"Someone up there is having a sick fucking joke at my expense," Will muttered under his breath. He'd got into the habit over the years of vocalising his thoughts—OK, talking to himself—and was finding it hard to stop now that he had company. "Again," he added after a moment.
He had already reflected, too many times to count, on the supreme irony of his life so far. Until the age of twenty everything had been going so perfectly—too perfectly. He'd joined the Air Force right out of high school and quickly distinguished himself flying helicopters for special ops in sub-Saharan Africa. Decorated twice and seeking new adventures, he'd applied to the test pilot programme and been accepted on his first attempt. "Man, that's impossible! No one gets in the first time they try!" his friend Tyrone had commented at the time. When, less than a year later, Will was recruited by NASA, Tyrone just rolled his eyes and even Will himself was aware of being a little less surprised than he should have been: he'd always been lucky. Lucky! Will scoffed. He guessed it was the same damn luck that had kept him alive all these years while Austen, Brubaker and Taylor had lasted no more than a few months.
And the same luck that had brought him her. He studied her outline in the dim glow of the substrata. She was sleeping peacefully, apparently undisturbed by his mutterings. Fucking hell she was gorgeous. Will couldn't resist lightly touching the bare shoulder that was sticking out from under Taylor's old sleeping bag—to check she was real, more than anything else, and not some hot British figment of his bored, lonely and, let's face it, extremely horny imagination. At his touch, Jemma shifted slightly and mumbled something that sounded like "radial velocity." Even in her sleep, that giant brain of hers was obviously still working away, trying to figure out another way to get the two of them the hell off this godforsaken rock. And Will had no doubt that one day she'd succeed. Because fate had sent him a girl that was not only drop-dead gorgeous but off the charts smart too. Two PhDs, for Christ's sake; that was just unnecessary! There it was: his famous luck again.
Will hadn't told Jemma how sure he was that, one day, she'd figure out a way to get them home. He was supposed to be the 'voice of doom' in their relationship, after all: the eternal pessimist. But the thing was, he was being pessimistic. Because he knew with the same degree of certainty that as soon as they stepped through that portal he'd lose her. Lose her? Who the fuck was he kidding? She was never even his to begin with—on a kind of loan at best. No, Jemma Simmons' heart was far away, on some kind of secret superspy base, on another planet. You didn't have to have two PhDs to figure that one out. He'd seen it in her face when she showed him that birthday video on her cellphone, but even before that, he'd felt it every time he heard the whispered "Goodnight, Fitz" (she still said it every night, although she waited now until she thought Will was asleep), not to mention every time she accidentally called him the wrong name (he never let on just how much that hurt).
Will sighed. Sure, he was the luckiest guy alive, but his luck had a nasty way of turning itself around and biting him on the ass. Best make the most of it while it lasted. He reached out and gently wrapped an arm around the sleeping girl. She smiled and snuggled closer. Will tried not to wonder who she was dreaming about.