Fitz stared up at the expansive Stark Mansion in disbelief. "It's just not possible," he said to Coulson. "The robberies are identical!"

"Do you think somebody from the Johnson household came over and pulled this one too?" the inspector chuckled smugly into his notebook.

Fitz sniffed. "It's one thing to go for the Johnson jewels. But the Starks?" He shook his head. "This guy is pushing his luck."

"He appears to be working with a stacked deck. He's good. Hardly a trace of evidence, no forced entry."

"But I did the security here," Fitz repeated. He was beginning to take personal offense. "I made the place foolproof."

Coulson nodded. "Someone's a step ahead of you."

"I want to speak to the Starks." Fitz ruffled. "I want to question them."

"Good luck. The Koenigs have been grilling them all morning, and they don't like being questioned."

Fitz scrunched his eyes together and clenched a fist. "You don't mean - I can't believe it." He cursed. "She actually convinced Daniels to put the Koenigs on it."

"Hey, far as I'm concerned, we need all the help we can get on this case." Coulson shrugged, apparently not seeing the injustice of it all.

As if on cue, the two brothers sauntered out of the garden, looking pompous and troll-like and identical down to the over-polished shoes. "What's happening, fellas?" the one on the left said. Fitz sneered.

"Heya, Fitz. You hear we're on this case now?" The other one snapped his suspenders.

"Yeah? Well this is my case, just so you're clear on that," Fitz said, deciding it was in his best interest to not leave any lines fuzzy. The brothers had a reputation for being a little too by-the-book.

Coulson caught Fitz's eye then tucked his notebook in his jacket pocket, looking bemused. Clearly not interested in whatever one-up game was about to take place, he turned away to survey some other section of the estate, leaving Fitz alone with the twins.

"Will you listen to him? Like we horned in," Tweedle-dee nudged his brother.

"Hey, they called us," said Tweedle-dum.

"That was their first mistake," said Fitz, darkly.

"Maybe they think you're slipping."

"Word is you're having a bit of trouble, Fitz. That true?"

Fitz turned away from them, chin in the air, choosing the higher ground. "You guys find any clues?"

"A few," one of the brothers said, conferring with the other's notes.

Fitz tapped his foot patiently. "Gonna share them? I can always let you know if they're real clues or if you just found your own grocery list."

"We'd like to make this bust, Fitz," one of the brothers said. Fitz didn't know or care which one at this point. "It'd mean a long-term deal with Distant Star."

"I hear they're making some changes up there," said the other.

Fitz inhaled, long and slow, before trusting himself to speak again. "Boys. I am going to solve this case, then you are going back to your regular jobs tracking down lost poodles. Are we clear?"

One of the brothers nudged the other with a snorting chuckle. "We sure had a good laugh when we heard you thought the Johnson heist was an inside job, didn't we Billy?"

"You're in over your heads, guys." Fitz lifted his hat and raked a hand through his hair in frustration. "This is a very smart burglar, and you guys have trouble figuring out who did it when you get a confession."

"I'll tell you what we figure." A Koenig walked past Fitz, bumping his shoulder. "We're definitely looking for a tall man. Heavyset, athletic type, maybe in his mid-50s."

Fitz scraped his hand down his face. "Belly button in or out?" The brothers were grasping at straws and trying to make themselves sound important. He'd seen this type of thing before and he lost patience with it early.

"Now if he's short at that weight, he's fat," the other Koenig pointed out. "Too fat to squeeze through the kitchen window."

"Wanna show him the big clue?" Koenig-One rocked smugly on his heels.

"What's the big clue?" Fitz sighed. "The guy leave behind a birth certificate for you?"

"Show him." Koenig-Two bit his cheek to keep from grinning too widely. The first Koenig searched through the deep pockets of his coat and pulled out a worn cardboard coaster. It had Rainbow Room written in fancy letters across it.

Fitz frowned.

"No one in this house was ever at the Rainbow Room," a Koenig chirped, like he'd already solved the case.

"For God's sake, I've been to the Rainbow Room." Fitz snatched the coaster to examine it closer. "The whole office has. So you got a coaster." He waved it about casually. "Big deal. Six million people have gone to The Rainbow Room."

Koenig-One took the coaster from Fitz and stowed it neatly back into his pocket. "We're gonna nail this guy."

"The important thing is that you don't think of us as competition." Koenig-Two tipped his hat. The two brothers brushed past Fitz, wandering back to their car like proud peacocks.

"Don't worry," Fitz said, scowling after them. "I don't."

"Will you relax already?" Mack stole a piece of licorice from Fitz' desk. The smaller man was busy chewing on a piece of his own, ruminating as he tossed ideas around his brain. Fitz did this when he was stressed. By now, he had already devoured two full bags of licorice. "Geez, Turbo, I've never seen you this on edge. We'll get the guy; we always do."

"Can you believe she talked Daniels into hiring those two jerks?" Fitz pointed with the licorice at nothing in particular. Mack tilted his head and crossed his big arms over his chest. Fitz had asked the same thing at least twice already, and Mack had run out of responses. Fitz frowned deeper, gnashing his teeth into another bite of candy.

Mack sighed. "Look, you've been moping around all day. It's not like you. What's really going on? It's nothing to do with Simmons again is it?"

Fitz rolled his eyes, stood, and began to pace. Mack waited patiently as he mumbled to himself, going back and forth on something. Finally, he stopped in front of his desk and looked dead at his friend. "Mack. I have a confession to make."

"Oh?"

"When I woke up this morning..." He groaned miserably, then pulled open one of his drawers. He grabbed something small and dainty and thrust it into Mack's beefy hands. "I found this on the floor in my apartment," he whispered, looking over his shoulder at the hallway.

Mack opened his hand. It was a balled-up ladies' stocking. He raised an eyebrow and snorted in amusement. "Damn, Turbo, good job!"

Fitz hissed and grabbed the stocking back, stuffing it back in the drawer. "Will you shush? Not good job. I have no memory of being with anybody last night, if you catch my meaning"

"Come on, that's nothing too strange." Mack grinned widely. "It happens."

"There was also an empty bottle of vodka on the floor," Fitz said, pretty fed-up with his friend's amusement. "I don't drink vodka."

"All the more reason you blacked out." Mack shrugged. "Look, vodka does funny things to a person. Believe me."

"I just can't figure it out." Fitz shook his head. He absently grabbed another piece of licorice and took a small bite. "There's something wrong here; I just know it..." He stepped away from his desk to stand at the door to his office. "I came back here last night... I wanted to check something." He turned on the spot. "I remember that clearly. It was about 9:00 maybe..." He stopped suddenly. "Hey, wait a minute." He snapped. "I ran into - Wait a minute! "

"What are you thinking?"

"Of course!" He threw his hands up with excitement. "No wonder I thought it was an inside job. But it's not inside with the Starks or the Johnsons... It's inside our company !" Fitz scrambled around his desk and started rifling through his papers.

"Come on, Fitz, you can't really think one of us would do it."

"It's obvious!" He threw papers to the floor in his excitement. "Why didn't I see it right away?"

"Who would have done it?" Mack frowned. "Trip, Daisy and me are the only ones who have access to your security setups."

"Yeah, but what if somebody else was given access?" Fitz grinned, loving the thrill of the riddle. Finally locating his prize, he jabbed a finger at what looked like a sign-off form, then thrust it at Mack's face. "Someone we don't know as well... Because she hasn't worked here very long..?"

"You mean Simmons?" Mack raised his eyes above the paper, trying his best not to look as skeptical as he felt.

"Well, why not?" Fitz stood and shrugged. "We've had female jewel thieves before." He closed the door to his office and hushed his voice. "She's always saying she can do anything a man can do."

"I don't think she meant stealing..."

"But what do we really know about her? Nothing."

"She does have expensive tastes," Mack offered noncommittally. "She wears good jewelry."

Fitz chewed on his lip, then sprang to his feet. "I have to get into her office!"

"What? Fitz, don't!"

"I'm doing it-" He grinned and waggled his eyebrows in excitement.

"-if you get caught, she'll kill you." Mack stepped in front of the doorway, blocking his friend. "She will literally and figuratively end your life."

"But it makes all the sense in the world!" Fitz sagged, frustrated that he had to explain his theory so slowly when he was already fifty steps ahead in his mind. "She's here late every night," he listed off on his fingers. "She has the files - We gave her the files. She knows the security information. I have to go through her things, Mack!" Fitz took full advantage of his smaller stature and ducked neatly underneath Mack's giant arms and through the door.

"Do not rifle through her desk, Fitz!" Mack hissed after him. "You're gonna get-" But Fitz was already through her door. "...Caught..." Mack sighed. Sometimes he wished he was better at keeping his co-workers in line.

Fitz stepped lightly across the creaky floor of Simmons' office. He took a quick inventory of what he would need to find, and made a bee-line for her desk. That was where the important things would be.

He got to work, quickly shuffling through her drawers and flipping through sheets of paper. And there, sitting in her day-book, innocent as you please, was his first clue:

6pm Dinner w. Sis

Fitz narrowed his eyes at that. He knew for a fact that Simmons did not have a sister in the city, or even visiting for that matter. Intriguing. He searched his pockets for his notebook, and mentally berated himself for not grabbing it so he could jot down the address. That's when he heard Mack's deep voice out in the hall making a very poor attempt at small talk. The woman was back.

Fitz looked frantically around the room, and his eyes landed on something he should have grabbed at the start, sitting in one of her open drawers. As the clack of her heels got closer to the doorway, he made a split-second decision. He quickly grabbed at the shiny object. The door flew open.

Simmons stood there, and her eyes narrowed immediately at the sight of him standing conspicuously in her office. Fitz straightened, closing the drawer with a thud and placing his hands on his hips.

"What are you doing?"

"Me?" Fitz slipped the small object into his pocket casually, hoping she hadn't noticed. "No, I was just-"

"You're going through my desk." She curled her upper lip into a sneer.

"I beg your complete pardon!" Fitz side-stepped away from the desk, trying to sound offended.

"You're all red." She crossed her arms and stepped towards him. "You were snooping through my papers!"

"You know, only a suspicious, paranoid mind would say something like that," Fitz said, shifting closer to the door, careful to keep his back to the wall and eyes on her.

"You wormy little ferret!" She turned and launched herself towards him.

Fitz ducked, narrowly avoiding her outstretched fingers, which went straight for his throat. "Now you're mixing metaphors, so I can see you're upset." He bobbed back up.

"I know exactly why you're snooping through my office-" she growled.

"-I was not snooping! "

"-You're looking for the Koenig-Morse Report, aren't you?"

Fitz froze and weighed his options. Deciding that the best defence was a good offence, he rounded on her, squaring himself straight ahead. "You only hired them to give me a hard time," he spat.

"I did no such thing!"

"No, you did, admit it!" Fitz pointed a finger at her. "And now we're getting all over each other, crossing wires and what-not, and no one's made any progress!"

"These guys have made more progress in a few hours than you have in two days!" Simmons snapped. She pulled out the report and smacked it down on the table to prove her point. Fitz had to admit, it was a rather hefty document; clearly far more detailed than any reports he'd ever put together. He smirked and moved his eyes back to her, ready to make another biting comment. But then he noticed her stance and the redness of her eyes. She sniffed so imperceptibly that anyone else would have missed it.

"Wait, have you been crying?" he asked, shocked that she was able to experience such a thing as emotion. "Your mascara..."

"No no no no no." Simmons spun around so that her back was to him. She made a big show of tucking the report at the back of one of her drawers, but he didn't miss her taking the chance to wipe at her face. "Don't you try to tap-dance your way out of getting caught searching my desk." She slammed the drawer shut and turned back to face him.

"I-I wasn't searching." He frowned. "I was rummaging - Can a colleague not rummage?"

Simmons huffed and jabbed her finger towards the door. He could all but see the steam escape from her ears. "Get out. If I ever catch you going through my stuff again-"

"-What are you afraid I'll find?"

She moved forward, herding him closer to the door. "You couldn't find your nose if I turned the lights out!"

"Watch out, 'cause I'm onto you." He glared at her, moving his face right up close to hers. "I know what you are. I know what you're about."

They both breathed angrily, each measuring the other with narrowed eyes. Finally, Simmons took a small step back. "We should really both calm down." She pulled the door open and held it for him. "We just had lunch, and you're liable to overtax your heart and have a massive stroke, killing you instantly or paralyzing half your body." She smiled sweetly and shoved him through the doorway. "Have a nice day!"

The door slammed shut behind him before he had the chance to even think of something clever to say in response. Mack stood in the hall, waiting anxiously.

"So. How did it go?"

"Nevermind her office," Fitz waved off. "I have get into her apartment ."

"Fitz! No."

"Fitz, yes!" He rubbed his hands together. "She hit the ceiling when she caught me," he explained, marching down the hall. Mack followed.

"Can you blame her?"

"'Cause she's guilty! Look behind her eyes... She's definitely hiding something."

"I dunno. I think she's got pretty eyes."

"I said look behind - behind the eyes." Fitz stopped and tried to motion with his finger, making tight circles next to his temple. At Mack's amused expression, he stopped, realizing what motion he was making. He frowned and threw his hands up in defeat. "There's something not right with this broad. The minute I met her, I sensed there was trouble."

"She says the same thing about you, y'know." Mack chuckled and leaned against a wall.

"Mack, I have to get into her place."

"Now hold on, Fitz. Being an investigator doesn't put you above the law. She catches you, she's gonna have you locked up."

"Has that ever stopped me before? Besides, she's going out tonight."

"How do you know?"

"'Cause I went through her desk. I know her appointments. She's meeting her sister tonight for dinner at a restaurant across town."

"But I thought she said her sister was back across the pond."

"You see? Nothing she says ever checks out."

Mack rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, you still can't break into her apartment..."

"Who said anything about breaking in?" Fitz grinned and pulled out the prize he'd snatched from her drawer.

Mack's face fell, "Fitz..."

"Relax, she'll never know it's missing." Fitz tossed the key in the air and pocketed it again with a wink. "I'm off to make a duplicate. I'll slip the original back in there when she's off powdering her nose or something."

"You know, in another life you would have made one hell of a thief," Mack groaned.

"It takes one to catch one." Fitz grinned and slipped neatly back into his office. "Don't forget that!"

Jemma Simmons' apartment was altogether far more cheerful than Fitz's expectations had prepared him for. The walls were plastered with bright, flowered wallpaper, and the sofa happened to be both fashion-forward and distractingly comfortable. Potted plants, eclectic tea sets and scientific journals were nestled into various nooks and crannies. It took him a moment to acclimatize to his surroundings. This was far from the repressed, anal-retentive cat-hovel he'd thought he would be walking into.

Fitz paused in front of her bookshelf. He'd always found the best judge of a person's character to be in what books they kept. Simmons' shelves were stuffed with more back-dated scientific journals and textbooks with notes sticking out of worn, tabbed pages. They were clearly often used. His eyes scanned along and fell on her own impressive collection of Agatha Christie novels. Hm. Another fan of detective series. Not that he'd read too much of dear old Aggie lately. Fitz was grudgingly impressed.

He plucked an oddly thick book off the shelf to examine it, and immediately balked when he turned over the cover. "My my, Miss Simmons," he exhaled. "What secret desires have you been hiding?"

The couple on the front of the book were hardly dressed, and were poised to be in the throes of a deeply passionate -erm- embrace. Fitz raised an eyebrow and checked his watch. It was still early enough in the evening... he peeled back the cover, just for an educational peek.

Keys jangled at the lock of the door. Fitz perked his head up and swore silently as the person on the other side of the door fumbled at the lock. He snapped the book closed, looking frantically around, not sure where to stow it back - there was no time to fit it back in its spot where he'd found it - and it was too thick to fit in his pocket. Finally, he propped it precariously on the shelf above some other books and ran behind an oriental partition that stood mercifully nearby. The door opened. Fitz held his breath.

"Can I take your coat, honey?" It was Daniels. Fitz smirked. Knew it! He raised his fist with mild triumph... until it dawned on him that he was stuck listening to whatever happened between the two of them until the room cleared. Fitz scowled.

"No, I'll get it." Simmons said shortly. Hmm... She normally only ever reserved that irritable tone for Fitz and their little exchanges. Trouble in paradise? "Okay, what did you want to discuss?"

"No drink?"

"We've had enough drinks. How much alcohol do you need to be completely honest with me?"

"You're not making this very easy," Daniels muttered.

"Why should I make it easy?"

"Because we care about each other."

"Ha." Simmons chuckled darkly. "Before it was that you loved me. Now it's that you care for me?" The sound of ice hitting the bottom of a glass met Fitz's ears from behind the screen.

"Jemma, please, just sit down."

"I'm not going to faint," she snapped. "I've been dumped before."

"I wish you wouldn't say things like that."

"Is that why you rushed me out of that restaurant to talk? Because you were afraid I was going to make a scene or pass out?"

"Well, you can be a highly volatile woman," Daniels pointed out meekly.

"Can I?" she asked, her voice raised. "Most men complain I'm cool and distant." Fitz could hear Simmons' heels clack against the wood flooring. She was pacing.

"Look, you know I care about you."

The clacks stopped. "You said that. Get to the point."

"It's not that I don't want to get married ever-"

"But you don't. In the end, you don't. Not to me."

"It's just not the right time, Jemma."

"Not the right time!" she scoffed. "What about all those promises? Those stories about how you were ready to settle down?"

"You're making this into a nightmare."

"Isn't it? It is for me."

Fitz saw some movement between the panels. He angled his eye and found he could just see what was going on if he stayed in the shadows. Daniels had seated himself on the sofa with a drink. Simmons stood by the small bar cart, arms folded tightly against her chest.

"Try to understand," Daniels said with a pained expression that must have been carefully practiced. "We can still be friends," he offered.

"Oh, lovely!" Simmons picked up a bottle and got to work uncorking it.

"We can even continue to sleep together if you like."

" That makes me feel so much better!" She glared daggers at him, still struggling to open the bottle. "Which mistress will I be then, hm? The pretty one? Or the smart one?"

Daniels stood from the couch and walked over to her. She backed away until he reached over, carefully, like a lion-tamer, and took the bottle from her. He unscrewed the cap easily and held it out as a peace-offering. She sneered down her nose at it. Finally, he simply placed it back down on the coffee table. Her eyes followed, refusing to even look at him.

"You know." She sighed, her shoulders drooping slightly. "I only got involved with this because you told me you were tired of your playboy ways." Her eyes fluttered up to him. "You said you were ready to have a stable life. You wanted a wife. A family to share your dreams with." She pressed her lips together and looked directly at him. Her voice was steady, but even Fitz could see the red splotches starting to creep up her chest and neck.

"When you say it like that, it sounds like I've deceived you," Daniels said, the picture of a miserable man.

"Haven't you?"

"I didn't mean to. I respect you too much."

"Well. Now we've gone from love to care to respect!" Simmons laughed. "This has been quite the whirlwind romance in the end, hasn't it?"

"Jemma."

"Leave me alone , okay?" Her voice finally hitched. She immediately scrunched her eyes closed and pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead. "Please go."

"Jemma-"

"Just go!" she snapped again. Her eyes were beginning to water, but she managed to pull the corners of her mouth into a smile. "I'll be fine. Just please leave me alone now."

Daniels took a step toward her, apparently overcome by her grief. "Honey, listen-" He reached a comforting hand out to her. She watched it come, too worn out or too tired or too willing to believe a simple touch could change his mind. But as soon as he made contact with her arm, she jumped back like she'd been shocked.

"I said leave me alone!" Simmons shouted and turned her back to him.

Daniels immediately backed away. He picked up his coat from the edge of her sofa. He stopped with his hand just above the door handle. "I-I hope you decide to stay at Distant Star," he said sadly. "You're really helping to turn our company around."

Simmons sighed from the corner of the room, looking up at the ceiling. "I guess we won't be having that honeymoon in Paris after all, will we?" She glanced over her shoulder to see his reaction. She wore a sad smile.

"I feel like such a jerk!" Daniels turned and strode immediately back across the room toward her, but she stopped him before he got too close.

"You shouldn't. It's my fault," she said, smoothing down her skirt. "I got into this against my better judgement."

"Honey-"

"Just go." She forced a smile. Daniels clenched his hand around his coat, not sure what to actually do. "Go," she instructed, giving him a firm nod.

As soon as the door shut behind Will Daniels' back, Simmons sank down into the sofa, defeated. After a moment, she lifted her head and placed an empty glass on the table next to the bottle he had opened. She stared at the glass. She stared at the bottle. She brought the bottle to her lips with a miserably satisfied groan.

Fitz decided it was time to stop watching. He turned around, but was met only with a wash of floaral wallpaper. He frowned and checked his watch. The sounds of sloshing liquid and a hiccup or two echoed from behind his little hiding spot. It would be a long night.

His opportune moment presented itself perhaps a half-hour later - though if questioned, it would seem like far longer in retrospect. Simmons had been attempting to sing along with the radio. The more she drank, the more off-tune she became. She was full of forced spunk and bravado and it was the furthest thing from pleasant he had ever experienced. When, at long last, silence met his ears, he allowed himself a moment to close his eyes in relief. He then peered between the panels of the partition.

The window was open wide, a soft breeze drifting in. Simmons stood on the other side of it, leaning her head against the cool metal of the fire escape. She took long, contemplative breaths, hugging herself and staring out at the busy city. She had become eerily silent.

Remembering himself, Fitz scrambled to his feet, ready to bolt for the door. He had nearly made it when his arm brushed against the book he'd stowed away in her bookshelf. It fell to the floor with a loud thud. Fitz froze and peered over his shoulder, wincing.

Simmons whirled towards the sound, but then, as if in slow motion, he watched as she stumbled on the grate in her surprise, losing her balance and veering precariously towards the ledge.

Her arms flailed, unable to find purchase. Without another thought, Fitz raced straight for the window. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her safely back into the apartment, heaving her onto the couch. In the heat of it all, his own footing slipped and he landed right on top of her.

Wide eyed, and more than a little inebriated, Simmons stared up at Fitz in shock. A full ten seconds passed before she registered what was happening. He could tell. He counted exactly how long it took for her face to contort with rage.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!"

Fitz pushed himself up off her and leapt to his feet across the room. "What do you mean, what am I doing here?" He straightened, casually placing his hands on his hips.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!" Simmons asked again, sitting up on the couch, stiff with rage.

"Oh, I-I just happened to be passing through," Fitz said with a wave of his hand.

She scrunched her eyebrows. "You what ?"

He searched his mind for a plausible excuse, but was finding it oddly difficult to think. "I'm- What do you- I was- I'm- I was…" Fitz dropped his head in defeat and pointed. "I was hiding behind your screen."

"Behind my what ?"

"You have this lovely Japanese screen just over there." He gestured again. "I was hiding behind it."

Simmons' head followed his outstretched hand to the screen, bewildered, then slowly back to him. She blinked, then stood, wobbling only slightly. "How did you bloody get in? Tell me. And how long have you been here?"

"Well…" Fitz winced. "What time is it?" Her expression was exceedingly unamused. He shrugged. "I've been here quite a while, actually."

"You broke into my apartment?" Simmons took a step towards him, her voice going dangerously quiet.

"No, that's a harsh term. I didn't break in, " he explained, calmly backing away. "See, I made a duplicate of your key." He fished for it in his pocket, then held it up so she could see.

"You what?"

"Which you can have for no extra charge, by the way." He held it out to her. "It's good to have two keys, in case an emergency happens, or-"

Simmons was looking at the key furiously, when all of a sudden, to his surprise, she burst into tears. " Why did you do this to me?" She spun away, covering her face. She threw herself back onto the couch.

"What? Why?" Fitz glanced around the room, uncomfortable with the crying woman whose house he was trespassing in. "To be honest, it-it's because I'm convinced somebody up at Distant Star is responsible for the jewel robbery, that's why." Fitz sat down on the couch next to her. He tried to decide whether or not he should put a comforting arm around her. It ended up just hovering awkwardly in the air.

"And you think I did it?" She sat up and sniffed at him, incredulous.

He tucked his arm back behind him. "Well, you're a prime suspect, yes."

"Based on what ?"

"Based on the fact that I know everybody else better than you," Fitz countered. He paused and replayed that sentence to himself, then added: "And you have access to all the data, so."

"So? You have access to it as well!"

"But you were so nervous the other night when I caught you up in the office," he pointed out. "Remember? I came up and you were acting all strange and suspicious. Plus you were at the Rainbow Room. You grabbed a coaster. I saw you put it in your-"

"So you broke into my apartment illegally , and spied on me?"

"I wasn't spying," he huffed. "Why must you insist on these harsh terms? I was rummaging . I'm a big rummager."

"Rummaging?" She stared blankly at him.

"I was rummaging in the afternoon. I saw 'dinner with my sister' written in your planner. All those sisters, all those dinners…" He stopped and looked at his hands. "Ah, those were with Daniels, weren't they?" He glanced up at her.

Simmons looked at him in horror, then sank deeper into the couch and covered her face. "Oh, God, I'm mortified!" She reached mournfully for the bottle and immediately tipped its contents down her throat.

"Stop that!" Fitz grabbed the bottle from her. "If it wasn't for me being here, they'd be scraping you up off the sidewalk, you know."

"If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have nearly fallen out the window in the first place, you slimy little weasel!" She snapped. "And it's none of your business, anyways." She narrowed her eyes at him, then went for the bottle. He held it out of her reach.

"And over a jerk like Daniels," he tutted, standing up and moving to the other side of the room with the bottle.

"He's not a jerk. He's wonderful ," Simmons growled. "He's twice the man you are, you roach."

"Don't you see? He gives you these stories so he can get in your pants!" Fitz rolled his eyes. "He's never gonna settle down with one girl. Especially not a nice girl like you."

"You witnessed my humiliation..." Jemma had given up on the bottle and begun, instead, to curl herself into a ball on the sofa.

"The only humiliating thing is how this guy takes advantage of a woman who's so smart," Fitz said, looking down at her.

"No, no, no!" Simmons sat up straight again. "You are not fit to discuss Will Daniels!" She stood on wobbly legs and propped her hands onto her hips.

"You can't honestly still love him after all that!" Fitz balked. She smirked at him. "I can't believe it."

"Get out before I call the police and have you arrested for breaking and entering," Simmons spat. Her threat was lessened only by the amount that she swayed as she pointed at the door.

"I'm not leaving you alone here tonight, are you crazy? Look at you." He tilted his head. She tried to take a step forward, but stumbled. He caught her. "I'd ask if you had any friends to take care of you, but I know the answer."

She groaned and attempted to complain as he dragged her back over to the couch. When he hoisted her up onto it, she immediately curled herself into a ball and refused to look at him.

"Great. Are you okay?"

Receiving no response, Fitz took off his coat with a sigh and draped it around her. From the rise and fall of her shoulders, she appeared to have fallen instantly asleep, the stress of the day mixing with the copious amounts of alcohol into a perfect sleeping potion.

He watched her lying there for a moment. She looked so peaceful and calm. Rather beautiful, actually, once the venom was relaxed out of her features. She sniffed and grimaced in her sleep, and Fitz nodded to himself.

He walked over to turn off the lights and his shoe brushed against the book that had fallen and caused this whole commotion in the first place. He stooped to pick it up, sneering at the couple on the cover. When a low rumbling snore began to emanate from where she lay, Fitz rolled his eyes and settled himself into the chair across the room from her. It would be a long night spent babysitting a sleeping Jemma Simmons, of all people. How did he get himself into these situations?