They had been working for nearly two weeks non-stop—sometimes for up to twelve hours a day. Their latest project had shown so much promise as a tool for field agents, that word had come from on-high—they were to work on nothing else until it was completed. Simmons was reanalyzing the effect her superheated combustion formula had on various materials while Fitz was refining the design of the delivery device he had invented.
He was in the final stages, holed-up in his corner of the lab with his headphones on; blocking out anything that might distract him so he could think—as he put it. She didn't understand why he couldn't think, it wasn't as if she were making any noise or anything.
She slipped another slide under the microscope and realized that despite her lab coat, over her perfectly adequate clothing, she was really feeling rather chilly. She hoped she hadn't worked herself into becoming ill. It never failed, no sooner did she finish a project than she became ill, unable to enjoy her downtime between projects. She shivered a little and rose to adjust the thermostat up one or two degrees.
A few minutes later, she decided that it would be a good point to stop for lunch. She tapped Fitz on the shoulder, hearing the faint cacophony of instruments coming from the oversized headphones he preferred.
He looked rather put out as he removed them. "What?"
"I just wondered if I could get you something for lunch?"
His face softened a bit. "Yes, please. You know what I like."
"Sandwich?" she smiled, wrinkling her nose a bit, she felt oddly happy. It was probably just that the end of the project was in sight.
"Yeah," he said with a genuine smile. "Great."
"When she returned with their food she noticed the room felt colder again. Checking the thermostat, she found that it was back down—even lower than it had been when she'd turned it up before. She didn't think there was an automatic setting. Shrugging it off, she turned it back up again.
Not wanting to disturb him, she set Fitz's lunch on the counter near his workstation. She then drank the warm, soothing soup she'd gotten. There was nothing but the occasional distant buzz of Fitz's headphones to keep her company. When she finished, she went to get the specimen that she would need to set about her next task.
Returning from the refrigerator, she saw Fitz just sitting down in his chair again. His sandwich sat on the counter, untouched, still wrapped in it's waxed paper. She assumed she was just cold from the refrigerator until she began to shiver again. She went to the thermostat and checked it yet again, only to discover that it was set several degrees lower. Her eyes went to Fitz, just in time to see him turn away, back to the work in front of him.
"Fitz?" She tried to sound neutral. "Did you lower the thermostat?"
He didn't respond. She walked over and tapped his shoulder. He turned and looked up at her guiltily.
"Did you turn down the thermostat?" she asked again.
"What?"
"I said, did you turn down the thermostat?" She said it rather louder than she'd intended, her frustration now beginning to get the better of her.
"Yes," he said completely innocently. "No need to yell, Simmons."
She sighed. "I'm a little bit chilly. I'm afraid I might be coming down with something."
"Alright," he said simply and returned to his work.
She turned the thermostat up again, darting an annoyed glance at Fitz. He stood then and with exaggerated movements, removed first his lab coat and then his cardigan, draping them both over the back of his chair. With a final look, he opened his sandwich and began to eat it with one hand, while typing on his keyboard with the other. She smiled, feeling happy again. Everything in its place.
She started working on the specimen, testing the combustion formula on various parts until Fitz began making exaggerated sniffing noises. "Simmons? What in the Hell?" he said, turning around to see her testing the effects of her formula on organic tissue samples."Simmons, is that—Jesus, Simmons is that a cat? Are you burning holes in a dead cat while I'm trying to eat my lunch?"
She suddenly realized that it might not have been the best time for this particular experiment. "Oh. Sorry, Fitz. I can just put this away until later."
She felt heat rise to her face at her own lack of consideration. She felt flustered suddenly. She would save the samples that she'd already created for analysis and put the rest back until later. Fitz was still darting hateful glances at her, his headphones firmly back in place; his sandwich was no longer in evidence. She hurried to put away the offending article. Setting the samples to one side, she returned the rest to the refrigerator.
Closing the door she heard Fitz cry out. She hurried back out to the main lab area, afraid he'd been hurt, only to find him pointing frantically and staring at his half-eaten sandwich, mouth ajar. "Simmons!" he gestured emphatically at his sandwich. "What the—Simmons what are you trying to do? What is that?"
"Your…sandwich?" she ventured hesitantly.
"No, Simmons. That." He pointed to the specimen container she had moved to the side so she could clean her work area.
"Oh, my samples."
She reached for them as Fitz said, "No, Simmons. That is a cat's liver and it is six inches from my lunch." He looked from the box to her and back again. The look of disgust was plain—it twisted his lips into an unpleasant grimace.
"Oh, Fitz," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "It's fine."
"No," he said emphatically, throwing up his hands. "It is not fine. In fact, it's so not fine, I can't even begin to describe how not fine it is."
"Fitz, you're overreacting," she tried to soothe.
He was shaking his head wildly back and forth. "First, you make it hotter than the blazing fires of Hell in here, then, you burn dead animals while I'm trying to eat my lunch, and now you infect said lunch with God-knows what filthy diseases that cat had—not to mention it's festering, bloated, decaying flesh."
"Fitz, you can't honestly think that anything could have gotten out of the specimen box, then traveled six inches to your sandwich in the time it took me to go to the refrigerator and back again, can you?" She couldn't believe the paranoia. He was supposed to be a scientist, a rational person.
"Why? Why can't I think that?" His voice was getting an hysterical edge to it now. His eyes were growing round with shocked outrage.
"Because it's ridiculous," she replied simply. She gave a sharp nod of her head to emphasize her point. Best to set him straight.
"Oh, I'm ridiculous!" His face was getting red and he was beginning to puff out his chest in some silly show of scornful annoyance. "I'm bloody ridiculous now!"
"I didn't say that," she didn't know if he had really misheard her or if he was just playing this to the hilt. "I just meant, there's no way your lunch could possibly be tainted in any way. Look." She reached over took half of the sandwich and took a small bite, replacing it back on the waxed paper afterward.
She looked back to see Fitz staring at her in open-mouthed horror. "What the—I can't believe you just did that."
She wasn't sure if he meant sampling a tainted sandwich or merely his sandwich either way she probably hadn't made the point she'd intended.
"Look Fitz, I said I was sorry. I hope you can accept my apology. I'm happy to get you another sandwich if you don't want to eat this one." She could be the bigger person even if he couldn't.
"No danger of that," he said. She wasn't sure if he meant the sandwich or the apology but he turned and walked to the small thermostat panel on the wall. He looked her directly in the eye as he deliberately punched the down button several times—with each beep his smile grew wider.
"That's just silly, Fitz," she said, trying to be the voice of reason.
He leaned his shoulder against the wall and crossing one leg over the other, arms laced over his chest, affecting a casual stance against the wall—safeguarding the panel.
"What are you doing?" she wondered aloud, incredulous.
"Me?" he said with mock innocence. "I'm turning down the heat. If you're cold, put a jumper on."
She couldn't believe it. She was trying to be reasonable and he was resorting to these childish antics. She felt blood rising to her cheeks and her anger along with it, suddenly bubbling up like a boiling kettle. Then she heard herself shouting, "Well, why don't you just take your clothes off!"
Silence reigned while they both replayed what she'd just said over in their minds.
Fitz's face grew slack, even as his eyes grew wide with disbelief. She replayed it again and again, unwilling to believe she'd actually said it. Her anger evaporated like steam, leaving a hot bundle of tense emotion glowing in the pit of her stomach. Her cheeks were made of fire.
"I—I mean… I…" she wasn't sure what she'd meant but it hadn't been that. Heat of the moment...means nothing, she told herself.
Fitz's shock had shifted, quick-as-you-please, into pure unadulterated amusement.
He was grinning foolishly as she quickly said, "I'll get you another sandwich."
She all but ran from the lab.
She tried to compose herself outside the door when she returned a few minutes later with a fresh sandwich in hand; she took two deep breaths and marched inside.
Fitz was frantically attempting to spray a geyser of white hot flames with an extinguisher but the chemical powder was flying everywhere except the fire.
She dropped his sandwich and slapped the button that activated the ventilation system. She rushed over, taking his wrist in her hand and helping him aim the nozzle more directly at the fire. It took several minutes but when it was finally out, they both collapsed against the desk behind them. They had staggered back and fallen against one another and she could feel his arm shaking.
"You tried it without me?" she asked, curious, there was no anger behind it.
"No," he said between pants. The panic still making his breath come too quickly. "Went off."
"Oh," she said, unable to think of another line of questioning.
"She noticed that in his efforts to extinguish the flames, his shirt had come halfway untucked, one tail loose and hanging. She reached over without thinking and picked up a corner of the material. Fitz gently plucked it from her hand and rapidly tucked it back away. She didn't know what had come over her—it had been much too familiar.
"Sorry, Fitz."
"S'alright," he said, shaking his head. She heard him begin to rumble with laughter—it continued to grow until he was laughing outright, bent over double with hands on his thighs.
"What? What's so funny?" She needed to know. Perhaps it was some sort of adrenaline-induced euphoria?
"Jemma Simmons conspires with the universe to undress me," he said, still laughing as he spoke. His face suddenly sobered and his laughter died away as he realized how it must have sounded. He cleared his throat nervously, searching her face for a reaction as his own expression grew very contrite.
Her lips began to curve slowly upward and she suddenly found a small laugh bubbling up from her chest. It was part relief and part something she couldn't quite identify. Fitz broke into a grin and all of a sudden they were both laughing together until she felt tears beginning to leak from her eyes.
At that moment, two fire fighters burst through the lab doors in a flurry, one held an axe, the other pulled a large industrial looking fire extinguisher on a wheeled cart. He struggled, trying to drag it into the room—there was an object in its path—Simmons realized it was the sandwich she'd dropped.
Fitz looked at her, his eyes wide with understanding. They both burst out laughing and their universe was in balance once again.