In honor of the "Engineering VS Biochem" event being put on by the always glorious FitzSimmons Network on Tumblr, I shall be doing my vary best to write my way through as many prompts and scenarios that I can manage. #TeamBiochem

"Honestly Simmons, you can't keep doing this!"

Jemma rolls her eyes at the exasperated words that carry over her car's speakers and lets out her own irritated huff at the phrase that she's getting quite sick of hearing.

Considering she'd been hoping that this call would be more personal in nature, it's a bit disappointing to begin her morning with a lecture. She checks her rearview mirror, sighing at the car that has been tailing her for the past five minutes, and carefully weaves her way through traffic as she uses the same defense she always does whenever she finds herself being reprimanded by her PR manager.

"I wouldn't have to keep doing this if the paparazzi could actually grasp the fact that Will Daniels and I haven't been involved for over six months, 4,722 hours to be exact- I've counted Fitz, and I therefore do not have any knowledge or interest in whatever or whomever he's getting himself into."

She can hear the groan come over the speakers and has to fight a smile as she pictures Fitz, pinching the bridge of his nose as he always does when they begin to bicker and trying to find a way to fix whatever silly thing she's done that, in a week or so, will be long forgotten by the general public anyways.

"Jemma."

Only Fitz is able to say her name with an equal amount of annoyance and affection, and Jemma wonders when it began to please her so much. She also wonders if her similarly fond/exasperated uttering of his name yields similar feelings on his end.

"Fitz."

She makes a last-second sharp turn, silently apologizing for intentionally not using her blinker, and glances in her mirror again. The blatantly obvious black SUV is nowhere to be found and Jemma does a triumphant shimmy at being able to lose it so quickly.

"You need to stop threatening to throw dangerous chemicals on the paparazzi anytime they bring up your hog-faced ex-boyfriend."

She doesn't even bother trying to fight the smile this time. Fitz's description of Will had always been a sore subject when she'd still been dating the man, due large in part to the fact that she was unaware of the nickname until she'd overheard Fitz and Hunter laughing about it behind her back, but now the label, and the vexation with which Fitz uses it, is something that she finds to be quite fitting for her ex.

"Would you rather I use threats of the more standard variety?"

"Ugh, Simmons I don't…"

"My classes with May have been going quite well, I could probably threaten to beat them up instead…"

"…you really need to stop…"

"Or perhaps I could just warn them that I can get them fired if they ask me one more question about what Will does with his p…"

"Jemma!"

"…ersonal trainer. Oh honestly Fitz."

She can hear something that sounds suspiciously like a head thudding against a desk and waits patiently for Fitz to get on with whatever logistical plan Coulson had likely asked him to come up with in order to maintain her Hollywood darling image.

Not that it needs maintaining. Her disinterest in partying, genuine passion for charity work, and two Oscars have evidently made it easy for fans and industry members alike to overlook her recent vocal disgust with the paparazzi. In fact, most have praised her for her newfound, no-nonsense, attitude where the entertainment leeches are concerned and, other than poor Fitz who is one curse word from her away from an ulcer, nobody seems the slightest bit concerned with her clearly, mostly, unlikely-to-actually-be-acted-on threats.

"You're gonna be the death of me Jemma."

This time there's no annoyance, only that overwhelming fondness that's always been there- the fondness that she'd somehow not picked up on until ending things with Will. The first time she heard it, really heard it, she'd thought it might have been a fluke. But months have gone by and she's come to realize that the blatant adoration in Fitz's words, and written on his face, has always been present. More importantly, her own affection for him seems to have existed beneath the surface for just as long.

"Yes well, what a way to go."

Fitz's lack of rebuttal causes Jemma to take a shaky breath, momentarily weighing the pros and cons that come with asking the question she'd wanted to since first seeing Fitz's caller I.D. appear on her car's screen. She thinks about what transpired last night, nothing and yet everything, and decides that the possibility of embarrassing herself is well worth the other potential outcome.

"Fitz…"

"Hmm?"

"Is there perhaps another reason you're calling?"

Somehow, in Fitz's answering silence, Jemma is able to glean the exact information she'd hoped to hear. Had this phone call really been about work, Fitz wouldn't have hesitated to tell her as much. The fact that all she can hear from the other line is the occasional gulp, as though her best friend in the world is working his way up to actually speaking, causes a beaming smile to make its way across Jemma's face. Her heart seems to quicken with the nervous excitement and, for once, she is entirely willing to wait for Fitz to find his own words.

"I um… I had a nice time last night."

The smile grows and Jemma finds herself having to consciously prevent a squeal from escaping, instead tampering down her emotions so that she can respond as casually as possible.

"Did you?"

She hopes he can hear the teasing lilt in her voice, that he can pick up on the fact that she isn't unaffected by the change in topic, and understands that this is a conversation she wishes for him to continue.

"Yeah I did… and I know that you're supposed to wait some ridiculous amount of time before admitting that but…"

He goes silent for a beat and Jemma can perfectly visualize what he likely looks like in this moment, free hand no doubt rubbing against his neck and eyes screwed shut as he tries to find the words and the courage to continue.

"But…?"

"Well I was quite hoping you might… that is I was thinking, I know last night wasn't technically a date or anything but it felt… I felt that is… perhaps it was just me but I thought… well, I was wondering if you might… If we might…"

A small part of Jemma wants to let him continue with his adorable rambling, wants to hear him ask the question that she's been consciously thinking about for months and likely subconsciously dreaming about for years, but the much larger part of her that's tired of wasting time decides to take the reins.

"Fitz?"

"Yeah?"

"How would you like to become your own worst nightmare and have dinner with me tonight, someplace nice?"

Silence envelopes them again, the most it has in all the time she's known him, and Jemma waits with a pleased smile as Fitz processes her words. The fluttering in her stomach can be attributed to excitement rather than nerves, fully confident that the answer will be yes considering he himself had been working himself up to ask the same question, and she mentally begins sorting through her favorite restaurants and outfits in preparation.

She narrows it down to two options for each by the time she hears Fitz clear his throat, and straightens up in her seat, holding her breath as she prepares for his response.

"My own worst nightmare?"

Slumping back down again, Jemma rolls her eyes at Fitz's confusion and wonders how someone so alarmingly intelligent could focus on that portion of the question when the rest of it involved her asking him on a date. Whatever fondness and admittedly more than friend affections she has for Fitz can't ever quite prevent her baseline desire to make him blush so, rather than carefully explaining the chaos that tends to hit her team whenever she so much as smiles at someone of the opposite sex, Jemma decides that bluntness is the only way to make her intentions towards Fitz clear.

"Yes well, I assume a group of photographers snapping pictures of you leaving my home tomorrow morning in the same clothes you wore today will be quite a lot to deal with for my PR manager. In fact, it'll likely be the death of him."

She laughs at the choking sound that comes over the speakers, biting her lip in anticipation and grinning like a mad woman when, after nearly a minute of recovery time, she finally hears a response.

"Probably… but what a way to go."