Inspector Coulson had seen a lot in his day, but never in his wildest dreams did he expect to see the likes of Leo Fitz go so far down the rabbit hole as to reduce himself to the wreck of a man that had been sitting in his holding cell all night. A cat burglar. A jewel thief. A liar. This whole time, and on the very case he was investigating.

"I don't understand!" Fitz was like a trapped rat in his cell. "What's going on? What'd I do?" Clinging to the bars, disheveled, beady-eyed. The more he protested, the more embarrassed Coulson felt for him. He was caught red-handed, and all the witnesses pointed to the same story. It was no use.

"Yes, those are the ones." Jemma Simmons had recognized the jewels almost reluctantly. "They were in his bookcase."

"He tinkers a lot, experiments that aren't cheap," his co-workers confided. "He probably owes some loan-shark for a bundle."

"Look, I was with him on Tuesday night till about midnight," Raina Johnson, of all people, gave her statement. "Then suddenly he got a phone call and was like a different man."

"If it was anyone else but Fitz, we wouldn't even be discussing this," Billy Koenig pointed out. "He was caught red-handed!" His brother agreed.

"If he needed money, he could have come to me," Will Daniels shook his head sadly, still in shock. "I would have listened. I warned him about his debts you know."

The more people talked, the more undeniable it became that Fitz was the culprit. If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, even Coulson would have had trouble believing it. He looked down at Fitz again and sighed. He'd always thought the kid was one of the good ones. Even considered offering him a position with the force if he thought he'd take it. Just goes to show you that you couldn't always trust your gut with people.

"Can't you see that it's all a conspiracy?" Fitz insisted again as Coulson took out his keys. "They planted a shoe print and a fingerprint. They bribed the night watchman to forge my signature. It's simple!"

"Give it a rest, Fitz," Coulson said, tired. "It all checks out. For your own sake, don't keep on like this."

"And this crazy rich girl who smokes opium makes up a story. And Simmons plants the jewels in my apartment." Fitz muttered into his hands. He'd been going on like this all night, between bouts of silent shock. Must have thought he'd never get caught.

Coulson unlocked the cell door. "You know, there's a word for people who think everyone's conspiring against them."

"That's right," Fitz nodded. "Perceptive."

The inspector let out a long, heavy sigh and dragged the door open. "Fitz, you were holding the stolen goods in your hands. We caught you with them at Grand Central Station trying to stuff them in a locker!"

"You have any witnesses?" Fitz crossed his arms, remaining seated on the small plank bed in the corner.

"Yeah. Me!"

Fitz frowned. "And you're going to trust your word over mine?" Coulson raised an eyebrow and waited until Fitz let out a long groan, then finally stood and let Coulson lock the cuffs around his wrists. He figured all this talk was just a delusional ramble. He'd known Fitz too long to see him like this, though. It was tough.

"Let's get you over to the courthouse," He nodded sorrowfully as he marched Fitz through the precinct. Hisses and glares were shot in their direction as they passed. Fitz had been liked, so it was that much more of a blow to the rest of the boys to see him like this. "Better get a lawyer, Fitz. Everyone's shocked you could stoop so low."

"Hey Coulson, have you had a look at these?" May walked by with an important looking folder. She narrowed her eyes when she saw Fitz accompanying him, and immediately took a step away. Wanting to avoid a scene, Coulson decided it was best to leave Fitz in his office while he took care of whatever paperwork May needed him to sign off on. He removed one of the cuffs from Fitz's wrists and locked it back around the drainpipe in his drafty office.

"Sorry about this." He shrugged a shoulder. "I'll make sure the arrangements are in order for your transfer. Stick around."

He stalked off, careful to leave the door open so that the defeated-looking Fitz had a front-row seat to the justice system taking its course. Raina Johnson brushed his shoulder as he walked off to May's desk.

"Well, well, well," Raina drawled as soon as Inspector Coulson was out of hearing distance. "If it isn't Mr. Fast-talking investigator who got his hand caught in the cookie jar."

Fitz struggled against the handcuffs for a minute, refusing to look up at her. She cocked her head to the side and leaned against the door frame, patiently waiting for him to grow accustomed to her presence.

"Did I really throw you out of bed?" He eventually sighed, head bowed, eyes darting up to her. He had stopped struggling now and just looked like a sad, lost little puppy. The sight almost tugged at her heart-strings.

"Why?" Raina lit herself a cigarette. "You planning on using the insanity defense?" He didn't look like a head case, but she was far from an expert on the subject.

"Listen, I need a little time. You'll help me, yeah?"

"Will I?"

"Yes." He looked her dead in the eyes now, far more bold than she had ever seen him.

Intrigued, Raina sauntered into the room, exhaling a steady stream of white smoke in his direction. "And what makes you think that?"

"This is your kind of thing," he shrugged, not breaking eye contact. "A suspected felon, a daring escape from police headquarters, broad daylight. You live for this."

Raina stopped, just out of reach of the man, considering him. She tapped the ash from the tip of her cigarette before surprising herself by giving him a nearly imperceptible nod. She took another drag.

Relief washed over his every feature, and Fitz nodded his head to the desk at the side of the room. "There should be keys in that top drawer," he said.

Raina grinned and shimmied her shoulders before slinking over to the desk. "I'm nervous," she admitted, giggling. There was a first time for everything, she supposed.

"Hey Miss," an officer called out to her as she crossed the room back over to where Leo Fitz stood locked to the drainpipe and his fate. "No one's allowed in there. You wanna come with me?"

Raina glanced at Fitz, shrugged regretfully, and continued on towards the officer, slow enough to make both men sweat. She had to allow herself a little fun. At the last possible moment, she paused in the doorway for dramatic effect, shooting Fitz her most practiced mournful expression. Just as the officer reached out to take her arm, Raina ran forward like a schoolgirl and flung herself at the doomed investigator. Grasping the sides of his face, she pressed her lips to his in a big, sloppy kiss that had him clutching to the drainpipe to remain standing. Then, satisfied, Raina adjusted her shirt, brushed the hair out of her face and turned on her heel back towards the gobsmacked officer with a grin.

When he was alone and had finally recovered his wits, Fitz spat the key out into his palm. The girl was resourceful; he'd give her that. Not wasting a moment, Fitz unlocked the cuffs and let himself out the window behind Coulson's desk.

"Father and I are working out the details of the prenuptial agreement now," Will explained. "The press will have a field day if it gets out that I'm marrying an employee without so much as a binding document to protect the company. That's why everything has to be securely in place before we announce the engagement…" Daniels stopped talking. Jemma didn't appear to be listening. "Where are you?"

"Do you think he's really guilty?" She asked, chin resting thoughtfully in her hand.

"Is that what you're thinking about?"

"I can't shake this uneasy feeling," Jemma frowned, sitting up straight in her armchair.

"What, that he's innocent?" Will snorted. "The man was caught at the scene of the crime, Jemma. You're the one that found the stolen jewels in his place."

"Believe me, I know how it sounds," she dropped her hand, drumming her fingers thoughtfully against the plush of the chair's arm. "It just doesn't feel right," she said, not entirely sure how to explain what she was thinking. "I don't see that snoopy little termite as a romantic jewel thief," she tried.

"Well I'd hardly call breaking the law romantic ." Will crossed his arms. The telephone rang in the foyer, and Daniels stood to go answer it.

"I didn't mean it that way." She rolled her eyes.

"Well what did you mean? The evidence against him is overwhelming."

"I don't know what I mean anymore," she sighed, shaking her head.

Will picked up the phone. "Hello? Yes. Yes he is. Hold on." He put a hand over the receiver and craned his head towards Jemma. "It's Ms Morse." She nodded, returning her chin to its spot, propped against her curled fist.

"Thank you. Hello? No! Really? Oh- how? Okay. Yes, I certainly will." Will slammed the phone down and shook his head furiously. "Well," he huffed. "If you had any doubts about his culpability, this should allay them." He extended his arms out in frustration. "Fitz escaped!"

"He did?"

"Don't sound so pleased about it," he shot at her. "Slipped right out of the handcuffs and leaped across to the building next door."

"Leo Fitz?" Jemma leaned forward, not sure she had heard correctly.

"Like a common burglar," Will shook his head. "I guess none of us really knew him at all. I have to go down to police headquarters. It looks like your little termite ate his way out." He paced over to the door, then back to pick up his coat. Jemma stood to see him out, but Daniels was gone before he could even give her a peck on the cheek.

Jemma let out a long sigh and wandered over to the window. She wasn't quite sure how she felt about the thought of Fitz escaping. She certainly didn't believe he was guilty, but she had no sound proof to even offer herself. There was a movement behind the window curtain, and she inched forward to see what it could be. A hand reached out suddenly and attached itself over her mouth.

"Please resist the temptation to scream!" Leo Fitz whispered, the rest of him slipping easily through her open window and pressing up against her.

Jemma's eyes went wide and as soon as she gathered her wits, she pushed him away. "What the hell are you doing here, you dishonest little jewel thief?" she spat.

"No, I'm not a thief! I'm a suspect," he said, holding his hands up to her. "It's completely different. I'm a very promising suspect, sure, but I swear I didn't do it!"

"Oh, well that eases my mind completely then." Jemma rolled her eyes, marching over to the telephone.

"Please, don't! Not yet. I just need time to prove I'm innocent," he said, leaping into her path. "Otherwise they're gonna lock me up in a concrete building, and you'll only be able to insult me on visiting days."

She placed her hands on her hips. "Why did you come here?" She really hoped his explanation would be worth the heart attack he'd nearly given her, slipping through her window like that.

"Because I have no one else to turn to," he said simply. "And everybody knows how much you hate me, so no one will look for me here." Jemma tipped her head to the side, admitting that his reasoning wasn't half bad. He took a step towards her, and she stepped back. "I just need a place to sleep. Please," he begged, eyeing her sofa. "I'm exhausted. I'll be out of your hair first thing in the morning, I swear."

"You can't sleep here," she said, keeping her distance. "I couldn't afford the fumigating bills!"

But Fitz had already slipped over to her sofa and was sinking in. Realizing she still hadn't done anything to really stop the known felon, Jemma shook her head to regain her wits, again, and marched over to the telephone.

"If you want to call the police, call the police." Fitz lifted an arm sleepily, his voice already a sludgy murmur. "I don't care. Need to sleep. Feels like I've been up for a week..."

Jemma glared and stuck her finger into the correct slot of the phone's dial pad, rotating the numbers for the police. As she glared, though, Fitz began to snore. Her forehead creased and she pressed her lips firmly together. That feeling in her gut welled up again, and before she knew what she was doing, Jemma had placed the receiver back down, disconnecting the line.

She crossed her arms, considering his sleeping form. He didn't look nearly so menacing as everyone was going on about. In fact, lying there he could even pass as quite handsome - if a bit pasty. Either way, Jemma knew instinctively that Fitz couldn't be the thief. There was definitely something about him that set her on edge, but it wasn't dangerous, and it wasn't even nearly as ugly and competitive as when she'd first exchanged barbs with him six months ago. Jemma went to the linen closet and she pulled out a blanket, draping it lightly over him before turning out the light.

It had to be around midnight when the phone rang, waking Jemma with a jolt. Regaining her faculties quickly as ever, she was pleased she'd had the extra telephone installed next to her bed. She hated the thought of tip-toeing past Fitz in her night-clothes. It would be far too intimate to be so close to him like that.

"Hello?" she said as pleasantly as the late hour warranted.

"Miss Simmons?"

"Yes, speaking," she pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead, wondering who on earth could be calling at such an hour.

"Marmoset …"

The sound of a door slamming brought Fitz out of his fitful sleep. Grumbling, he looked at his watch. It was well past one in the morning, either too early or too late for anyone to be roaming about. He stood carefully, searching about him for something he could use to defend himself. All he could find was that heavy book with the suggestive cover. Shrugging, he picked it up. It would do. He slunk towards the front hallway and waited around the corner in the inky shadows. Whoever was there was rummaging in the front hall desk, and he was ready for them.

Suddenly, the lights switched on, nearly blinding him.

"Simmons?!" He would have screamed with fright if he'd been able to direct air through his lungs.

"Fitz!" she exclaimed, a smile spreading over her face when she saw him.

He stooped over, dropping the book to the floor, trying to catch his breath. "What the hell are you -" He looked up and realized that beneath her own trench coat, she was wearing nothing but a nightie. Had she just gone out like that? "Er, what's the matter? Can't sleep?"

"No," she beamed, moving over to him, resting a soft hand against his arm. "I've had the strangest dreams."

"That's funny," he brushed her off when she tried to help him stand upright. "I've had some crazy dreams myself lately." He sniffed.

Her face followed him as he moved to the side, putting some distance between them. "I dreamed that we were finally together."

"Really. You and Daniels?" He rolled his eyes, praying that she would neither go into detail, nor see the book he had dropped to the ground. "Bit of a hog face on that one, but whatever. To each their own."

"You misunderstand me," Jemma giggled, tilting her head to the side. "I dreamed you and I finally wound up together."

"You and me?" Fitz motioned between them, gaping, then snorted. "Please! I've had a long day, Simmons. Can we do this whole song and dance once the sun's come up? I'm beyond tired."

He moved back into the living room, ready to sink back into the sofa, when she put herself in his path. Suddenly, she was too close. It wasn't unpleasant, but it was too close. "From the first minute I met you, Leo, a voice inside me said I finally found what I'd been searching for my whole life."

"Yeah, and what's that?" He stepped back nervously, tripping over the book. "A roach, a vermin, a little inchworm?"

She shook her head, letting her hair bounce freely over her shoulders. "I knew that sooner or later, you and I would wind up in each other's arms." She slipped her coat slowly over her shoulders and let it fall to the floor at her feet. Fitz gulped.

Her pajamas were far from the skimpiest he had seen in his time, but she somehow managed to wear them in a way that set his mind doing back flips. He was seeing Jemma Simmons in her night dress, and she looked good. Jemma reached out to close the distance between them, and at her smoldering touch, Fitz leaped away like he'd been burnt. Though, with the dreamy look of lust clouding her eyes, he almost stopped to wonder what sort of idiot he was being. He stumbled. "What's come over you?"

"You, Leopold Fitz," she replied, watching him almost hungrily beneath her full eyelashes. "Don't you feel it too? Why should we deny ourselves any longer?" She moved closer, and her foot brushed against the thick novel he'd dropped to the floor. She grinned mischievously and as she stooped to pick it up, Fitz brought his fingers up into his hair, spinning on the spot, searching for any method of escape from whatever was about to happen.

To his shock, she giggled. Jemma Simmons looked down at the book cover, bit her lip, and giggled. "Fitz." Her eyes zeroed in on his, smouldering. She tossed the book to the floor again and rushed towards him. "My passion for you is so intense, it scares me." Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, she pressed a warm hand against the side of his face. "Can't you see I've submerged it under a mask of hostile acts and cruel words?"

"Oh, is that what you were doing?" he asked nervously. Was she loosening his tie? "I'd always just assumed you enjoyed picturing the various ways I could get crushed to death."

"I was merely protecting myself." Her lips brushed the words against the skin of his neck, sending shivers down his spine. Before he could back any further away, her hot lips were pressed against his. He was momentarily overcome with how soft they were, how they tasted like honey. When her nimble hands moved up and began to undo the buttons of his shirt, he jumped back and clutched at her wrists to keep them from wandering further.

"Simmons-!"

"Call me Jemma." She breathed, cheeks flushed with passion.

"Look, Jemma," he transferred her wrists to one hand so that he could attempt to fix his shirt and tie with the other, "I hate to be a killjoy, believe me, but if this is some kind of scheme to take advantage, it's not very subtle." She kissed him again, and Fitz lost his train of thought, dropping her wrists.

"You're the man I'm going to marry," she murmured against his cheek as her hands carried on their task of freeing him from his shirt. "I've known it since the first moment I laid eyes on you." She pressed her lips to his jaw, moving them down towards his collarbone. He was finding it very difficult to keep track of what was going on.

"Marry me? But I'm just a wormy little cockroach-" Her mouth found his again, and she pushed him down to the sofa. She buried her hands in his curls, brushing her fingertips down his now bare chest as she thrust her tongue into his mouth. When her hands grasped hold of his belt, Fitz found his senses again and scrambled out from beneath her.

"Make love to me," she pleaded, reaching out to him.

Fitz looked down at her, wide-eyed. "What? "

"Please. You must feel it too. We're right together, you and I. This is how it's meant to be." Her eyelids fluttered with passion. "I often imagine what it would be like if you took me in your arms and-"

"Okay, hold it right there!" He held a hand out to keep her at arm's length. "This is not the same Jemma Simmons that insults me every day at the office!"

"It is." She nodded, looking up at him with sparkling eyes. "I've just never had the courage to tell you how I truly felt. Don't you understand how frustrating that can be?"

Fitz opened his mouth and paused. Was she on to something? Was that feeling that welled up at the mere sight of her, not actually hate but something deeper, something far more terrifying?

"What are you thinking?" She rested her cheek on the back of the sofa, eyes fluttering up at him again.

"I'm thinking…" He hesitated. He was so entirely unsure of how he'd found himself in this situation, and he wasn't entirely sure that it was a bad one to have found himself in after all. "I'm thinking it's a pity that we hate each other." He eased forward and perched himself at the edge of the sofa next to her, tentatively. "By now we could have had a large family and a small cottage back home." He lifted her hands in his, and brought her fingertips to his lips as she smiled up at him with longing.

"Oh, Fitz!" she sighed.

"Jemma," he murmured and cupped her cheek in his hand, pulling her in to capture her supple lips with his own.

At the last second, she dropped her head to the side, away from him, resting her forehead against his shoulder. "Oh Fitz, I'm so tired. I just can't stay awake..." She curled her body around his and nestled her head into the crook of his neck. "I just need to rest my head on your shoulder here..."

"Easy, ah..." When she began to snore softly, Fitz bounced his shoulder to see if she'd really fallen asleep so suddenly. "Jemma? Simmons?" Her only response was to snort as her head lolled to the side. Fitz blinked.

This whole day had been so strange, he couldn't have expected any less. It was confusing. Looking at her now, it was impossible not to get drawn in, to look back over their every interaction in an entirely new light. The growing heat between them had always been there, but it he had to admit that it had become unbearable lately. But what had suddenly given her the courage to do something about it? He reached over past the telephone, careful not to disturb her, and turned the lamp off, allowing the darkness to fill the night.

Funny that she'd been the first to figure it out - he was the investigator. How long had she known? He lay down on the sofa next to her, and she curled herself comfortably against him. Allowing himself a long contented sigh, he wrapped an arm around her. Yes. He could definitely see a life where they bickered happily into the night. At least one of them had figured it out before it was too late. Together they could fix the mess he'd somehow landed in. Together they could do anything.