A/N: Set after the events in 'Ragtag', just an idea of what could go down but inevitably won't...

Regardless, I hope you enjoy. There seems to be a real shortage of FitzSimmons fics around here and so I offer this up.

A/N: If I owned Agents Of S.H.I.E.L.D. then there would be a lot less pain and more of Trip, Coulson and Fitz geeking out over vintage spy gear...

The fall had left her winded, she suspected there would be some bruising around her ribs for the next few days.

Provided she lived long enough to see the next few days.

Rolling her head, Jemma looked over to watch Fitz fiddling with the disguised walkie talkie, mumbling about homing beacons and whales and fist bumps while rolling the quarter across his knuckles with ease.

The constant stream of consciousness set Simmons' nerves on edge but Jemma wouldn't begrudge the man any form of comfort, not now. Not after he'd caught her, held her close as they'd tumbled from the Bus, falling in the detachable pod and hitting the water. Not after hearing the joints and muscles in his shoulder strain, actually hearing a 'pop' as the Scots shoulder dislocated because despite the discomfort, the excruciating pain that she knew Fitz would be feeling, he still held on to her.

"They'll find us, Jem, we'll be fine."

"I know," Simmons sighed, recognising the words with ease.

"Good, because they're coming," Fitz said, an air of finality settling over the words. Jemma knew better than to question him, to argue that they were hours away from the team, sinking rapidly and with no way of contacting the team. She wanted to scream and shout that no one knew where they were, that Fitz was injured and that she could barely breathe but instead she chose to simply sit. To turn her head and watch the wall, waiting for Fitz to begin the brief conversation for what would be the twelfth time.

Probably head trauma, most likely a concussion, she thought, drawing her knees up and dropping her head to rest on them.

"Any minute now," Fitz continued, unaware of the tears Jemma was barely holding back, "They're gonna come rushing through that door."

Holding in the sobs threatening to escape, Simmons nodded, head bobbing up and down, keeping her face turned away from her partner as Fitz's words sank in.

No one would be coming for them.

There would be no last minute save.

She was going to die in a tin box.

This was not the ending Jemma Simmons had planned for her life. She was supposed to be old and in bed and loved. She was supposed to leave behind a legacy, change the world of bio-chemistry forever, have children, have grandchildren, grow old, fall in love, and get married.

The Chitauri virus had shaken her up, taken all her plans for any potential future and thrown them up in the air. Everything that she hadn't fully realised had been taken away from her and if it wasn't for Fitz, working by her side, giving her hope when all seemed hopeless then she wouldn't be there.

Considering that 'here' was currently a detachable pod with a limited air supply, Jemma couldn't say that her circumstances were much better and that her plans for any potential future were nothing more than a fantasy, the wishful thinking of a young woman for a family, for fame and for love.

She wouldn't get any of this now. Hell, she was 26 years old and couldn't even say that she'd been in love! Not properly. Of course she'd dated and formed attachments but she'd never felt an all-consuming kind of love. Never felt completely accepted and wanted and cherished, never fallen asleep and known beyond a doubt that she was loved.

The closest she'd ever come to that sort of feeling was around Fitz but that was a supposedly platonic bond. Wasn't it?

She wasn't stupid; Jemma knew that she was closer to Fitz than she had ever been to anyone. She knew that she cared greatly for the engineer but that was because he was her first real friend and that the reason she couldn't imagine a future without the brilliant Scot was because he was the only man who had ever understood her.

Not just to understand what she was saying or her line of thinking but to understand her.

Who else would know that she only added sugar to her tea when she was stressed?

Who knew that she liked to sing show tunes in the shower and would rap when getting a bath and not judge her?

Who, if not Fitz, would brighten her day with laughter and friendship and the largest tie collection she'd ever known?

Who would stand beside her, follow her into the face of danger and not even flinch but instead fight and run and stand up to those who would wish them harm?

Who else could honestly say that they'd been by her side the whole damn time if not for Fitz?

It was at that moment that Simmons was eternally grateful that she was already sat down. Drawing a deep breath and the attention of a certain scientist, Jemma realised for the first time that the reason she couldn't picture a future without Fitz was because she didn't want to.

Because she was in love with him.

Jemma Simmons was in love with Leopold Fitz and officially had the worst timing ever.

Because of course she would have this epiphany when everything was going to hell and they were about to die. Nothing could ever just be simple.

"They're going to find us, Jem."

Looking up, Jemma saw that at some point during her revelation Fitz had stood and made his way over to her.

Not knowing how to answer him without outright lying, Simmons remained silent as Fitz slid down the wall to sit next to her.

Feeling brave and slightly stupid for taking so damn long to realise what had literally been staring her in the face for years, Jemma reached out, grabbing onto Fitz's hand and interlacing their fingers. If the end was coming for them, she would allow herself this comfort.

"Jemma," Fitz whispered, flexing his fingers slightly, testing the fit of her hand in his.

"I'm sorry, Fitz. It's all gone a little bit wrong," Jemma sighed, resting her head on the Scots shoulder. "I should never have dragged us out of the labs. We would have been safe there-"

"-Until the uprising," Fitz cut in, moving so that he could face her, "Who knows what they would have done to us then."

"But at least we would-"

"No buts. I wouldn't change a second of this, you hear me? Not one."

"Not even this one?" Jemma asked, trying to joke and failing miserably.

"Not even this one," he answered, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand and tilting his head, looking at her strangely.

For a moment, Jemma couldn't work out why the look seemed so familiar to her until it hit her; much like a detachable pod hit the water at high speeds.

Fitz was in love with her.

He loved her and she was trapped in a damn tin can and there was nothing she could do about it.

"They're coming to get us, right?" Jemma asked, voice small, clinging to the hope that this would not be the end for Fitzsimmons. That this wouldn't be the end of Jemma and Leo.

"Jem.."

"Please, just tell me they're still coming," she begged, tears beginning to fill her eyes once more.

"I hope they are," he whispered, unable to look at her.

"Good, because we have to get out of here. There are things I think we might have to talk about," she smiled, almost laughing at the way Fitz's head shot up, watching her.

"Yeah, yeah, 'cause I, erm, I think I could have some things to say too."

"Good." Brushing her lips across Fitz's cheek in a quick and chaste kiss, Jemma pulled back to rest her head on the Scots shoulder once more, smiling as she felt his own lips brush her temple, pressing a kiss into the skin and lingering slightly.

Closing her eyes once more, Jemma felt Fitz's head rest on top of her own and the air begin to thin. Pulling her partners hand closer to her, Jemma began tracing nonsensical patterns across his palm, loops and swirls and straight lines. Shapes and symbols that to anyone else would mean nothing but to Jemma they were promises, it was the story of her life, of her life with Leo, or the life she would lead after escaping this damned box and if she could just finish writing it before the air ran out then everything would be okay.

"Jemma?" Fitz asked, whispering the words into her hair.

"Mm-hmm."

"I don't want to say goodbye."

"Then don't."

"They're going to find us," Fitz promised, rubbing her fingers, alarmed at the blue tint that the digits had begun developing due to a lack of oxygen in her system. "Any minute now, they'll find us."

"I know," she whispered, taking the quarter that she'd seen Fitz playing with earlier. It was warm to the touch and as she tried to run the coin over the backs of her fingers as she'd seen Fitz do earlier with ease, she failed miserably.

"I'll teach you that one properly when we get out of here," Fitz offered, knowing that the likelihood of being rescued was slim now.

"I'd like that."

"And we can go home, see my mum, she misses you."

"That sounds lovely," Jemma sighed, nuzzling closer to her partner, suddenly feeling sleepy.

"And I can take you dancing; you always loved dancing, even if I was a bit rubbish at it. I'll go with you, I won't sit down or complain the whole time."

"Promise?"

"Anything for you Jem."

"Leo?" She whispered, feeling tears escape her eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Promise you won't let go of me if I fall asleep?"

"I promise," Fitz sighed, pulling Jemma closer with his good arm.

"Good, I'm a little tired right now."

"That's okay," Fitz said, barely managing to keep his voice level and his tears at bay. "Go to sleep Jemma, I'll be here when you wake up."

"Goodnight Leo," she whispered, head dropping, eyes closing.

"'Night Jemma."

A/N2: Please don't hurt me! I didn't actually kill anyone and, like I said earlier, this is highly unlikely to be how the show plays this one out. That being said, please let me know what you think.

I'm working on two performances right now, workshopping a performance that might be touring this summer and instead of writing my final essay for University this year, I'm writing fanfic. If I can take the time to write this, surely you can take the time to drop a review...