The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness. –John Muir


They were in nearly the exact same position the next morning as when they'd both drifted to sleep the night before.

Fitz woke quietly this time—one moment he was asleep and the next, he was awake. His eyes blinked open to the sunny glare filtering down through the leaves above, the amber light was just fading into violet as the sun crested the mountains and he could hear the twittering of a great flock of birds as they sat high in the leafy umbrella of the forest. He didn't move at all, just laid there listening to their soft warbling, coming to full awareness of the warm body he was pressed against: Jemma.

She must have heard his breathing change since she couldn't see his face where it was resting just behind her head. She seemed to have her long hair wound over her shoulder but some little hairs had come loose and were just barely tickling his cheek.

"Don't be embarrassed, Fitz," she suddenly blurted out and there was a strange desperation in her voice.

It took a shamefully long time for him to understand what she was on about. His hand had wandered up from her waist during the night and his fingers were just barely flexed over the curve of her breast. He figured it out more from location than actual sensory perception. And though one likely had little to do with the other, his brain made the lovely simultaneous realization that he was quite closely pressed against her and—euphemistically speaking—the "molecules" below his belt were currently in an "excited state".

He jerked away, turning his back to her, wanting nothing more than to curl into the fetal position and cover himself up completely with dirt. If he sunk into the soft soil of the meadow, down into a bottomless pit, that would be just fine as well—a bonus really. Perhaps the Balrog would take pity on him and swallow him whole.

He felt her turn toward him, sliding her hand along his arm (which was really NOT helpful just now) as she said, "It's a normal, healthy biological reaction. It doesn't…mean anything. Don't be upset, please?"

It was, oddly enough, not making him feel much better. "I'm fine," he said, though it was rather muffled by his hand over his very red face. "Jus'…gimme a minute," he breathed out.

She hesitated a moment before finally answering. "Alright." She got up and headed for the trees. "I'll just be…you know," she said sounding rather embarrassed herself.

He peeked between his fingers to see her shaking her head at either him or herself, he wasn't entirely sure. He might've considered asking her if he weren't utterly, monumentally horrifically, soul-crushingly mortified. He could at least console himself with the idea that, if they died, she wouldn't have the memory for long.

He shook himself mentally—that was not the way to be thinking now! He couldn't be going off joking about giving up, even in his head. What he really needed to be thinking about was how to get them out of this fucked-to-shit situation. So that's exactly what he would do...just as soon as he could manage not to cringe in bloodcurdling, abject humiliation.

Making sure she was out of sight and earshot, he sat up and stretched, bringing his hands down to cover his still-warm face as he groaned out, "Fan-fuckin'-tastic start to the day."

It wasn't like his life was difficult enough at the moment. Oh, no. Just add some horribly awkward discomfort to the mix to boot. Great. Thanks for that. Bloody universe.

To continue the physics metaphor, his "molecules" down below were finally beginning to return to "ground state". He wasn't sure how he was going to deal with his "spontaneous excitation" situation now he was forced to spend absolutely all his bloody time with Jemma. He normally dealt with being around her not even half this often by "inducing emission" on a fairly regular basis. It wasn't as if he would be able to go have a wank in the woods whenever he needed it. And with all the closeness that had been going on between them the last two days, he was in serious need of "inducing emission" right bloody now—especially, if they were going to be sleeping like that every night. He didn't want to reach a point of becoming "metastable". Ugh, the physics metaphor really was getting a bit thin.

He grimaced as an unpleasant dart of anxiety shot down his spine when he spied Jemma heading back through the trees. He was afraid she'd bring it up again. She wasn't exactly one for letting things drop if she thought she could help. Which she bloody well could not! He clamored to his feet and strode purposefully toward the trees. She opened her mouth to say something as he passed, but seemed to think better of it before continuing on by. He sighed, shoulders dropping with relief.

When he came back a few minutes later she was sitting on his lab coat again, stirring the burnt out fire aimlessly with a stick.

"Ready to head out then?" he asked, hoping to forestall any talk on the subject of his "excitation".

She just nodded without meeting his eyes. Which was excellent as far as he was concerned. Avoidance was exactly the tactic he intended to employ.

He got his homemade crisp-packet dew condenser and though Jemma tried to argue, he forced her to drink the tiny mouthful of water it held by ultimately threatening to dump it out. He removed the pole from his fishing gear and left it by the fire pit, stuffing the rest into his pocket, the hook tucked safely away in his toolkit. He accepted his lab coat from Jemma's hesitant fingers and gave it a shake before he put it back on. He dug through the fire pit on the spur of the moment until he finally found a few decent pieces of charcoal which he added to his toolkit. Finally, he checked the message he'd carved into the table one last time and patted his hand across the words. Please find us, Jane, he thought.

He turned to Jemma and nodded. "Okay, ready." He picked up the compass he'd made the previous day and carried it gingerly in front of him. "Since we don't know where we're goin', one direction is as good as another. We just need to make sure we keep goin' the same way," he assured her.

They tramped through the trees as it got gradually darker and darker beneath the dense covering of foliage until Fitz finally had to get his penlight out so he could see the compass needle. The air grew thick, making it seem difficult to breath but it was also cool and dank, making his skin feel unpleasantly cold and clammy.

Jemma stayed mainly close to his right shoulder. Sometimes he could actually feel her there brushing against his elbow she was so near. He knew she must be scared but he actively tamped down his own fear, trying to keep his head clear so he could stay alert to potential dangers. Christ knew what might be lurking in the woods with them. All he had for a weapon was a rather good quality flat-blade screwdriver tucked into his pocket where he could get to it as needed.

Their eyes having adjusted fairly well, he finally elected to turn off his penlight as he was afraid of the battery going flat all too quickly. He only turned it on occasionally to check that they were still following the compass needle where they needed to. He used one of the bits of charcoal he'd salvaged from the fire-pit to mark their way on the tree trunks occasionally. Jemma gave him a quizzical look the first time but, without a word from him, understanding flooded her features and she soon took over the task so he could focus on keeping careful hold of their compass.

They walked in the near-dark for a long time, taking a break to sit every hour or two. Once in awhile, the trees would creak so loudly overhead, they would both brace themselves for some giant branch to come crashing down from above—but it never happened. Sometimes as they rested, they would pass his chapstick back and forth, grimly trying to wet their dry lips. It helped some, but also served to remind them that their time was running short.

They came to a spot of sunlight on occasion and, once, even to a little softly-lit glade in the middle of all that dark and damp; it had grass and even a few small purple flowers. Jemma let out a short little burble of laughter as they crossed over it. In the sudden bright light, he glanced over to see her in the diffuse glow and saw how her eyes crinkled at the corners in her delight. She looked strangely happy. But he only trudged on, wishing he could share in her joy but also knowing the inherent danger now of letting his feelings go. He'd decided that he needed to begin looking at her comfort as a task. It was his job as her friend, but nothing more. He would try to keep his emotions in check by not letting them get in the way to begin with.

This sounded good in his head but somehow he couldn't quite believe he would have the discipline required to keep it up. If only because it felt too good to have her in his arms, even just for a bit. Even if it was only until they got back home. He wasn't sure he could forgo the opportunity. Nevertheless, he also knew he needed that discipline—he had to maintain some emotional space between them to keep himself from running slightly mad. He'd be of absolutely no use to her then. Not to mention, the middle of a deep, dark forest of unknown dangers was certainly no place for them to have it out about his ongoing feelings yet again. And, really, what was the point? Nothing had changed. Though this was all emotionally overwhelming enough without Jemma plastering herself over him when she damn well knew what it would mean to him.

But then it occurred to him that maybe she didn't realize—perhaps she thought he was over his unwelcome sentiments? It'd been more than two years since he told her after all and he'd been with someone else for a time. Could she think he was now finished with his more-than-friendly feelings? It explained her freer attitude around him once again and her teasing remarks. If she believed it was no longer an issue between them, then she wasn't being carelessly cruel, she was just trying to return things to where they had once been. The thought of making her aware of his feelings again suddenly became unbearable. How he'd hate to shatter her illusion that he'd gone back to the old Fitz that she never had to walk on eggshells with. Who she felt free to be playful and affectionate with when the urge struck. God, how he'd hate to ruin everything again. He couldn't stand that.

Finally, after walking for seven hours or so, they came across a particularly dense spot where the ground was festooned with a great multitude of knotty, twisting tree roots growing across the peaty forest floor. Fitz caught his foot on one of the unseen gnarled roots where it lay writhing up from the ground and nearly fell headlong into the dirt. He was only saved by Jemma's closeness. She caught him by the shoulder but the precious water in their compass sloshed over the sides of the bark bowl even as he tried to steady it.

He set down the compass and pulled the penlight from his pocket to check the level and found that he wasn't certain if there was still enough liquid to allow the leaf to move freely. He twisted it in another direction and found that the leaf got caught up on the bark as it tried to rotate. Too much water had spilled and the compass would no longer function.

"Goddamnit!" he shouted at the top of his voice. Overhead, an enormous horde of birds took to the sky over his outburst and he immediately felt Jemma clinging to his arm as they both ducked their heads at the thunderous noise of so many birds flapping at once.

When the cacophony had died down to the occasional flap, they both just stared at one another in the murky shadows. Jemma was the first to laugh but he soon found himself chuckling with a hand pressed over his mouth, trying not to stir up anything else that might be lurking in the trees.

He sat down heavily on a giant root and said, "Now what're we goin' to do?"

She sat beside him and, still trying to control the last of her tittering, said, "I have no idea, Fitz. But I suppose we'll figure it out."

"Next time I'm giving out advice to Jane about where to land on some alien world, would you please remind me of how long we had to walk through this bloody forest?" Fitz asked drily.

"Yes, no need for concern there. I'll probably be reminding you for years to come regardless." She probably meant it lightly but somehow it silenced them both as they each realistically contemplated what their prospects might be. He couldn't quite picture what their future might look like at the moment, everything was just a bit too complicated and he didn't want to mire himself down with worst-case scenario outcomes.

"What time is it?" Fitz asked suddenly, afraid to repeat his over-familiar gesture of looking at her watch for himself.

She glanced at it, poking the little button that lit up the face—with a bit of a laugh still in her words, she said, "It's nearly one o'clock back on planet Earth."

"Two more hours until it gets truly dark then," he said, almost to himself. Trying to catch her eyes in the dimness, he said, more loudly this time: "Maybe we should just camp here for now? I'm done for and, well, I've got something I'd like to give a go before it gets too dark."

"Good. I'm knackered as well," she agreed and slid her fingers lightly along his knee. It was perfectly friendly but it was against his new policy. He ignored the shiver that went up his spine over the contact and stood. He tried to do it casually, he didn't want to hurt her feelings but he also couldn't let things get out of order in his head any longer. His will was the last thing standing between their again-comfortable friendship and him bollixing everything up by blurting out some new confession or how much he wished she would just stop bloody touching him.

"Gimme your watch," he said, holding out his hand.

She quickly took it off and handed it to him. He sat down on the ground, wrinkling his nose at the smell of decayed leaves, and pulled out his toolkit. Holding his penlight between his teeth, he quickly had the back of the watch off and, after half an hour or so of tinkering with it, he snapped it back together and held it up.

"There," he said proudly, handing it to Jemma. "The first human-owned watch for…whichever planet this turns out to be."

Jemma looked suitably impressed. "How'd you manage it?"

He shrugged and nearly bit his tongue trying to stop himself from saying that he'd done the math again. "I figured it out. Nineteen hours twenty-two minutes to a day…sunrise at seven forty-three. Resetting the watch was simple. Well, not simple but…" He shrugged again.

She smiled and put it on her wrist.

He laid out his homemade dew condenser for the morning before he took the full packet of crisps and the granola bar out of his pocket. "Shall we split one?" he asked.

She nodded enthusiastically, unsurprisingly, choosing the granola bar. He opened it and, breaking it in half, gave her the larger piece.

"Fitz," she chided, breaking off a small bit and offering it to him.

By now, his piece was already gone and he held up a hand to wave her off. "Couldn't eat another bite," he joked, still chewing. When she continued to hold it out to him, his voice tinged with something like a plea, he finally said, "No, you have it, Jemma…okay?"

She looked at him for a long moment, then sighed and popped it into her mouth.

The light was fading in earnest and though they'd brought Jemma's fire-making tools there was nothing dry enough to burn. They huddled together against the trunk of a gigantic tree for warmth in the damp air. Dew had already begun to settle over their hair and in their eyelashes. Fitz thought if he had perhaps a hundred crisp packets he might be able to partially fill a small water bottle. He rubbed his dry lips together and looked skyward, asking the universe to give them some rain.

Apparently, the universe was in a generous mood.

He woke to the feeling of ice cold water showering down over his head. It only took him a moment to realize what it was. He brought the full crisp packet out of his pocket and, opening it carefully, he dumped the crisps down into his pocket. He then waited for it to fill up. It was nearly done by the time Jemma woke up.

"Want the first one?" he asked. She looked over into the packet at the drifting bits of crisp and wrinkled her nose.

Shaking her head, she asked, "Are you sure it's…safe?"

"Nope," he said and began to guzzle the potato-water down, pausing several times, so he wouldn't get sick.

She yawned and stretched as he finished it off. She then waited as he held it up to a leaf that seemed to be a good funnel and, evidently, ignoring her own concerns, she drank her water almost as greedily as he had. Though she did pause frequently, more cautious than he, to let her stomach try to absorb the liquid.

They drank three more packets of water each, after which he refilled it and used Jemma's hair tie to secure the top so he could put it in his pocket. Expecting a lecture, he sheepishly offered her some slightly soggy crisps from his pocket. But the reprimand never came and they ate them gratefully as the rain began to slow.

They both drank a bit more water, directly from the tap of a leaf this time, until the flow had all but stopped.

"We'd better head out," he said finally.

The good news was that their compass was, once again, completely full. The bad news was that the paperclip was no longer magnetized. He tried running it over the inside of his soggy wool cardigan and over his rather damp cotton shirt but nothing worked—the wet had killed the static.

They headed off in the general direction they thought they'd been going. Unfortunately, they had no way to be sure and, without being able to see any hint of the sun, there was nothing to lead them—nothing but Fitz.