On the morning of their scheduled evacuation, Fitz and Jemma stood in the middle of his room, surrounded by stacks of neatly-folded clothes. His suitcase lay open on his bed, and with Jemma's assistance, he was deciding on what clothes would be the best to bring, which items would be multi-purpose down in the caves.

"Have you thought about what else you want to bring?" she asked, rolling up the t-shirts he'd already picked to go. "That isn't clothes, I mean."

"Not really." Hands on his hips, Fitz turned to look at his bookshelves and the top of his dresser, which were crammed with mementos, school awards, and photos. "I've got an old photo album I definitely want to bring, but the rest of it…how much is any of it going to matter, you know, after?"

Jemma hummed thoughtfully as she started putting his t-shirts into his suitcase. "Fair enough. I know Mum was having a hard time deciding what was essential and what wasn't when we were packing last night. There's not much you can carry in one small suitcase and a carry-on."

Fitz glanced up at her, smiling, then shook his head at a pair of shoes before throwing them back in his closet. "Why am I not surprised that you've already packed?"

"You know I like to be prepared well in advance." She gave him a smile in return that bordered on teasing. "Besides, I knew I'd be over here today helping you, so I thought it would be better if I went ahead and did my packing first."

Then she turned to another pile of clothes on his bed. When Fitz saw what she was picking up to fold, he yelped and dropped his other pair of shoes before rushing forward to slap her hands away. "No!" he cried. "You do not touch those! I can pack my pants on my own, thank you!"

Jemma watched in open-mouthed silence as he gathered up all of his boxer-briefs and backed away, clutching them to his chest. Then she rolled her eyes and reached for the stack of jeans next to his pillow. "Don't be such a child, Fitz, you might as well get used to it. I'm sure I'll have my hands on them plenty after we get to the Ark."

Fitz nearly dropped them all then as his arms went a bit slack, an ugly heat crawling its way up his neck. Mother of all things. Jemma kept rolling up his jeans until she noticed that he was staring at her; then she looked up, saw his face, and realized how her words could have been taken. Her hands flew to her neck as she blushed scarlet.

"Not like that!" she squeaked, eyes wide. "I-I meant-when we do laundry, I might have to handle them then-"

He swallowed and edged around to the far side of the bed, pushing away the tantalizing mental image of Jemma's hands on his boxer-briefs while he was still wearing them. He dumped them on the bed, a safe distance from her, and started shoving them into the webbing on the inside of the suitcase lid. "Yeah, well-you just try to keep your-hands off my pants for now, yeah?"

Jemma laughed quietly at that, her fingers slipping down from her neck to worry at the chain of her necklace and the pendant and ring hanging from it. "Alright, Fitz. But just remember, I've got-clothes of my own, that you'll have to get used to seeing-"

He groaned loudly, making a show of throwing his head back and staring up at the ceiling.

"And, you might have to handle them too." This time, Jemma looked a little amused by his discomfort instead of embarrassed, even though her cheeks were still pink. "It's just part of living together, that's all."

Fitz really didn't want to think about Jemma's underthings, or Jemma in her underthings, at least not while she was in the room. He scrubbed a hand over his face and blew out a loud breath before looking back down to finish packing his underwear. "I'll leave that to you," he said, coughing when his voice cracked. "I might wash them wrong or something."

"Nonsense." Jemma squeezed another rolled-up pair of jeans into his tightly-packed suitcase. "I'm not going to wash your laundry for you all of the time the way your mother does." She flashed him a quick smile when he glared at her. "I'll teach you. And you're brilliant, so you should pick it up quite easily." She fit in one last pair of jeans, patted them, and then stood back with a satisfied sound. "There! I think that's your clothes sorted then, once you're through." Then she looked around. "Oh! Socks! You'll need at least a few pairs of socks." She crossed quickly over to his dresser and pulled the top drawer open, rifling through it before pulling out a few pairs of white socks and a few that were darker. Fitz took them from her as she handed them over and stuffed them into the webbing next to his boxer-briefs; then he laid his jacket flat on top of everything, folded the arms in, and shut the suitcase.

It took a little bit of tugging on the zipper pull, and Jemma sitting on top of the lid, but they eventually got the suitcase completely shut. Fitz grunted as he pulled it down off of his bed and set it against the wall by the door. Then they both collapsed on the end of his bed, looking around the room in silence. He tried to take all of it in, the room that had been his sanctuary for the past few years.

"It's strange, isn't it?" Jemma murmured after a moment. "That we're leaving all of this behind."

Fitz smiled faintly. She always knew what he was thinking. "Yeah," he replied, scuffing his heel against the carpet. "I've already slept in this bed for the last time. Mum won't ever make dinner in the kitchen again, we won't marathon Doctor Who on the telly…"

"No more late nights out on the roof," she added, nodding toward his window.

He nodded too, then sighed. "I know we're going to be as safe as we can be in Missouri and that it won't all be like a military camp, but…" He trailed off, hesitant to voice his thoughts out loud. He knew, though, that Jemma would never judge him for being sentimental, not when she knew he was being serious about it. "It's just…what if it's not really a home? Or it doesn't feel like one? We'll be there for two years at least."

"We'll make it a home," Jemma said earnestly. "I believe that it's people who make a home, not the place." She gently knocked his elbow with hers. "And we'll still have each other there, yeah? And our parents. That's what matters."

"Yeah," he said, and gave her a small smile. He couldn't help but think of how he'd been so lucky to find a home in Jemma when he hadn't been able to anywhere else, and how just being near her reassured him like nothing else could.

Her smile brightened at the sight of his, and she reached out to squeeze his knee before she stood up. "Come on," she said, walking toward his bookshelves. "I'll help you pick out some things to put in your backpack."

-:-

Later that night, they stood with their parents on the sidewalk in front of his house, waiting on the Army bus that would take them and other lottery selectees to the Ark. Brimming with nervous energy, Fitz kept jiggling his hand against his thigh, and it was only Jemma's presence right next to him that kept him from outright pacing.

Jemma looked past him to where their parents were standing a few steps away with their luggage, talking quietly, then back to him. After a moment she reached out to lightly grasp his hand, stilling it.

"Don't worry," she said quietly. "Everything will be fine. You had all the paperwork signed and sent in."

"I know," he replied, and actively tried to focus on staying still. "I'm sorry. I just-you know I worry."

She gave him a reassuring smile. Then they heard the distant rumble of an engine and looked up. At the far end of the street, they saw a bus turn the corner, followed by an Army truck. Fitz felt Jemma tense slightly next to him despite her outward calm, and he shifted his hand in hers to give her fingers a quick squeeze.

Once the bus came to a stop near them, the door opened and two soldiers got out, one of them holding a clipboard and a flashlight. Mrs. Fitz took hold of both her and Fitz's suitcases and started forward toward the bus, but the soldiers stopped her. "Hold on just a minute," one of them said briskly. "We need to see some ID."

The soldier with the clipboard quickly flipped through a list attached to it. "Fitz?" he asked.

Mrs. Fitz nodded. "Yes, that's us."

He nodded back and switched on his flashlight. "IDs, please."

Fitz handed his mother the papers and cards he'd already had out waiting, and she combined them with her own to hold out to the soldier. "There's two of us," she said. "Me and my son, Leo. Leopold."

The soldier looked from the list to the IDs, then at her. "Karen?" he asked.

She nodded, then looked back at Fitz. Taking his cue, he dropped Jemma's hand to place his lightly at her back, bringing her up next to him. "This is my-my wife Jemma. We have a marriage license." He pointed to it in his mother's hand.

The soldier with the clipboard looked from the license to their IDs, then shone the beam of his flashlight into Jemma's face in order to get a better look at her. She shied away a little, squinting her eyes shut against the glare; Fitz pressed his hand harder into her back.

After a moment, the soldier nodded and clicked off his flashlight. "Okay. Everything checks out." Then he turned back to the bus. "Alright, let's go, let's move out!"

Mrs. Fitz took hold of their suitcases again and strode toward the bus, where the other soldier stood waiting to help her load them. Giving Jemma a quick smile-nothing to worry about, everything was fine-Fitz hefted his backpack up more securely on his shoulders and went to follow her.

Almost immediately, Jemma realized that her parents weren't following too. Her steps slowed as she looked back at them, still standing on the sidewalk and looking faintly stunned. "Mum…?" she asked, then looked back at the soldiers. "Wait, sir-my parents, they're supposed to be coming too!"

Fitz, who had stopped in his tracks the moment Jemma had, swallowed against the pit of dread that had just formed in his stomach. "Yeah-the Simmonses, they're on the list too, yeah?" he echoed. "They're coming."

The soldier with the clipboard had taken it back out and was looking through the pages again, spelling out their last name under his breath. After a moment, he shook his head. "They're not on here."

"What?" Fitz and Jemma both cried, just as Mrs. Fitz, standing on the first step up into the bus, said, "Check the bloody list again!"

Leaving Jemma to walk over to the soldier, Fitz craned his head to try and get a look at the clipboard. "No, no no, you don't understand," he said hurriedly, feeling panic rising. It had to be a mistake. This wasn't happening, not now. "They've got to be on there, Victor at Civil Defense said he sent their names to the White House!"

The soldier simply shook his head again. "I'm sorry, they're not on here. They're not authorized to board." He looked back at the driver of the bus, who was pointedly tapping his wristwatch. "We have to go."

"But sir, wait, I just-" The soldier ignored him in favor of getting their luggage loaded onto the bus. Fitz turned to look desperately back at Jemma and her parents, a feeling of betrayal crushing his chest and making it hard to breathe. "I put you on the list! Mr. Simmons, they said your names were on the list. Jemma-I-I put them on the list, I swear!"

Jemma was standing, seemingly frozen to the spot, looking between him and the soldiers with horrified disbelief on her face. Her mother looked equally upset, but a grim sort of acceptance had come over her father. "We're not on the list, Leo," he said, far too calmly.

Behind him, one of the soldiers shouted, "I need the Fitzes on the bus, now."

Fitz walked toward them, but stopped when Jemma took a step back. It hurt just as much as if she'd slapped him in the face. He could only watch, chest constricting and heart pounding, as she looked up at her father, then back to him. There was a war waging in her eyes.

"I-" she said, looking between them again. "Dad, I-I can't just leave you-"

"What?" her father exclaimed.

Fitz felt like the ground had collapsed beneath him. "No, no, no," he mumbled, spurred to close the remaining distance between them and take her hand, to pull her to him. But she resisted, even as her father tried to guide her to Fitz, telling him to get her on the bus. Jemma dug her heels in, dragging them to a halt again.

"Dad," she repeated, eyes wild and panicked, "I can't just leave you and Mum here, I can't, you'll-you'll-"

Her father grasped her by the shoulders and ran a hand over her cheek. "Jemma, you can. I'm telling you to. Get on the bus, we'll be fine."

Jemma shook her head, trying to cling to his hands, but he wouldn't let her. "That's a lie, Dad, you know it is!"

Mr. Simmons met Fitz's eyes over Jemma's head. Something like understanding passed between them, and Fitz reached out to pull at her elbow again, to turn her toward him. She came easily, swinging around to look at him with wide, devastated eyes. Everything was happening so fast, falling apart too quickly for him to process, and the only thing he could focus on was Jemma and the terrible indecision on her face. Jemma Jemma Jemma. He tried to lead her back to the bus one more time. She refused to move, feet frozen again, but couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from his. It was as if she was begging him not to make her choose.

His heart shattered into pieces. He knew, right then, that he'd lost her. He'd tried but he'd failed, and Jemma wasn't going to come with him. She was going to stay, and she was going to die.

With his entire world slipping through his fingers, the walls he'd built and the secrets he kept didn't matter so much anymore. "I don't want to go without you," he said brokenly, sliding his fingers down her arm to grasp her hand. "Please, Jemma, I-I love you."

Tears spilled down her cheeks then, her whole face crumpling. "I feel the same way!" she cried. "I love you too, you're my best friend in the world-"

"No, Jemma, you're more than that, I love you." It was a low blow, he knew, borne out of desperation, and there were tears on his cheeks now, too, but he couldn't care. This was his last chance. "So please, please come with me."

Jemma's mouth had fallen open in shock, her eyes going even wider as she stared back at him, her face bone-white in the light of the street lamps. Behind her, he could see tears on her mother's face, too.

"Come or stay, young lady, but this bus is moving out." It was the soldier again, closer this time, and suddenly there was a hand clamping down on the top of his backpack, dragging him backward. Jemma stumbled forward a step as his hand in hers tugged at her before it was wrenched free, but she didn't move to follow him, even when her father tried nudging her. She just stared, her face heartbroken, as the soldier pulled him onto the bus. He didn't protest. All of the fight had left him the second he realized she couldn't answer him, and he knew nothing he said would change her mind.

He didn't break her gaze, though, wanting to fill his eyes with as much of her as he could while he could, even though she was blurry through a glaze of tears. As the door to the bus hissed shut and it began to move, he automatically moved down the center aisle, trying to keep even with Jemma outside, trying to keep her in sight; she too was moving along with him, staring up at him through the bus windows. When there was nowhere left for him to go, he pressed up against the glass of the back door and watched as Jemma took several steps after them, reaching out as if she could still touch him, bring him back; then, as she faded into the distance, he saw her legs give out. Both of her parents rushed to her side as she collapsed, and the last Fitz saw of her was her burying her face in her hands. Then the bus turned the corner and she was gone from his sight, gone from his life.