Well, here we are! The cracky, fluffy, slightly angsty companion to "The Family Tree."
Hope you enjoy!
"Do you ever wonder who your dad is?" Jemma asked softly, running a hand through his curls even as she stares off into the darkness of their - their - room.
It's a little more than a month after Fitz stumbled upon her SSR file in the lab. Since then, they had taken the guilty pleasure of requesting a single room. It led to endless mocking from Hunter and Daisy, whom had seemingly overcome their little rivalry to become the 'FitzSimmons Ground Zero Shipping Crew.' Wherever the heck that meant . . . The title was obviously too intelligent for Hunter himself to have invented, so Fitz would just let Daisy have her run.
"Hm," he mumbled into her hair, eyes closed in the warm bliss that was almost asleep. "Not really. Sometimes." He managed to slur out.
Jemma played with a curl of his hair. "You should find him." She decided after a beat or two.
Fitz's eyes snapped open, his near-slumber interrupted. "I-I'm sorry?"
Jemma gave him a condescending look. He had heard her and they both knew it. "Really, Fitz. I'm sure he's not that bad of a man - I mean, you got your brains from someone, and I don't believe it was your mum,"
"Hey, leave Mum out of this!" He pouted like a child, prompting Jemma to peck him on the nose. "And besides, I highly doubt the man expects a kid to show up out of a one-night stand from twenty eight years ago," Fitz curled a strand of his girlfriend's hair, adding thoughtfully, "The poor man would probably have a heart attack,"
Jemma sighed lightly. "Well, I still think you should at least try to find out who he is. I could always run a DNA test in the lab,"
Fitz sat up on one elbow to look down at her, Jemma giving him a wide eyed 'innocent' look. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"
"Nope,"
The engineer sighed, lying back down. "Alright, alright. But on two conditions,"
Jemma grinned. "Yes?"
"One, it's just a test. I'm not meeting the man. Two - I'm only letting you analyze my blood if you make an effort to meet your dad."
Jemma froze next to him, and for a moment he inwardly flailed that he had pushed too far. Damn it, Fitz! Now you've broke your biochemist . . .
"Deal."
Fitz choked on his spit. "Pardon?"
"I'll do it," Jemma jutted out her chin.
Oh, yes . . . She's physically incable of backing down from a bet . . .
Is this a bet?
She untangled her hand from the sheets to present to him. "Shake on it."
They shook.
Holden Radcliffe bounced from lab tech to lab tech, looking like an eager old dog who believed he was a puppy.
Agent Mallory sighed as the man came near his station. "Yes, Doctor?"
Radcliffe studied the computer screen next to his. "Just seeing what all the little Keeblers are up to! You have such a fascinating operation going on down here . . ."
Mallory sighed again, clicking away boredom on his keyboard. "If you say so,"
But Radcliffe didn't hear him, too engrossed in the lab results displayed on Simmons' lab computer.
Fitz's lab results.
The man's jaw dropped, followed by a whoop of joy.
"It's a boy!"
Of all of the things Fitz expected upon entering the lab after spending his morning off with Jemma, getting tackled by a fifty-something-year-old man wasn't it. Not even top ten. In fact, he decided, I think I'd take another terrigen crisis.
But when that man stared him down and Fitz had time to determine this old guy was Radcliffe . . . Well, he'd frankly rather have taken another Chitauri incident.
And then, of course:
"Why didn't you tell me?" Radcliffe grinned. Fitz cringed. "I've always wanted a son!"
"Huh?" He managed.
Fitz cast a glance at Jemma, who was as pale as a sheet. Her eyes were slightly unfocused as they met his. "He - he's . . .?"
The engineer turned as pasty as his girlfriend. "Oh, sh-"
"I said I would find the man, Jemma! Never once did I say I would . . ." Fitz shuddered, flopping down on the bed. " . . . Bond,"
She glared at him. "Leopold Fitz, he is your father! I know he's annoying, and strange, and . . . Him," Jemma scrunched her nose. "Now I'm beginning to see your point,"
Her eyes darted to their bed, where her boyfriend was sprawled out with an arm flung across his face. She inwardly debated jerking him to his feet or flopping down next to him. The latter won.
"Still," she mumbled, cheek squished into the mattress. "He is your father."
"Hm," he returned. "That reminds me, how are things coming along with your dad?"
An exhale.
"That bad, huh?" Fitz consolingly reached out to rub a hand between her shoulder blades. She sighed contentedly.
"Do you know how difficult it is to get ahold of America's national hero? Especially when he's your father from seventy-something years ago?" She sighed again, this time disgruntled. "If I could even get the man to pick up his phone, I don't believe he'd wait long enough for me to explain myself."
"I can see it now," Fitz grinned to the ceiling, putting on his best imitation of a British accent. "'Hello, my name's Jemma Simmons, but that's only an alias! My real name's Jemma Rogers, just like you because you're my long lost-'"
"Ugh, Fitz!"
She got the phone call two days later.
Fitz took one look at her puffy eyes and heaving chest and bundled her into his arms.
He held her through the night.
"We are here to honor the passing of one of the strongest women in near memory - Margaret Peggy Carter. A hero on both . . ."
All the voices around her blurred into one long monotone crackle. Everything felt second hand, and she herself removed from the events taking place around her. It was as if a bubble had taken up around her, everything fading until one single thought was left.
Her mother, the one constant in her long life, was gone.
It was all that filled her head, all that resounded time after time. The color of her lipstick. The painstaking curls she pinned night after night. Her pistols, cleaned every evening and polished until they shone.
The things she remembered weren't groundbreaking. They weren't of the times she's spent as a girl with her mother on Coney Island. They weren't of long road trips with Aunt Angie and Daniel. They were the small, mundane things that her mother hadn't thought twice of but were just so Peggy.
She was pulled from her thoughts by Fitz's warm hand slipping around hers. Her eyes raised to find his worried, blue ones watching her. Jemma offered him a shaky smile, squeezing his palm.
He lips twitched upward softly, pulling her toward him slightly so he could plant a kiss on her forehead. Jemma leaned into him, allowing his arm to loop around her shoulders.
It was this new angle that narrowed her eyesight to one decidedly familiar figure in the front. For a fleeting moment Jemma couldn't help but wonder what in the world he would be doing here, but then nearly slapped herself with the absurdity of the question.
Of course he would be here. One of the first things he'd done since waking up from the ice was to go find his lost love. It was only fairly obvious he would make a point to attend her funeral.
As much as she tried, all the rest of the words drifting from the podium drowned out. Everything seemed to tunnel to the one blonde head in the front pew.
Because for the first time outside of pictures and videos, Jemma was seeing her father with her own eyes.
The remainder of the service flew by fairly quickly with only a few more speakers. A small part of her wished she could be up there to pay her final respects, to tell what she remembered of her own mother. But even Fitz knew it wasn't safe; too many would want to get their hands on a direct descendent of Steve Rogers.
So even as the members of the procession filed past the casket to take one final glimpse at Peggy Carter, Jemma hung stubbornly back.
"I don't want to remember my mum like this, Fitz," she frowned slightly, blinking rapidly. "She always told me that a body is just that - something for us to move around in."
And besides, she thought silently, it doesn't even look like her. Just a body with too much powder.
As every last attendee exited, FitzSimmons silently hung back. It was an unspoken agreement between them; if Captain Rogers truly was here, it was as good a time as any to try to speak with him.
Jemma tipped up on her toes as much as possible, peering over hats and heads. It wasn't easy in heels, she found as she wobbled precariously. Luckily Fitz was at her back in an instant, hands gently holding her hips stable.
"No, no . . ." She mumbled quietly to herself, eyes darting over the swarm. "No . . . And - yes!"
She grinned triumphantly, returning fully to her feet and twisting to plant a kiss on Fitz's cheek in thanks. Without another word, he followed her into the crowd.
They dodged skirts and rather large veils, finally making it to the very corner of the church where Steve Rogers leaned against the wall, deep in a low conversation with a middle-aged dark skinned man. His eyes flickered over them, settling on Jemma for a moment before continuing over the crowd of mourners.
Jemma quickened her pace before she could change her mind. Her stomach was already in a knot, and her knees felt rather weak with anxiety.
The pair stopped in front of the Avengers, whom immediately halted in their conversation.
Her breath caught in her throat at feeling of being so near to him. After seventy some years, she was in the same room as her father. His presence was intoxicating. She darted from his bright, blue eyes to his guarded stance. She suddenly began to realize that the lightness in her own hair came from his.
It had always seemed like such a far flung fact that her father was Captain America. It was a hazy reminder from her mother when she misbehaved ("what would your father think if he could see you right now?").
"Hi," Jemma blurted out before she lost her nerve. "I'm Jemma erm, Simmons." she pointed to her companion before extending her hand in greeting. "This is Fitz, Leo Fitz."
Steve raised an eyebrow, carefully studying them, before cautiously accepting her hand. "Hello. I'd introduce myself, but I believe you already know," his lips twitched up softly in a smile.
Jemma nodded breathlessly, slightly in awe. "I, um, yes. Yes."
That seemed to deepen his smile. His partner stepped up, grinning cockily. "Name's Sam. Might know me as -"
"The Falcon, yes," Jemma perked up, smiling widely. "Fitz helped to develop your wing design back in Sci-Ops,"
"Oh, you're ex-SHIELD, then?" the blond asked.
"Yeah. Still are, actually." Fitz nodded, speaking up. "We're with Coulson,"
"Coulson?" Steve's brow furrowed. "You mean Agent Coulson? The man who died -"
"-in the Battle of New York, yes." She cringed. "Terribly sorry, bad habit of finishing other's sentences."
He shrugged, turning to Fitz. "But how is he still alive? I watched his body be dragged out of the Helicarrier,"
"TAHITI." Fitz sighed. "Long story."
A beat of silence passed as the Avenger took in the news. Jemma breathed deeply to control her nerves.
"Well, speaking of long stories -"
The ringing of a cell phone interrupted her. Steve cringed, muttering an apology, as he dug the offending device out of his pocket. "Hello?"
There was muffled excitement on the other end leaking through. A few more exchanges passed, Steve's expression falling by the minute.
Jemma glanced nervously to Fitz. He didn't seem too worried; more awkward than anything. At her glimpse, he shot her a soft smile and laced his fingers with hers. Sam raised an eyebrow softly, watching the exchange, but he didn't say anything.
Steve flipped his phone shut, sliding it back in his pocket with a sigh. "I'm sorry to cut this short, but we need to leave." He cast a meaningful glance at Sam. "Now."
Jemma's heart picked up again, watching as the men began a hurried walk to the door. They were almost gone when she began to realize her chance was slipping through her fingers.
"Wait!" She called out, hitching up her dress's skirts as she ran after them, high heels be damned.
Steve turned at her call, holding out an arm to stop Sam. His expression was grim, and slightly peeved if she were honest, but she ignored it.
Slightly out of breath, Jemma dug her hand in her purse and pulled out the slip of paper that she and Fitz had made up in case of emergency.
"Here," she thrust it at them. "In case something comes up, here's our number. It hooks straight to a burner phone - one time use, no ability to trace. It's for SHIELD use only, but . . ." She shrugged. "Coulson would want you to have it. We're always here if you need help,"
Steve hesitated for an instant before taking it. "Thank you, Ms. Simmons,"
Jemma nearly laughed. "Just Jemma is fine, sir,"
He smiled once more, nodding as the two set off again.
Jemma watched them go silently, Fitz's hand on her shoulder.
He never actually used the number.
It had been her hope, but it seemed in the aftermath of the Modern Civil War, her paper had been lost.
But that wasn't to stop her. Not when she had some very close connections.
"And you're sure?"
The voice was crisp, low and dangerous if she were being honest. But years of friendship had erased her initial fear, and now Jemma could pick out he notes of sincerity and warmth.
She nodded firmly, even though she knew she couldn't see her. "Yes. I just . . . I have to meet him,"
Natasha Romanoff sighed lightly from the other end. "This is going to change everything,"
"I know," Jemma breathed, but the line had already been cut.
Fitz squeezed her tighter, his nose tickling the top of her head. Jemma hummed contentedly, leaning further into his embrace.
He lavished kisses to the tips of her hair, his breath warm and comforting. She sighed softly. "We're going to have to get up soon," she mumbled, rolling over in the sheets so she could rest her cheek on his bare chest.
He paused his ministrations enough to lean back in the pillows. "I know," he muttered, rather regretfully. "And you're still sure you want to do this?"
Jemma groaned, turning her face into his chest. "I wish people would stop asking me that," her voice was muffled against him.
He chuckled, the voice reverberating against her face. "Can't exactly be the voice of reason here, can we?"
She shook her head.
Just as he pressed his lips to hers, the Doctor Who theme blared out of his phone speakers. They simultaneously groaned.
"Time to go," she murmured, leaning to peck him once more on the mouth.
He mumbled something incoherent, flipping off the alarm and throwing the covers off. Jemma smiled, enjoying the view as he shrugged into his clothes for the day. Fitz turned as he began buttoning up his shirt, raising an eyebrow.
Jemma just grinned.
"This is it," he murmured softly into the crown of her hair.
Jemma slouched against him, heart pounding. Any second now the newly docked Quinjet would lower its loading ramp, and down that ramp and into the SHIELD hanger would walk Steve Rogers.
"I know," she whispered softly in reply, closing her eyes wistfully as she inhaled his comforting scent.
Moments later the hydraulics began whirring. Jemma stood up straight, watching with bated breath as the ramp lowered inch by inch. Fitz's fingers found their way to hers, and she inwardly smiled at the comforting squeeze.
Her breath caught in her throat when she saw him. He was dressed in civilian clothes, his shield no where to be seen. But she didn't need that. Because without the get up and the icon, he was still the one thing she'd dreamed of as a little girl: her father.
His eyes locked on hers, and it was as if a silent conversation took place. He was here. Seven decades of dreaming of this moment, and it had come.
Before she knew what she was doing, she was flying at him. He met her halfway, the file in his hand falling to the ground as he scooped her up tightly and held her like she was the only thing on Earth.
Vaguely she realized her vision had blurred over with tears, but then she could feel him and smell him and she just let go.
It was funny, she thought distantly. She'd never known what she was missing as a girl, but now that she'd tasted it, even these few small moments, she never wanted to let go.
And he didn't seem to, either.
Fitz watched, a distant smile on his face as he watched his best friend embrace her dad for the very first time. Idly he realized it was likely the closest they'd ever been since her own conception.
Speaking of which . . .
He sighed audibly at the sight of his own father wiping his eyes and leaning heavily on an awkward Phil Coulson.
The man may be a genius, but he was the most socially awkward sixty year old Fitz had ever had the displeasure of meeting.
Unfortunately, according to Jemma's terms on their own bet, he had already found his father before the genetics test, even if he didn't know it yet. Meaning that he had to make up for that void with (he shuddered) quality time.
Fitz gulped, watching Radcliffe notice him. The man waved with enthusiasm at him, releasing his grip on Coulson to head towards Fitz.
Fine, Jems. You want us to bond? We're going to bond.
Over a game of hide and seek.
Fitz took off running.
Hope you all enjoyed! You can find me on Tumblr - WhenTheSkyeQuakes :D