Light spilled into the room and Jemma woke with a splitting headache. Her mouth was dry and her stomach felt like mush. She gingerly opened one eye. At first she was confused to find herself in the living room, but decided that thinking about it hurt her head too much. Shifting to sit up, she was even more surprised when a familiar trench coat slipped to the floor from her shoulders. Some very strong tea would be in order before she could even begin to sort all that out in her mind.

Jemma rolled herself off the sofa and managed to shuffle into the kitchen. When she saw the man reaching up into one of her cabinets, she froze. Eggs and bacon were frying in a pan behind him. His sleeves were rolled up and his hair was messy. He clearly hadn't shaved recently. A few buttons of his shirt were undone, and it became untucked at the waist as he stretched his lean body towards the shelf above. Jemma caught a glimpse of skin at his stomach, and she closed her eyes tightly.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she croaked between dry lips.

Fitz settled back onto his heels and surveyed her, holding up a small box innocently. "I'm making tea."

She frowned, wanting to argue, but not quite sure about what. The details were fuzzy. But then, a snippet. Jemma's eyes widened as her memories of the night before came flooding back. "Oh, God!" A hand flew to her mouth. "You came here last night! You - you thought I stole some jewels!" She began smacking his arm just as he tried to plop a teabag into the pot next to the frying pan.

Fitz flinched and held his arms up to shield himself from her menacing hands. "Stop that! In my defense, this happens to be a very confusing case."

"I'll say you're confused." She sniffed and hugged herself. "Why didn't you go home to sleep?"

"You're joking." He stared down at her. "I couldn't let you do something crazy, the state you were in."

"What state? I was fine." She took the tea bag from him and put it into the teapot herself.

"Well for starters, you nearly did a swan dive out the window!"

She winced as the memory floated to the front of her mind. Of him pulling her away from the ledge at just the right moment. Of him landing on top of her on the sofa. His body had been much more firm and warm than she'd expected. Not that she'd had time to notice any of that. "If I recall correctly, that little incident was your own fault. You startled me." She put her hands on her hips. "Besides, how do you know I wouldn't have done something crazy even with you here?"

"Because I watched over you." He put his hands on his hips too, mirroring her.

Jemma stopped and frowned at his stance. She wasn't sure how to respond to that. She immediately dropped her arms to her sides. "You stayed up all night watching me?"

"That's exactly right. Yes." Fitz nodded like it wasn't even a question. He waited for her to make a cutting remark, but she couldn't think of anything. She didn't know what to do with her hands anymore. Gazing up at him, she began to absently rub at her elbow. They both stood there in silence for a moment. Clearing his throat, Fitz finally turned back to the fryer. "And you snore like a grizzly bear with a sinus condition, by the way."

Moving over to the small kitchen table with her teapot, Jemma noted he'd already set out the plates and cutlery. "I had a bad moment last night," she said gruffly. "I'm fine now."

"And you talk in your sleep." He waved the spatula.

She smirked, pouring herself a cup of tea and settling back into their usual rhythm. "You probably took notes, you suspicious little inchworm."

"You mentioned my name," he crowed. He brought the frying pan over to the table where she had seated herself with her cup. He dished the bacon and eggs onto her plate. "I thought you were awake. You said I should rot in hell."

"I was probably awake." She grinned and took a sip of tea.

"Figured you were feeling better," he shrugged.

She looked down at the greasy meal Fitz had prepared for her, and her stomach churned. Somehow, not wanting to appear rude, she forced a tiny bite of egg down her throat. It landed in her gut like rubber. She stole a glance over at the wall-clock, and immediately stood. "Fitz! Why didn't you wake me? I have to be at work in 30 minutes!"

Fitz frowned, his head whipping around after her. "Didn't think you'd be heading in to the office today, to be honest."

"Well you thought wrong!" She rushed for the bathroom and started the water running in the shower. Popping her head back out, she gave him a pointed look. "You have to go. We can't arrive together, people will talk! Get a change of clothes too, while you're at it," she barked. She bobbed back into the bathroom to get undressed.

Fitz looked from the bathroom door which she'd left slightly ajar, to the plate of abandoned breakfast. "Please," he snorted. He watched the steam start to escape from the small room. "You and me? That's the last thing people would talk about, sister."

"Just go!" she snapped, her voice somewhat muffled. Suddenly her head appeared again. Her hair was tied up out of her face, and her body was angled away behind the door. Fitz forgot what he was going to say. "And don't dare gossip about what you saw here," she scolded him.

"Nobody's going to gossip," he said quietly. Simmons narrowed her eyes, then nodded and disappeared back into the steaming room. Fitz released a long breath. Finding his coat on the floor, he spoke loudly as he picked it up. "In fact, I couldn't care less about your life, Simmons. It means nothing to me!" He walked over to the front door, facing the bathroom so she could hear. "I couldn't stand you when I met you, and I can't stand you now! I find you obnoxious and pompous and-"

"-I'm sorry are you saying something?" she sang. "The water's a bit loud!"

"Yeah, well, do me a favour at the office and pretend you don't know me, okay?"

"Don't choke on your breakfast and die of asphyxiation," she called after him. "You'll wind up unable to dislodge a large piece of toast, no matter how hard you cough!"

Her front door slammed shut.

Fitz did not go home, and he did not get a change of clothes. Instead, he opted to grab a bagel from one of his contacts on the street to see if any news about the case had come up.

It had not.

It was looking like it would be another long, harrowing day. To be honest, he was rather looking forward to getting back to the office. Once he got his hands on it, he would bury his nose in that copy of the Koenig-Morse report for the fun of it. Simmons had nearly bit his head off over it before, but surely saving her life will have earned him at least a small favour.

As soon as Fitz waltzed into the office, however, Daisy waved him over. Trip was leaning over her desk - the two had obviously been flirting. Fitz nodded pleasantly and noted the distinct lack of jealous pang he should have felt. Perhaps their outing to the Rainbow Room had cured him of that inconvenient little crush he'd been harbouring. Good. If his night with Simmons had proven anything to him, it was that he had no desire for messy romantic entanglements like she and Daniels had gotten themselves into.

"Fitz, Mr. Daniels asked for you to go see him as soon as you got in." Daisy grinned, trying to keep her eyes off of Trip. "He's waiting in the big office."

"The big office?"

Daisy shrugged. "That's all I know. Hurry up, they only all just arrived."

"All-?" Fitz wanted more information, but Daisy had already turned her attention back to Trip and was too busy giggling to give him anything else. Fitz set his shoulders and hurried down the hall. They never used the big office unless it was for some big announcement or party or the like. The last time it was used, Daniels Senior had announced his retirement. Perhaps his son was finally getting around to throwing him that retirement party he'd promised. Unlikely.

"Mr. Daniels, you sent for-" The room was full, set up for a full conference. "Oh. I see." Fitz looked around. He was obviously the last to arrive. A few members of the Distant Star board were there, as well as the Koenigs and an elegant blonde woman who looked like she ought to be running the whole establishment. Simmons stood quietly in the corner, hands folded in front of her, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Fitz smirked at the Koenigs. "If you'll all open your Chem books to page 90," he said, doing his best impersonation of his old Professor.

"Sit down please, Fitz," Daniels said abruptly. "We have a situation."

Fitz shot Daniels a dirty look and crossed his arms over his chest, not sitting.

"I'll let Ms. Morse bring you up to speed." Daniels gestured to the woman at the head of the table. Not noticing the venomous look that his lead investigator aimed at him, Daniels gave the tall woman what must have passed for a charming wink. She didn't appear affected. Still, Fitz leaned against the wall behind the empty chair in defiance.

The woman in question sat up straight and spoke with clear authority. Ms. Morse definitely had this whole professional act together far better than the Koenigs did, that was for sure. "After a careful search," she said, hardly glancing at the report in front of her, "using some of the most advanced techniques in the industry, my team has found some interesting pieces of evidence."

Fitz snorted. "Yeah? Leading to whom, Eleanor Roosevelt?" He glanced over at Simmons. Her head was bowed. She appeared to be focusing all her attention at not making eye contact with anyone in the room.

"We got a shoe print off the parapet at the Johnson estate," Ms. Morse continued, shifting her eyes directly to Fitz.

"So?" He lifted a shoulder, unimpressed. A shoe print was a shoe print.

"An eight-and-a-half 'C' Florsheim Cordovan." Her eyes flashed.

"Only worn by 20 million people!" Fitz smirked and pushed away from the wall. "I mean, I wear an eight-and-a-half 'C' Florsheim Cordovan shoe."

"Yes." She pressed her lips together. After a rather pregnant pause, Ms. Morse lifted a sheet of paper from her report and passed it around the conference table. "We also recovered a couple of hairs. One on the rug at the Johnson estate, the other one actually inside the Stark safe. They appear to be a match."

"Forgive me if I'm not knocked out." Fitz rolled his eyes, gripping the back of the chair, still refusing to be seated to look at the paper as it passed. "This is what we're paying extra for? I could have told you all of that without this whole charade." He gestured around the room.

"Oh, we don't mean just to each other," Ms. Morse said quietly, eyes boring into him. "They match yours, Mr. Fitz. Just like the shoes."

Fitz tilted his head, waiting for the punch line. When none came, he looked at the Koenigs. They were sitting there smugly, but even they had no hint of humour about them. He held up a finger. "Now hold on just a minute," he said. "I know you all are angling for my job, but-"

"-We also got a fingerprint off the coaster," one of the Koenigs chimed in with a nod.

"The Koenig-Morse lab uses highly sensitive apparatus," the other brother added.

"You're gonna tell me it's mine, too?" Fitz dropped his hands to his sides. This whole line of investigation was a waste of time.

"It is, Fitz." Daniels said quietly, looking up from the paper that had made its way around to him.

Fitz stared around the room blankly. "Well so what?" He hoped he wasn't the only one who saw how ridiculous this all was. "So I leave a shoe print on the parapet, or I inadvertently drop a coaster-"

"-The coaster was found before you got over to the place," a Koenig brother said primly.

Fitz lifted a finger again and opened his mouth to retort, but could think of nothing. He folded his finger back into his fist and clenched in frustration.

"Nobody is making any accusations at the moment," Ms. Morse said pleasantly, gesturing with a carefully manicured hand.

"But you do have a lot of outstanding debt from all your little experiments-" a Koenig said.

"You can't seriously be investigating me," Fitz said, unable to believe he had to actually say the words.

Daniels stood and met his eyes levelly. "Fitz, I assure you, this is only an in-house inquiry right now," he said. "We don't want the police to know about it, and we're certainly not looking for bad publicity."

"Simmons," Fitz turned to her, attempting his last appeal, "what do you think?" She looked up, almost surprised that anyone remembered she was even in the room. "Say something. You're smarter than all them combined. You think I did it?"

She gaped at him, eyebrows knitted together. Trying to form words, she opened her mouth silently.

Daniels looked from Fitz to Simmons, whose eyes had locked together, and in the quiet that hung in the air between them, he smirked. He held up a hand before Jemma could speak. "Please, let's not have our daily FitzSimmons bloodbath between you two," he shook his head. "Jemma is not an investigator."

"But she's a very bright woman," Fitz insisted, finally tearing his eyes away from hers. "She's got a lot of ideas. She was the one who brought these two mouth breathers in on this case."

"It's nothing personal," a Koenig sniffed. "We're just building a case where the evidence leads."

"Look, we all want to catch the jewel thief," Fitz said, trying to rationalize with them. "But you lot are just wasting time and resources. You know I'm on your side. Don't do this." He looked at Simmons again, and she blinked under the intensity of his pleading gaze. If she could have buried her head, she would have. She looked torn and defeated. She remained silent.

Daniels stood, the executioner of the unspoken sentence. "It's probably best if you stay home for a few days Fitz." He patted him on the shoulder. "Just until the heat dies down on all this."

Fitz exhaled. "Right. Yeah. Totally understand," he said numbly. He looked around the room one last time. When no one met his gaze, he sniffed. It was funny how fast a whole group of people's loyalties could shift when presented with the right data. Fitz stormed out of the conference room.

"Daisy," he barked, "I want a résumé of every employee who works here messengered to my flat as soon as possible."

She looked up, shocked, then stood and watched as the big office emptied out into the hall. Her eyebrows knitted together, wanting to ask him what happened, but, seeing someone over his shoulder, she sat back down without a word.

"Fitz." He turned. Simmons was hurrying over to him. He glared down his nose at her, not sure he was ready to hear what she had to say now that it was too late.

"What?" he spat.

"I-" She looked oddly pained, still searching for what to say.

"-Don't worry Fitz, we'll get to the bottom of this," Daniels said loudly, appearing over her shoulder. "Oh, Miss Simmons, I wanted to meet with you later."

She pressed her lips together, and turned to him, looking professionally distant. "About what, Mr. Daniels?"

"Our, uh, Paris account," he said, attempting to meet her professionalism and failing. Fitz rolled his eyes. This was the one part of the office dynamic he would not miss during his time away.

Simmons smiled pleasantly up at her boss. "As I recall, that account is closed Mr. Daniels." She started to walk away, but Daniels subtly reached out a hand to hers, holding her back.

"I have to see you later," he whispered into her ear. Apparently he didn't seem to notice or care that Fitz was still within hearing range. "Just to talk. I behaved like such a fool before. Later, for a drink. Just for a drink."

Simmons' eyes softened slightly. She turned her head and briefly glanced at Fitz before twitching the corners of her mouth up into a smile at Daniels. Fitz looked away, pretending that he hadn't been paying attention. Simmons addressed Daniels pleasantly, removing his hand from hers. She then walked down the hall to her office, heels clacking resolutely against the office tiles. Fitz left before he could see whether or not Daniels followed.

Time away from the office wasn't the worst thing in the world, exactly. Daisy had kept good on her promise and had the résumés sent over almost as soon as he arrived back. He spent some time in the afternoon pouring over them, but it did no good. He already knew everyone in the office, and aside from little white lies here and there on their CVs – Trip definitely could not type 75 words per minute – nothing was helpful to the case.

It was frustrating being stuck in one place; especially when his cat-burgling nemesis was still at large. His White Whale. Not only had the jewel-thief managed to confound his investigation, but he (or she) had somehow turned the spotlight on Fitz. Was this a personal vendetta? The more he thought about it, the more he was sure it had to be someone at Distant Star, but no one was fitting the bill.

Deciding it was time for a short break, Fitz pulled out his latest detective novel. Perhaps good old Hercule Poirot would offer some inspiration. Concentration was a fickle commodity, however, and his eyes kept wandering over to the clock. He shifted back over to the résumés again. No good. His fingers itched. If only he could get back into his office. Tinkering always helped him think, and his latest experiment was locked in there. Even going over the security schemes for commonalities between both estates was sure to drum up some clues. That would never happen though. There was no way he'd be allowed back in the building while under suspicion.

A low rumbling emitted from his stomach region, signalling that it was well past time for dinner. He moved to the fridge and groaned at its severely lacking contents. He should have gone to the store, but it was too late for that now. Eggs and sausage it would have to be, then.

Just as he was about ready to tuck in, the doorbell to his flat rang. With a grumble, he marched over to the door and threw it open, an irritated scowl ready for whoever was keeping him from his hard-earned meal. "Oh. Well look who the cat dragged in!" It was Simmons.

She stood in the hallway, looking nervous and unsure. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, sure." He stepped aside to let her through, giving her a long, curious glance as she passed.

She looked around, not trying very hard to hide the look of disgust at the general unkemptness of his place. "It's a little messy," he said over her shoulder. "If I knew you were coming, I would have had the maid rearrange the dirt."

"Are you alone?" She faced him, getting straight to business and not bothering with their usual banter.

"Alone? Yeah, of course." His breath caught.

"I would have called, but I decided it was safer to talk to you in person." She worried her hands together.

"What do you mean, 'safer'?"

"I can't stay long."

"Why?" He scoffed. "You gonna meet Daniels in Paris?"

She jutted out a hip and scowled at him. "That is none of your business," she snapped.

"Well thanks for coming to my defense today in the office, by the way." He let the bitterness drip from his words. "It was really nice of you."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually." Simmons' expression softened and she looked down at her hands. "The Koenig brothers had Raina Johnson in for questioning today." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then met his eyes again. "She told them she was with you the night before last. And then you got a phone call in the middle of the night and got rid of her because you had to go someplace... at midnight."

"Oh is that all?" Fitz rolled his eyes. "Don't look at me like that, Simmons, she's clearly lying!" Simmons' indignant expression was almost worth her ridiculous theory. "In what universe would I kick Raina Johnson out of my bed? I mean, it's Raina Johnson."

Simmons narrowed her eyes at him, but not out of malice, like she was studying an abstract painting. "Why are you lying to me?"

"Why did you come here with this crazy story?" He gestured to the door in frustration and turned back to the kitchen. "You want some tea?"

"No. If you must know, I'm only here because I-I should have spoken up at that meeting today," she said quietly. "Because while I do think you're a mealy-mouthed little -"

"-Reptile."

"Reptile, thank you. I don't quite think you're a jewel thief."

He handed her a mug of tea, which she accepted absently. "What makes you so positive?"

She considered him, chewing on her lower lip. It was as though the question had never occurred to her, and she was only just realizing that it might be necessary in this sort of situation to have a reason. "It's too daring for you," she settled on. "You're not romantic enough. It requires flair and imagination. My instinct is telling me you're not the thief."

Fitz folded his arms, bemused. "I didn't think you had instincts."

"Oh I have them," she defended. "I just don't usually trust them. Especially when it comes to sizing up men..." She looked him up and down, then shook her head and took a sip of tea. "But this time I can feel it. You're good at weaselly type things, like snooping and spying. You're not man enough to be a cat burglar."

"Well thank you for that assessment Miss Simmons. I'll be sure to have my solicitor start the defense on those grounds. 'Not Man Enough'." He smirked at her. "You know, you sound like you're attracted to men who break the law."

"We're not here to discuss me," she ruffled. "We're here to discuss what Raina Johnson told the Koenigs."

"But I was never with Raina Johnson!"

Simmons searched around the apartment in a huff, and when she settled on something in his overstuffed arm chair, she held it up for him to see. "She said she left her stocking here."

Fitz blinked and moved to touch the stocking in Simmons' grasp. Like it was a cursed object, he moved his hand away before it made contact. "Hey, that could be anybody's. I don't know - a lot of women pass through this apartment..."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm sure you're not overly particular."

"What do you want from me?"

Simmons stamped her foot on the floor in frustration. "I came here to tell you that a case is building against you. Be honest with me!"

"I am being honest!" He held up his palms defensively.

"Then where did you get this stocking?" She brandished it in his face

He ducked to the side. "It's some broad's! I don't know." He let his hands fall to his sides. Fitz didn't know what else to say. He honestly couldn't remember where the stocking had come from or how it could have gotten there. Perhaps he was being framed more thoroughly than he first suspected, and Raina Johnson was in on it. This wasn't something he wanted to discuss with Simmons of all people, though. "A lot of women come through here, and they lose earrings, stockings, I don't keep track. It could belong to anyone," he said.

Simmons looked at him coldly. "Well Raina Johnson says it's hers. She also says she tipped the super. He let her in here, so that story checks out." Fitz opened his mouth to respond, but naturally, the doorbell rang instead. Simmons' head jerked to the door frantically. "Whoever that is, I'm not here!" She stuffed the stocking in her pocket and looked around the small flat for somewhere to hide.

Fitz was both amused and baffled at how she was reacting. "What? Wh-" He shrugged and went to the door to check the peep-hole. "Who is it?" He called out.

"It's Sam and Billy Koenig."

Simmons shook her head. "I don't want to be seen here!" she hissed as quietly as possible.

"Why? What's the problem? Am I some sort of a leper now?"

"You're under suspicion," she said through gritted teeth. "I would have a lot of explaining to do."

"You know, I think you're still hooked on Daniels. That's why you don't want anyone to know you're here." She gaped furiously at him, one eye on the door. He sighed and gestured with his arms. "Just - Go down the end of the hall. There's a bedroom. You can shut the door."

She hesitated for a moment. "Can I sit down in there, or will I catch something?"

"Germs can't live in your bloodstream." He rolled his eyes, ushering her down the hall. "It's too cold."

Simmons slipped behind the door out of sight, and Fitz closed it carefully behind her.

"Let's go Fitz. Open up!" The Koenigs were pounding on the door pretty impatiently now.

"Just a minute!" He did a quick run around the apartment, picked up Simmons' tea cup and put it back again before heading to the door. He plastered a casual grin on his face and pulled on the handle, one arm leaning on the door frame to block their view inside. "Hey boys. You sure you have the right apartment? The traps with the cheese are in the basement."

"Can we come in?" The Koenigs pushed past Fitz without waiting for his reply.

"Now hold on just a minute. I've got a dinner date to prepare for, and if I don't hurry up-"

"Wouldn't happen to be with Raina Johnson, would it?"

"Raina Johnson?" Fitz balked animatedly. "Come on. I may be good, but I'm not that good."

"She says she was here the other night." One of the Koenigs surveyed the overstuffed chair Simmons had found the stocking in. "Then you dumped her to go out on some mysterious middle-of-the-night business."

"Really? And you believe her?" Fitz rubbed the back of his neck and gave a hearty chuckle. "Guys. Seriously. Would I dump Raina Johnson?"

"Problem is, the night guard from the Distant Star building says you've made some strange middle-of-the-night visits to your office too." One of the Koenigs walked right up to Fitz, eyeing him suspiciously. "Both nights the robberies took place."

Fitz stepped back and felt the wall behind him. "Fellas, I'd love to chat with you about this, really, but I have a date to prepare for." He motioned to the front entrance. "We can discuss this later, yeah?"

"You know you're facing a long jail sentence, Fitz." The other Koenig strolled through the room and stood next to his brother, cornering Fitz. "This is no joking matter. We're gonna turn this over to the police tomorrow. There's a case developing that's pretty incriminating."

"Yeah, well it's all circumstantial evidence at best," Fitz countered. "That's all you've got."

"Many a man's gone to the gallows on circumstantial evidence." A Koenig said ominously.

"Well boys, the gallows will have to wait for my dinner," he said flatly. He opened the door and waited for them to take the hint. "If you catch the jewel thief in the mean time, let me know. I'll get you both matching merit badges." The brothers both scrutinized him pompously as they meandered past into the hallway. They turned back around to get a last jab in, but Fitz shut the door on their idiot grins, cutting them off.

Before anything else could threaten his evening, Fitz sagged against the door and took a moment for a long, deep breath. Whoever was framing him was doing too good of a job. It's almost as if they knew him better than he knew himself. They'd managed to plant evidence, and somehow got Raina Johnson of all people to play along – not to mention his superintendent and the night watchman up at Distant Star. Perhaps there was some sort of mind-control happening, or a mass hallucination? Fitz dragged his hands down his face, then shook his head to clear it before standing up straight again. "Okay," he called out, heading back to the bedroom where Simmons was hiding. "You can come out now. They're-" He froze.

Simmons stood in the middle of the room in shock. Her hands were dripping with more gold necklaces and brightly coloured jewels than Fitz had ever seen in one room before. He stared at her, eyes wide. "What is this?"

"I-I was – just browsing through your bookshelf... and - I found these."

They both stared at her hands.

"This is – These - Those are the Johnson jewels." He pointed. "And the Stark jewels and the - where did you...?" Fitz tore his eyes from the glittering gems to search her face. "Hey, what are you looking at me like that for?"

"I was aware that you sneaked up to the office in the middle of the night," she breathed. "The lobby guard saw you. I know you have Raina Johnson's stocking, and she swears you kicked her out of bed to take care of sudden business, which your superintendent corroborates." Her eyes were darting back and forth. She was beginning to spiral. "They have a shoe print, a coaster with your fingerprint..." She cocked her head to the side. "And still I believed that you didn't do it. But now the actual stolen property turns up hidden in your bedroom, and-"

"-So what are you saying?" Fitz cut her off. "This makes you suspicious of me?"

Simmons closed her eyes and began to pace, the long necklaces swinging through the air in her grip. "I was actually a bit touched that you stayed up all night watching over me," she said in disbelief. "I began to think that maybe you're not the scummy little vermin you seem to be-"

"-Hey, I may be a scummy vermin, but I'm an honest scummy vermin." Fitz held his hands out. "I didn't take these jewels."

"How can you still deny it?" She raised her jewel-filled fist to him. "You've been caught red-handed."

"Yes, I- I grant you there's a fingerprint of me... and they have a shoe print, and the jewels are in my bedroom. But I -" Fitz looked around the bedroom, grasping for an explanation and coming up blank. "I'm starting to think I'm in tremendous trouble here..." He scratched the back of his head.

"I'm calling the police." Simmons stormed out of the bedroom and towards the telephone.

"No!" Fitz raced after her. He put a hand on the phone before she could lift the receiver. She moved her hand away as soon as his touched her, like she'd been burnt. "Will you just forget about logic for a minute and try to give me the benefit of the doubt?"

"That makes me an accessory!" she hissed.

"Not if I'm innocent! Please."

"Innocent!" She shook the jewels at him again. "You don't have a innocent bone in your body."

"This is how you get yourself into these problems, you know." He wagged a finger at her. "That's why Daniels is waiting for you, right? You make all the wrong decisions 'cause you make them up here," he pointed to his temple, "not here," he reached down and spread a hand over her heart. Her eyes went wide as she looked down at his warm hand covering her chest. He flinched apologetically and quickly moved it back to his side. "Look, you didn't think I did it before. What's your gut telling you?"

She jutted her chin in the air and met his eyes steadily. They stared at each other for perhaps a little longer than was necessary. Was Simmons sizing him up? Was she changing her mind? God, if he could just change her mind, the rest he could handle. She blinked. And the phone rang.

Fitz jumped on it and held her back at arm's length before she could leap for it herself. "Hello?"

"Capuchin."

Fitz dropped his arm, immediately releasing Simmons. She scooted to the side, but instead of leaving to go to the police like she should, she stared at him, intrigued. His face grew blank as he listened intently through the receiver.

Simmons stood in his living room with a fistful of jewels, oddly undecided. She should definitely leave now and go turn him in. That would be the correct thing to do. While he was distracted. So there would be no chance of an altercation. He didn't look like much, but who knew what this man was really capable of?

Her feet remained planted on the floor, and before she could coax them into action, Fitz hung up the telephone. He turned and looked at her. As he appeared to register her continued presence, his expression brightened like he was seeing the sun after too long in the dark.

"Miss Simmons!" he said airily. She shifted her weight, preparing herself for whatever he had in store. "Have I ever told you that you're the most beautiful woman I've ever met?"

Her mouth fell open. That was unexpected. "I'm turning you in," she snapped. Gathering her head, she tried to push past him, but he grasped gently onto her hand before she could get far, and pulled her much closer to him than she had ever been before. Her breath caught. He had a surprisingly nice-smelling cologne. Cedar and lemons and...

"No, I mean it," he cooed, looking at her with the biggest puppy-dog eyes she had ever seen. "You know, that's what made me first fall in love with you. Those beautiful eyes of yours..." He brushed a fingertip along the side of her face.

Simmons felt her eyelids begin to flutter as she leaned in to his touch. Not a moment too soon, she came to her senses, blinked and pushed him away. "Are you actually trying to sweet-talk me?" She stumbled, but caught herself on the arm of the chair, avoiding him as he reached to catch her. The jewels tumbled from her hands, but she moved to the other side of the room, putting the overstuffed chair safely between her and Fitz.

He stood calmly where he was and rubbed the back of his neck. "I resisted because, well, deep down I thought you would never feel the same." He looked up with those shining eyes again, and she had to force herself to breathe. "I know I'm not nearly good enough for you, and I didn't want to put myself in a position to get hurt, so I pushed you away."

"Fitz," she breathed. "Let me set you straight once and for all. I wouldn't be interested in you if you were the only man on the planet!"

"Perhaps we could discuss it over dinner?" He gave her a hopeful little lop-sided grin, and she had to close her eyes. "I've just recalled a previous engagement now, but tomorrow night." He tried to step towards her again, but she held a hand out and he stopped. "I know a lovely candlelit restaurant. I could look into your eyes and tell you all the wonderful things I think of you."

She steeled herself. "If I didn't know what a squirming little trapped rat you were, I'd think you had brain damage," she spat back at him.

Fitz stayed where he was, between her and the door, but not coming any closer. She tapped her foot and tried to wrap her mind around what he was saying. He was speaking so earnestly that she almost – but no. None of it fit with how they'd been interacting for the past six months. Did it?

Suddenly, an explanation dawned on her, and she had to ball her hands into fists to suppress the rage that swelled in her chest. "Mr. Fitz, I find it enormously insulting that you could think I would fall for such a - a heavy-handed ploy." She thrust her chin in the air. "I am not one to be wooed into submission like the other air-headed bimbos you sweet-talk."

"Oh Jemma, please believe me when I tell you there's only room in my heart for you."

She glared at him. "What a low opinion of me you must have." Gathering momentum from the anger that coursed through her veins, she charged past him and through the door, at last, to safety.

"Thank you for dropping by," he called after her. "I'll make reservations for us tomorrow then, shall I?"

"You're late." Will Daniels stood as she entered the bright restaurant.

"God I'm still trembling." Simmons immediately drained the glass of scotch that had been waiting for her, then sat.

"Over last night?" Will hovered, looking oddly nervous. "I know what you mean. I couldn't sleep a wink."

"Hmm?" She looked up at him. Will was flattening out his suit and adjusting his tie where he stood. He never fidgeted like this. It's one of the things she admired about him.

"Jemma, I've been doing some thinking and..." He dropped down to one knee. "I've decided I want you to marry me."

All she could do was blink in surprise, still clutching her glass. "Really?"

He beamed up, waiting for more of a response. "Well?"

She opened her mouth, but could only furrow her eyebrows at him. "It's just – It's a bit surprising." She discretely pulled him back up to the chair across from her before the rest of the patrons of the restaurant caught wind of what he was attempting.

"I thought you'd be knocked off your feet," he said, more curious at her reaction than upset.

"Well, I mean, it was only last night you said we were through," she reminded him. "It's a bit of a roller coaster."

"Forget about last night," he dismissed. "I knew I made a mistake the minute I left your apartment."

She adjusted the cutlery on the table, wanting anything but to have this conversation at that particular moment. To her eternal gratitude, a waiter came by and dropped off some menus. Jemma caught his attention. "I'll have another one of these please," she tapped her empty glass.

"You're certainly not as euphoric as I'd imagined." Will was beginning to pout.

"Well you can't expect me to just change gears and turn on a dime," she frowned. She was beginning to feel rather fed up with him. The waiter was mercifully quick, and dropped Jemma's new drink on the table. She picked it up, but waited. Will was eyeing her skeptically.

"Have you changed your mind?"

"Hmm?" She took a sip. "No, of course I haven't."

"You're being awfully distant for a woman that's just been proposed to." He crossed his arms, beginning to sulk. "I thought that's what you wanted. You haven't met someone else, have you?"

"No, no. It's not that," Jemma sighed. "It's – To be honest, it's Fitz."

"It's who?" Will gaped, taken aback for a moment. Something seemed to click into place in his mind though, and he chuckled. "Oh I see what you mean." That only managed to irritate Jemma more for some reason. "He's guilty, isn't he?" Her expression must have given her away. Will nodded like he'd known it was Fitz all along.

"Please don't make me go into all the details." She tried to keep her tone casual. "But I wonder if he's having some kind of a mental breakdown."

"He may be realizing the consequences of his deeds." Will continued to nod. "The Koenigs are closing in on him."

"Could he have a split personality?" She spun the ice around in her glass, thinking of the sweet romantic man that she had stormed out on, so different than the prickly grump she sparred words with at the office each day.

"A lot of criminals have been known to play crafty games when it suited their purposes," Will said knowingly. Had he always had this hint of pompousness to him, or was this a special case?

"I need another drink." Jemma looked around for the waiter. When she caught Will's expression, she chewed on her lip, debating with her conscience. "Will. If I tell you something, do you promise not to go off half-cocked?"

"Okay, but hurry," he said, fitting his face back into a charming grin. "I've got champagne coming for us to celebrate."

She winced and tried to ignore that statement, not ready to change tracks now that she was decided. She took a deep breath. "I found the jewels."

"What?"

"And keep me apprised, will you? Thank you." Will hung up the phone and came back to the table where Jemma sat, rubbing her arms anxiously. "The police have got him. Caught him red-handed at Grand Central Station trying to stuff the jewels in a locker. They're bringing him to the station now." Will collapsed into his seat. "It's an open and shut case. Much as I cringe at the publicity, I'm glad we recovered all those jewels."

"I don't know, Will," Jemma ruminated. "It's clear there's so much more to this."

"Not likely." He patted her arm. "I've seen men driven to extremes before, being around big money. These guys that earn their living exposing all kinds of exotic schemes to defraud and rob people. Sometimes they start thinking that because they're on the inside, they know why the schemes fail and that they won't make the same mistakes."

"You're saying Fitz cracked from so many years of hard work?"

"He's feeling threatened and underappreciated," Will explained simply. Simmons looked at her hands, trying not to think she might have had something to do with that. Will carried on, oblivious to her mood. "It may be he's thinking it's time to get his share and get out. Had a guy named Peterson try the same thing with my father a couple years back. Of course, he's a house guest at Sing Sing these days, so..."

"Well I'm sure you know Fitz better than I do." Simmons adjusted herself in her seat and sipped at her drink again.

"It'll resolve itself, darling. Don't worry about it."

But it felt like all she could do was worry about it. Somehow, this was not the happy ending that Jemma Simmons had pictured.