Fitz looked down and abruptly realized he was licking chocolate off his finger. A finger that had most recently been covered in cobwebs. "Urrnnggh!" he grimaced, completely revolted and more than a little sad that he'd done this to himself, and tried to wipe his tongue off on the back of his wrist which was at least a bit cleaner. "Blagh. Blaghghgh," he whimpered, unable to shake the thoughts now running amok in his brain. Oh, God. Can spider eggs survive inside the human body? Lord have mercy; I'm gonna become a breeding ground.

"Fitz? Are you all right?" Jemma's face was twisted in a combination of concern and amusement.

Crap. Good going, man, very smooth. He probably looked like a kitten who'd just been given antibiotics. Fitz did his best to shake off his disgust and lean casually against the wall. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just, er, y'know, wrong pipe." What. That didn't even make sense. She was going to think he was insane. His brain grasped wildly for something to say, and finding nothing, landed on the next best thing - a dignified escape.

"So, clearly I have to go back down and get more crisps and chocolate," he groused. He started to heave himself onto his feet, and she tugged on his shirt to stop him.

"Fitz, if you think I'm going to eat something that just made you gag…" She grabbed his hand and pulled him back to sit on the floor. "And it's a funny thing, you being so keen to share food," she teased, "considering you once devoted yourself to making sure I couldn't order chips."

Fitz tensed. Because you were impugning my character, you test-tubing harpy. He was stressed enough after practically vomiting in front of her, and dredging up a months-old complaint wasn't helping. "So- so now we're bringin' up the past? Let's compare notes, shall we?" he started, yanking his fingers away so he could tick them off.

Then his mouth snapped shut, taking in her expression, the way her eyes rolled in a wave of here-we-go-again, shoulders tight and hackles rising. Fitz could see in his head exactly how this conversation would go, and it wasn't the way he wanted it to. He swallowed, and let his body relax, leaning back on the heels of his hands as he thought about what he actually needed to say to her. She settled a bit as well, watching him warily.

"There's, erm, there is something you should know." He couldn't keep eye contact, and tipped his face down, scratching at his left sideburn. "That day we met, I," he huffed, "I didn't recognize you. I mean, not- I didn't know you were Captain Chemistry. To be honest I was expecting a younger version of the last one."

"Oh." She was silent, until he risked peeking over. Her brow was knitted, arms wrapped around her waist and fingers drumming on her elbow while she sorted things out. "Then it wasn't personal, what you did." He nodded meekly. "But you still sabotaged a complete stranger's programme… as part of, what? A pissing contest?"

"No." Fitz tried to make his response as emphatic and sincere as he could. She'll never believe me. I've left it too late. He leaned forward earnestly. "That was an accident. If you can believe it."

She tipped her head, mouth flat and skeptical.

"I know. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it's true. And I should've said somethin' back then but," I was drunk and you were attacking me, "I was being stubborn. And I'm sorry."

She looked a bit less unconvinced than she had a second before - which still wasn't good enough for Fitz.

He took a breath and barrelled on. "Jemma," he wiped his hands on his thighs, "I know I could have been, er, a bit more forthright-"

She chuckled tunelessly. "Forthright. Fitz, as understatements go, I think that qualifies as an instant classic." Her hands clasped primly, and she pressed them to her lap. "The entire foundation of our problem with each other was a mistake all along. You lied to me. We could've-"

"I didn't." His eyebrows elevatored up his forehead. "I didn't lie! I simply didn't bother to correct your assumption that I'm a horrible person." She opened her mouth to keep arguing, so - in the interest of keeping things reasoned and civil, mind you - he cut her off. "Be honest, would you even have listened back then? You'd made up your mind before you ever walked up t' me at the bar."

She blinked quickly. Ah, fartknuckles. Was she going to cry? Damn it. He'd been doing so well this time.

"You're probably right." It was quiet, but she wasn't crying, at least.

"What?"

"I might not have listened. I might not have believed you." She looked at him again, inscrutable. "But I wish you'd tried."

He sighed, whether in relief or regret, he didn't know. "I'm, ah, I'm tryin' now."

A ghost of a smile skated over her mouth, and she seemed to agree from the side of her eyes.

"I know it's probably useless to speak up at this point-" he ran his hand over the back of his neck, "but I- I mean, I thought you should know. Since we're goin' to be working together." He cleared his throat. "Just so you're not worried I might do something like that again."

"Right." She edged a bit closer. "And since we are going to be spending more time together, I think it's good to clear the air. Be honest with each other." Her gaze locked on to his mouth.

Fitz's heartbeat seemed to stop, the last lub-dub reverberating inside his brain as he stared back. Somewhere in his consciousness, Sebastian the crab was encouraging him to kiss the girl. He should, shouldn't he? She'd been holding his hand a lot. That was a good sign. But then again… Are you daft? She's your boss! Except she'd told him specifically she wasn't. Fitz dug his fingers into his thigh as he warred with himself. He couldn't make the wrong call, not about this. If he'd kissed her all that time ago when they met, she might've slapped him, but he'd have been all right. He didn't have that option anymore. He was in too deep. Which is precisely why you should kiss her. He told his crab-subconscious to put a cork in it.

After a moment, Jemma shook herself, nodding once as her voice took on a more businesslike tone. Now look what you did, you turtle.

"So, then, in the interest of honesty," she started off with brisk words and still palms, "I didn't know who you were either. When we met."

"You mean when I took a bath in your morning tea?" He kept his tone light - Jemma had a bad habit of taking things personally.

Her cheeks flushed prettily. "That was an accident," she pointed out. "But I actually meant later, at the station. I had no idea until that afternoon that we were even in the same line of work."

He remembered her drunken message indicating much the same thing. "Right, yeah."

"So," she continued, speaking slow, "we were simply two strangers who met by chance."

"Okay." Where's she going with this?

"And," her hand fluttered by her neckline, "since we're being honest…" Her fingers closed over her pendant. "You should know that I, erm… well." She inhaled, and her eyes seemed to have trained themselves deliberately on his the collar of his tee shirt. "You once accused me of flirting with you."

Gulp. "That's true. But I was just tryin' to get a rise out of you." Fitz's pulse had picked up, though he was keeping his expectations completely in check. Hold steady. Just because Jemma'd asked him for coffee once upon a misstep, that didn't mean anything now. Right?

"You... may not have been completely off the mark." She tucked a piece of wayward hair behind her ear, and Fitz's fingers twitched with the impulse to smooth over the same strand. "And, in the interest of honesty…" She moved up onto her knees and scooted a bit closer.

"Yes?" His tongue felt disused, as if he'd just woken up.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and her voice was satin laid over sandpaper. "I might be flirting with you now."

Fitz exhaled hard through his nose, his brows coming up even as his eyes closed. "I, uh, good," he croaked. "That's good."

When he opened his eyes again, Jemma seemed to have teleported, angling her body towards his, her face not much more than a wishful thought away. Fitz's breath caught and his gaze swept over the shadowed outlines of her face, thrown into detail by the tower's odd lighting. Jemma's hooded eyes beckoned, and he swallowed as he leaned infinitesimally forward. This is not a drill. This is happening - hands, mouth, man your stations! Repeat, this is not a drill!

His thumb came up to trace her jaw, and she inched closer, until he could feel the breath from her parted lips running soft over the skin of his neck. His disbelieving eyes continued their trek over her features, setting out bravely to wander the tempting line of her throat and the curve of her shoulder. Fitz and Jemma approached each other like a mathematical function, slow but inevitable, shrinking the distance between them with every new intersection of x and y. Her lashes fluttered shut, and Fitz could have sworn he felt the wind of that small movement on his forehead, a tickling thrill that traveled down his cheek, almost like…

Like a spider. There was a spider crawling on his face.

Author's Note:

OH MY GOD YOU TWO, GET IT TOGETHER. HOW MANY MORE KISS-HANGERS CAN WE HAVE? (Spoiler alert: it's zero. This was the last kiss-hanger.)