:-D How about that finale, folks?
I posted an extra chapter yesterday in honor of Season 3 ending. So, if you missed that, go read it now!

Fitz tapped a final key to save the file and quickly closed his laptop. He looked up to see Mack striding towards the Fungineers booth and breathed out a quick sigh of relief.

"Perfect timing. Man the front while I go drop this off?"

"Sure thing, buddy." Mack plopped into a chair and stretched out his long legs. "Hey, you're going to the main stage?"

Fitz paused, already on his way down the path. "Yep."

"If you're going to talk to her…" Mack looked a tiny bit uncomfortable with the topic, but determined nonetheless. "Listen, Turbo." He planted his feet under him and leaned forward, elbow resting on his knees. "I'm real glad you two are getting along. Thing is, second chances… sometimes they've got an expiration date." He raised his eyebrows knowingly. "You want something in life, you gotta grab it."

Fitz scoffed silently at the platitude. Is that all it takes? Really? He'd always been more partial to earning his achievements through hard work. Though the option of grabbing Jemma didn't sound unappealing.

But speaking of work, he doubted that sort of thing would be welcome in the workplace. Huffing out a sigh, he waved goodbye to his friend and went to find his new coworker.

Jemma was pacing behind the stage, going through her pre-show ritual. Deep breaths. She took three of them. In, out, in, out, in, out. Nothing was going to go wrong tonight. Well, nothing else. "You are Jemma Simmons," she repeated under her breath. "You are Jemma Simmons, and you are not small."

"I don't know about that, five-foot-four."

She jumped, hand coming up to her chest in an attempt to tamp down her surprise. "Fitz! What are you doing here? Mack brought the flamethrowers by a while ago."

"Yes, but, erm," he held up his laptop bag, "I set you up a laser lights show? Is that all right?"

Her brows knitted together. Did he change his mind about the fire display? "What? Why?"

"It's nothin' big, just- just so you'll have something more than a pair of flame jets." He lifted one shoulder self-consciously. "And this way it's all hooked up together, the entire sequence'll be automated, the fire too, coordinated to your theme song-" he broke off, catching her expression, and a worried frown took over his face. "Sorry, is that okay? I suppose it was a bit, ah..."

"Fitz…"

"Didn't take long, it's not a big deal, you don't have to use it if you-"

"Fitz." She stepped closer. This guy. How could she ever have disliked him? He kept babbling, gesticulating, looking down and twisting the strap of his bag, and all she wanted to do was grab his hands and keep them still. And thank him. Jemma stepped nearer, resolved to do just that.

"Hey, CapChem, need anything else?" Lincoln came around behind the stage, spinning a pair of pliers in one hand.

"Oh!" she startled. Suddenly Fitz was looking straight at her, apparently surprised by how close they'd gotten while he was rambling, and she panicked, taking his laptop case. "Yes, Lincoln, actually, there is something you can do."

"While he's setting that up, could I talk to you for a second?"

Fitz watched as that pissant kid walked off with a wave, his laptop, and a brown-nosing little 'Anything for you, Simmons!' That punk's got some nerve. Who the Hell did he think he was, calling her by her last name like that - no title, no honorific, nothing. She prefers Doctor, you undiluted twat.

"Fitz?"

Ah, crap. She was staring, waiting. Forcing his thoughts back to the woman in front of him, he coughed out, "Yeah. Sorry, what's up?"

"Oh," she shrugged, expression uncertain. "I just wondered if you'd decided about the job?"

Fitz very nearly facepalmed. Apparently, amid all the excitement of the day, he'd neglected to even respond to her job offer and had simply been acting on the assumption that he had. Good goin', genius. He was really firing on all cylinders today.

"Right, yeah. Yeah! I meant to tell y' but I, erm," he tossed a weak thumbs-up in her direction, following the gesture with an anticlimactic "I'll take it!"

Oh, balls. A thumbs up? Forget Lincoln, I'm the twat.

She seemed not to notice his consternation, though, as she beamed up at him. "Good! I suppose it's not much of a surprise…"

Lord, am I that obvious?

"Given that you've gone well out of your way to help me today, which… you really didn't need to, you know." She reached out and brushed her fingers down his forearm. "There were other candidates, true," she said quietly, glancing back the way Lincoln had gone, "but we were only going to consider them if you turned the position down."

Fitz shifted his feet, his shoes suddenly made of marbles as he wondered how much he could get away with telling his - let's call a duck a duck - his new boss. "C'mon, Jemma. I didn't help you because I was hopin' to secure the job." She raised her eyebrows, and he forced out a breath. "I mean, I kind of still owe you for the show I ruined. Consider this payback."

Her shoulders dropped and her mouth twitched downward. "Ah, I see. Well, I guess that's settled, then."

And also I might love you. He scratched at his eyebrow. "Yep. Wouldn't want to start off working together with something like that hoverin' over my head. This way, I don't owe you anything, you don't owe me anything, it's all fine. Yeah?"

Jemma unnecessarily smoothed down the Spandex front of her Captain Chemistry costume. "Yes, of course. Well." She smiled quickly. "Cheers to new partnerships!" Suddenly, her hand was coming up for what he assumed was a high five. Either that or she's asking permission to speak freely.

He went to return the gesture - mustn't leave her hanging - and realized at the last second that she'd apparently intended to rest her hand on his shoulder. He did not realize this until he was already swatting his open palm into her curled fingers, awkwardly close to his chest. Criminy. He swallowed and bobbed his head in some sort of acknowledgement.

"Right. Anyway," she continued, starting to lean in for a second before apparently thinking better of it, "I do appreciate everything you've done."

The fleeting whiff he got of her hair smelled of baking spices, or something equally wonderful, and then she was pulling away. "Yeah. Yeah, no problem, Jemma."

Fitz shuffled back, turning to wiggle his fingers at her in an insufficient wave. "Good luck - erm, break a leg." A few steps farther and he turned again. "I mean, I want to make it clear that if you do break a leg, I had nothin' to do with that. I swear, I haven't sabotaged anyth-"

She rolled her eyes good-humoredly. "Bye, Fitz."

Jemma's mantra seemed to have worked. The final performance had gone off without a hitch, though at one point she'd nearly spilled her reagents when a strong gust of wind blew her new hair straight into her face and she'd had to spit out a few curls. She'd taken a moment to count her chickens - at least the stage didn't have any curtains to flap about, just solid wooden beams, and the event wasn't televised, so she could afford a few embarrassing moments. Be grateful for the small things in life, I suppose.

"So the last thing we're going to do, everyone," she announced brightly, her beaming face projected and magnified on the huge screen behind her, "is see a few examples of chemical reactions in the form of pyrotechnics."

At the audience's cheers, she smiled impossibly wider. "Yes, that means explosions." Jemma wandered to the side of the stage and grabbed her handy fire extinguisher. I should really name this thing. "Now, when people hear the word pyrotechnics, most of us think of special effects, fireworks, or stage shows," she started, walking back to the middle of the stage. "But what you may not know is that pyrotechnics refers to any self-sustained exothermic reaction that creates," she set the extinguisher on the lab table surface and started ticking off on her fingers, "light, smoke, sound - heat, obviously - or even gas!" She adjusted her lab goggles, indicated the fuel canisters at the front of the stage. "So that does mean things like smoke bombs, but it also refers to safety matches, airbags, and blasts used in mining and construction."

Looking around, Jemma started to sweat at the thought that her audience might be getting restless. "So, who's ready to see a demonstration?"

The thunderous applause was as good a reply as any. "I hope you've all had a lovely time today - I know I did!" Whoops and happy shouts were coming from every side. This is thrilling. She'd have to try to earn this assignment again next year. Perhaps with Fitz and Bobbi at my side next time.

Her eyes flew wide as she remembered Fitz and realized she'd neglected to mention his participation in the finale. "And let's give an especially big thank-you to the Amazing Leopold Fitz and the helpful guys at Fungineers, who put this pyrotechnics display together!" She peered into the crowd for Fitz, but couldn't spot him. He may not even have left his booth. Jemma tried not to feel too glum at the thought; it wasn't as if he owed her anything. After today, it was quite the opposite.

The audience cheered even louder, and Jemma gave Lincoln a quick signal where he sat, far off to the side and a ways behind the stage. Fitz's laptop was in Lincoln's hands, ready to set off the sequence that would combine music, lasers, and ultimately trigger the electronic match in the flame jets. He tapped a few keys, set the laptop on the chair, picked up his own fire extinguisher with a nod, and started heading her way as quickly as he could through the crowd. Because really, one couldn't be too careful - if anything went wrong with the flame jets, she'd want backup.

The speakers crackled to life, the lights dimmed automatically, and the lasers began to spin and swirl onto the projection screen behind her.

Here we go.

Author's Notes:

Dun dun dunnnn.

I can promise y'all that a) nobody is going to die in this fic, b) no one gets tortured or put through any Terrigen mist AT ALL, and c) very soon, *big spoiler Marvel-style* Fitz and Simmons have a talk.

The new chapter will be up on Friday!