A/N: The began as speculation for episode 3x03 and then that all went out the window at some point. It's not quite speculation, but it's not quite AU either. Mostly canon-compliant in the post 3x02 world, I think. Much thanks to amandajbruce for editing and giving me plot suggestions when I got stuck. Read her stuff if you have a chance, it's excellent!

"Do you have to go?" Jemma's fingers twist at her waist and she forces a smile to her face. "I mean," she hedges, hopeful. "What's another day?"

He rolls his shirt sleeves to his elbow and smiles in return. There's a lightness to him that seems so foreign to her; it's been so long. Her smile falters slightly and he steps toward her, his hands reaching for her arms. Her eyes instinctively fall shut at his touch and she holds back a contented sigh.

"I have to get back to work," he says softly. "I spent so long avoiding everything to-" He pauses and she knows how his sentence ends. She's already heard a few of the stories. Skye- Daisy- told her that Fitz had been incorrigible, single-minded and obsessive; it's something she appreciates more than she can even find the words to say.

He clears his throat, his gaze falls to the floor and he pulls his hands away and tucks them into the pockets of his trousers. "Anyway, I've left everything to Bobbi for long enough. Besides," he adds with a shy grin as he turns and reaches for his watch on the night table, sliding it over his wrist and latching it closed. "Soon you'll be back and the lab'll be normal again. Bobbi's good, but she's not you."

At this she finally smiles genuinely. She appreciates the sentiment even though a small part of her thinks he's pandering to her. They'd walked past the lab when she'd first arrived and she'd stared at the glass bottles, burners and chemicals that lined the walls and racked her brain for their names. She'd come up empty. It was as though everything she'd once known had been shoved deep into the recesses of her prefrontal cortex in favour of knowledge revolving around circumpolar objects, celestial poles and asterisms.

"Okay," she says and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear bowing her head shyly as she pulls at the zipper of the oversized men's hoodie she's wearing. "I can't wait."

When she dares to look up she notices him giving her an odd look.

"It'll come back," he says as if reading her mind. "I promise. Trust me, I know more than I'd like to about the brain's workin's." He points to his temple to illustrate his point.

She nods her head. "I know. It's just been so long."

He reaches for her hand squeezes it. "I'll see you in a few hours, okay?"

She wants to be brave, wants him to know that she can be by herself for long periods of time, that the planet hadn't affected her as much as it had. "Okay." Even she can tell her response is unconvincing.

"I'm just down the hall. If you need me, just come get me. Or call." He pats his back pocket where his phone sits. "I left yours in the drawer, okay?"

"I'll be fine, Fitz," she insists hollowly, mustering the most convincing voice that she can.

"I know," he replies, nodding his head. "Just in case, though."

He presses his lips to her cheek, a move previously reserved for Christmas and New Year's when they'd been just friends. Now they're… well, she's not quite sure exactly; her brain is far too scrambled for her to piece together any of her proper feelings. She is acutely aware, however, of the pleasant rush that she feels when he's near and how much she misses him when he leaves even for the shortest of minutes.

She also remembers how much she missed him and how heavy her heart had felt when she'd thought she'd never see him again.

When the door closes behind him, her chest squeezes tightly and she inhales and exhales in a practiced attempt at keeping herself calm. She focuses on Fitz's bookshelf and notices for the first time the sheer number of chemistry and biology textbooks he's tucked between the physics and engineering ones. She smiles and chooses one randomly from the shelf, hugging it against her chest.

In spite of her scrambled brain, she's fairly certain she might be in love with her best friend.

…

The reading and studying helps keep her calm. She doesn't feel the need to check over her shoulder as much and her heart races less with every chapter she passes. She'll have to ask Fitz if he has any of the recent issues of Scientific American; she's curious as to what's been discovered while she's been gone.

She loses count of the hours that pass as she reads when suddenly there's a whirring sound from overhead. In hindsight it's probably just the air conditioner or a secondary generator starting up, but she believes that it's them again.

Fitz's carpet is no longer soft with a beige hue, but a blue, gritty one. His bed seems to fade, disappearing and becoming a jagged rock face that taunts her with its false facade of security. She gasps and scrambles to her feet, her vision blurring and her heart racing uncontrollably. She knows the rock provides limited protection and she can hear them approaching. She needs to get out, needs to hide, needs to-

The floor beneath her feet trembles and she falls forward, reaching blindly for the door knob, yanking the door open and rushing into the hallway. Her body slams into the opposing wall and she presses herself against it, letting the concrete cool her burning skin. Her chest rises and falls in quick succession; panic setting deep into her chest.

"Jemma?"

She nearly jumps out of her skin at the sound of her name. She wants to bury herself beneath the sand- carpeting. It's carpeting, she repeats to herself, desperately clinging to reality.

"I was just coming to find you!" Fitz says and from the tone of his voice he's blessedly unaware of what he's just walked into. She takes a deep breath and exhales. She's unsurprised that it's with the familiar lilt of his voice that her vision begins to clear; in her periphery she can see his room transforming back to its dull beige colouring.

Relieved, she leans her head against the wall. "Hi," she greets breathlessly, her voice gravelly as she forces her clenched fist to relax. When he's close enough, she reaches for his hand and he startles slightly with concern.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," she squeaks, nodding her head fervently and breathing through the tightness in her chest. "I'm just glad you're here." Her pulse begins to steady, the feel of his skin helping ground her.

He nods, silent for a moment, studying her. "I shouldn't have left you," he says at last, concern etched across his face.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Jemma-"

She stands upright, still holding fast to his hand, not quite willing to relinquish his touch. "See? Right as rain."

He tilts his head slightly, eyeing her suspiciously. "Jemma."

"Fitz," she teases softly in return, forcing the softness into her voice. "I'm okay. Truly. Maybe just a bit hungry," she concedes.

"Hungry?" The word seems to shake him awake and he smiles. "I have an idea," he says, tugging gently at her hand. "Come with me."

…

She wants to cry, but for once it's out of sheer appreciation and love for the man that stands before her covered in pancake mix, gripping the handle of a whisk between his teeth.

"Da mancakes are ohmost done," he mutters almost incoherently through his teeth. "Can ye get tha maypa siruhpah?"

He looks absolutely ridiculous with batter splattered on his cheek and her heart swells. She can't help the giggle that surfaces and soon her chest is heaving with laughter.

"Wha?" He asks, his lips relaxing slightly causing the whisk to drop from his mouth. He catches it effortlessly. "What's so funny?"

She wipes at the tears that pool in the corners of her eyes and steps toward him, circling her arms around his torso. "I was right, you know?"

His own arms pull her tighter against him. "Right about what?"

"It's one way of cheering people up."

"What is?" His breath is hot against her temple and she smiles contentedly into his chest.

"Pancakes."

He chuckles lightly. "They help." Fitz's hand rubs gently at her back in soothing circular strokes. "But they can't solve everything," he adds with a sigh.

"I know."

"I wish they would though."

She nods, pulling back to look up at him, but not relinquishing her hold on him. "Me too."

There's a moment that hangs in the air between them. She can hear the pancakes sizzle on the griddle and she's acutely and annoyingly aware of the buzz from the kitchen's light fixture. The clicking of the second hand of the clock moves by at almost a deafening pace, but it's the sound of Fitz's tongue running the length of his lips that she chooses to focus on. She won't let the other sounds pull her into the past; not now.

"Jemma?"

Her heart leaps in her chest, squeezing affectionately. She's pretty certain that her earlier thought was correct: scrambled brain or not, she's categorically, absolutely in love with Leo Fitz.

She doesn't answer him directly, instead, with a shy smile she pushes upward and presses her lips chastely to his. Her eyes fall closed and she can feel his fingers tense at the base of her back. She slides her lips open and he finally takes the hint, shifting gently against her, his hands relaxing to her waist.

The world around her silences for the first time since her return. It's a blessed relief and she wants desperately to hold onto it, to hold on to him. To feel him.

They part too soon for her liking and with their separation the sensations return all at once. The griddle, the ticking clock and the buzz from the light fixture all stun her and she blinks rapidly, trying to manage her senses.

"Fitz," she says, wincing inadvertently.

He looks at her and his grip at her waist tightens as the blush on his cheeks wanes with concern. "Are you-"

"The pancakes!" She interrupts, grinning in spite of the throb at her temple as she motions toward the now blackened pancakes.

"Oh!" He jumps from her arms and turns toward the griddle, pulling the plug from the wall in his haste to stop them from burning any further.

"A little overdone?"

Fitz frowns. "They're ruined." With a spatula he scrapes the offending food from the griddle and dumps it into the nearby trash bin. "And we're out of mix."

"Probably my fault."

He raises an eyebrow. "That we're out of mix?"

"For the distraction," she says bashfully, unable to meet his gaze.

"Ah." He nods his head slowly as he approaches her, his face far too serious given the situation. "They were meant to cheer you up though."

She reaches for him, letting the tips of her fingers graze across the skin of his arm as she sinks her hand into his. It's a move that months ago would've been strange, even awkward. Now, she's not sure what she'd do without it, it's become so familiar.

"Pancakes aren't the only thing that cheers me up," Jemma whispers, looking up at him, her cheeks pinking lightly.

"Oh?" He replies curiously.

She nods and steps closer toward him. "There's you."

.:FIN:.

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