A/N: This was written for Tumblr users herstorystartedhere and fitzsimmons-dwarfs in celebration of the FitzSimmons Better Together partnered exchange. My awesome partner Maria (thatsforsimmons) drew some lovely artwork for the story that can be found on her Tumblr page. We really hope you two enjoy the story - it was such a great prompt to work with and we've loved getting to know you over the past couple of months. :)

"We're gonna laugh a lot less, that's for sure."

It was quiet for a while after that, the nostalgic smiles slowly fading from all of their expressions. What more was there to say anyway? They'd lost a teammate, a dear friend, and though the alien city was destroyed and HYDRA seemed to be crumbling, it wasn't enough to satisfy the cold emptiness that pervaded the base now. They'd lost people before, sure. It was in the nature of their jobs that each day couldn't be guaranteed, that tomorrow brought yet another reminder of their mortality. Jemma understood that all too well.

But understanding mortality and comprehending Trip's death were two entirely different things.

And no matter how hard Jemma tried to wrap her mind around it, she couldn't get past the fact that Trip should not have died. Truth be told, he shouldn't have been down in the temple in the first place. And who had stopped him from going down there again?

Responsible indeed.

"And this one is from when we made our badass escape from the Hub," Skye explained as she swiped through the photos on her mobile.

Most of the recreation room had cleared out by now, but for some reason Jemma couldn't bring herself to leave with the rest of them. She remained on the sofa with Skye and Fitz, taking comfort in their wistful smiles and the fact that the Diviner's destruction hadn't managed to take them from her too. There were still obstacles to be faced, and goodness knew that Raina was a formidable threat to be dealt with. But for the moment, Jemma was content to save those problems for another day.

"Wait, what's that behind you?" Fitz asked, leaning in closer on Skye's left side to inspect her phone. In the photo, Skye was standing next to Trip in front of what looked like a few of their supply rations. Both of their faces were twisted in a show of exaggerated annoyance.

Skye let out a soft laugh. "You remember when Coulson took us all out to the middle of nowhere? When we all thought he'd lost his marbles but it turned out he was right and led us to Providence?"

"Yeah," Fitz scoffed. "Thought we were gonna die out in the Canadian wilderness."

"But we didn't," Skye reminded him with a smile. She sighed in the comfortable pause that followed and looked back at her phone. "I found Trip actually trying to organize the, like, three boxes of crappy food rations we had left. So I went up to him and made a show of giving him some of my secret stash of Cosmic Brownies or, you know, whatever I had at the time. And he just looks at me for a few seconds and goes, 'Come on, girl. You think I got this good-looking by eating junk food?'"

Jemma attempted to laugh along with Skye, but the sound got caught in her throat and came out as more of a strangled sob than anything else. Thankfully neither of them seemed to be paying much attention to her, and Fitz's quiet voice managed to drown her out anyway.

"That's, uh . . ." he murmured. "Did you say you had, er . . .a secret stash? Wouldn't happen to have any more of those brownies lying around, would you?"

Jemma resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Skye didn't dignify his question with a response, though. She simply continued to stare at the photograph, apparently lost in thought. Her eyes glistened in the dim light of the room.

"That was the first conversation we ever had," she whispered, no trace of a smile on her lips anymore. "First real conversation, I mean. Kinda hard to talk to someone when you're in a coma."

Jemma felt that she should say something, explain how Trip had been there for her when she'd nearly lost all hope of saving Skye or perhaps share another anecdote. She just couldn't bear to see the look of utter sadness on Skye's face, even if Jemma herself felt that sadness burrowing a hole in her core. But Fitz actually spoke up first.

"He called you a fighter."

There was a pause before Skye broke away from her phone to look at Fitz. Jemma couldn't see her expression, but there must have been an implicit question in her eyes because Fitz's gaze flicked down to his lap. "After we gave you the GH serum," he clarified. "We didn't know if it would work on you or how it managed to stabilize you at all but, um . . .Trip just chalked it up to you being a fighter."

Fitz gave her a small smile, though it didn't exactly reach his eyes. "He's not wrong, you know." And though Jemma knew he was talking about that fateful day from what felt like a lifetime ago, she also knew that his words spanned a lot more than that singular event. Jemma still shuddered to think what might have happened to Skye had she been less fortunate down in the tunnels.

After a moment, Skye turned back to her phone. "Hadn't even met him yet and he was already trying to save my life," she chuckled as she wiped away a tear that had escaped down her cheek.

"Some people take you by surprise," Jemma said softly, remembering the first time she'd spoken with Trip too.

Skye and Fitz both turned their heads to look at her, and if Jemma hadn't known better, she might have said they looked as if they'd momentarily forgotten she'd been sitting there. She cleared her throat and gestured towards Skye's mobile. "It's a shame we don't have more pictures."

Skye let out a long sigh as she glanced at her phone again. The backlight had dimmed a little, but the selfie she'd taken with Trip still filled the screen. "Yeah," she scoffed bitterly. "One of the lovely little drawbacks of deleting people off the face of the earth. No more pictures. Except the ones we have on-"

"Hard copy," Jemma breathed. She nearly smacked herself in the forehead before getting out of her seat. "I can't believe I forgot."

She was sure Fitz and Skye were probably baffled by her sudden outburst, but Jemma decided to save the explanation for when she returned. She raced off to the Playground's hangar, wasting no time as she dug through her bookshelves on the Bus, and when she found what she was looking for, made a beeline back to the recreation room. All in all, she couldn't have been gone for more than two minutes. But by the time she plopped back down on the sofa, Skye had already managed to pour a couple shots of Smirnoff and set them out on the coffee table.

"Fitz said you probably ran off to grab your scrapbook," Skye explained as she handed Jemma a shot glass. "So I thought this would be the perfect time to bring out the fun stuff."

"But Skye, we've already had quite a few beers," Jemma protested. "And-"

"I know, I know," Skye insisted, holding up a hand to assure Jemma that she apparently knew the risks of switching to liquor at their current rate of consumption. "It's just this once, okay? And we'll be careful. Besides, I think we deserve a little vodka right now."

Jemma felt like she should argue with Skye further, but despite her uncertainty she agreed. Once she opened the book in her lap, she had a feeling she'd wish she'd taken the shot. Skye continued to hold out the glass, and after only a moment's more hesitation, Jemma reached over and downed the drink.

"Like a champ," Skye said, flashing Jemma a grin as she poured out a couple more shots. "Care for another, Dr. Simmons?"

"Oh no, that's quite all right," Jemma choked out as she set the glass on the table. But as a fuzzy warmth began to spread down to her toes, she reconsidered. "Well . . .perhaps in a bit."

Jemma ignored Skye's snickers and the concerned expression that was undoubtedly on Fitz's face. Even though they'd been avoiding each other lately and things were strange between them, she still knew what he was thinking sometimes. And the last thing she wanted right now was to have that conversation.

"Now, I think I've only got a few in here," she said slowly, opening her scrapbook to one of the later pages. "But I suppose it'll have to do."

"Aw, is that one from when we were in L.A.?" Skye asked.

"At the hotel, yeah," Jemma smiled as she gently set the book on Skye's lap so they could all see the pictures. "I've never seen Fitz get so upset about such a silly prank."

"Yeah, well excuse me for not being in a pranking mood after having been betrayed and watching our entire organization fall apart."

Skye coughed, looking like she was having a bit of trouble holding back her laughter. It probably didn't help that she'd just swallowed her own share of vodka. "It was just a cannonball, Fitz," she laughed once she'd gotten control of her breathing. "I got drenched too, remember?"

Fitz seemed momentarily defeated, although after she and Skye returned to the photos, Jemma thought she heard him mutter, "Barely."

Jemma and Skye ignored him as they flipped through the rest of the pictures, only a handful of them including Trip. One of him laughing as Skye pretended to touch Lola. One Jemma had taken in the cockpit when he'd flown them out of Portland, the sunlight glinting off of his smile. One of him and the rest of the team trying to redecorate the Playground.

And that was it. Five photos, including the one on Skye's phone. Five. It wasn't enough for Jemma. It wasn't enough, full stop. Five photos were far too few to commemorate a life that had been far too short to begin with. Trip deserved better than that.

All of a sudden, Jemma felt a queasy sensation in her stomach. She feebly tried to take the book from Skye's grasp. "There's no more, Skye," she murmured.

"Hang on, I've never seen some of these before," Skye replied distractedly, opening to some of the earlier photographs in the book. Over her shoulder, Jemma caught a glimpse of a picture taken on her seventeenth birthday, of her showing off the new necklace she'd received.

"Yep, there's probably good reason for that," Fitz said, his eyes widening as Skye continued to flip through the pages. He reached out a hand to grab the book, but Skye easily maneuvered herself so that he couldn't succeed.

"Whoa, whoa," she exclaimed, peering at a photo of Jemma and Fitz in front of the flat they shared at SciOps. Fitz was holding up the "Welcome Home" mat Jemma had picked out, and though his expression hardly conveyed anything but mild aggravation, Jemma remembered how it'd seemed to grow on him. "You guys lived together?" Skye asked incredulously.

"Well . . .you see, that's-"

"Surely you wouldn't expect us to-"

"And, er . . .logically it'd-"

"Pay to rent two flats when-"

"Make the most sense, wouldn't it?"

"We could simply split the cost of one?"

"Okay," Skye said loudly, with only a hint of annoyance. In the back of her head, Jemma realized that it'd most likely been some time since Skye had heard them talk over each other. "I don't know why I'm surprised, actually," Skye muttered as she turned to the next page.

Fitz glanced briefly over at Jemma (he'd probably just realized the same thing she had), but for some reason Jemma couldn't quite meet his gaze. She was focused instead on the photographs at Skye's fingertips, photographs that spoke of another time and place, a time and place in which she and Fitz didn't act like strangers and naturally finished each other's sentences and saw the world with hope. She saw shots taken from their first private lab, shots taken at their graduation from SciTech, a candid shot one of their coworkers had taken of them laughing and drinking tea, a shot of Fitz curled up on the edge of her dormitory bed. It was all very surreal for Jemma, to see those images and connect them to the person on the other side of the sofa.

It was a different lifetime, almost. A different partnership. A different Fitz. (And, she supposed, a different Jemma too.)

In that instant, Jemma desired nothing more than to close the scrapbook and call it a night. She didn't need any more reminders of the things she'd lost. But her vision was a bit hazy and Skye was apparently on a mission to analyze every single photograph and before Jemma knew it, a faded newspaper clipping was fluttering out of the pages and onto the floor.

"Oops," Skye said as she bent over to retrieve the article, somehow beating Jemma to the punch. "Wait, what's this?"

Jemma waved a hand dismissively, even though she knew with the alcohol in her system she'd be even less successful than normal at pulling off a lie. "Oh, that's . . .it's nothing, really."

"Oh . . .my . . .God."

On the other side of the sofa, Jemma saw Fitz's eyes widen. "Bloody hell, Simmons," he groaned. "Why do you still have that in there?"

Skye had a hand covering her mouth as she continued to stare at the page in disbelief. "This is one of the greatest things I have ever seen."

"Come on, Skye, you can't be serious."

Skye shook her head. "I mean, I knew you told me you guys took a dance class at the Academy," she laughed. "But I thought you were just making it up. I sure as hell didn't think you had actual physical evidence."

Jemma gave up her attempts to take the Daily Cadet article away from Skye, partly because she was exhausted and partly because she was afraid she'd rip the page in the process. The front cover photograph displayed her and Fitz together in the Academy's atrium, underneath an article title that read "Dance Elective Sweeps SciTech Off Its Feet." It wasn't the best photo of them, and it hardly captured the basis of their friendship. But for some reason it was one of Jemma's favorites. Perhaps it was the way she was smiling or how they looked so carefree (although she knew that at the moment the photo was taken they were both desperately trying not to bicker with each other). Perhaps it was that the picture showed a different side to her and Fitz, a side she didn't even know she had until she'd taken that particular elective.

Not that any of that mattered anymore.

"Okay," Jemma conceded, trying once again to retrieve the article and the scrapbook it belonged in. "You've made your point. It's a very entertaining notion for you."

"No, no, no," Skye argued, continuing to shake her head. "This is more than entertaining. This is absolute gold. How long did this go on for?"

"It only lasted a semester, Skye," Jemma said as she rolled her eyes. "It was a trial run that was very quickly discontinued on account of barely anybody taking the course, let alone passing it."

"I still can't wrap my head around you two taking it in the first place."

"I've said it before and I'll say it again," Fitz spoke up. "I was forced."

"Oh, please, Fitz," Jemma scoffed before she could bite her tongue. "You hardly needed any forcing."

"Well, it wasn't my bleeding idea, or did you forget that part?"

Skye was whipping her head back and forth to keep up with their conversation. "I think there's a story here that I kind of need right now," she said with a smirk.

Jemma grew quiet along with Fitz, their instinctive words echoing throughout her head. For a moment it was as if she'd been playfully arguing with the old Fitz. And it wasn't that the story was interesting or that there was even a story to tell in the first place. It was the idea that she'd forced Fitz into something, something he'd been reluctant to participate in.

It seemed to Jemma that it was another nasty habit she'd developed.

Across from Skye, Fitz gave Jemma a subtle nod, as if he didn't care one way or the other whether she told Skye. Jemma sighed and smoothed the article between the pages of the book again.

"Oh, all right."

ELEVEN YEARS AGO

Jemma didn't bother with knocking as she swept into the gloomy dorm room and flicked on the light switch. She went on to ignore the stream of curses being aimed her way from the cluttered desk and instead triumphantly placed the piece of paper in front of the recently awoken engineer.

"Ta-da," she sang, unable to keep the grin off of her face.

"For the love of Michael Faraday, Simmons," Fitz groaned as he blearily rubbed his eyelids. "Can't you see I'm trying to revise?"

"Oh yes, I can see you're very busy reviewing the finer points of your circadian rhythm," she replied sarcastically. "You know, you do have a bed you could sleep in."

Fitz gave her a half-hearted glare. "And an exam in . . ." He paused, his eyes adjusting to the light in order to make out the time on his watch. "Ninety minutes, blast it all to hell." A look of panic flashed across his face, but his sudden tension seemed to ease up once his gaze focused on the piece of paper in front of him. "What the . . .?"

"It's a new elective," Jemma announced, her grin still intact. "One of the professors from Operations is teaching it as a trial run next term. Agent Weaver thought it'd be a nice change of pace for some of the students, give us a bit of something to do on the side."

She waited the few moments for her words to sink in, for him to read the brief description on the page, for some display of emotion to dawn on his face that wasn't complete skepticism. She supposed she'd probably gone into the situation a bit too optimistically, because the last thing Fitz looked was excited at the prospect of taking a dance class.

"You're . . .actually serious?" he asked slowly, as if the very mention of the idea repulsed him.

Jemma didn't know why his answer upset her so much, but she folded her arms stubbornly. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Oh, I don't know," Fitz retorted. "Maybe because we've already got our classes lined up for next semester-"

"It's just one class, Fitz-"

"Since I thought we were set to graduate early-"

"Only once a week, it'll fit right in our timetable on Tuesday nights-"

"Or how about the fact that we're not dancers,"

Jemma sighed in exasperation. "Well, naturally, Fitz, that's the whole point of taking the class."

Fitz had his mouth open to continue arguing with her, but Jemma powered through. "Look," she said more gently as she sat on the edge of his bed. "I know it doesn't sound all that exciting right now-"

"You're damn right," Fitz muttered.

"But you don't have to take it with me if you don't want to," she insisted in as sincere of a voice as she could muster. "I just thought it'd be a nice way to take a break from our regular coursework and do something a bit different for a change. That's all. And . . .well, I can't say for sure, but I thought I overheard some of the cadets saying that field officers look at our electives when assembling their teams."

Fitz looked even more confused. "Why would we want to go into the field?"

Jemma stood up, regretting the entire useless endeavor and her decision to bring it up in the first place. "You know what? Forget it. I'll just take it on my own."

She was nearly out the door when she heard him groan. "Wait, Simmons," he sighed, closing his eyes as he ran a hand through his messy curls. Jemma bit her lip in anticipation, knowing that if she said anything she might ruin whatever train of thought was going through his head. The seconds stretched out to the point where she had to restrain herself from yelling at him to get on with it.

He took a deep breath. "You really want to do this?"

Jemma didn't roll her eyes this time. "Yes, Fitz," she said quietly.

Fitz held her gaze for a few more moments, probably trying to understand where she was coming from. Eventually he sighed again as he turned back to his desk. "You can put me down for it too, I guess," he mumbled.

Before she could stop herself, Jemma raced across the room and threw her arms around his shoulders. "Thank you, Fitz," she smiled as she gave him a peck on the cheek.

"All right, all right, Simmons," Fitz protested as he weakly pushed her away, but Jemma saw the hint of a smile on his lips too. "Now I actually do have to go over this crap because I actually do have an exam in ninety minutes. An exam which you have to take too, might I add."

"You're absolutely right," Jemma replied, unable to let his grumpiness ruin her fantastic mood. She gave his shoulders another squeeze before heading out the door. "Best of luck!"

By the time the next term rolled around and Tuesday night brought the dance instructor from Operations, Jemma had expected further protestations from Fitz. Truthfully, Jemma was surprised that the class was still going forward, let alone that Fitz would tag along with only mild complaining.

The first class was a bit rough, and that wasn't even taking into account that the Daily Cadet had sent a photographer to capture the whole thing. ("Oh, for God's sake, this is embarrassing enough as it is." "Don't pay any attention to him, Fitz, you're stepping on my toes!" "Well, maybe you should stop trying to lead!") But the venture actually didn't end as badly as Jemma had anticipated.

In fact, after weeks and weeks of going over the steps (to the point where Jemma was sure Fitz had started to lose his mind), they'd become quite good at the basics. Sure, they had to endure countless arguments, and Jemma was positive they'd broken about half a dozen dorm regulations regarding acceptable furniture arrangements to make room for practicing. But despite all of that, and despite the trial run being discontinued in later terms, Jemma felt proud in her and Fitz's accomplishments. It felt nice to excel at something outside of her field of study. And sometimes when he thought she wasn't looking, Jemma thought Fitz enjoyed himself too.

But only when he didn't step on her toes.