Simmons was staring at Fitz from across the lab as he worked diligently, retraining his hands to function with his brain. He pretended not to notice at first, but her gaze was off-putting and uncomfortable.

"Will you stop … staring at me?" He stuttered.

A moment of silence passed. She straightened her back defiantly, tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear and spoke with complete clarity.

"No."

Her unwavering response had shocked him, their eyes locking as he processed her answer. The quizzical look on his face was emphasised with a slight head tilt.

"No? What do you … How come you … No?" He concluded pathetically.

Simmons stood now, taking a step towards his station. Her actions were almost as defiant as her words. She stopped firmly in front of Fitz, with his arms crossed and his perplexed expression.

"You have a beard now." She stated matter-of-factly, proving her point by reaching out to touch his face.

"Yes, well…" he began as he batted her hand away lightly, "These…" throwing his hands up in frustration, "don't work as they're supposed to."

His hands dropped uselessly to his side and his gaze fell. He was not a fan of admitting his shortcomings, especially to Simmons, especially considering she knew this already, having watched his futile attempts to use a screwdriver earlier.

"I'd like to help." She began; just as sure as she'd been earlier. However, he cut her off.

"I don't want your help, I don't want anyone's help, I just want to … I'd like to … I wish I could…" He let his words fade out as he mimicked using a razor.

"If you had let me finish," she said pointedly, which earnt an eye roll from Fitz, "What I'd like to do, is help you. This help, however, will require you to do something for me as well. I would like to help you shave your face, and in return, I want you to shave my legs. Tit for tat."

The quizzical look had been replaced with one of shock, and potentially horror, which forced Simmons to add, "But only up to my knee, mind, I'm not that type of girl, Fitz!"

Fitz did not have a valid argument as to why this wouldn't work. Simmons was offering him a fair trade of services, and whilst he knew it was in part an excuse on her behalf to help him and to finally remove the offending stubble on his face, he had to admire her ability to come up with a solution that seemed fair.

And so, that is how Fitz found himself sat in the bathroom of the Playground, dressed in his undershirt with Simmons hovering over him. She shook the can of shaving cream rigorously, the marginally crude motion not lost on him. However, Simmons remained unaware of her actions as she babbled away about the history of beards. Squirting the cream into her hand, she lathered it up before gently rubbing it into his facial hair. Try as he might, the sensation caused him to close his eyes, pushing his neck out further in a bid to be closer to her touch.

The actual shave was uneventful, Simmons pushing his jaw this way and that to get a better angle for the razor. He kept his eyes firmly shut though, not wanting to risk making eye contact with her so close. It was only when she covered his face with a towel that he realised with an air of disappointment that it was over. Fitz opened his eyes just in time to see Simmons lean forward and plant a kiss on his silky smooth cheek.

"Much better." She said, her lips curling up ever so slightly into a wry smile, the colour of her own cheeks turning a light hue of pink.

She stood, one hand outstretched to help him up, the other brandishing the razor as thought it were a violent weapon. It was clear to Fitz that he was going to have to see his side of the bargain through, despite his reservations at both his skill and his willpower. But Leo Fitz was nothing if not a man of his word. So he took the razor in his hand and watched in complete horror as Jemma Simmons undid her belt and began pushing her jeans down her waist.

"What are you …" he didn't even bother attempting to finish his sentence. He just watched with tantalizing horror as she strode across the bathroom, leaving very little to his overactive imagination, to check the door was firmly locked.

"You and I both know this is an innocent act, but I'm not sure Skye would agree." She stated as though this offered an explanation for her exposed legs.

It was her turn to roll her eyes as she sat on the seat previously occupied by Fitz.

"Honestly, Fitz," she said with an air of exasperation, "how did you think you would be able to shave my legs if I had jeans on?"

Her explanation, as before, was painfully flawless, but this did not help to alleviate the stress he was currently feeling. His face resembled that of a fish out of water as he tried his hardest to look at the task at hand, without staring rudely. Fitz swallowed audibly before reaching for the shaving cream. He repeated the same delicate process as she had, gently rubbing the foam, stopping abruptly at the knee as to not over step her boundaries. With shaking hands and baited breath, he drew the razor across her shin. It was only when he was three or four strokes in that he dared look up at her face, half expecting a scowl or look of disapproval. But he was pleasantly surprised to see her expression matched his own from moments before, blissfully happy with her eyes fluttered shut. Her relaxed state urged him to continue.

They remained in comfortable silence, Fitz working meticulously, his brow furrowed in concentration. Simmons sat patiently, a towel now providing modest privacy on her lap. Her eyes stayed largely closed, although she sneaked a peek at Fitz to see his tongue escaping his mouth, the essence of focus etched on his face. His look of determination complemented her gaze of admiration. They were one step closer to being psychically linked again, one step closer to becoming FitzSimmons again.

And as quickly as it began, their moment was coming to a close. He pulled the towel unceremoniously from her lap and dragged it across her legs to remove the excess foam. He hesitated at her ankle. This exchange had been a lifeline and as soon as he let go, it would be over. With a confident swiftness he did not know he possessed, Fitz raised Simmons' ankle to his mouth and pressed his lips to her soft skin.

"That is so much worse, I don't know why you even let me do that." He smirked at his own humour, running his trembling hand up her shin in mock clarification of his failure as he raised himself from the floor. The slight patchiness of his work was barely noticeable from this height, although the redness was pretty apparent.

"Wait until you see your face." She retorted, pinching his cheek and struggling into her jeans once more.