I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Simmons huffed, blowing an auburn curl out of her face before bending to look once again into the microscope. Fitz was in the corner, mulling a gadget over in his hands, occasionally tapping at his tablet and checking his watch.
"Simmons, how are you coming along on -" Fitz's voice broke through her frustration like a magnifying glass.
"I'll be done sooner if you stop rushing me," she cautioned in an exasperated singsong, which she considered a very reasonable tone, given that he was micromanaging her for possibly the hundredth time. And in the lab, of all places, really. How can I be in love with someone so annoying? she wondered, not the first time that day.
"OK, but we're expected upstairs in..."
"Half an hour, I know, you don't have to keep reminding me…" her eyes rolled up to punctuate just how thoroughly she'd had it with him and his "subtle" encouragement.
From the way he carried on talking, Fitz had clearly missed the thunderstorm brewing in Simmons' head. "Well we both know how Coulson feels about tardiness. And," he pointed out smugly, hands at his hips and his face settling into that insufferably superior expression she'd come to memorize, "It just so happens that I've finished my device ahead of schedule. Not that it was easy, mind you. Now, if you'll just tell me where you seem to be falling short, I can-"
"What I need, Fitz, is a little peace and quiet," she snapped a bit more sharply than intended. Regret immediately set in when his blue eyes furrowed into gray and his mouth dropped open. "Sorry," she began gently, but Fitz was already wearing his I-know-you-did-not-just face.
"Oh! Oh? If that's how you feel about it," his hands gesticulated like two angry seagulls fighting over a chip, "then perhaps I'll just go get something to eat rather than burden you with my skills and expertise." A pout punctuated the retort, but was forgotten seconds later as he grabbed his tech and turned to the doors. "Hey, I really do have to be up there soon to help them set up. See you in a few?"
"Hmm."
"And Simmons?" he smirked in affected condescension, "Don't let my incredible powers of organization intimidate you. You'll sort it out. You're very smart. Not as smart as me, of course-."
Her eyes narrowed as her head tipped in a tread-lightly expression, and he responded with a mocking smile.
"Just don't be late!"
Simmons sighed, watching Fitz disappear up the narrow spiral staircase. She had a stab of remorse - He probably could have helped, you ninny!- but she silenced it and focused on the work in front of her.
In truth, Fitz was a distraction for more reasons than one, and roughly twenty minutes later she grinned victoriously as she observed the microscopic entities under the glass doing exactly what she'd wanted them to. It felt good to know that at least, in this arena, in this world of beakers and burners and predictable, drivable chemical reactions, she was in control. She could make things happen.
She thought she was making something happen when she'd written down her feelings for Fitz and left the note for him to find. They'd never really talked about their love lives, despite being best friends and partners, so she hadn't quite been able to bring it up face to face. But she had taken the first step by spelling out her heart on his napkin, and in doing so, had put the ball in Fitz's court. It'd felt like the right choice at the time.
But now over a month had passed since he'd returned from Russia. Was it any wonder that she was losing patience? For weeks now she'd been stuck in limbo - too timid to initiate the conversation (it was unquestionably Fitz's turn) and too confused to close the door and move on. Now, instead of being proud of her courage in declaring herself, Simmons sometimes wished she'd left well enough alone.
She remembered how promising everything had been, just after he'd gotten back. Fitz had preened on the retelling of his adventures - I had Ward's back the whole time - and regaled her with stories she suspected were more than a little exaggerated - Pretty much saved him from a gang of Russian mobsters, and kicked a few guys' heads in. He'd puffed himself up so adorably, all for her benefit, and she'd gone to bed giddy, love fluttering her eyelashes to sleep.
And then, over the next couple of missions, they'd somehow gotten back to the pre-virus, pre-awkwardness Fitzsimmons that she'd worried had drowned in a river of drama. Fitz had been a quietly supportive stronghold for her stress to reside in until she was able to phone her parents about her failed attempt at martyrdom They'd pranked Skye (hilariously, she might add) and gotten locked in a closet with a maniacal, dimension-jumping ghost - not the most romantic setting, perhaps, but she'd take it if it meant huddling close in the dark with Fitz. They'd jumped easily back into old routines: Fitz making the morning coffee, Simmons the afternoon tea, and a tandem effort in the kitchen for dinner.
Simmons had been confident that at any moment he'd admit to harboring a crush. Why wouldn't he? She knew he was self-conscious about his meager dating experience - they both were - but could he really be so afraid of looking foolish that he'd pretend the note never happened? Honestly, she'd already said the magic words - it's not like she was going to reject him. What could he possibly have to lose?
But days had dragged into weeks and longer, and that particular discussion bubbled away over a low flame, evaporating into nothingness as it simmered. And her insecurity picked and pulled, unraveling her from the inside out, until only one explanation came to mind - if Fitz wasn't talking to her about their relationship, it was because he didn't want things to change. He didn't want them to change.
Simmons exhaled as this realization settled firmly into a cage around her heart. Sadness could wait; the team wouldn't. She quickly packaged the solution she'd synthesized, smoothed her hair in the lab door's reflection, and started upstairs. Oh, Fitz. Silly Fitz. It was too late to wish nothing had changed. But maybe, for now, being friends was enough.
A/N: I know, I know, boo me. Booo! Queen of slime. Filth. Pew-trescence. (I get it, OK?)
Look, I promise I want their happy ending as much as you. But I also want to keep this in compliance with what happens on the show. I do plan to write a separate Fitz POV to play around with his side of it.
