Chapter 7: Peace

Summary: Everything is perfect. Well, except that one thing.

AN: Okay, this is definitely the last chapter. You guys have been amazing. Thank you so much for all the reviews and for giving this crazy little crackship a chance :)

They dozed side by side for a while, foreheads pressed together, fingers drifting idly over skin, until Jemma's stomach growled audibly.

"We missed dinner," Bucky murmured, rubbing a hand over the soft skin of her stomach like maybe he could rub her hunger pains away.

"Actually," Jemma said, opening her eyes and pulling back just enough so she could see his face properly, "I was going to suggest we go out for dinner, now that you're a free man."

"'Fugitive' would be a more accurate term," he commented. "There's no way the FBI's not looking for me, and this thing's kind of hard to miss," he said, with a shrug of the metal arm. "Sorry, kitten, but it's not like I can just walk into a restaurant and ask for a table."

"My suggestion wasn't off the cuff. You may not know this about me yet, but preparation is my specialty," she informed him with a superior quirk of her brow.

"Oh yeah?" His smile said 'lay it on me.'

"There's a delightful little pizzeria on a quiet corner a couple of blocks away. I suggest we pick up a pizza and go and find ourselves a secluded corner of the park where we can eat under the stars. The weather is cool enough at this time of year that a hat, jacket and gloves won't look out of the ordinary, and there's a whole wardrobe of clothes for undercover missions you can choose from if Steve or Trip don't have something you can borrow."

He rolled on top of her with a grin. "Is the Girl Scout motto the same as the Boy Scouts'?"

"'Be prepared?' Why yes it is. I know because I was one," she said smugly.

"Figures," he smiled, and kissed her soundly.

The air outside was cool and crisp, but in a way that was invigorating, not unpleasant. There were enough cars and people out and about that their presence on the street wasn't noteworthy, but it wasn't so busy that they needed to get too close to other pedestrians.

Jemma was just pondering whether Bucky was the type to hold hands when he snaked an arm around her middle and pulled her to his side with an enthusiasm that made her smile. She matched her pace to his so they could walk like that, side by side with Bucky's arm snug around her waist.

"This is nice. This is... normal," Bucky said as they walked.

Jemma just smiled, but her heart sang to think of the progress he'd made since she first met him, and that she'd had such a big part to play in it.

They picked up their pizza and headed for the city's central gardens one block over. They strolled past the rose bushes, the water fountain and a small pond before deciding on a secluded spot within a small grove of trees. They were out of range of the streetlights by now, but there was just enough moonlight to get by. Bucky spread out their blanket on the mossy grass and they sat down and began their night picnic.

The foliage around them sheltered them from the cool breeze and muffled the distant sounds of the city at night, making it easy to forget about the rest of the world. Once they'd had their fill of pizza and wiped their hands with the wet wipes Jemma had brought with her (she was too intimately acquainted with patterns of microbial growth to abide greasy fingers), Bucky settled back against the tree trunk behind him and Jemma lay down and used his thigh as a pillow.

The stars seemed almost dewy in their brightness, obscured only partially by the dark silhouettes of the leaves above them. They stayed like that for a time, trading stories of their adventures, and it was one of those moments where everything felt perfect.

But there was a bittersweet edge to it for Jemma, simply because she had no idea how long this could all last. Her biggest fear was that Bucky would decide the best plan was for him to go to ground, probably in some remote corner of the globe. It would make sense. It would also crush her soul just a little bit.

But there was no point in not enjoying the present simply because the future was uncertain, so she angled her head a little to make the most of the way Bucky was stroking her hair, and continued with her story.

"And so I ran to the next train car to tell Skye and Fitz that our cover was blown, but one of the mercenaries was already there, and he had what looked like a live grenade, so I grabbed him and pulled him against me but it turned out it was—"

The hand on her hair stopped moving. "Jesus Christ, Jemma, you threw yourself on a grenade?"

She looked up at his face. "Well, as I was just saying, it turns out it was actually a…"

He was shaking his head in exasperation, but he was smiling too.

"What?" she asked.

"Peggy Carter once told me a similar story about Steve before he got the serum. I don't know how I keep ending up with people like you," he said, like it was a cross he had to bear.

"People like us?" she asked, her lips quirking in amusement. "I have trouble believing there are many other similarities between myself and Captain Rogers. Or any, for that matter."

"I daresay I could find a couple, but anyway, you were saying?"

She finished her story, and as he told another one of his, she sat up and snuggled in under his left arm, playing with his cybernetic fingers as he talked. Even through the leather of his glove she could tell they weren't flesh and blood. They were harder to the touch, and she could feel the almost imperceptible clicks of the small articulating plates as they moved.

She was listening to his story, she really was, but she was also remembering how those fingers had felt on her, in her, earlier that night, and when he finished talking she found herself kissing him with an urgency that drew a surprised sound from him. But he responded warmly, opening his mouth to her, and without putting too much thought into it, she went up on her knees and swung her leg over his lap so she was straddling him.

Bucky gave an mmph of appreciation, his hands finding her hips. She slid her fingers into his hair and worked her tongue deeper into his mouth, and when the ache building in her core grew too strong to resist, she shifted her hips so she could press herself against the hardness in his jeans.

Bucky groaned at the contact, but after a few moments withdrew from the kiss with a chuckle.

"This really your thing? Doing it outdoors?" he asked.

"Not especially," Jemma answered, her breathing ragged. "I just..." she drifted off, her cheeks warming with what she wanted to say.

"What, darlin'? Tell me what you want," Bucky murmured against her neck, hands trailing over her back.

Maybe it was the husky quality of his voice, or maybe it was the memory of the last time he called her darlin'—just as she was about to come—that prompted her to speak.

"I want to experiment on you," she whispered in his ear before she lost her nerve. "Test your stamina, your refractory period. There's also a few positions that I suspect the arm would be particularly suited to, if you'd be willing."

Bucky was chuckling again. "Willing doesn't even begin to cover it, but if that's the case, isn't it good experimental design to continue under the same conditions as before?"

"I didn't know you liked to talk dirty," she said with a grin. "But you're right, let's head back."

It was getting late and the air was cooler on their trip back to the Hub, though they had enough incentive already to quicken their pace.

Jemma got to experience Bucky's serum-enhanced refractory period first hand and they tested out two of those positions before finally falling asleep. Then, a few hours later, Jemma was able to add slow, sleepy morning sex to her data set.

She was on the edge of dozing off again when Bucky said, "I know what I want to do."

"I hope it's me one more time before breakfast," she murmured sleepily, pressing herself back against her big spoon.

Bucky chuckled against her shoulder. "Well, that's a given." He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. "But what I meant was, I know what I want to do now that you've fixed me."

Jemma's eyes opened. She took a moment to steel herself before rolling over so she could see his face.

"And?" she asked. She reminded herself one more time that what she wanted most of all was what was best for him.

He propped himself up on one elbow so he was looking down at her. "I want to keep fighting the good fight. I can't do it at Steve's side, not right now anyway, but there must still be things I can do—undercover missions, recon—like Natasha." He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear as he spoke. "Agent Coulson's rebuilding S.H.I.E.L.D. from the ground up, right? I'm going to ask him if there's a place for me here."

The bubble of worry in Jemma's chest burst into a wave of relief. "That sounds like an excellent idea," she said, a wide smile spreading across her face.

She wound her arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss, revelling in the thought that she wouldn't have to give him up any time soon.

"Now," she said, hooking her leg around his, "about that other thing you were going to do?"

THE END