Author's Note: Welcome back, readers! Thank you for the kudos and comments - keep them coming! I'm going to try to update this story with some regularity. I can't promise a schedule until I really get going, but I'm aiming for a minimum of one chapter a week. Finally starting to see the light at the end of the season 2 tunnel helps - it's hard to write FitzSimmons so broken like they were all that season.

Also, I'm looking at this writing as a form of therapy since that season 5 finale was... Let's just say NOT AT ALL what I hoped it would have been.

"Careful!" Fitz yelled, arms crossed. "That's very valuable!"

The SHIELD agent - if that's even what they are - that was rifling through books on Simmons' desk paused, holding up a well-worn light purple spiral ring notebook. He raised his eyebrow as though to say, "Really? This is valuable?"

Fitz just huffed, staring the agent down. "I'm sorry, do you have old notebooks filled with groundbreaking research from your first doctorate that you got at age 14? No? Then I'm not surprised you don't understand its value."

He marched over to Simmons' desk and yanked the notebook out of the man's hand, carefully returning it its designated space on Simmons' immaculate bookshelf.

"Agent Fitz, you're going to have to ask you to step back and let us do our jobs," Agent Weaver said from the doorway of Simmons' room, where she was supervising the search of Simmons' things.

Fitz rolled his eyes and continued to hover, barking at everyone who touched Simmons' things. "That's Doctor Fitz to you, since I'm not so sure I want to be an agent of whatever team you seem to think you're running," he said, not making eye contact with Weaver.

"Hey! What do you think you're going to find in the medicine cabinet? The world's most dangerous hairbrush?" He yelled at another agent across the room, marching over to follow their every move.

"Fitz, calm down," Bobbi's soft voice came from the corner of the room, where she was carefully going through a pile of books she had laid across the bed. Simmons stood silently next to her, eyes coldly following everyone's move as her room was torn to shreds.

"You can call me Doctor Fitz, too," Fitz muttered, not sparing Bobbi a glance.

Simmons saw the hurt flash in Bobbi's eyes as she directed her attention back to the books, but didn't say anything. Since Ward's betrayal, the whole team took it pretty hard when they were lied to. Fitz especially.

Bobbi should've trusted them and told them what was going on. Simmons still didn't quite understand if, it she was being honest.

"This is an absolute snark hunt, but honestly, I hope you find something," she said flippantly to the agents in the room. "Because there's nothing in here more interesting than my diary, and I certainly don't think that contains any international secrets. I think the most scandalous thing in there are my thoughts on Fitz's cardigans."

"I - wha - you -" Fitz suddenly appeared next to her, his stutter suddenly reappearing with a force. "You write about my cardigans in your diary?" He asked in hushed tones, his face turning red.

"Of course, I was tracking your pattern of wearing them so I could get you one for your birthday that I know you would find suitable," Simmons said. "I like your blue ones best," she continued, before her attention was drawn by an agent pulling open the top drawer of her dresser.

"Hey!" Fitz shouted, following Simmons' gaze and marching over to investigate what the agent was doing.

Seeing the man's hands shifting aside colorful fabric in the drawer, Fitz froze, his face turning even brighter red than it was before. He stuttered for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts, before his fists curled into balls and he narrowed his eyes at the agent.

"Get. Your hands. Out. Of her underwear drawer." He said clearly and quietly.

Simmons approached and laid a soft hand on Fitz's shoulder in an attempt to rein him in. "I'm sorry, I should've mentioned that I keep state secrets tucked away with all my knickers," she said snidely, watching in amusement as all the men in the room slowly got more and more uncomfortable. All the men except Fitz, that is, as he looked like he might actually kill the agent going through her things.

"Sam, that's enough," Bobbi's voice called, putting an end to the searching. The man in question just glanced at Bobbi as he pulled out a long, flat box from the bottom of Simmons' drawer, causing a light blue lace bra to fall out.

But the biochemist didn't notice, suddenly fixated on the box. "That has nothing to do with this!" She said quickly, reaching for the box. Sam pulled back at the same time and the box opened up, its contents falling onto the floor.

"No!" Simmons said quickly, yanking the now empty box from Sam's hand and falling to her knees, trying to stuff the contents into the box quickly.

Fitz quickly knelt too, intending to help her pick up everything, but froze when he saw what they were collecting. It was... Well... Them. Their history.

Pictures he recalled seeing hung in Simmons' room at the Academy that he had long since assumed she'd hidden in some scrapbook stored back at her parents' house. More recent pictures that had hung in her room on the Bus that he feared had been tossed when she went undercover at Hydra. Well-worn Post-Its covered with his own scrawling handwriting that he couldn't even remember writing, they were so insignificant. He caught a glimpse of one that said "Good luck on test tmrw." The program from their graduation they had scrawled all over, passing notes and playing hangman during the boring three hour ceremony. A birthday card he remembered getting her a few years ago. Even more random things he would've labeled as junk: a used birthday candle, bottle top, a cracked seashell, a folded up takeout menu, a ticket stub, a piece of confetti.

"Simmons?" He asked, confused.

His friend was silent, cramming everything in the box and grabbing her fallen bra last, stacking in top of everything and shoving it all back in the drawer and slamming it shut.

"I think we're done here," Bobbi said quietly, gazing sadly at Simmons, who was busily studying her shoes, avoiding Fitz's eyes. "I'm sorry, Simmons," she said quietly as she pointed the team out of the room. "You know we had to conduct a search, no matter who it is. We were in Skye's bunk before this."

Simmons ignored her, watching the agents filing out of her room turning in the direction of the kitchen. "Hey! So Fitz doesn't get to enjoy your invasion of privacy, then? It's just me?"

The agents paused and looked at each other, bewildered. "Him?" One of them asked, pointing at Fitz. "This isn't his bunk, too?"

FitzSimmons stared at the agent then glanced at each other in unison. Why in the world would he think they lived together?