"Fitz, are you ready to test the prototype?" came Simmons' soft question from the other side of the translucent accordion screen. He heard her quiet sigh, could just barely make out her silhouette- and suddenly, the computer screen connected to his monitor cuff betrayed him with squiggly lines and unsubtle beeps. Ruddy Hell. There was nothing to do now but think about maths and try to play it off.

"Yeah. Yep. Just- all right." Standing up, he pushed open the divider and found her waiting in front of said computer, watching the readout with approval.

"I see you've started working yourself up to full arousal. Good initiative, Fitz!" she beamed.

He supposed he should be pleased she thought it was intentional on his part. Didn't stop him from wanting to hide in a crawl space.

Simmons kept going. "We can test the compound while you're hard, see how well it works to reverse the course of the situation rather than prevent it. That's a more realistic scenario in the field, anyway."

Oh, Holy Mother. Apparently she didn't want him thinking about physics theorems and Quidditch statistics after all. Apparently, she wanted to snog him - no, not snog, test the product, it was all very official and necessary - while he strained against his pants like some sort of spring-loaded snake in a prank can of Pringles.

"I mean, obviously we'll test as many possible contingencies as we can, but this is good to start with." Simmons had started puttering around, buzzing with nervous energy as she washed her hands, grabbed the stopwatch, and set it on the counter next to the Limpstick within easy reach.

"I, erm… I concur," Fitz said, mostly going over the details in his mind so he would have something to think about besides Jemma's mouth on his. As much as he was looking forward to that part, it was entirely too distracting to let his mind wander there right now. "And you're sure it's safe? You don't need to run any more analyses?"

She wrinkled her nose, presumably at the implication she would ever move forward on a plan without fully assessing the risks. "We've been over this, Fitz! The drug we're using was approved years ago to decrease blood pressure, I've simply made a few tweaks to adapt it to our needs." She walked over to stand directly in front of him, laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I promise, nothing terrible is going to happen."

Define terrible. Fitz knew he'd been grumpy more days than not lately, and resolved to bite down any further argument, a task that became effortless as soon as he felt her slender fingers brush his neck. Standing in front of her like this, his eyes inevitably went to her full, cherry-pink lips, and he glanced at the Limpstick sitting on the counter nearby.

Her gaze followed his eyes and she ducked her head for a moment, tucking her hair behind one ear. "Ah, well, if you're… at the starting line? Then I suppose we can begin." She peered quickly at his readout, which had once again started singing the song of Fitz's libido, and tugged at the wrist of her cream-colored jumper sleeve. "Looks like we're all set there."

At this point, Fitz thought, he'd be well pleased when the thing worked and he didn't have to worry about his body giving him away at every goddamn turn. He inhaled slowly as Jemma uncapped the Limpstick and painted her mouth, leaving it plump and glossy.

She angled her face up and stepped closer. This is for all the marbles. This was what he'd been looking forward to, why his search history now included phrases like 'kissing despite goggles', the reason he'd brushed his teeth twice that afternoon - and even if he never got to kiss her in the 'right' circumstances, well - being there in the lab, kissing her for science? It all seemed strangely perfect.

She was so close now, he could see every freckle scattered across her forehead and smell the light vanilla of her moisturizer. Fitz thought back to his research. He placed one hand on the side of her face, thumb gently tracing her cheekbone, and watched her eyelids flutter closed as he breathed out through his nose. Dropping his head until their lips were only inches apart, he stopped and waited.

After a beat, Jemma's eyes opened, and seeing him staring back at her, she pressed a button on the stopwatch, giving him the smallest of nods before bridging the distance between them.

This is fine. No big deal. Fitz had kissed Jemma before, only once to be fair, but other girls since, so he wasn't a complete novice. These were the thoughts he attempted to hold firmly in his mind as he was kissing Jemma fucking Simmons, dear Lord, this might be the best day of his young life, and he should definitely go buy a scratch-off later. Then she moved both her hands to his shirt collar, and pulled him in tighter, and he really couldn't be bothered to try and control where his thoughts went.

It was a bit like seeing a box of photographs spread out on the floor and not knowing which one to look at first. His brain couldn't pick, so it tried to take everything in at once. The odd (but not off-putting) taste of the lipstick, her warm skin under his hand, how her breath (or was it his?) hitched slightly as their lips met, that blasted monitor beeping away, the way her face took up his entire field of view until he shut his eyes in an attempt to concentrate. What did that article say about aiming? Fitz didn't think he should start putting his tongue where it wasn't invited, but if memory and research served, he could probably get away with moving his free hand to her waist. When he did, Jemma tilted her head just a fraction, blessedly putting an end to the game of chicken their noses seemed to have been playing.

The new angle was the kissing equivalent of maple-pecan waffles, and he muted a groan as his hand moved off her cheek to comb through her hair, grazing the shell of her ear and causing her to gasp and pull away, just a hair's breadth.

Some idiotic instinct made him ask, "Is it time to stop?"

He thought Jemma might have been leaning in again, before the question tumbled out of his stupid pie-hole. She drew back fully to arm's length, eyeing him with a puzzled brow.

"When it is, the alarm will sound… but we can stop now if you-"

Fuck. He should never have said anything. "No- no, we can keep going."

She relaxed visibly. "For consistency, we should-"

"Yeah, let's just-

"-wait for the timer," they agreed simultaneously. Jemma smiled her encouragement, and Fitz didn't need to be told twice before eagerly stepping into her space.

In his haste to get back to where they'd been, though, he stumbled. His chin crashed into her upper lip, drawing a yelp, and he immediately stilled. "Oh, fuck- are y' okay?"

She prodded the area gently, wincing. "Yes, I think so. Just smarts a bit." The corners of her eyes wrinkled with a pang. "However, I do think kissing's off the agenda for a bit." She deactivated the stopwatch before it could go off.

His features twisted. "Argh, I'm sorry, Jemma. I wasn't- I should've-"

She took his hand, quieting him with a gentle squeeze. "It's all right. I mean, obviously we'll have to retest for this particular set of circumstances, but considering it was our first time trying things out, I'd say we did rather well!" She started to grin, but backtracked when her bruised skin stretched past the point of comfort, and Fitz felt another stab of guilt.

It must have shown on his face and she assured him, "I'm fine, Fitz. We'll salvage what we can from this data, try again in a few hours, no harm done! And just think - tomorrow, we can start the double-blind! Aren't you excited?"

Phrasing, floated the ready reply to the top of his brain. And then, "Huh."

Now that he was thinking about it, Fitz noticed he wasn't excited at all. "Simmons."

"Hmmm?" She'd gone off in her own head, flitting around the lab with her tablet and seemingly having forgotten their earlier hiccup.

"Simmons," he repeated, urgency speeding his voice. "I think it worked."

-o-

5 minutes

Fitz motioned to his crotch, breath starting to hitch, his mind a paralyzed jumble of terror and confusion. "I can't believe it. It's… gone."

"I know!" Simmons beamed. "Isn't it wonderful?" She skipped by and kissed his cheek on her way to the computer, eyes shining. She's so happy.

Fitz couldn't join in her enthusiasm, even with that consolation cheek-kiss. He ducked behind the privacy screen and yanked open his shorts, staring down at the crime scene. "No, Jemma- I'm- there's nothing." He'd never been this soft in his adult life. Normally, even when he wasn't 'full throttle', he still had a little bounce to speak of. Right now, though, it felt… like lookin' at a flattened water balloon. "It's just sitting there, Jemma."

"That's great, Fitz!" Is she mocking me? She sounded positively bubbly over this, and he let his waistband snap back into place as he pulled aside the screen to stare at her in disbelief.

She kept speaking, heedless of his shaking head and wide, white-lined eyes. "And your numbers look exactly as we predicted," she finished smugly, scanning the monitor readout in front of her with a huge smile. "Oh, think how much Maria Hill is going to love this!"

His tongue felt too large for his mouth. Calm down. He couldn't start panicking; Simmons had said it herself, this was a good result. Breathe. In, then out, and again. Yes. Good. Surely he couldn't stay this way forever. After all, Simmons wouldn't let me die a virgin.

-o-

1 hour

"How's it coming?" He could hear her wince at the word choice. "I mean, er, progressing?"
"Be easier without you haiverin' in my ear every two seconds," he barked into the phone. Fitz withdrew his hand from his sad, lifeless penis and gave each one an angry stare. Wait, did it- Was he seeing things? Did it shrink? He closed his pants, too upset to even look.

She gave him an irritated sigh over the phone. "I'm only asking because you had me step outside nearly five minutes ago, and I need to return to work," she said snippily. "Not all of us can get away with sitting around the lab wanking." Wow. Future generations might've been robbed of his DNA. This was not the time.

"Oh my God, Simmons, you told me to-" he bit off his retort when she swept back through the door into the lab, and cried out. "Hey! I might've still been-" he spluttered, opening the privacy screen to gesture at the general direction of his crotch, "-y'know, churning butter!"

She rolled her eyes as she strode over to the timer and reset the alarm for another thirty minutes. "I'm marking down 'product remains effective'. And the next time you go fuck yourself," - really nice, Simmons, nothing accidental about that word choice - "you could at least try using the pornography I got you!"

-o-

3 hours, 22 minutes

Fitz glared down in disappointment. He was just… all flopped out, like a dead fish. This is the fucking worst. He kicked the screen open and announced grouchily, "All quiet on the Scottish front."

She didn't even have the decency to look up from her scholarly journal. "Brilliant observation, Doctor Watson."

His face curdled like old yogurt, irritation spiking. "You said, and I quote, 'the effect should last a few hours'. Two is a pair, three is a few, so, obviously, my erection should have returned by now." But it hadn't. He couldn't stop the thought that blared through his head - what if it never came back?

Simmons' face popped up over the top of the heavy publication, eyeing him with a hint of pride. "You said erection! Well done, Fitz."

Nice try. "Stop avoiding the subject."

She gave him an indulgent look and checked her watch. "Right… I believe I told you up to six hours."

Oh, heavenly Father. He was only halfway through this ordeal? "Nope. No, I can't." He shook his head, quick rattling movements like wheels on a wooden toy. "I don't like it. Give me the antidote."

"Antidote?" Simmons furrowed her brow. "There's no antidote, Fitz."

"What?! Why not? That's just-" his nostrils flared, air going in and out like a prized racehorse, "-it's irresponsible, that's what. What if-" what if I'm stuck this way, "-an agent had to reverse the effect in the field? Not everyone has hours to spend waitin' on…" he waved his arms, "their wand to cast spells again."

"Fair point, Fitz; we'll see what we can do about possible countermeasures. But for now, you do have hours to spend, so please try to relax."

"Oh, sure, relax," he huffed. As if it were that easy. It used to be. Most days, Fitz had a foolproof strategy to help him feel clear and calm. Imagining Simmons sometimes helped as well.

But how was he supposed to relax, when the most effective method at his disposal might be lost to him forever?

-o-

4 hours, 37 minutes

Fitz's fingers drummed restlessly on his thigh as he tried to control the sweaty pallor that had taken over his skin. Get it together. Fitz was normally extremely level-headed and mature (or so his mum had told him) but his usual composure was starting to dissolve. Intellectually, he'd known what the prototype was going to do. Rationally, he should have been prepared. Emotionally, however, he was having a bit of a hard time.

Actually, 'hard time' was entirely the wrong description. Fitz was freaking out. And as much as the grown-up half of his brain told him that this was to be expected, that Simmons knew what she was doing, that everything would be back to normal soon, the primal, driving part of him was in the middle of a full-blown breakdown. His thoughts looped continuously, bleaker and darker the longer he sat in silence.

I'll never have another orgasm, never have sex, never have children. My biological imperative is moot. I have no purpose; I merely exist upon the world. What is life? What is the reason for my existence? Everything that once brought me pleasure has been stolen from me. All I am now is a set of arms and legs.

Pasty ones.

-o-

5 hours, 59 minutes

"Six hours, Jemma. You said."

"Believe me, I'm well aware of how long it's been," she muttered dryly, making a notation on the page. "And for the hundredth time, Fitz," she continued, a bit louder, "everything is going according to plan. There's nothing to be upset about."

"Nothing to-" his voice climbed like Spiderman, "You made me take drugs! You broke my penis!"

She scowled. "Ugh, Fitz! Your penis is fine."

He didn't stop to ponder what, in another scenario, might be a tantalizing statement. "You don't understand, Simmons. You can't possibly know what it's like for me right now!" There was a miniscule chance he was whining, but he didn't care. Simmons knew. She knew this was going to happen and she'd let him go through with it anyway.

"Actually, incredible as it may seem," she snorted, "I'm not exactly aroused at the moment either." With a huff, she flumped down into her chair and started scribbling furiously.

"What's- what are you- Simmons!" He very nearly tripped over his cuff wires as he craned his body impotently to the side and tried to catch a glimpse of her clipboard. "What the fuck do you keep writing?"

Simmons locked eyes with him, a decision warring on her face. A second later, she leaned back, cracking her neck before reading off the page. "Subject 0 remains emotionally compromised hours after exposure."

"What the Hell-"

"Possible side effects include difficulty concentrating-"

"Simmons!"

"-irritability, loss of confidence-"

"I am not-"

"-and paranoia." She stressed the last word pointedly and barreled ahead. "Field operatives should be briefed on potential side effects, and be prepared to use any vulnerabilities to their advantage."

Fitz couldn't believe his ears. Is that all I am to her? An experiment? A 'target'? "Nice to know how you think of me, Simmons. Hi, I'm Subject Zero, and this is my friend Jemma, noted penis murderer."

Simmons looked at the ceiling and shook her head, annoyance tugging at her features. "It's science, Fitz! I have to record the results!"

Here's a result, he thought grimly. I'm damaged… because of what you did.

To my tallywhacker.

-o-

6 hours, 8 minutes

Fitz flipped despondently through the pictures of panting, buxom women, hoping one of them would wake his sleeping prince. "Ah, page 33. That looks like a fun sex tip. Too bad I'll never get t' try it." He breathed in sharply, no small amount of melodrama in the rise and fall of his chest.

Simmons set the mortar and pestle she'd been using on the counter with a thunk. "Oh, my God, Fitz. I can guarantee, if you don't have an opportunity to be sexually adventurous, it won't be because of the Limpstick."

His face soured, a dried-out lemon wedge. "Erm, wow. Is that a slight against my character?" He pointed an accusing finger in her direction. "First you destroy my libido, one of my favorite things I'll have you know, and now you're makin' fun of me?" He shook the magazine at her, unintentionally flapping open the centerfold. "You need to shush. Shush and think about what you've done." He narrowed his eyes, hissing, "To your best friend."

She made a noise of frustration, muttering something about calling a waaambulance. "Honestly," she huffed, "is it so surprising that something we made turned out a bit more effective than anticipated? We're neither of us strangers to exceeding expectations."

Of course she would be proud of how well the drug worked. Typical.

It was, to be fair, one of the things he loved about her - how unapologetically good she was at her job. If he had to put the fate of his 'big spanner' in anyone's hands - don't think about your penis in Simmons' hands - well, the point was that Jemma was the most capable person he knew outside of himself. Almost as if she could read his mind, Simmons posed another question, softer this time.

"You trust me, don't you?"

Thrown by the quiet shift in her attitude, Fitz arrested the barb poised on his tongue. Of course he trusted her. He shrugged. "Yeah."

She breathed out slowly. "Fitz… I know this is a bit- scary…"

"I'm not afrai-"

"-it's all right to be upset." She gazed at him, something indecipherable on her brow, before pulling a chair over to sit gently at his side. "I am sorry for how long it's taking, but you must know I would never do anything to hurt you." She put a light hand on his polyester-clad knee, smiling reassurances. "You'll be right as rain in no time."

Fitz swallowed, looking down at her hand. She didn't remove it - quite the opposite. Fitz felt a hot jolt of surprise overtake him when her fingers began to dust over the boundary between athletic mesh and bare skin. Is that meant to be calming? Surely Simmons couldn't be so naive as to think that fondling a man's thigh was soothing? If there was one thing to be grateful for with the Limpstick, it was that she couldn't tell- Oh, hey, look at that.

"Er…" Fitz chuckled, as the blush crept up his neck and behind his ears. "What do you know?"

Simmons' eyes snapped to his, brightening. "You're back?"

She jumped from her chair and crossed hurriedly to the readout screen, letting out a small, triumphant whoop. Fitz felt his mouth stretch impossibly wide as the mountain that had been sitting on his chest broke apart, rolling off in boulders. His hands came up to cover his face, relief bubbling into sound. He laughed, clear and wild, like a child first stepping into snow.

When he felt Jemma's arms pulling him up from his seat, he all but leapt into her hug, both of them jumping with the heady rush of celebrating a successful trial. He could have kissed her.

He'd get to kiss her, he realized.

Lowering his forehead to her shoulder with a gentle thump, he breathed her in, collecting himself before stepping away and tossing her a nonchalant glance. "So, same time tomorrow?"

Her eyebrows hiked in surprise. "If that's still okay with you…"

Fitz didn't think it was an exaggeration to say he was doing a great job of looking casually unaffected. He shrugged. "Give me some credit, Simmons. I never doubted you for a second."

Author's Note

If you can believe it, this section was even longer. I might post a deleted scenes or something. Can I help it if I just love paranoid Fitz snarking at Simmons for killing off his "little engineer"? Because I do love it. So goshdarn much.