"Are your feet hurting?" Fitz guessed and she nodded, her eyes fixed ahead on the dancing couples.
"You hate those shoes," he pointed out, shaking his head. He gently tapped her knee and with a sigh of relief, Jemma kicked her stilettos off and planted both her feet on his knees for him to rub. "They always give you blisters. Why do you insist on wearing them, exactly?"
"They're my wedding shoes," she shrugged. "They go with every formal dress I've ever owned. Besides, they're meant to make me pretty, not comfortable."
He gave her a pointed look but refrained from commenting any further. Instead, he pressed his thumbs into her soles, rubbing the tension away, and it felt so damn good her eyes fluttered shut as she suppressed a moan. When she glanced at him again, he was staring at her with a strange gleam in his eye. She'd caught that look before– it troubled her, and never failed to make her stomach flutter. Fitz quickly looked away.
Fortunately, that flutter was easier to ignore when she was a little more than tipsy and her sluggish brain couldn't seem to focus on a single thought.
"Everybody's getting married," she sighed. "Everybody but us."
He snickered at that. "We're married to our jobs, remember? That's what you tell all your boyfriends when you break up with them."
"Well, we are," Jemma insisted. "But that doesn't mean I don't want the other stuff. I mean– don't you?"
He glanced to the bottom of his empty glass, and she could have sworn she saw a blush creep up his cheeks. "I don't know," he muttered after a beat. "I think I've made my peace with it not happening."
"Ugh, Fitz. Of course it's going to happen!" She couldn't help but roll her eyes. Maybe Fitz didn't notice all the women fawning for his attention, but she certainly did. "You have a low body fat percentage and your face is nice and symmetrical–"
Before she could list any more of his obvious qualities, Fitz got to his feet abruptly, grumbling something about his champagne flute needing a refill, leaving her to wonder why he always got so embarrassed when she mentioned his attractiveness.
The party was nearing its end, and as she waited for Fitz to return to the table, Jemma noticed that her "sad drunk" phase was fast approaching. It was then that the idea first popped into her head.
The happy couple was swaying slowly, oblivious to the dance floor rapidly emptying around then. Even now that Daisy's dress wasn't quite so immaculate and her waterproof mascara hadn't held up against all the happy tears shed, and even if Trip had long lost his designer jacket and black tie, the pair of them still looked like movie stars, their happiness blinding, and Jemma couldn't entirely repress an ugly pinch of envy. Nor could she shake the persistent –and troublingly appealing– idea from her head.
Jemma was still lost in her own thoughts when Fitz dropped down beside her and slipped a long stem glass in her hand.
She took a mindless sip and grimaced. "Hey, that's sparkling water!"
"Say 'thank you, Fitz, for looking after me'." He grinned in shameless amusement at her air of dismay. "I'm the one who has to put up with you tomorrow, remember?"
"I remember," she said, rolling her eyes. She took another sip of the offending beverage, mulling over her next words. "Fitz… I have a proposition to make."
His expression clouded instantly. "Uh-oh," he mumbled with a humorless smirk.
"No, no, it's nothing bad, just– hear me out. If we're both still single by the time we're 30…"
"We should marry each other?" he guessed, raising an eyebrow at her surprised expression. "Come on, Jemma, I know you've been watching the Hallmark movie channel lately, but 30's a bit young for a marriage pact, isn't it?"
"Well, I know it's dreadfully old-fashioned, but I'd rather get married before I have children on the way," she explained, tilting her head to the side. "And I'd feel better knowing I have a few good fertile years ahead of me."
The expression on his face was changing too fast for her to read him accurately, until it settled on an amused frown. "Exactly how many kids are you planning for us to have?"
"Have you ever thought about it?" she asked with a wobbly, semi-drunken smile.
o-o-o
"Thought about what?" he tried, wincing inwardly.
Their timing had always been atrocious.
Of course she would suggest something like that when he was trying to get over his ridiculous infatuation with her at long last. Hunter and Mack had been trying to fix him up with other women for months– years, even– and for the first time, he'd been considering it.
Everytime she broke up with one of her exceedingly dull boyfriends, he started gathering the courage to ask her out. In the time it took to tame his nerves, she'd either met someone new or he'd become unsure that the flimsy, remote possibility that she might have said yes was worth putting their partnership or friendship in jeopardy. It was a doomed cycle, one he didn't know how to break.
"You and me," Jemma said with an affronted frown. "Together. Like together together. You know?"
"I don't know. Probably," he shrugged. One or twice. A day. He could almost hear Hunter's bark of a laugh inside his head.
"Me too," she said emphatically, her cheeks growing pink. Either she was considerably drunker than he'd previously thought, or she was now actively trying to kill him. Or both. "Think about it. It would solve all our problems."
"I don't have any problem."
"Oh really?" she asked skeptically. "When did you last go on a date? When– when did you last have sex?"
"Jemma! " he yelped in genuine shock as the scorching heat of mortification zinged through him. They barely ever talked about their love lives– and certainly never about their sex lives. It was one of their cardinal rules, and she'd just broken it. "We don't– you're not–"
"But I could be," she said, with a daring tip of her chin. Her eyes were dark and shiny, her expression of defiance absurdly appealing.
"If you don't find anyone better in the next 18 months," he countered, less for her benefit than his weakening self's.
"So you do agree?" Jemma beamed in triumph.
It was a silly idea, a drunken idea, one he was entirely confident she would forget by the time they attended the next of their friends' nuptials. But that didn't mean he couldn't indulge in the fantasy a little.
He imagined looking at her the way he always wanted to without fear of being caught, as she stared back adoringly. Sharing the kind of too-long kisses that made everyone around the table a tad uncomfortable –God, if that could be him, if that could be them, even just once. All their friends were happy and in love, and for once in his life, he wouldn't have minded being like everyone else.
o-o-o
It wasn't until months later, at Mack and Elena's rehearsal dinner, that she brought it up again– this time, suggesting they picked a date. For their hypothetical wedding.
"Depending on how you want to go about it, we should probably start making plans," she said with a would-be casual shrug. "Wedding season is only just a few months away. We could elope, of course, but I doubt your mother would ever forgive either of us."
His mouth opened and closed dumbly as he wracked his brain for an answer that wasn't a deflecting joke or a curse.
"Have you given it any thought at all?" she asked, conveniently not looking at him as she poured him another glass of wine.
As time had passed without her mentioning the pact again, he'd come to assume she'd forgotten about it altogether– and wouldn't admit to a single living soul to being disappointed about it. But it was always there, scraping at the edge of his consciousness, every time she fell asleep curled up against him in front of the TV, or she nagged him about his diet before stealing half of his fries, or barged into his room with a tray full of tea and pancakes at the end of a bad day.
He could feel it weighing on his shoulders like a ton of bricks when she went on a date as surely as he could feel the endorphins flooding his system when she came home early, her mouth turned down into a sour expression.
And then suddenly there they were, celebrating another set of friends' upcoming wedding, and Jemma had evidently not forgotten.
"I– but we– we're not even 30 yet," he pointed out through a tight throat.
"We're both 29. Given our recent dating history, the possibility that either of us might meet a future spouse in such a short time frame is insubstantial at best."
"You go on dates all the time," he shot back, wincing at the clear irritation in his own voice.
"I go on dates maybe twice a year, usually when I can't get out of being set up with one of Daisy's zillion bachelor friends," she countered. "And that's working out great since I haven't been on a second date in… I don't even know how long."
"So, that's it? You're ready to settle for me?" he asked, the humor he'd hoped to infuse into his voice not quite audible.
In the distance, he heard Elena's bubbling laughter– a sound of pure, carefree happiness. Mack was folding his large body in front of her, kneeling down to kiss her knuckles.
That was what he wanted. Something real.
"Jemma, I–" His eyes were prickling, all of a sudden, and he felt the walls closing in on him. His tie was too tight, the lights too bright. "Can we talk about this later? I think I had too much to drink. Could do with a gulp of fresh air."
He caught a glimpse of her clouding eyes as his chair scraped noisily against the wood floor, but he didn't turn back again until he reached the door. Her head was hanging low and Bobbi was leaning over, murmuring something in her ear, her hand running up and down her back comfortingly.
His heart shattered with the knowledge that he'd upset her and for a moment, he was ready to surrender. It wouldn't be perfect, but he'd long gave up on his idea of perfect. There was nothing he'd ever craved as badly as to be everything that she wanted.
The door opened as Eric and Billy Koenig rushed inside, dusting snow from their shoulders, and the gust of frigid air that hit Fitz's face was enough to snap him out of it.
o-o-o
"And you're sure he's okay with it?" Bobbi asked in her best good-cop tone, instantly putting Jemma on the defensive.
"Of course, why wouldn't he be?" she huffed. "Besides, we have an agreement."
Daisy snickered behind her mimosa. "It's not an agreement. It's one of those dumb deals lonely singles make at their friends' weddings when they've had one too many. You're not supposed to actually follow through."
"It wouldn't even change things that much–" Jemma pretended not to hear Daisy's burst of laughter. "We've been working and living together for ten years!"
"There's just one tiny little parameter missing in all that, don't you think?" Elena noted.
"We know each other by heart," Jemma continued, undeterred. "If anyone can make it work, it's us."
The three women exchanged a look that lasted a few moments too long, before Bobbi grabbed Jemma's hand placatingly.
"Jemma, honey, you know we love you, but you gotta admit introspection isn't necessarily your forte."
"I know this is a crazy concept, but hear me out," Daisy cut in. "What if… you and Fitz tried hooking up before choosing the save-the-dates font? Just, you know– to try it on for size. Ever thought about that?"
"I– it's just–" To her horror, Jemma felt her cheeks heat up, just as her heartbeat quickened.
"Oh, she's thought about it, alright," Elena said with an impish smirk.
Daisy waved her hands in desperation. "What are you waiting for, then?"
"Oh, I don't know," Jemma moaned, clasping her burning neck. "I was hoping that maybe he would– but nothing happened. I thought… but maybe he can't bring himself to think of me this way?"
Daisy snorted loudly. "Somehow, I really don't think that's the problem, genius."
o-o-o
"Devil's advocate here," Hunter waved his beer bottle, "but have you considered just not looking the gift bride in the mouth and just… going along with it?"
"I have no interest in being anyone's pity husband, thank you very much," Fitz replied around a mouthful of peanuts.
"Yeah, I get that but– it wouldn't be justanyone's pity husband, right? You've been in love with the girl for, what? 14 years now?"
"That's irrelevant," Fitz grumbled.
For all his pining, what they had now– it was fine. If things could indefinitely stay the way they were, he would lie in his deathbed and consider his life to have been a fairly happy one. He'd rather keep Jemma's genuine friendship and trust than to be her consolation prize.
"Mack, man, help me out here," Hunter moaned.
"Do I have to? You know I don't do crazy," Mack groaned good-naturedly. "Look, Turbo– you do realize that if Simmons is all set to marry you, it's probably safe to ask her out on a date, right?"
"Believe me," Fitz said dejectedly. "If Jemma wanted to be with me, she would be."
o-o-o
Jemma had been sitting on the couch in the semi-darkness for a while when she heard the key turn in the lock. Her evening with her friends had ended earlier than the guys', and she'd walked all the way home instead of hopping on the bus as she usually did, using the time to gather her thoughts.
"Fitz?" she called when he turned on the lights, startling him into a double-take.
"Jesus, Jemma! You scared me," he said, clutching his heart.
"Sorry," she replied with a faint smile. She forced herself to look at him, as her hands clutched her knees. "Will you sit down with me? I think we need to talk."
"We do?" he asked, scratching at the back of his head. "Now?"
"Please," she said, patting the couch cushion next to her.
"Alright." His anxiety visible, Fitz strode to the middle of the living room and did as she asked.
Once he was seated next to her, Jemma found she couldn't hold his eye. "I realize I've made you dreadfully uncomfortable with my… my offer," she stammered awkwardly. "I don't think I really thought this through–"
"It's okay," he rushed to reply as his posture grew even more rigid. "I didn't expect you to–" Shaking his head, he got back to his feet and began pacing around the couch. "You don't owe me anything, Jemma. We can pretend it never happened."
"Is that what you want?" Her voice must have betrayed her inner turmoil then, because he looked back at her sharply.
"What I– it's what you want. Right?"
"No," she said, her voice tiny and meek. "It's not what I want."
"Then you've got to help me out, 'cause I have no idea of what you do want," he exclaimed, nerves battling with irritation.
"I told you…" she pleaded.
"Bloody hell, Jemma," he exploded. "I'm not gonna marry you because you couldn't find anyone better! Do you have any idea–" he stopped pacing to take a calming breath and when he spoke again, the bitterness in his voice had been replaced with sadness. "I can't. I'm sorry. I would do it for any reason but that one."
"Fitz, no," she gasped under her breath. "You have it all wrong." Unsure she would find the right words, she got up and walked straight to him, not stopping when she edged into his personal space.
"What are you–"
The sentence trailed off when her hands went to his jaw, his prickly stubble tickling the tips of her fingers, and then her mouth was pressed against his for what she'd meant to be a soft kiss– an apology, a reassurance, perhaps even a promise– and she was the first one surprised when the air between them caught on fire.
There had been a nagging worry at the back of her mind that kissing Fitz, however attracted she could now admit to being to him, might end up being less enjoyable than she hoped. That their physical relationship might not hold the same intensity as their intellectual one.
Evidently, she'd worried over nothing.
It didn't feel like a first kiss– it was like a conversation started long ago suddenly picking up and gaining steam, both familiar and unexpected. She knew his scent, his skin, the way he moved– and she'd never been so turned on in her life.
o-o-o
The first touch of her lips was so electric, his brain short-circuited instantly and his body took over. He took a step forward, then another, backing her into the couch as his hands grabbed her waist, bunching up the fabric of her shirt and holding her as close as their bodies could manage.
He licked her lips, her tongue, the inside of her mouth, as his hands trailed over her body. Every touch, every breath, every sigh out of her mouth was like a straight shot of lust. When he pulled her even harder against him, molding their hips together, her low moan startled him out of his carnal trance.
At once, he realized he might have taken more than what she'd offered and backed down abruptly, his hands falling away from her as if they'd been burned.
"Sorry," he said, dazed and breathless as he took a step back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–"
"Sorry?" she asked, incredulous, as her fingers tightened around the lapels of his jacket. "I swear if you don't kiss me again right this minute–"
She was already leaning forward to take his mouth again. He stalled her advance as her hand inched higher to wrap around the nape of his neck.
"Do you mean it?" he asked, his mouth so close to hers they were breathing the same air. "You better mean it, Jemma, 'cause if you don't–"
If they kept going and she changed her mind, whether it was in an hour, a week or a year, he knew he wouldn't be able to go back. Hell, he didn't know if he could do it now, after getting a taste of her kiss. It was all his desires and all his fears wrapped up together, the greatest risk he'd ever take.
"Kiss me," she said again, her voice barely above a whisper as she pressed closer into him, and Fitz found he didn't have it in him to deny her or himself.
o-o-o
Once they started kissing again, they couldn't stop. It shouldn't have been a surprise, that they fitted so well together, and in a sense, it wasn't.
It's always been you, Jemma thought idly as she pulled the sheet up to their chins and rested her head on his shoulder. It was so obvious I didn't see it. She didn't dare to say it aloud yet, but she knew she would– and soon.
"It wasn't a dream, was it?" he asked, his eyes squeezed shut and his breath coming out in gasps. "It really just happened?"
"I think it did," she said, stretching a leg, her smile spread so wide her face hurt. "I know it must have been a bit… unexpected. I'm sorry about that. I meant to go slow–"
"You meant to go slow?" he repeated in mock outrage.
"Don't get me wrong, I was hoping to seduce you," she admitted as her finger trailed over his torso until coming to rest on top of his pounding heart. "But I was planning to pace the proceedings. At least for a day."
"You're such a romantic, Simmons." Fitz craned his neck so he could catch her eye and grinned. "I'm positively weak in the knees."
Jemma sat up and stared back at him with a raised eyebrow. "Are you complaining?"
"Nope," he shook his head enthusiastically. "No complaints."
"Good." She patted his chest before settling down again. "So, I was thinking… how do you feel about a winter wedding? To start the new year on a high? Of course, the schedule is beyond tight and the plane tickets for our families won't come cheap, but with my organisational skills–"
"Fine with me," he cut her short, a gleam of amusement to his eyes. "Quick, before you change your mind."
"I'm not going to change my mind," she said with an elaborate eyeroll. She placed a kiss on his collarbone, the crook of his neck, his bristly jaw. "I just don't want to waste anymore time."