Tuesday, December 25

"Merry Christmas, Simmons." Fitz hung up the phone, allowing about 0.8 seconds to pass before kicking himself. Simmons? Gah. It'd been force of habit, of course, nothing more, but he couldn't help worrying that now she'd think he was freaking out about their change in status. Which, he'd noticed casually in passing, hadn't been updated on her social media yet. Not that he was bothered about that. Because that would be creepy.

The question now was, did he call back? Should he text? Instant message? Send an owl? Oh, sure, capital idea. He'd just get right on that.

- To my dear Jemma -

- my girlfriend -

- the most capable, beautiful, safety-conscious -

- Jemma Elizabeth Simmons -

Wait. Now Fitz was starting to sweat. What was Jemma's middle name? He could've sworn it was Elizabeth. But was it Louise? Oh, fuck. What if it was Catherine? Rose? Those options were nothing alike!

Here he'd been panicking over stuffily addressing her by her surname; wait til she found out he didn't even know her full name! Fitz dropped his head into his hands, moaning in despair. Should he ask ? Surely this wouldn't come up, not for a long while, anyway. It had never been an issue before … and why did anyone need to know anybody's middle name, anyway? Am I going to steal her identity? Not bloody likely.

Jemma would know yours , whispered his scumbag brain. Oh, baby Jesus' holy nappie, what if he needed to get something engraved? Who could he ask—her parents? Good God, no. They'd think he wanted to propose! Did he want to propose? Oh, sweet Mary, what if Jemma engraved him an engagement ring and he was supposed to—

His phone pinged with a new text. Fitz nearly dropped his phone in his haste to open it.

[From Jemma (13:16 PM) Just about to take the family Christmas card photo]

[From Jemma (13:16 PM) How's my hair? ;-) ]

As the picture popped into being on his phone screen, Fitz's jaw dropped at the sight of a smirking Jemma, casually brushing a hand through her curls while she leaned forward to snap a shot of herself in the mirror. The diffuse light of her bathroom made her look even more like a goddess than usual, and the deep red hue of her sweater, shot through with gold thread, conspired with her lips to set off dainty freckles and sparkling maple eyes. But it was the unintentional tilt of her torso that had him feeling like a pervy schoolboy sneaking a copy of the Littlewoods catalog just to peek at brassieres. Because Jemma's sweater-dress was soft and drapey, and did some sort of plungey-thing at the neck, and with the way she was leaning over her bathroom counter, he was going to have a very happy Christmas indeed.

Fitz was suddenly glad that he'd stepped outside to call Jemma, as the snowy Scottish breeze became a welcome ally in the stalwart task of calming him down enough for polite company, or at least enough to walk back into the house with his mum. He stared at the photo, buffeted by heady sense memories of those same breasts soft against his shirt, fully appreciated but never seen. Mentally, he counted down the days until they'd both be Stateside again, wanting her in his space, needing her voice in his ear, infuriating and intoxicating him all at once.

He got his wish a tad unexpectedly when the phone buzzed in his hand. "Jemma?" he squeaked, wishing puberty hadn't decided to pay him a surprise visit just then. At least I got the right name.

"So? You never answered. Do I look alright?" Her voice was suspiciously guileless, the smile in her tone sneaking through.

"Ah… yeah, you look." Sexy as fuck. "Erm, y'know." Like a goddamn deity, all oyster shells and cresting waves and long hair covering the good bits. "Festive?" he managed.

"Festive…" The sweet voice from before was faltering into dubiousness.

"Good festive! Like a really posh Christmas ornament." Fitz rubbed the back of his neck, willing the snow to just cover him up already.

"Oh." Thank God, now she just sounded like she was laughing at him. "Thank you?"

"Yep. Any time." He praised the icy heavens that if his mum were to drag him inside, she'd likely mistake his blush for frostbite. "Oh, and Jemma?"

"Mmm?"

"If it's not too much trouble…"

"Yes?"

"I'll take a copy of that Christmas card."

A/N:

Jemma's selfie was inspired by atomicsupervillainess. Thanks, doll!