body. A few moments later, Jemma stuck her head in through the bedroom door, and smiled at Bobbi’s spread-eagle state.

“You saving room for me on there or what?”

Bobbi huffed, frankly reluctant to lift any of her limbs ever again. She was still hungry, dirty, and cold, but she’d live with that if she had to. Jemma sat down on the bed anyway, and pulled off each of her shoes with a huff and a moan of relief.

“Hey,” she wondered, peering at the one door in the place they had not investigated yet. “What do you think he meant by ‘private facilities’?”

Bobbi stared at the ceiling, not willing to commit to lifting her head to follow Jemma’s gaze. “I don’t know.”

Unable to resist this final curiosity, Jemma padded over to the door and slowly pushed it open. On the other side was a rustic but luxurious bathroom. This being the lover’s cabin, it had some special extras in amongst the usual amenities, which made Jemma smile, but her eye was quickly taken by the feature of the room: an enormous, deep, positively luxurious standalone bathtub. She ran to it, knelt by it and ran the tap, and the hot water seared against her rain-soaked skin. The stress that had been piling up inside her all day bubbled out in another laugh, and she ran her hands under the water until they started to feel normal again.

“Bobbi, get in here!” she cried.

“Why?” Bobbi called back. “Unless it’s a hot dinner or a hot shower I really don’t –“

Jemma stepped back into the bedroom and threw another towel at Bobbi. She showed off her heat-reddened hands and watched Bobbi’s jaw drop.

“I can do you one better on the shower,” Jemma promised. “As for the dinner, I don’t know about hot, but I do still have the picnic stuff and I’m sure most of it will have survived.”

“That sounds fantastic.”

“How would you feel about eating cranberry salad in the tub?”

“Amazing,” Bobbi groaned. “God, I love you.”

Jemma grinned as Bobbi hauled herself to her feet one final time, swanned across the room with more grace than anyone with such an injury flare had any right to, and gave her a rakish smile and a dizzying, muddy, rain-tinted kiss.

Jemma rolled her eyes and laughed, and let Bobbi lead her around the corner to where her apartment was indeed waiting. For most of the way there, Bobbi was touching her hand or her arm or her back, making Jemma feel welcome in her space, and by the time they’d made it up the elevator and down the hall, Jemma was starting to think that she might not actually mind a little funny business after all. But of course she still had the curiosity problem to attend to: she had, after all, been told by no fewer than three of her exes, that her most annoying trait was how she got nosy, and often, judgemental. She was really enjoying her time with Bobbi, and she’d hate to drag her over those coals, especially when fate had had them approach the invitation-into-my-home hurdle sooner than they otherwise would have. But if Bobbi was prepared to be brave, then so was she – which was good, because the test before her was about to be scaled up in difficulty. Between the nerves, the need, and the sound of Bobbi filling up the kettle, it wasn’t long before Jemma had to ask:

“Bobbi, sorry, but do you mind if I use your bathroom?”

“Sure,” Bobbi shrugged. “It’s straight down the hall. Bathroom’s on your left. Not your right, that’s Hunter’s room and I take no responsibility for what you find in there.”

She chuckled to herself, and Jemma smiled, even as she reminded herself to steel her anti-curiosity binders. There were not many doors in an apartment like this: only five in the hall. There was the lavatory of course, the bathroom and Hunter’s room, and the other two must be Bobbi’s, and what she imagined must be some kind of linen closet or the like. Bobbi’s door was closed. Hunter’s was a little open, but between Bobbi’s warning and her own determination, Jemma resisted the urge to pry. She even managed to do her business without searching through their magazines, though she did eye a sudoko at the top of the stack, which she thought was interesting. It wasn’t until she got to the bathroom that she found herself in real trouble, and even then it wasn’t really her fault.

It was right there.

On top of a large, beautiful, velveteen box on the sink. A sleek black leather collar, a little worn, with silver studs around the outside. Jemma couldn’t help but pick it up, admiring it in wonder as her face lit up.

“Bobbi!” she cried in delight. “You never told me you had a dog!”

“A what?”

Bobbi’s voice came in, a little muffled, from the other room, but Jemma did not register its confusion. She was already distracted by the opportunity of the box. What could be in there? Pictures of the dog? What kind was it, she wondered – for some reason, she could see Bobbi with a Border Collie, or perhaps a Retriever. Then again, people didn’t tend to keep printouts of photographs these days, unless the dog was dead, but she certainly hoped not. She was not emotionally ready for that. She was more emotionally ready for… toys, dog toys. That would be perfect. She could figure out the dog’s favourite and bond with it and everything would be great.

Except then she lifted the lid, and her mind flipped back through the road it had sprinted down in the last few precious seconds. What kind of dog indeed? Well, she would have been able to at least hazard a guess had there been any fur on the collar, but it hadn’t clicked until too late that there hadn’t been. Just as it had not clicked for Bobbi immediately, why Jemma would have assumed she had a dog. And now Bobbi ran to the bathroom and Jemma stared into the box of what were indeed toys, but which were very much not of the canine persuasion, and profoundly wished that her body would obey her and just put the damn lid back already.

Bobbi stood in the doorway in despair, and Jemma stared at her helplessly as she tried to put a brave face on.

“Yeah, I don’t-“ Bobbi explained. “I don’t have a dog.”

--

Needless to say, the date ended quickly after that. Neither of them could quite bring themselves to look each other in the eyes, least not do anything remotely sexual in the slightest – which seemed to be everything all of a sudden; even pursing their lips to blow on their hot drinks, or shifting their seating positions. They hurried to assure each other of their own well meaning as Jemma all but ran for the door and Bobbi tried not to herd her out of it, both of them blushing furiously and apologising profusely and wishing that the other person would simply see through it and stay.

But it was not the end.

Jemma was up late that night for work – no that she’d gotten much done, with this on her mind. She’d blown things with Bobbi, she was sure of it. And not only had she done so by invading something way too private for comfort, but she’d made a complete fool of herself by running away like a naïve prude who’d not only never seen a vibrator before, but apparently, felt quite sick at the very thought of one. Now Bobbi probably felt like Jemma was judging her to boot, running home to tell all her friends, and then guess what I found-?? But of course, Jemma was far too embarrassed by the fact that she’d thought a very obvious human sex collar was for a dog. The only way it could have been worse was if it’d had a heart-shaped lock inscribed with the word Princess. She pulled a face at herself as she tumbled through the door with her belongings. It was a Monday night, but it was late enough for wine, right?

Just as she took her first sip though, her phone buzzed, and because today couldn’t possibly get any worse she flicked it open. The message was from Bobbi. Jemma’s breath caught in her chest as she read.

I’m so SO sorry about today, she had written, and put a cringing emoji at the end. If it helps I practically murdered Hunter when he got home. He said he ~must have borrowed something and left it out~. Dude never buys his own condoms I s2g. Anyway. Sorry again. That must have been super weird for you, I swear I wasn’t trying to lure you into my Sex Den, I just wanted coffee. Or tea. I totally understand if you don’t want to see me again or even message me back but like…  

A smile ticked up Jemma’s lip at the three little prayer hands emojis Bobbi had finished with. The weight of complete and utter humiliation lessened slightly as she realised Bobbi was feeling just as awful as she was. At least Bobbi had been brave enough to do something about it, and not hide out in her kitchen drinking cheap wine. The least she could do, Jemma thought, was to make Bobbi feel better. Even going to the effort calmed her nerves, and warmed her heart.

It’s okay, she wrote. Not a deal breaker, just wasn’t expecting it on the third date! That’s what I get for sticking my nose in other people’s business though. [Shy monkey emoji].

Now that just looked downright coy and sexual, Jemma thought. Or did it? Did it look too naïve? Should she send some eggplants? No, she’d never use them right. Oh god. Was she sexting? Should she be? She shut her phone off quickly and took a deep breath. A few seconds later, another message buzzed through.

You were hardly sticking your nose anywhere. There was a mysterious box on the bathroom sink, what else were you supposed to do? Not open it? [shrug hands]

Jemma snorted. A woman after her own heart.

You have a ridiculously underdeveloped sense of social boundaries, she wrote. I like that in a girl [wink emoji]

Figured we were way past TMI, Bobbi replied, with a wink emoji of her own. I’ve gotta go, but thanks for answering. & Since you haven’t run for the hills screaming, how bout a real coffee date? – p.s. what would you consider an appropriate number of dates for revealing this kind of thing? Usually?

Yes! and 6. If you don’t know what you’re doing by then, you’re wasting your time.  

Jemma snorted to herself, proud of this little tease. It didn’t state the obvious, but at the same time, it showed that she’d thought about it, and no girl who didn’t have a kinky side would’ve had to do that. Nailed it.

She was so satisfied with herself, in fact, that she didn’t even worry when Bobbi did not reply. She knew she had work early in the morning, and likely had just gone to bed. Or gone to strangle her roommate some more. Jemma knew she should be getting to bed too, and she took her wine to her room, but she couldn’t quite send herself to sleep. She was still wired from work, she told herself, and from the major embarrassment earlier in the day. And besides, it’s not that she was worried Bobbi wasn’t replying, but it still couldn’t hurt to be awake when she did, right? To think this little mishap had almost broken them apart, and all over a little confusion about a collar…

It may have been late, but the Internet rabbit-hole was deep, and waiting for Bobbi to reply was a subtle but powerful stimulant. It wasn’t long before Jemma found herself looking up pictures of collars, and the rather attractive women wearing them. They were just pictures, she told herself at first. She wasn’t going to try anything funny. But then she got it in her head that Bobbi had been exposed tonight. That, if she’d panicked anywhere nearly as much as Jemma had, Jemma’s subtle tease was not going to be enough to reassure her, if she even noticed it. And so it was that Jemma inspired herself to try something she’d never done before. The way she saw it, she had a lot of sexual forwardness to make up for in order to even the playing field, and in this case she found herself looking forward to doing so. She fell asleep with a smile on her face, dreaming of what she’d planned for the morning.

--

Bobbi woke up to her phone. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. She groaned and eyed the screen.

You have 5 messages from Jemma.

Bobbi cringed, and rolled over onto her back, raking a hand into her hair. Her finger hovered over the button to reveal the messages. Her heart pounded. Nervous. But they’d left it well, right? She held her breath and clicked.

Apparently, they’d left it very well.

P.P.S – Jemma had written. Way past TMI but…

This was followed by three images.

The first: sitting on a white marble bench-top, a smooth black leather collar that was fastened at the front with a simple, silver, heart-shaped padlock.

The second: a close-up of what Bobbi could only assume was Jemma’s dainty, porcelain-smooth shoulders and neck, baring the collar and blushing a little. Bobbi bit her nail and smiled to herself, feeling a tingle in her groin as she began to wonder; had Jemma ever worn one of these before? How would she carry herself in such a thing, with that dancer’s frame?

The third gave her something of an answer, as Jemma had perched her phone on something in the bathroom and stepped back from the counter, stark naked. This shot was a little more candid, not so daintily posed – no doubt the nerves were getting to her by this point in the photo shoot – but Bobbi found herself endeared by the bashful smile on Jemma’s face, and the curve of her breast and hip. She wondered how many of these shots Jemma must have taken, in how many increasingly ridiculous poses, before she got to the point of almost laughing and to just send one straight on before she lost it.

By this point, Bobbi was beaming. Who would have thought that such a horrific faux pas as yesterday would have earned her such a reward?

And then there was the fifth message: another text.

“Mr Campbell,” called the teacher in a crisp tone. “Perhaps you have something you’d like to share with the class?”

Raising his eyebrows at Bobbi mockingly, Lincoln obediently got out of his seat and jogged down the stairs, turning to bow up at her just as mockingly, before nodding a noncommittal apology toward the teacher and taking to the stage for his rendition of Mercutio from Romeo and Juliet. His monologue was a bit more bumbling than Jemma’s, in terms of word-perfection, but it was delivered emotively nonetheless, and Lincoln was her friend, so Bobbi applauded properly at the end of it - even if her eyes did keep drifting down to Jemma all the while.

While Bobbi was thus distracted, the gangly form of Antoine Triplett climbed over the row of seats that had separated them, and dropped down into Lincoln’s now-empty place.

“Hey now, what’s that face?” he wondered, prodding Bobbi with a finger.

“I’m going to do it,” Bobbi swore, her eyes fixed on Jemma. The bell rang – she was running out of time – she twisted in her seat. “I’m going to tell her how good she was.”

“Was she good though,” Trip mused, “or just English?”

“I don’t know,” Bobbi retorted. “Was your Othello good, or just Black?”

“Damn, jumping out of the gate fast with that one!” Trip exclaimed. “I’m just looking out for my girl! What’s the first rule, Bobbi? Your first rule? Never fall for the straight ones.”

“She’s not –“

Bobbi cut herself off. Her heart sunk. It was all well and good to imagine, but Jemma wasn’t out and in fact, as far as Bobbi could tell, hadn’t even thought to question the idea that she could be anything other than straight. In terms of her actual sexuality, that didn’t mean much, but in terms of Bobbi’s dating prospects, it meant a lot. It was an elephant in the room that would be incredibly poor form for her to point out. She’d helped many a fledgling gain their little gay wings, but the beginning of the journey was a path Jemma’s own feet would have to find.

Bobbi told herself this whenever she was overcome with the desire to grab Jemma and make out with her against a locker.

It was becoming less and less effective.

In fact, Bobbi was even starting to weave a story in her own head of a queer Jemma, based on their interactions, and the things that Bobbi had seen and imagined; nebulous possibilities fuelled by subtext. She was, more and more, getting her hopes up, and her first rule was collapsing under the weight of a crush with such potential that she had not even realised how far she had taken it until now. Until this moment. Until she watched Jemma, laughing and content with Fitz and Daisy down the front of class, utterly unburdened by this crush, or by the tumultuous self-inspection that came with questioning oneself intimately. She was happy, and Bobbi was happy, but also frustrated, because she couldn’t tell Trip that she hadn’t broken her first rule after all.

(Well. She couldn’t tell him yet.)

-

They hurried to next period in their own groups, and sat apart, like they always had, until the teacher rearranged them.

“Jemma Simmons – Bobbi Morse.”

Jemma squirmed with glee, and packed to change desks so hurriedly she almost dropped everything before she pulled her head in. Of course, in that moment, even she was not sure why she was so excited to be partnered with Bobbi. It was not as if they had not worked together before. It was not as if there were not half a dozen people of comparable ability in their class (though, she would argue, none on the same par of neatness or commitment as the two of them were). It was not as though Bobbi would consider it a memorable experience, either; in fact, Jemma found herself rather nervous that it would go badly. For all her intelligence and general likeability, she had a penchant for being blunt and, when she tried to steer away from that, “off-putting” or “suffocating.” It was a balance she had always struggled with but one that, for some reason, seemed especially important today. She must refrain from putting her foot in her mouth for the course of this two-week assignment. She could manage that, right? Yes. She and Bobbi would be friends, if it killed her.

(Friends. Later, she’d laugh about that.)

Friends could admire the way Bobbi seemed to look like a professional in the school-issue lab coats, right? It was purely aspirational. The rest of their class tended to look like bumbling children in oversized, overly generic white jackets. Bobbi looked like a proper Doctor, and one that Jemma would trust with her life. In a totally platonic, professional-admiration-based kind of way.

Friends could admire Bobbi’s handwriting too, of course, and smile at the little loops it made, right? Jemma wondered: how did she have time to write like that? Had it been bred into her? Genetically engineered? It wasn’t as if Jemma had the most chicken-scratchiest penmanship, of course, but when Bobbi wrote, she oozed perfection and Jemma couldn’t entirely quantify what it was. It just felt like anyone who could write both that level of content quality, and aesthetic quality, was worth mooning over.

Friends could admire the way Bobbi’s eyes looked, too. Couldn’t they? Of course they could. It was a matter of objectivity. Not only were they bright and intelligent, but they were an unusual and pleasant shade of blue: it was only natural to find them attractive. Bobbi’s face was made of bold shapes, with a strong jaw-line and cheekbones, and her eyes stood out. Her face was aesthetically pleasing. That was just a fact.

Right?

Not for the first time, Jemma’s eyes trailed down to the rainbow Pride flag pin that Bobbi kept on her pencil case. She herself had always admired Bobbi’s – well, her pride, Jemma supposed. Her out-ness, her confidence with it, and the way the school seemed not to mind about it all that much. No doubt she’d faced her fair share of demons, probably, but Bobbi was one of the popular girls here – even amongst guys, which Jemma found fascinating… had found fascinating… now was starting to find fascinating in a whole new light. Bobbi, everything Bobbi, had seemed unattainable just a few days before, but unattainable in a conceptual, personality-trait kind of way. Like the kind of person who had her life way too together to be real. But now, once it had entered her mind, another thought lodged in Jemma’s brain that maybe, her fascination had been related to the fact that Bobbi had been unattainable in other ways, too. Surrounded by her clique, and so high-achieving and beloved and athletic at the same time, and a social butterfly on top of that – Bobbi was enviable in her own right. But smart, fit, charming? Were those not all desirable traits too?

Jemma shook her head and twirled her pencil between her fingers, trying to draw herself back to the task at hand with a few rapid-fire conclusions. She had dated boys. Quite liked a few of them, and quite liked their advances too. She had never dated girls, or looked at one sexually really, except for objectively, but everyone did that, probably. She had a few female celebrity crushes, but didn’t everybody? So she wasn’t gay. Ipso facto, she didn’t have a crush on Bobbi and never had and never would and all that unattainability rubbish was just her getting up in her own head again. Damn psychology.

(Fortunately for her, Jemma would later recount, it is not that easy to kill an idea.)

-

Jemma shoved her eyes back to the board somewhat forcefully and Bobbi lowered her own, twirling a pencil absently as she stared. She sighed. She had been hoping, always hoping, and though somewhat prepared to be let down, it still hurt a little each time it happened. Each time Jemma looked, and then looked away; each time it seemed like there was a question, or even just a breath, on the tip of her tongue, and she did not let it fall. Bobbi was frustratingly sure now, that she was not imagining things, but Jemma seemed just as frustratingly sure to keep said things to herself. Sometimes, Bobbi daydreamed up a collection of haphazard, farcical scenarios designed to trigger in Jemma a rom-com-like revelation, but the thought of forcing it – whether she was imagining things or not – made Bobbi feel predatory and wrong. There was nothing to do but wait it out and see how things developed. Her crush was her own problem, not Jemma’s. And besides, Jemma clearly had enough of her own stuff to sort out.

Even if she was taking so long about it, and dancing so painstaking close to the truth, that Bobbi wanted to snap a pencil.

It wasn’t all frustrations though. Bobbi did allow herself some pleasantries in her own head, and complex bundle of attractions aside, Jemma was great to hang out with. She was smart, in lots of ways and on lots of topics, and she was energetic and kind for the most part, and she loved to talk. She was honest, about the good and the bad, and sometimes she was blunt to the point of rudeness to which Bobbi, though she’d struggle to admit it, could relate. Bobbi loved her, in ways that could not clearly be divided into friendship and romance. She loved the way Jemma’s eyes lit up when she got excited, because it was beautiful, but also because it meant she was happy. She loved the way Jemma tucked her hair behind her ears, both at the same time, whenever she was nervous or needed to concentrate. It just felt very her. Bobbi loved the care and enthusiasm with which Jemma distributed cupcakes to Bobbi’s group one lunchtime. Half of them were made with applesauce instead of butter, Jemma told her. Fitz had bet her they wouldn’t taste as good, so she wanted a blind test. Scientifically rigorous; fluffy and adorable. The eternal dichotomy of Jemma Simmons.

(The cupcake test was definitely not, Jemma maintained, an excuse to spend more of the day with Bobbi. And she definitely did not, she insisted, spend the rest of the day thinking about the way Bobbi had licked the soft pink icing off her lips, or how much Jemma wished those lips had been her own.)

Bobbi, of course, swiftly resigned herself to daydreaming alone about that icing and how good it would taste on Jemma’s lips. She dreamed about how Jemma’s pupils had dilated at the sight of it, and how much more it would’ve taken – not much more - to make her weak at the knees. She dreamed about spending a lazy morning baking with Jemma, dancing around in their pyjamas and making a mess of a fantasy kitchen she must have pulled from a movie or advertisement she’d since forgotten. Sometimes they had a dog, for some reason. She didn’t question it. It was only a daydream, after all. A stockpile of fuel for her unquenchable crush - not that she was trying that hard to quench it: if she only had two weeks, she was going to make it count.

But as those two weeks came to an end, Bobbi gathered her dreams and fantasies to one side, and committed herself to enjoying their last few days together for the fun and challenging assignment and vibrant friendship that it was. When the night of the science fair came at last, and it was time to present their project, it all flew by, flawless and fast. Too fast. Afterward, when the gravel crunched under her tyres as she pulled into Jemma’s drive to drop her home, Bobbi held her breath.

“Well… thanks for the lift,” Jemma said.

Her voice sounded a little shaky and wistful, but maybe that was just an effect of the silence, and Bobbi’s own mind. Or maybe she could feel it too – that slight ache that was now making a home in Bobbi’s chest. An ache full of the knowledge that they could have had so much more and that they were about to watch it slip away. Tomorrow, they’d return to their normal seats in biology. They’d return to their regular groups at lunch, and to sitting on opposite sides of the theatre in drama, and to their pre-This patterns of after school lives and extra curriculars. They’d return to how it was, which had been fine, but hadn’t been all it could be.

Still, Bobbi smiled.

“No problem,” she said, but the words left her lips just as Jemma took in a rush of air and blurted:

“How did you know?”

-

Jemma startled herself when the question came out, but her fingers refused to reach for the door handle and her body seemed determined to hold her here until she’d got some kind of response. First, Bobbi took a moment of silence to turn the car’s engine off (and to lock away her crush; it was not the time or the place for it). Then she looked back at Jemma with more longing than she meant to, and with a smile.

“Know about what?” she asked, because know about me, or know about you? felt like it would send Jemma running.

“Know about –“ Jemma stumbled through it. “You know, that you liked girls. How did you know? And, when? Why? What does it feel like?”

Not the questions of somebody curious, or looking for a thread to pull. No. These were questions Bobbi herself had asked, on more than one occasion, and they made her smile deepen.

“It feels amazing, first of all,” she said. “Although, there’s a lot of doubt involved too. I’m working on it, but sometimes it feels like there’s something to prove.”

Jemma felt her heart swell and shrink again, in a moment. Bobbi had answered a question she hadn’t thought to ask, and Jemma knew in that moment that Bobbi had seen through her. Strangely enough, though, it didn’t make her want to run. Rather, she felt like reaching down into herself and pulling out more of herself, of her soul, to show Bobbi. She listened instead.

“I guess I’d say I knew,” Bobbi continued, “a long time ago. Well, not that long. Middle school. My first kiss was a girl, even though my prom date was a guy. He dumped me the day before the dance, and my friend found me alone outside ‘coz I’d still gone for some reason, and we ended up kissing. Just a little peck on the lips, really, but it was a kiss. I was twelve. It opened up a door for me, I guess, and I went exploring through it, and here I am. But not everybody knows that young. And not everybody knows with a kiss. Sometimes it’s a lot more conceptual and harder to figure out. It’s like, you think you want that girl’s dress, you know, but then actually it’s more like… you want that girl’s dress on your bedroom floor.”

She laughed, and Jemma found herself laughing too. She’d been expecting this conversation to be a lot heavier, and while it certainly felt significant, with every piece of advice Bobbi offered, her heart felt lighter and lighter. Bobbi didn’t ask her to share her own feelings and talk through them – for which Jemma was grateful, although she did offer the occasional tidbit – but they talked for a long time about the nature of different forms of attraction and the complexity of figuring it all out. It seemed simple and complex both at once, Jemma thought to herself, and as Bobbi talked her through some of the labels – the complexities - she felt the acceptance – the simplicity – settle in the back of her heart and her mind.

I like girls.  

I like Bobbi.

I like girls.  

I like Bobbi.

Does she like me?  

“…and – oh, shit,” Bobbi cursed. “I’ve got to be home by midnight. Sorry to kick you out, but I’ve gotta go.”

“It’s no problem,” Jemma assured her. “I should be getting inside too. Thanks for the talk.”

“Anytime.”

“But- um, don’t tell anyone at school about it, okay? I’m still thinking through it.”

“Sure thing. Take your time.”

Jemma sighed, relieved and satisfied, and got out of the car, gathered her books, and strode up the drive with a spring in her step and a grin on her face. Bobbi grinned after her as she started up the car, and tried not to fist-pump the air as she drove away.

-

It didn’t go back to the way it was before – not quite. How could it, why would it, after that? Jemma did go back to spending more time with Fitz and Daisy, but she smiled at Bobbi when they passed in the hall, or sat across the room from each other. Bobbi put in the Good Word of a Popular Girl on Jemma’s behalf when she wanted something, and helped pull sway in the Student Council elections – in return, she jested, for some more of those applesauce cupcakes, which Jemma was happy to provide. They danced around each other for a while, a pleasant equilibrium of mutual crushing, while Jemma sorted herself out. Bobbi slipped her resources and kept her secrets. Jemma told Fitz and Daisy, and when she was ready, came to school with three little star badges in a row on her pencil case: one pink, one purple, one blue.

At a gesture from Jemma, Bobbi took the seat beside her instead of her usual in biology. Their partners swapped without a word, if perhaps a bit of a grin. Nobody questioned the ways of Bobbi Morse, but the rumour mill was in full swing by now. This bit of gossip was one of the juicier ones in the saga so far. Watching the other students murmur excitedly, Jemma tucked a lock of hair behind her ears. Bobbi shook her head.

“Ignore them,” she said, and nodded at the stars. “You figured something out?”

Jemma beamed, and felt her chest expand a little.

“I’m still tossing up between yellow and purple,” she said, “but it’s early days, so I’m happy.”

“Well, that’s good.” Bobbi found herself blushing, cheeks burning with the question she’d been hanging onto for so long. Instead, she asked: “What’d you get for production? Happy with that too?”

“Lead.” Jemma grinned smugly.

“Of course,” Bobbi agreed. “I’m stage manager.”

“Well, you know what that means.”

Jemma’s tone was laden with possibilities that captured Bobbi’s attention like the smell of freshly baked goods on a windowsill. She almost laughed at Bobbi’s expression as she expanded on her offer:

“Lots of after-school stays… Long rehearsal hours together - I’ll be called a lot, after all. And I might need a ride. A few rides, in fact.”

Jemma raised an eyebrow, and Bobbi caught on.

“Some of those rehearsals go to six, seven o’clock,” Bobbi mused. “We might have to get dinner together sometime.”

“That we might.”

“I guess it’s settled, then, isn’t it?”

“I guess it is.”

“How are you feeling?”