Author's notes:

After the events of Season 5, FrozenFitz has already been located and rescued, and he and Simmons are taking a much-needed break in Perthshire. Of course, the universe probably won't let them get away with some simple rest and relaxation.

The title comes from words Jemma said to Flint in Season 5, episode 10: "Hardened by pressure, hollowed by loss."

The fic will be 4 chapters long.

Chapter One

"May I offer you tea?"

The Bed and Breakfast was the only one in the area, and the innkeeper – a middle-aged man who had introduced himself as Marcas – barely let Fitz and Simmons through the front door before offering them tea.

"Your room will be ready momentarily," Marcas continued. "You're welcome to enjoy the tea in the drawing room while you wait. With the cold rain outside, I hope you might find tea by the fireplace to be…well, cozy perhaps."

"That would be lovely," Jemma murmured. One of her hands held Fitz's, the other her duffle bag. Years in SHIELD had taught them to travel light.

She and Fitz exchanged a glance as they settled onto the plush sofa, which was a muted shade of brown. With Marcas walking towards what was presumably the kitchen, they were the only two occupants of the living room. The cheery fireplace blazed, and above it stood a painting of a bucolic landscape. Several bookshelves lined the room, filled with musty, hardcover books. Across from the sofa, another portrait occupied the wall, this one of a Renaissance-era woman complete with creamy pale skin and curly hair piled high. The walls looked rich and elegant; the paneling was dark, but several windows would allow in light once the rain ceased.

"It's a lovely place," Jemma said, placing a hand on Fitz's arm. With her damp jacket removed and the fireplace burning, she started to feel warmer already.

Fitz nodded mutely. "Been a long time since I sat on something so soft," he said quietly. He sat upright, almost as if wasn't ready to settle into the luxurious sofa.

Jemma saw his eyes scanning the room. He still had so much to take in, she knew. They had had many discussions on the Zephyr, and Jemma did not want to rush him to have more right now.

"It's so good to be with you," Fitz added, his voice a combination of relief, pain, and wistfulness.

Jemma touched a hand to his cheek. "I feel the same," she whispered back. "And I am so glad that we put our foot down about us taking this break."

"Well, we earned it since you – I mean we – I guess…saved the world," Fitz remarked with a bemused chuckle. He closed his eyes for a moment. "It's too much," he said, his voice somber again. "Coulson's gone – and I didn't get to say goodbye. We're married – or you're married. I did something horrible to Daisy. And you lost me….and then found me again." He reached his hands up to rub his temples.

"You've only had a few days to begin to process it," Jemma said plainly with a hint of steel underneath. "Give yourself time."

He looked at her. "You look like you're doing well. Sometimes I can't tell, but you look….like you're alright?" His words were somewhere between a statement and a question.

Jemma nodded. "I am," she confirmed. "I am so thrilled to have you back that I can handle anything else." One of her hands reached around his back and stroked it.

"So what are we here for then? A honeymoon, even though I have no memory of the wedding? A chance to press pause? Time to work through our traumas?" Fitz asked.

She continued to stroke his back. "I propose we let whatever needs to happen here...just happen. Any or all of the above. I myself have no expectations other than spending some time alone with you."

As Marcas entered the room with a tea tray, Fitz allowed a shadow of a smile. "That sounds good to me. No expectations, just some time together."

"Here you are," Marcas said, setting the tray down on the coffee table in front of them, next to the requisite books. "It's brewed with roses and lotus blossoms. Also I provided a selection of scones and cookies – my husband bakes them fresh, and the cookies are still warm. Though neither of you look like you eat too many scones or cookies."

From the almost-pleading look in his eyes – and from the girth of his ample midsection – it appeared that Marcas would love nothing more than to join his guests for treats and conversation. Jemma was caught between wanting to be kind to the innkeeper, and desperately wanting time alone with Fitz.

"You, uh, wouldn't mind if my fiance and I had some time alone, would you?" Jemma asked softly, with a tilt of her head. "We haven't had much time together these past few months. Forces beyond our control have kept us apart." They had agreed to present themselves as engaged for this trip; Jemma's ring certainly had no diamond on it, but she couldn't have cared less if anyone judged them for that.

"Of course!" Marcas responded, straightening his posture. "In fact, we have no other guests scheduled to arrive until Friday, so the run of the place is yours. Please make yourself at home and explore the inn all you would like. When it stops raining, you'll find the gardens to be gorgeous and peaceful." He turned back towards the kitchen, paused, and asked, "What time would you like breakfast? We can have it ready any time between eight and ten."

Jemma heard the question and almost wanted to laugh. She hardly knew what day it was or when Friday would arrive, and she was used to having to make decisions that carried far greater consequences than when to eat breakfast. And of course Fitz hadn't had any choices about when he ate during his time in prison.

Fitz answered, "Nine would be good," and Jemma was glad to hear him making the statement.

Marcas nodded and left the room.

"No expectations," Fitz repeated. He looked into her eyes, and Jemma's heart danced. This was Fitz. This was the man she fell in love with and married. He was wounded, yes, but so was she. They could recover together. "Just time alone together. It sounds like paradise."

"Paradise indeed," Jemma said. Wordlessly and simultaneously, each closed their eyes and moved in for a kiss. It was a delicate, lingering, slow kiss and it was just what they needed. The tea and cookies would no longer be piping hot by the time they reached for them.

The housekeeper led them to their room. The enormous bed with its comforter and numerous pillows looked like something they could sink into and never return from. The room had its own fireplace right by the bed, and a wall tapestry in the same reds and browns of the drawing room hung nearby too. The ensuite bathroom boasted a marble counter and a sizable claw-foot tub.

"I almost can't take in all of this," Jemma said, eyes wide, looking around the room. Yet another bookcase was ensconced here as well, boasting more antique books. Jemma partly wanted to run her fingers over them and take in their scents; she also remembered Fitz saying that books were almost all he had been given to work with while in prison. She wondered if he might disdain them now, because of that. She herself would have been happy to throw any devices with screens into the ocean.

Fitz's heart pounded slightly, and he recognized the feeling as awe. He looked at Jemma. "It's beautiful but I almost don't care what it looks like. We're here alone together. I cannot tell you how much I dreamed of this. I- I feel like I want to just absorb you with my eyes, and look at you all day. Sometimes I have to blink because I can't believe we're here, together."

"I know," Jemma breathed, placing her hands on his chest. "It's a lot. It's all been too much."

As wordlessly as they had fallen into a kiss inside the drawing room, they now just melted into a hug. As during the kiss in the drawing room, time simply floated to a halt. They remained locked in an embrace with no desire to move. Fitz felt a bit of wetness against his chin and knew that Jemma was silently leaking a few tears.

"Tears of happiness?" he whispered.

"Yes. Maybe a bit of being overwhelmed too, but mostly happiness."

After another indeterminate amount of time passed, Fitz looked at the windows and walked towards them. They were bay windows in a horse-shoe pattern with cushioned window seats, and they overlooked the gardens. "The rain's let up," he observed. "Drizzling a bit, but doesn't look too bad."

And once again, Fitz received confirmation that they were indeed psychically linked. "You spent so much time locked up – and I was mostly indoors for a while too. Do you want to take a walk and enjoy some fresh air?" Jemma asked.

"That is precisely what I was thinking."

The rain, however, had other plans. Fitz and Simmons had just enough time to put their jackets back on, begin a brisk walk, and start to take in the bell heather, marsh marigold, and the blue hogweed before the rain returned with a vengeance. As they held hands, the couple dashed back inside the inn, racing up the main staircase to their room.

They had started a fire before they left for their walk, and were very grateful for it now.

"Well, I suppose we should get out of this wet clothing," Jemma said, her eyes wide, as they stood between the fireplace and their bed.

"Yes." Fitz's eyes glanced sideways for a second. "Though technically only our jackets and trousers are wet. We don't have to remove everything."

Jemma gasped with mock horror as she unzipped her jacket and removed it. "But why wouldn't we?" She unfastened her trousers and began to remove them as well. She then reached for Fitz, who had divested himself of his wet jacket. Jemma placed a kiss on one of his ears before whispering into it, "You do want to use that bed now, don't you?"

"I do," he said, the two words full of emotion and weight. Then he paused for a moment and looked down.

"What is it?" she encouraged, her voice gentle.

"It's just been odd, is all. On the Zephyr, I had such conflicting feelings. Mostly I wanted to grab you and never leave one of the bunks with you – but then sometimes I felt…."

He let his voice trail off. Jemma remained silent and looked at him with love, one of her hands reaching to hold his. She had been hoping that he'd talk about this.

Fitz continued. "I can't explain it, but maybe I was just too overwhelmed and that's why I didn't initiate anything the past few days. My body just felt strange, and my brain felt stranger. And there was so much to process." He squeezed her hand, and Jemma saw the fire in his eyes again. "I feel more like myself now. Thank you, Jemma, for suggesting this place," he said, with fervor in his voice.

She smiled. "I thought you perhaps needed a dose of your motherland - and to just get off of a spaceship for a spell, too." She then stepped back so she could continue to disrobe. When she was finished, Jemma glanced up and saw that look, again, on Fitz's face and it made her heart dance. It was the look where it appeared that he wanted to either devour her as a very hungry child might devour a warm cookie, or he wanted to worship her as if she were a goddess, or he wanted to stare at her in awe, too paralyzed to move.

He held the expression for a spell but then snapped into action. His garments were rapidly discarded and unceremoniously allowed to fall onto the carpet. She pulled back the covers first and entered the bed, and he followed a second later.

The chill of the rainy garden was soothed by the soft and thick blankets. The fireplace continued to crackle in the background as the couple kissed passionately and endlessly. The rain outside intensified and rattled against the windows, but the oblivious couple was lost in their kisses. Jemma and Fitz's only challenge right now was that each wanted only to pleasure the other; each wanted the other to lie back and be tended to.

"Are we going to have to Rochambeau?" Fitz asked, laughing. Jemma could see, in the soft glow of the fire, that the smile reached his eyes and that warmed her up as much as any of the room's attributes.

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time we've had to resort to that in bed!" Jemma remarked.

Jemma won the Rochambeau.

"Damnit!" Fitz exclaimed, half-jokingly and half-seriously. "You're going to make me lie on my back, you're going to force me to endure your mouth around me until I can barely hold it, and then you're going to get on top of me and by that time I'm not going to be able to last more than a few minutes! And you're not going to let me do what I really want to do, which mostly involves licking you endlessly and then staying inside you as long as I can."

Jemma paused for a few moments and listened to his words. "Okay," she said simply and brightly. "Let's say that you won this one then!" She turned onto her back and opened herself up to him. "Have at it. We can pretend that I win next time instead."

"Really?" Fitz asked, incredulous and delighted. "I win?"

"Yes. Although when you're licking me, I am going to regale you with tales of everything I plan to do to you next time. They will be quite explicit."

Many long moments later, Jemma basked in the sensations of the man she loved on top of her, their bodies entwined and moving together, the feelings almost too intense for all the eye contact.

And hours after that, they sat together naked on the window seats, Jemma in between Fitz's legs. They watched the thunderstorm play out and admired the garden, watching the plants sway in the wind. They ate the sandwiches that Jemma had packed along with the uneaten baked goods from earlier, sometimes licking a stray morsel off of each other. They didn't leave their room until breakfast the next morning.

TO BE CONTINUED