This is my FitzSimmons Secret Santa gift for 'theboyfallsfromthesky' on Tumblr, who requested, "A series of future scenarios with Fitz that Jemma kept dreaming about while she was stranded on the alien world."
Each chapter is essentially a different one of these, "future scenarios," that Jemma thinks about whilst on the planet. I ended up doing kind of a compare/contrast type thing between these fantasies and the planet meaning there IS some Will/Jemma but, rest assured, the focus of this fic is FitzSimmons. But you can't write about a planet with two inhabitants without actually writing about both of 'em!
Also, goes without saying but I don't own any of the characters etc. etc. etc.
"This place doesn't need populating."
It's an offhand comment, one that Will makes after a particularly frantic round of sex that ends with him once again slipping out of her just before coming undone, but it hits Jemma harder than she would have expected.
Not because she disagrees, because she absolutely doesn't. This place is hell and whatever hope she and Will give to each other might be enough for them, but is certainly not enough for another…
Another person.
The thought causes Jemma's stomach to roil and she hastily gets up from the cot, tugging on her clothes and moving to exit the cave. She gives Will a terse smile on the way out, murmuring a soft, "Just going to wash up," and doesn't stop to think about what it means that he believes her.
She makes her way over to the pool of water, plopping down beside it without much fanfare and letting her salty tears mix with the murky depths that hide the monsters below. Jemma can't help but think of her own hidden monsters, or rather, hidden feelings and secrets that she's done a fairly adequate job at burying until now.
She hasn't cried in sometime, not since she'd watched her last hope of getting off this godforsaken planet shatter before her eyes, and feels simultaneously wretched and relieved at the feeling of the hot tears against her cheeks.
It's been nearly two weeks since she and Will became whatever it is they are, and Jemma is mostly grateful for their shifted dynamic. She is a pragmatic and rational scientist first and foremost, and therefore knows that, without Will in her life, she likely wouldn't have one. She'd been more than ready to give up, to end the pain and misery, and, had Will not intervened with his kind words and soft assurances, she likely would have. He's served as her metaphorical light in the darkness of this planet since she'd resigned herself to the fact that this is her life now and always, and Jemma still can't quite articulate the gratitude she feels for him.
But there are moments, much like this one, where her mind strays from Will and this planet, focusing instead on another person and place.
It's happening less and less with each passing day, but every so often she's still overcome with a yearning for a life that she can no longer have. Jemma hates these moments for more than one reason. Partly because it seems belittling and disrespectful to the life she does have, here with Will, but mostly because each time her mind betrays her with a flash of something, someone, else, it feels as though her heart is being shredded all over again.
-O-
She wakes up to the sound of running feet, thumping at least twice per second due to the stubby little legs they're attached to, and feels her mouth tug upwards at the pitter-pattering outside the door of her bedroom. It's a familiar sound, one that she'll never truly tire of, as is the low groan that comes from the person attempting to sleep beside her.
Jemma chuffs out a low laugh at his mumbled, "Mmmmm… make it stop," as the words tickle against the back of her neck. He's pressed along the length of her, arm draped loosely around her abdomen, meaning it's not all that difficult for Jemma to turn around on the bed and face her husband with an arched brow that he can't even be intimidated by since his eyes are still firmly shut.
He might not be able to see her raised brow, but when he seems to wince slightly, eyes tightening further, Jemma has a pretty good feeling that Fitz can at least sense it. She smiles when he cracks an eye open, shifting closer into his warmth and bringing up a hand to scratch at the day-old stubble that covers her husband's jaw. He leans into her touch instinctually, moving his arm to pull her flush against him, and Jemma is overwhelmed by the feeling of warmth that makes its way through her in this moment.
She can't get much closer to Fitz than she already is, so Jemma moves the only part of her that can, craning her neck and pressing her lips firmly against his. She feels his smile beneath her lips for the briefest of moments before his mouth is shifting, slotting his own lips against hers so as to better kiss back.
When he pulls away, there's a soft smile on his face as well as the same expression that never fails to instantly cause a fluttering in Jemma's stomach. She's just about to tease him for it, even though she knows she likely looks just as dazed and love struck as him, when the thumping outside grows louder and immediately causes Fitz to groan again.
"Jemma. Jemma Simmons, you beautiful woman. You absolute genius and love of my life, please make it stop."
She laughs again at his whining and smacks a quick kiss to his lips, ruffling his hair in a combination of pity and affection. "It's Saturday Fitz. There's no stopping it."
Almost immediately, the soft thumps come to an abrupt halt, as though the figure outside their room could somehow hear the soft words, but Jemma knows that the source of the morning ruckus is merely waiting patiently for the clock hands in the hallway to strike 6:00.
After one particularly memorable morning in which Fitz had sternly told his mini-me that any day she entered their room before six would be a day without science experiments or hot cocoa, she had dutifully followed her father's warning. Naturally, Fitz hadn't taken into account the fact that, just because she wasn't in their room, didn't mean young Lucy wouldn't be awake and would simply cause noise elsewhere.
Meaning that every morning they're treated to the soft to moderately loud sounds of pitter pattering for the hour or so that Lucy is awake and biding her time until she's allowed to enter her parents' bedroom.
The current silence means the young girl is likely on the other side of the door staring fixedly at the clock, which really means Jemma and Fitz will soon be on the receiving end of one of the human cannonball wrestling moves that dear Aunt Skye taught their daughter how to do.
I'm still recovering from last weekend's elbow to the rib.
As if he can read her mind, Fitz lets out a soft sigh and moves his head to burrow his face into the crook of her neck. "How much time do we have?"
Jemma groans slightly at the question, mostly because it means moving her body and craning her neck to get a look at the clock behind Fitz's heads, and promptly falls back down to the mattress with a murmured, "Two minutes."
"Well then, I suppose we should make the most of 'em."
Jemma has time for one short laugh before Fitz is pressing his lips to hers again and kissing her with a fervor that always seems to present itself at this point in the day. And she, like always, kisses back with just as much enthusiasm, winding her arm around her husband and mentally counting down the few seconds she has left to enjoy this moment of bliss.
She pulls away with a soft sigh when ten seconds remain, eyes fluttering open to note the hazy look in Fitz's eyes and teeth biting into her lip at the low groan he releases when they break apart. For a brief moment he leans forward and Jemma worries that he might try to keep things going, but instead he places a chaste kiss to her jaw and murmurs, "Showtime," against her skin.
Jemma grins at the word and promptly reaches for the covers, tossing them over her and Fitz's heads and shrouding them in darkness. For a brief moment their intermingling breaths are the only thing she hears but then she catches the telltale sound of a turning doorknob. Fitz must hear it as well because he instantly begins an exaggerated bit of snoring and Jemma giggles softly before joining in, as is tradition.
Barely five seconds later the snoring is drowned out by squeals of, "Mummy," and, "Daddy," and one particularly loud, "Oof," from Fitz as their daughter leaps atop the bed and crashes into them.
By some miracle Jemma manages to avoid the full brunt of their daughter's admittedly slight weight, instead watching as Fitz winces under the darkness of the covers and bites his lip to keep from crying out as the sharp elbows and pointy knees dig into him from above. The darkness doesn't last long though because in the next instant, two chubby little hands are yanking the covers down and enveloping the, "sleeping," adults in light.
"Wake up! Wake up! It's pancake Saturday!"
Jemma tries to keep the ruse up as long as possible, snoring even louder to sell it, but stops the moment two tiny hands grab her cheeks and the owner of said hands begins to reign down kisses onto her face. She opens her eyes quickly and shifts her arms, tickling the sandy-haired four year old on top of her and grinning in delight at the squeals of laughter that leave her daughter's mouth. The young girl collapses in giggles, sandwiching herself between her parents, and Jemma only has to share one look with Fitz before she and her husband are attacking their little one with kisses and tickles.
The giggles continue for a full minute until Fitz and Jemma slow their fingers and give their daughter a moment to catch her breath. Lucy's eyes are tightly shut but when she opens them Jemma sucks in a breath at the sight of the brilliant blue gaze that she's loved since she was seventeen. She might not have known it at seventeen, but over the years Jemma has become more than aware of the fact that this specific shade of blue means home.
She shifts her head slightly, glancing at Fitz and feeling that same warmth flood through her system as she catches his gaze, the same brilliant blue one that he'd passed along to their daughter, and marvels at the utter perfection that is this moment. She assumes that it can't get any better and is promptly proven wrong when Fitz leans forward and places a tender kiss to her lips, only pulling back at the sound of one high-pitched, "Ewwwwww," coming from beneath them.
Fitz scrunches his nose before bending down and rubbing it against the smaller one, nearly identical to Jemma's, below him.
"Oh you can kiss mummy but I can't?!"
Lucy lets out another giggle, nodding her head enthusiastically before saying, "Yes because I love mummy most."
Jemma's soft smile widens at her daughter's declaration and somehow grows even more at Fitz's snort of disbelief. "Yes but I've loved mummy longer. And if I've loved mummy longer doesn't that technically mean that I love her most?"
Jemma fights a grin at the sight of her daughter tilting her head in contemplation at her father's words but can't hold out when the young girl shakes her head and squints up at Fitz before saying, "No."
Fitz gapes down at his mini-me and lets out a rather indignant squawk before exclaiming, "Why not?!"
In a huff of exasperation that could only be rivaled by her father, and an eye roll that could only be topped by her mother, young Lucy Fitzsimmons shakes her head and answers with a, "You can't quantify love daddy. You can only feel it."
The response causes Jemma to collapse onto the bed in laughter, partly because of her daughter's serious expression but mostly because of the fish-like one that Fitz is wearing. He's gaping down at the child below him, mouth opening and closing a few times before he just shakes his head and glances at Jemma.
"Bloody four year-old throwing out sage wisdom on love like she's the next Jane Austen."
Jemma tuts once, giving Fitz a warning look to keep his language child-friendly, before rolling over so she's can press against her daughter's tiny frame and wind a hand through her husband's hair. "Let's agree that you both love me most and I love you most."
She bites her lip at the identical looks of contemplation on both Fitz and Lucy's faces and smiles softly when they turn to each other, raise an eyebrow, and share a classic look of Fitzsimmons silent communication. When beaming smiles cross each of their faces, Jemma knows that they've come to an agreement and braces herself for whatever said agreement might entail for her.
Sure enough, in the next moment both her husband and daughter are pouncing on her and taking turns pressing chaste kisses all across her face. When Fitz lands a smacking one to her lips, one that seems to last quite a bit longer than the others, Lucy clambers onto his back and whispers something in his ear that Jemma can't quite make out.
Whatever it is must be good because Fitz grins and nods in response. Lucy climbs off of him with an excited shout and bounds off the bed and out the door. She sprints down the hallway, stubby little legs moving quicker than Jemma would ever believe possible, and shrieks of pancakes as she does. Jemma can't help but watch her daughter fondly, smile growing as her sandy hair disappears around a corner.
"Sometimes I can't believe it."
The soft reverence in Fitz's voice makes Jemma turn to him, breath hitching at the complete adoration on his face.
"Believe what?"
He turns back to her, blue eyes shining with the emotions that every poet has tried to quantify and make sense of, and Jemma once again feels the all-consuming warmth that speaks of home.
"That this is our life, that she's ours, that this… this is real."
-O-
Jemma's eyes snap open as a choked sob is ripped from her chest. Her hand moves to clutch at her stomach as she's overcome by a feeling of nausea at the image, the daydream, that her mind has so cruelly envisioned.
The unbridled feeling of despair quickly transforms into a simmering rage and she angrily smacks her hand against the still water below, watching as the ripples scurry away from her. For one reason or another, the sight causes a fresh wave of tears and a new feeling of regret for disturbing the calm. Jemma lets her head fall into her hands, breathing deeply in an attempt to bring back her own calm, and tries to clear her mind of everything except the here and now.
You're on an unknown planet. You're not alone. You have Will. You and Will are something. You're doing your best to try and forget your favorite word. You don't want to your favorite word.
She gives herself another five minutes. Five minutes to acknowledge every confused emotion that is plaguing her. Five minutes to remember and five minutes to build up the strength to forget. And when her five minutes are up, Jemma submerges her face in the pool of water, scrubs the tears away, and heads back to her cave, to her home, and to and Will.
And each time they come together, Jemma lets him continue to believe it necessary to slip away just as he's on the precipice of coming undone. Lets him pull away each and every time under the guise that it's to save another soul from the hell that is this planet.
She never mentions to Will the fact that, as a female S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, she'd undergone measures to ensure long-term birth control the moment she'd first stepped foot into the Academy.
She never reveals that her reason for pushing Will as he pulls has little to do with sparing this world of another victim and everything to do with the blue-eyed and sandy-haired youth of her imagination.