A bit of a tie in to my other fic, The Best Friends. I just needed to write some fluffy pregnant FItzSimmons for a change :P

Enjoy!


Fitz sighed, setting down his fork and watching as Jemma once again sprinted from their breakfast table and into the restroom.

It had been happening more and more often lately. But no matter his inner suspicions, Jemma insisted it was just the bug that seemed to be attacking every member of the Sci-Ops population. Something about the cafeteria food, but she knew as well as him that neither of them had set foot in there since their second week - well over two years ago by now.

Fitz slid back his chair, following after her to the open door. She was on her knees once he arrived, retching pitifully into the toilet bowl.

Swallowing down his nausea at the both the sight, smell, and sound, he bent down and gingerly pulled her long hair back behind her head. He slipped a hair tie off his wrist, as had become his ritual, and tied her locks back in a sloppy bun.

Jemma was mostly dry heaving by now, so he thought it safe to wet a cloth.

She took it gratefully, leaning back against the cool bathroom tile and sucking in breaths. She offered him a weary smile.

"Nasty bugger, isn't it?" She waved breezily. "I only hope you aren't unlucky enough to come down with it. You know, Sandy from communications caught it last week, and she's still -"

"Jemma," Fitz broke in quietly. "You know as well as I do I can't get sick from this."

Her brow furrowed, but Fitz saw right through her. "What do you mean, Fitz? It's just a stomach bug, nothing to worry about."

Fitz shook his head, eyes heavy. "It's - it's not that, Jems. You know it too,"

Her bottom lip slipped between her teeth. "I don't think you know what you're -"

"Are you pregnant?"

His eyes are moist, serious but hurting, and she can tell that she's ripping apart whatever is left between them. Friendship or not, it's all going down the drain with what she's about to say next, and they both know it.

"I don't know," she all but whispers, her hand slipping into his. Her voice is cracked with fear and uncertainty, and it's only now as he dares to glance at her that he really sees the shadows beneath her lashes and the dullness in her eyes.

They stay like that, arms pressed against each other, backs to the bathroom tile, hands intertwined. Neither of them know what to do next, neither knows what to say, but before he can stop himself, the words are tumbling from his lips.

"Is it mine?"

It's almost a whisper, but in the silence it's a gunshot, and that's all it takes for Jemma turn her head into his shoulder and stifle a sob.

That's all the proof he needs, and without hesitation he lifts her gently into his lap, pulling her closer, and presses a kiss into her hair.

He wishes the night could fall back into his mind, but it won't. All he can recall is the few waking moments of soft, bare skin against his before she's lurching out of his bed and gathering the clothes that they'd apparently pulled off each other in the night. That's all he can remember, all he can pull from the deepest depths of his mind.

His first time, being with Jemma, the creation of his child . . . He couldn't remember a damn thing.

"I did a test," Jemma rasped out beneath his chin. "In the lab, yesterday. Blood work, but I think I did it right. And if I did . . . Oh, God, Fitz,"

A quivering hand moved to cradle her flat belly, her chest heaving but no sound escaping her. She was trying to be strong, he realized. She was trying to hold in every emotion she'd kept bottled up for the past twenty four hours, and who knows how long before that.

"I don't, don't want to be callous," he mumbled into her hair. "But do you - do you want to keep it?"

"Yes,"

She answers without hesitation, a fierceness to her words. Belatedly, he remembers Jemma saying so long ago that she wasn't meant to be an only child. Of course she wouldn't see fit to eliminate something that hasn't had the chance to live yet. Especially not after having come so close to having a sibling and losing it before that dream ever began.

"Okay." He kissed her crown again, carefully, scared to have her push him away. "We're going to be okay, yeah?"

She sniffled, her thumb still pressed tightly to where a tiny organism had taken root. "You'll - You'll stay?"

"Stay?" His voice cracked. "Jemma, pregnant or no, I'd follow you anywhere." He holds her just a bit closer, inhaling the vanilla lavender of her shampoo. "If you'll have me, that is,"

She laughed slightly, a few spare syllables, before snugging herself deeper into his hold. "I suppose we've already had each other." She whispered. "Funny, we haven't even kissed since the eighth grade, and yet here we are."

He quirks a smile. "I think we did that and more, Jems."

Fitz can't make out her face, but he knows she's grinning. Softly, bitterly, but she's smiling.

He strokes her back, ignoring the fact that they need to get to class, and just exists. Perhaps he's dreamed of this, Jemma telling him they're starting a family, even if not in this context. Maybe he imagined falling in love together first. It was too late for him, but for her . . .

He brushes the memory away before he can feel his hope surface. She's . . . She's still Jemma. Only now they'd gone and gotten drunk, and now she was carrying his baby.

God, she's my best friend. And she's got my child in her.

Crude? Perhaps. But the more he broke it down, the fact that they had done this together, even with the alcohol . . . He felt ripped apart and whole all at once.

Because they had seven and a half months to figure out what the hell they were doing before the world got a tiny bit bigger. Before his personal universe exploded, before a human half him and half his best friend stared up at them.

Before Jemma became a mother.

Before he became a father.

"I'm going to be a da,'" he murmured, eyes fluttering shut. "We're going to have a tiny lil' one running about to teach the world to,"

Jemma's chest shuddered with her breathing. "I'm not ready."

He smiled through the tears threatening. "Neither am I, Jems. But we'll figure it out, yeah? FitzSimmons. We've invented machines that can smell, surely we can raise a babe,"

"Yeah," Jemma agreed meekly, quieting.

He stroked a hand through her hair lightly, marveling at the fact he wasn't holding just Jemma, but their child as well.

He felt a rush of guilt. It was his bloody fault, all of this. If he hadn't been too drunk to reach his wallet, to grab that silver packet. If he'd had the state of mind to just stop.

"Did I hurt you?" He whispered. "I . . . I didn't assault you, did I?"

Jemma laughed bitterly. "Oh, Fitz. I may not have consented under the best terms, but I'm sure those bites on your neck proved enough." She shifted slightly in his arms, taking in a deep breath. "I . . . I didn't ask for this. I never have. But for my first time to be you . . ."

Her hand slipped up his bicep soothingly before coming to lie on her stomach. ". . . and, Fitz - there's no one I'd rather be doing this with. You know that, right?"

He pulled in a breath. "I - I never had a dad. I don't know how to do you right, Jems. How to raise this kid, how to act. I want to do this, but I just . . . I don't know how to be a dad."

Jemma sat up lightly, winding her arms around his neck and ducking her forehead into the dip of his shoulder and neck. "And I don't know how to be a mum," she whispered. "But I know we're going to figure this out. FitzSimmons, right?"

He chuckled softly, tears finally breaking through. "Yeah,"


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