He shouldn't be here. I should not be here. And he definitely couldn't die yet.
"Still so many monkeys to see," he muttered absently, as he fiddled with the strap across his chest.
He was a physicist, for Christ's sake, a boring, lunch-at-his-desk physicist, and certainly not someone who let his friends—curse Daisy and her womanly trickery—drag him out for beers with the IT Department. And even if he were, he definitely didn't get into debates with coworkers about wind tunnel technology and whether or not the indoor skydiving center that just opened up downtown could compare to the real thing.
Okay, so maybe he was the sort of person to do all of those things.
But he definitely should have known to stop drinking when the guys in Daisy's group realized that Leo Fitz would never, ever admit to being scared. Because now here he was, thirteen thousand feet in the air, trembling violently in front of an open hatch and clear blue sky.
At least he could blame his shivers on the plane.
"Nervous?" shouted his instructor from behind him.
...Or, maybe not.
He whipped his head around. "Me? Delightful," he yelled into the engine roar, gulping slightly. "I'm very keen to throw myself out of this perfectly safe aeroplane and fall at 200 kilometers per hour, with only a few bits of nylon between me and certain death."
"And me, Fitz. I'll be there as well." Jemma smiled kindly from the periphery of his goggles. "There's no shame in backing out, you know. It's perfectly normal to—"
"I'm not afraid." The response was automatic, conditioned, and he'd nearly managed to convince himself it was true, when he remembered that he was currently harnessed to the most beautiful woman he'd ever met, and that in minutes her body would be all but plastered against his in midair, and that the past few hours of training with her had not prepared him at all for that contingency.
At least I'm not the big spoon. Though, he doubted there'd be anything to worry about there, not with the rather pronounced wedgie and lack of circulation that came courtesy of his constricted rig. Not to mention abject terror made for a very cold shower. Now, if he could just avoid any other embarrassing bodily functions, he'd count it a win.
"Could you just…" he breathed out, shutting his eyes. "Can you remind me what I'm supposed to do?" He'd seen a video, but Jemma's pre-flight instructions had been lost among the freckles on her nose and the enthusiasm in her voice.
"Of course! Preparation is key, after all." Luckily she sounded indulgent, rather than annoyed. "We're hooked together here, and here. Feel how secure that is when I pull on it." Jemma's hands were suddenly on him, rubbing at his shoulders and hips, and he took a moment to appreciate the baggy jumpsuit he'd been forced to wear.
"After we exit, we'll do some simple maneuvers during freefall…" She rearranged his arms, the scent of her vanilla hand lotion tickling his nose as she wordlessly reminded him of the various positions he'd be using and he tried not to imagine those same positions face-to-face. "And I'll hand you to the toggles for a bit after we deploy, but I promise, I'll take them back straightaway."
His breath whooshed out of him as he nodded, eyes growing wider as Jemma peeked out the hatch to catch a glimpse of the landing site. "Oh, Fitz, your biggest job here is to enjoy the ride and leave the tricky bits to me," she chuckled. "I'm the one who's done this before, remember?"
He mumbled something that she must have taken as affirmative.
"Good. Now, I'm right behind you," came her reassuring words, loud but sweet in his ear. "And I won't let anything take us away from each other, yeah?"
I don't believe in fear, he told himself vehemently. I believe in trust. "Yeah." He had to stop thinking and just do. "Let's go."
-o-
Fitz's stomach shot into his throat as the canopy unfurled high above them, yanking them up like marionettes before dropping them feet-down. Sweet spicy Thai Chili Jesus. He was falling. Actually, properly falling. The previous minute had been all air resistance and adrenaline—but this was gravity. He felt himself suddenly very small, no more than the speck he must appear from the hangar, just one piece of the Earth at the mercy of its most basic forces.
Jemma whooped next to his head. "That's my favorite part!"
"You're a nutter!"
She chortled in exhilaration, and her roller-coaster voice felt at odds with the brisk, efficient way she worked the rig and loosened his leg straps. Fitz groaned at the massive uptick in comfort, slumping bonelessly into his restraints and leaning his head back on Jemma's shoulder. Between him and the sun, a backlit rectangle of tomato-orange fabric fluttered against unbounded blue. Fitz dropped his gaze and watched the neat squares of farmland below them twirl and dip.
"See? Safe as houses." Her joyous sigh left no doubt as to why she'd chosen such a mad profession.
"Hmmph." His heart was still trying to outpace their descent. "If by that you mean most deaths occur inside houses, then sure."
"Oh, you're impossible," she scolded, squeezing his arm briefly. "At least smile for the camera!"
Fitz turned his head towards the camcorder and gave it his best scowl. He'd paid quite a sum to be up there, thank you very much, and he could make any face he liked.
But he caught sight of Jemma in the camera viewscreen, grinning like a child, and now that his chances of harm had gone from definitely getting killed to probably getting maimed, he allowed that perhaps this wasn't the worst way to spend an afternoon. Honestly, just the feel of her pressed against his back was probably worth a couple hundred dollars. Not that he would pay for the touch of a woman. Oh, help.
"So how many times have you done this?" he blurted, more as a distraction than anything else.
"Isn't that the sort of thing you should've asked on the plane?" she joked.
… Aaand, why's she dodging the question?
"Is it not many? Oh, Lord, are you new at this?" Sure, one was more than enough for him, but she was meant to be a professional.
"Fitz, stop!" she chided. "I've done over a thousand jumps. And before that I trained with Phil Coulson, whom I once saw parachute into a target the size of a children's pool." She tsked. "Do you honestly think I'd be up here with you if I weren't very, very good at my job?"
He spluttered. "Yes, but— over a thou— good God, woman! You've got a death wish!"
"Says the man who willingly jumped out of a plane with me."
Willingly. Hah.
"It was a dare," he grumbled. Sort of.
Jemma patted his shoulder to get his attention and pointed. "Look over there." She spun them lazily around, gesturing to the horizon where a couple of man-made lakes were twinkling. "And there." A lush patch of thickly treed dark green stood out among the browns and yellows of the farms. "There." In the distance, the wide gray shimmer of the city was nothing more than an elaborate architect's model.
"I was a kid the first time I jumped, seventeen years old with a million questions… and I just remember thinking, 'I can see the whole world from up here!' What more perfect opportunity could I ask for?"
"So you decided hurtling towards the ground at terminal velocity was the only way to do that?"
"Hush, you." She'd moved her face closer to his ear, to better speak over the wind. "It doesn't matter how many times I jump, I always feel like this is the closest anyone will ever get to flying." She continued breathlessly. "We're like Icarus and Daedalus."
"Oh, that's very reassuring," he snorted, without much bite.
"Pffft. Superheroes, then, if you like." Her voice took on a dreamy quality. "But it is magnificent, isn't it?"
Knowing she couldn't see his face, he permitted himself a grudging smile.
"I'll accept that the view's not bad," he hedged.
"How generous." She poked his side, between the harness straps. "Admit it, Mr. Fusspot, you'll be itching to go back up the minute we get on the ground." She said it with the confidence of experience, as if this were just another amusement park ride.
"Ho ho, nooo. I'm not that daft."
"Really? Had me fooled," she bantered, devilish.
"Funny. Tell me Jemma, do you often take advantage of your captive audiences to practice your comedy?"
"Hmm, only the ones who could stand to gain a sense of humour."
"I don't mind," he hastened to add. "You should definitely practice your comedy; it needs it." He felt what might have been a kick at the back of his shin.
"Oh, dear," she deadpanned. "Leg spasm."
"Hey— hey!" He twisted as best he could to wave a finger back at her. "Pretty sure the waiver I signed didn't include accidental nerve damage from getting kicked by my instructor!"
She grabbed his wrists and repositioned him, snickering. "Face forward, now. There's the landing site!"
"Finally!" he yelled, simultaneously relieved and wishing he could have had another hour in the air.
"Pull your legs up! After we hit ground, they might feel a bit wobbly!"
"Yes, Jemma, that's what happens when bones break on impact!"
"Now who's the comedian?" she shouted back.
The muddy field rushed up at him, impossibly fast, and he angled himself the way she'd shown him. Several jarring seconds, two dirt clouds, and what he could only assume was a minor heart attack later, Jemma was placidly unclipping herself from the chute as Fitz bent over and tried to remember how to speak.
"Well, that was bloody terrifying," he coughed out. She grinned, no more out of breath than if she'd just finished a stroll through the park.
"Are you alright? Can you walk?" She held out her hand for him to take, so he did.
"Yep. I can walk," he wheezed, straightening. "In fact, as soon as I get out of here I'm gonna walk myself straight to the bar and have a nice, stiff drink."
"Big plans," she teased. "Good thing I spared your legs all those stress fractures."
"Yes, yes." He wobbled his head side to side. "You're brave and capable and we're all terribly glad you're here."
"And I'm funnier than you?"
"Don't push it."
-o-
In the end, Fitz made a hash out of offering to carry the canopy back to the hangar, unsuccessfully attempting to fold and re-pack into its original configuration, tripping all over himself as they trudged through the grass into the waning afternoon sun. But it wasn't until he was safely in the parking lot that he noticed Jemma jogging after him.
"Jemma? Did I forget something?" When he saw her nod, a momentary flash of panic had him convinced he'd walked out without paying. Oh, bollocks, was I meant to tip? Bloody Hell. Fifteen percent of "way too much" would end up at "quite a lot."
"Just checking you have your DVD," she beamed.
"Ah." He ducked his head, embarrassed, and held up the gleaming disc. "Video evidence of my daredevil shenanigans, check."
"And… you're sure you've not forgotten anything else?" She sounded… wait. Hopeful? Why does she sound hopeful?
Across the shiny cover of his DVD, ten digits in black marker caught his eye. He smiled.
"I forgot… to ask you to have a drink with me?" he tried.
"Oh, was that it? I knew you must've missed something," she smirked.
"Hmm. Brain like a cheese, me." He turned to unlock his car (and hide his smile) and held open the passenger side door. And waited. After a few more seconds, his ego began to deflate. "Sorry, did you not mean— we could, ehm, another day? 'Cause that's fine, I wasn't—"
"No, I'd like to go for a drink." Her eyes held a glint of mischief. "Tonight."
"Okay…"
"It's only…" She frowned in mock trepidation. "A car, Fitz?" She bit her lip. "Don't you know how dangerous those things are?"
-o-
Later that night, when he finally worked up the courage to kiss her, Fitz would realize that despite how they met, Jemma Simmons had never needed a parachute to sweep him off his feet.
Author's Notes:
Based on one of those "Imagine Your OTP" prompts about a skydiving instructor and their student, because I was rewatching clips from FZZT and I can't help turning angst into fluff. We all know he totally would've followed her off the plane, and now he gets to.
Also, remember Jemma dragging Fitz onto the flying circus and away from his safe non-mobile lab? At first I picked her to be the instructor simply because she was the one who jumped out of a plane, but the more I thought about it, the more I think it could fit with her sense of adventure and wonder.
And apparently skydiving instructors, it's a real boys' club. So there's Jemma being told she's too short, that she'll never pass the number of jumps she needs to get certified, that she doesn't have the muscles she needs to flare the drogue or carry the rig all day, and she ends up being a badass instructor because eff the patriarchy, that's why.
Plus I miss cowardly baby Season 1 Fitz, guys. He was so. Goshdarn. Insistent. That he wasn't scared.
Hope you liked it!