The Commodore peppers him with questions about Jemma and what they'd done with their weekend. The old Navy veteran is working to convert old antique-fowling pieces and blunderbusses into something that could shoot Germans with reasonable accuracy while Fitz is working on his influence mines for Coulson. He's trying to incorporate Jemma's ideas and wishes she were here working alongside him already, but she's not due to arrive until noon. He wonders how many times he can explain to the Commodore that they're only friends and she's just visiting. He wonders if he even believes it himself.
"You mean to tell me she's got a week of holiday and of all the places she could go, she came to Scotland in the middle of March?"
"Well, she came with friends. Her friend lives here," Fitz mumbles, not sure who he's even trying to convince. The more he explains it the more he doubts it himself. There had been a genuine intimacy to everything last night. She wanted to know and share every aspect of his life here. He'd had more than one perfect opportunity to tell her that she was the best part of his life and all he dared to imagine when he dreamt of a world without war. But he couldn't get past the fact that she seemed to think nothing of the nature of each of her requests. The mere possibility that her asking to see his bedroom and prepare supper together could mean anything more must be so outlandish an option she didn't even second-guess it.
Her arrival at noon seems to confirm that fact. She is happy to see him, but even more eager to begin diving into work.
"Have you thought about mambas?"
The greeting takes him by surprise. Her hands are loaded with stacks of paper and, what looks to be several books. "You said you were thinking about using venom so first I considered cobras, but then I thought about mambas. Their venom's neurotoxic." She then proceeds to tell him all about how long it takes a human to collapse from a mamba bite. Apparently, she's spent all morning in the library researching neurotoxins.
Fitz adds "mamba venom" to his list for Major Coulson.
They work for six straight hours, feeding off each other's ideas. It's as perfect as he'd ever imagined working alongside her would be. Like they're sharing a brain.
"If we could make the bullets out of a polymer compound - "
" - that breaks up under the subcutaneous tissue - "
" - it might actually be able to work."
They grin at each other stupidly. All he can think about in this moment is that he never wants her to leave. He imagines talking to the Major and asking if she could stay on to assist him with his work. Surely, whoever she works for can find someone else to do whatever codebreaking work she is doing.
"I was also thinking about an animal protein or plant extract."
"Would that sustain the high velocity impact? Wouldn't it break up immediately?" He knows the only answer to the questions she is asking is to actually build these products and run trials, but there's not enough time. They're down to just two days left together now.
The Commodore chuckles with amusement as they work all afternoon. He gives them suggestions about a dance hall and a theater. Fitz suggests dinner at a proper restaurant yet again, but she wants to keep working into the night. He understands. There is so much to do and only so much time. They prepare potatoes and eat what's left of her sausage roll. The wages he's saved to take her to supper once again remain unused in his pocket, but he's so pleased at all they've accomplished he can't be disappointed.
She has ideas too, ones he would never imagine. They're more than weapons to harm the enemy, but lifesaving designs, from lightweight compounds that could stop bullets, to tempered glass for troop carriers, even a field dressing to promote blood clotting.
He stares at her wondrously as she muses over the designs, writing and scribbling out chemical formulas and babbling about the synthesis of organic compounds.
"If the diphenoxide reacts with the phosgene if should produce a chloroformate and that would…" Her voice fades as she scratches out and produces another organic compound. "Yes, the net reaction ought to…" She chews on the end of the pencil and his eyes fix on the corner of her mouth instead of the paper where she is working furiously. Her brain works like his does, pouring out ideas faster than he can build them and rapidly filling the pages of notebooks.
It's late when she leaves, later than he knows is proper for a woman to leave his flat.
"I told Bobbi I'd spend the morning with her," she informs him as he walks her on the now familiar route back to Dumbiedykes. It's nearly an hour more in her company and he's already grown to look forward to the end of each night. The solitary peace
"Of course," he acknowledges. "I mean, she's your friend. You did come here together."
"Yes, but she knows..." Jemma doesn't finish her sentence. "I'll be finished by noon." She speaks about time with her friend like it's a chore, a task she has to complete before she can see him. "We can finish work on the weaponry Coulson wants you to complete for next week and then work on some prototypes. Oh, I'd like to look at your rifle too."
"Yeah. Yeah. That's - that'd be great." He knows as he says it two days isn't nearly rough time to complete everything that she wants to do, but
"This was such fun," She grins at him. "I can't wait to do it again tomorrow."
"It's nice, working together." He smiles back.
"You have some really brilliant ideas."
"You too." He looks down at his own shoes when he returns the compliment. "I wish we had more than two days to work on it all."
"Oh, I know." She wraps her arm around his then. "We'll just have to make the most of it though, won't we?"
He wishes he were more used to the touch of a woman that the mere feel of her arm woven around his didn't send him into a state of near paralysis. He should be used to it by now. The number of times this afternoon alone that she'd seized his shoulder in excitement or brushed his fingertips with hers while working ought to have him used to it. Thankfully, she's talking so rapidly about the priority of work tomorrow that she doesn't seem to take notice of how quiet he's grown.
He's realized it's the fear of the unknown that causes this catatonia. When he contemplates telling her how he feels, really thinks about what he'd say and how he'd say it, he suddenly feels like he's back in France, rattling along in a troop carrier in the dark. His knowable future disappears from view. He can't predict how she'll react or how he will for that matter. He doesn't know if it will ruin the remaining time they have together.
"You're awfully quiet." She squeezes his arm then and smiles. For a brief moment he can feel the truth threatening to bubble out. He doesn't want to lie to her.
"Just...thinking about tomorrow."
Their fourth day together passes as quickly as the previous day in the workshop. They spend the entire afternoon working on most of Jemma's ideas. He's never known an afternoon of work to pass so quickly and tries to ignore the frequent references to the fact that tomorrow will be their last day together. The reality hangs over both of them though.
He's eager to make plans to ensure a special final day together. Amid a discussion about which fibrin could best polymerize and cross-link directly with tissue to simulate a natural coagulant, he asks her about tomorrow.
"Do you want to climb Arthur's Seat?"
"Arthur's Seat?"
"The great hill in Holyrood park."
"I know what it is," she laughs. "I just thought you'd want to spend our last day finishing as many of these designs as we can."
"Well, I do. It's just - I thought - I mean, you can't come to Edinburgh and not climb it." He leaves out the part where he'd spent his university years hearing about classmates taking their sweethearts up there. He's still not sure if they're sweethearts, but hopes tomorrow he can answer that question.
"Doesn't it have barrage balloons on it?"
"It's just the Home Guard that minds them," he dismisses. " I don't know, I just thought it'd provide a bit more privacy than - well, than the shop. Commodore'll be around and you know he won't be quiet. Plus it's a bit more scenic. Y'know for your last day and all," he rambles.
"I'm sure it's a beautiful view."
"It is," he assures. "Better than Calton Hill."
"Will you be able to take the afternoon off to climb it?"
"I think the Commodore would cover for me if Clarke came by."
"Shall we bring a picnic?" He takes her inquiry as accepting his invitation, but before he can figure out what rations he even has left for a picnic she follows up with another question. "Should I invite Bobbi?"
"Invite…." His hopes of a romantic afternoon atop the hill when he can finally tell her how he feels slowly vanish. "Yes, definitely. Definitely invite Bobbi."
Jemma gushes about Bobbi then. First about what a close friend and confidante she's become then about how much she admires her, and last about how much she'd like Fitz to get to know her better before they leave.
"I met her Saturday." He doesn't mean to give such a terse response. He's had all day with her, after all and he's happy if Jemma is happy, If spending her last day in Edinburgh means having her best friend accompany them he'll do it. While it's difficult to temper his disappointment, he's never had such an innate desire to make somebody happy before.
Whether it had been conversations about dielectric polarization or how tired she is of Woolton Pie, he's cataloged every smile and laugh to sustain him through the months he knows they'll soon spend apart.
He'll remember the way she grins when he finishes her sentence and the way ink ends on her face when she hurriedly calculates bullet trajectories. There's the way her eyes light up when she figures out the proper chemical formula and the way she taps her foot to the songs on the wireless. The stony determined look on her face when news of the war effort in North Africa comes through or another ship sunk in the Atlantic makes him think she's ready to take on the Germans herself. He thinks the airy lilt to her voice when they make plans for tomorrow and the familiar way she wraps her arm around his when he walks her home are enough to get him through the worst this war can throw at him. He's never had close friends and wonders if perhaps he misinterprets this level of intimacy. Perhaps she does the same things with Milton and confessing he wants a future with her, beyond letters and weapons schematics, is foolish. He can't live with the uncertainty anymore though and, frankly, he feels like each day he doesn't tell her he wants this to be something more he is lying to her.
The Commodore sends Fitz off with a wink and a nudge in the morning, seeming to know his plans for the day as soon as he'd said they were off to Arthur's Seat. All the old veteran knows is last night they'd bought fish suppers and then retreated to his flat once the workshop was locked up. Now he's off to see her first thing in the morning. Fitz knows how it looks.
They've spent every day together and the last four days had worked together late into the night. Their friendship had always been effortless, but working alongside her is something else completely. He arrives outside the now familiar close to the tenement sharply at 8 ready to begin their final day together. His rucksack is stuffed with equipment he knows he probably shouldn't have taken out of the shop along with as much food as he'd been able to stuff inside. It isn't much but bread, cheese, and chocolate, but it's all he has left.
He's not sure where the day will lead, especially with Bobbi there, but he's determined to tell her how he feels today. He's not sure how he will do it, or how he'll get her away. He merely that he can't go another day in limbo. Last night outside when he'd walked her home there had been a moment where she'd been talking about their plans for today and all he'd been able to do was stare at her lips and wonder how she'd react if he kissed her goodnight.
When she emerges from the close in the morning, he's surprised to see Bobbi is not with her.
"I've got an idea!" Jemma grabs his arm excitedly without even offering a greeting.
"Where's Bobbi?" he stammers in question, looking around for the hard-to-miss American.
"Oh, she said she's already climbed it twice," Jemma dismisses with a casual wave of her hand.
"So she's not coming?" he wonders if she can see the delight on his face at the revelation.
"No, and it's a good thing we'll be alone - " she chatters excitedly and Fitz can't help himself from audibly agreeing. "Because I think we should make a cipher!"
"A cipher?" he laughs knowingly. She's hardly being secretive about her work as a cryptologist.
"Just a simple algorithm to hide what we're saying. You know, so we could continue to work together."
"They censor my mail," he reminds. "I think they'll be a little suspicious of a cipher."
"Not if we developed it together. The weapon systems could all be films or songs or foods we could make in a codebook. Then the real details we could make a cipher for and hide in a crossword or a number puzzle." He can tell she's given this some thought and he can't help but smile admiringly at her enthusiasm and willingness to take such a risk to continue to work with him.
"Do you think it's a good idea? I mean for you?" Common sense says it's likely a terrible idea. He imagines a codebreaker caught communicating in code would be targeted as a fifth columnist or a spy without question.
"Why wouldn't it be?"
"No reason." he backpedals.
"Just think! We could continue to work together!" she is so excited by the notion he has a hard time saying no.
The entire two-hour climb up the great hill, they do nothing but build off the ideas Jemma already has. They debate whether they should use a polyalphabetic cipher and a two-part code. By the time they reach the summit, the excitement over developing a communication system that could allow them to continue to work together overshadows the beautiful vista. It's a bit of a slog up the steep grassy slope anyway and the wind makes it difficult to have much of a conversation. The plans he'd had for today he can tell are quickly going to pot. They retreat further down the crags, before finding a place tucked away from the wind a bit.
They both know secrecy is key and this isn't something they can work on in public. Instead of lying atop the blanket, they huddle close and wrap themselves in it, taking turns warming each other's hands and laughing about the chill. They're not ideal conditions to work, but Jemma hardly seems to care. He can't tell if it's the cold or her own excitement over the cipher and what it will allow them to do that causes the rosiness in her cheeks.
The cipher that will hide the chemical formulas and mathematical computations takes the most work. Creating the dictionaries and codebooks is a bit more fun. Both are a different challenge from the work they've been doing the last several days and he enjoys the novelty of the challenge. To code a message about an alteration to the micro-channel plate on his night scope he first writes a simple sentence about an afternoon by the docks. Then using the algorithm they've developed he scratches out the diameter and spacing of the material that they'd ideally hide in a number puzzle.
"You're good at this," she admires what quick work he makes of it.
"Yeah, so are you," he returns the compliment. He's long known that she is brilliant, but her adeptness at developing these ciphers is telling. He wants to tell her that he knows what it is she does, the secret she can't tell him. Instead he tells her about a period in primary school where he'd only written in ciphers and how mad he'd driven all his teachers. It had been the only way to make the painfully simple maths they were doing any fun.
They share fun stories about childhood and brainstorm films and songs and foods to work into their codebook while sprawled on a blanket.
The work makes their last afternoon pass quickly. He's excited by the thought of finally being able to share details with her about what he is working on and to be able to receive her input as well. In a small way it will help extend the magic of this week and getting to work beside her.
"I wish you could stay another week," he admits finally with a loud sigh, his hands atop his head.
"Me too."
"You could stay, y'know?" he offers then. "I'm sure once - I mean, if I told Major Coulson what you've done - how you've helped. I mean, I think he'd - if you wanted to that is, I'm sure you could - you know, work here too - with me - if - if you wanted." It's a pitiful attempt at asking her to be with him and he knows it, but it's all he can manage.
"Oh, but I wish you would come work with me!" she responds to his invitation by laughing at their predicament.
"Think about all we could do if you were here," he pleads more directly now, wishing he had the courage to appeal to more than just the designs they'd create together.
"I can't leave my job, Fitz," she dismisses curtly then. "It's important, the work I do. I told you that."
"You're a codebreaker, aren't you?" He doesn't know why he blurts it out then. Whether it's this covert job she can't leave or his own frustration at his inability to ask her to stay. He's sure they can find other codebreakers and is confident her innovation and creativity is wasted there.
"What? No." Her nervous laughter is far too telling.
"You don't have to tell me," he assures. "I just...I know. I wanted you to know that I know."
"I'm not a codebreaker." The words sound flat and hollow, but there's a nervous tremble to it too that he wishes he didn't hear.
"I didn't mean to upset you."
"I'm not a codebreaker!" she all but shouts the words this time.
"Right. I'm sorry." He feels like a fool for pressing the issue. It's not important to him really. She had wanted to tell him months ago and that should be enough. It had been enough for the last year. After the last five days in each other's company though he doesn't want there to be any more secrets. He doesn't care if she tells him the truth or not, but he just needs her to know he knows.
Minutes pass and he's not sure what to say. He's too afraid to look up at her. Too afraid he's ruined things.
"We signed a Security Act. From Churchill himself," she reveals finally.
"You didn't say anything," he tries to assure lamely. "I just sort of figured it out." His words don't seem to make much of a difference.
When she does finally speak, it's only to say that she should go. She mutters something about Nancy's mum preparing a final dinner.
So they walk down the hill in relative silence. Neither speak. Her arm is not woven around his like it has been all week when he walks her home, but wrapped defensively across her body. He feels like a complete fool.
For five days he's had countless opportunities to be honest with her, but he hadn't wanted to ruin the simple perfection of these past five days. Now he's been honest with her, but about the wrong thing.
Up until tonight it's all been so free and fun. Despite the fact that they're designing weapons, the war, as it always does when he is with her, felt far away. Somehow now, with talk of treason and secret agreements, his feelings for her hardly seem important.
"You won't tell anyone, right?" The question she finally asks when they reach the now familiar front stoop is as close to an admission as he knows he'll get.
"You're the only person I talk to," he admits.
"I mean it though. Not to Major Coulson or - or the Commodore."
"I won't tell a soul, Jemma." She nods her head, but Fitz can see she doesn't look completely convinced.
"Well, I guess this is goodbye."
"I'll see you off at the station tomorrow," he reminds.
"I told you that you don't have to. It's - it's out of the way and - "
"I want to," he admits. "Only seems fitting."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, usually it's me leaving on a train." He's beginning to lose count of how many times they've now said goodbye on a train platform.
"Right." She gives a sad smile. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."
"I'll see you tomorrow." He tries not to think about the next time he'll be able to tell her that as he says the words.
He toys then with the idea he's had every night he's walked her back here. The thought of pulling her to him and kissing her. He wouldn't have to say anything. He wouldn't have to tell her how he felt or how badly he wanted her to stay in this city with him. There would be no excuses about working together or what a great team they could be. If he just kissed her she'd know. And then at least he'd know too.
He doesn't sleep all night. Instead he lies awake, cursing himself for everything. He couldn't make himself be honest with her about what really mattered. Each time he thought he'd worked up the nerve to tell her the real reason he wanted her there with him wasn't just to work on weapons systems, she'd mention Milton or squeeze his shoulder in such a familial way he'd convince himself she thought of him as little more than a brother.
His knees bounce anxiously as he waits at Waverley station for the three codebreakers to arrive, He knows it has to be now. He can't wait around for another week of leave a year from now. She'll want to see her parents or holiday somewhere where it isn't 5 degrees C every day. He doesn't know if he'll even have this billet in a year. He could be back with the Highlanders training in the Moors or fighting in the desert of North Africa.
"You didn't have to see us off, Fitz," Bobbi replies when they finally arrive. There's an all too knowing manner in the way she looks and speaks to him. Like she knows what he's struggled to tell Jemma all week. Like perhaps she'd left them alone yesterday on purpose. She makes useless small talk, about what she'd enjoyed most in Edinburgh, whether she would come back, and when that would be. Fitz wonders if Jemma had told her he knows what they do. Either way, the American purposely leads their younger coworker away to load their luggage so he and Jemma are alone.
"I'd love to see it here in summer," Jemma continues the innocent conversation Bobbi had started. "Do you think you'll still be here in spring?"
"What are we?" Fitz asks bluntly then, ignoring her question.
"What do you mean?" she laughs dismissively.
"I mean, what are we? You and me?" He hates sounding so inquisitorial, but he can't help it. It's painfully obvious she didn't come up to Edinburgh to sightsee with her friends. She came to see him. Now here she is and he can't take this uncertainty anymore. Ten more months apart and not knowing if he's a complete fool for holding out hope that she dreams of him the same way he does of her.
"We're friends," she laughs incredulously.
"Like Milton's your friend?" he challenges.
"No! Nothing like Milton. You're my best friend in the world!"
The words come out like an angry shout as she fights with the noise of the train, which is now groaning and rumbling to life. She looks to him in confusion and, in that moment, he knows exactly why he hadn't kissed her on the stoop her first night in Edinburgh or any night after. It's this same discomfort and confusion, this paralyzing fear that he's about to ruin the most perfect thing he's ever had in his life.
Still, there's enough uncertainty in her eyes that makes him fight through it.
"Yeah, well you're more than that, Jemma." He's not sure whether it's the intensity with which he holds her gaze that causes her to look away, but he continues anyway with the confession he'd held in for far too long. "And I could never find the courage to tell you."
The train whistle sounds, but she doesn't move.
'Oh' is all she utters.
The friends she'd arrived with call to him from the train to wish him luck and make false promises to see him again soon. Jemma barely moves.
Her silence seems enough of an answer.
"Okay." He nods his head in resignation, knowing now he's truly fucked up. More than in telling her about knowing she's a codebreaker.
"Come on, Jemma, we've got to be on this one!" her youngest traveling companion calls, but Jemma still stands unmoving before him.
"Get on the train, Jemma!" Bobbi calls more forcefully.
"Fitz." He can't figure out what the sound of his name from her lips means. He hates that, if anything, it sounds apologetic.
"It's okay," he assures quietly, backing away from her and urging her to get on the train. "It's okay."
Her friends shout to her again to hurry on the train.
She backs up another step. The doors close. Then she's gone.