Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons started packing up all of the decorations they had scattered around the Bus on February 6th, which they had determined was the official end of Christmas.
"Finally," Ward said to Coulson. The two men were standing outside the door of the interrogation room, where Ward's stocking had mysteriously disappeared from the wall. "I was beginning to think that we'd be stuck in a perpetual state of peppermint and snowflakes. If I hear one more version of "O Holy Night" I will start punching Fitz. Repeatedly."
"Me too," said Skye as she walked down the hall carrying a cardboard box of holly and ivy. "And I don't even like punching people." She raised her eyebrows at Ward before looking down at the box. "Where do you think this should go? Simmons seems to be under the delusion that this holiday is going to be repeated in 354 days."
Ward glared at her, and she laughed.
"Simmons' count, not mine. And please tell me you're not still upset that you guessed the wrong Secret Santa." She winked at Coulson, and then turned back to Ward. "Hey, if you want to hide this, I wouldn't tell." She held out the box towards him.
Ward shook his head, backing down the hallway. "I, for one, am not going to get on the bad side of either of those two. I'd just like to live the next 364 days in peace." He turned into the briefing room, humming. Coulson and Skye looked at each other a moment before bursting into laughter.
"You heard it too?" Coulson shook his head.
"Yep. That was definitely a little bit of "White Christmas" à la Bing Crosby." Skye had a mischievous glint in her eye. "Huh. Never pegged him for the sentimental type…"
"Don't tease him about it too much, Skye." Coulson had turned on his father-of-all-you-children voice. "I like a good Bing Crosby song myself. You can put the box in one of the cabinets at the back of the cargo hold. Plaster lots of "hazardous material" stickers on it, just in case our scientists start to get antsy in the middle of July."
"Got it, boss." Skye turned to walk towards the hold. "Good thing we have a few weeks before it's Valentine's Day, right?" If she hadn't been holding onto a box, she probably would have pantomimed Cupid slinging an arrow down the hallway.
Valentine's Day. Coulson sighed. Hopefully there wouldn't be a fuss about that particular holiday. Otherwise things would get awfully cozy on the Bus. Not that they weren't cozy already. He walked towards the cockpit and saw Fitz and Simmons taking ornaments down from the tree in the lounge.
Those two were what Tony Stark would refer to as a "hot mess", Coulson thought to himself. Steve Rodgers would say something akin to "a match made in heaven", and the two would probably make even Bruce Banner's heart go soft, what with their science-babble and obvious mutual adoration. But Coulson wasn't about to go talking to Director Fury about the personal lives of his team. Not unless absolutely necessary, and maybe not even then.
"We Three Kings" was playing over the intercom. He had to stifle a laugh as he entered the cockpit. Those kids were even spot on with the change in religious festivals.
"So, Melinda? What is the worst part of no longer having our schedule dictated by Advent calendars and Santa Claus?" Coulson asked as he sat down in the co-pilot seat.
Melinda May gave him a half-are-you-kidding-me, half-serious look. "Phil, if I hear one more thing about Christmas, presents, carols, or Santa Claus before December 23rd, I will have to reconsider my agreement to fly your beloved plane. Now, can you please take a look at these coordinates and make sure we'll reach the target at the right time?"
In the lounge, the tree was being divested rather quickly, though it was hard to notice any real organization amid the piles of tinsel, lights, and ornaments.
"Fitz, do you know where the box is for this one?" Simmons asked, holding up a small green ornament. "I can't find it anywhere." There were boxes strewn all over the floor and she couldn't tell if there were actually less ornaments on the tree compared to when they started.
Fitz reached for a box near the end of the couch and passed it to her. "It's the pickle. Be careful." He was sorting the tiniest ornaments, separating the Swedish straw stars and snowflake woodcarvings from Germany into different piles.
"Why your family plays that silly game, I don't know." Simmons started wrapping glass globes in bubble wrap. "You're not German, and it isn't even a German tradition, anyway. I don't know where people get that idea. There's an even more ridiculous story that it came from someone being saved by a pickle during the American Civil War. But, honestly. It was just a marketing technique started by American stores at the turn of the 20th century to encourage shoppers to purchase newly imported ornaments from Germany."
She looked up to see that Fitz had paused in his categorizing. He was staring at her with a slightly hurt expression on his face. Simmons bit her lip.
"Oh, Fitz."
"Is this you getting back at me for teasing you about American movies? Because that's not very kind of you." His voice was a little rough, as though he was trying to make a joke but failing. He turned away, no longer meeting her eyes, and started putting the stacks of ornaments into larger boxes.
She put down the globes she was wrapping and reached over to touch his arm. "Leo."
He still wouldn't look at her, but he set down the ornaments he was holding and sighed. She knew that if he did look at her, the expression on his face would be that of a little boy who had asked for a puppy but didn't get one. She knew that look, and it nearly killed her every time. Mostly because it reminded her of the one time when she almost was killed. And he had been stuck on the other side of a wall of glass.
She tugged at his sleeve. "Leo, please look at me." He was wearing plaid flannel today, and it was soft under her fingers.
When he felt her hand on his arm he couldn't help but turn. Jemma always had that effect on him. It was as though he was an electron of an atom, constantly pulled towards her positive energy. He felt his frustration begin to soften, and as he turned he was struck by the concern that he saw in her eyes.
"Jemma, I'm…"
"Leo, I…"
Their words ran over each other. Fitz closed his eyes and took a breath. Jemma began spinning an ornament on its side, catching it before it fell over. Once, twice, three spins before Fitz reached out to stop her. Her hand stilled beneath his.
"Jemma, it's alright." His voice was quiet. He was avoiding looking at her again.
"No, Leo. No, it's not alright." She tried to pull her hand out from under his, but he wouldn't let go. "I'm being an idiot, and you're always so lovely, and I really just wish that I didn't always say exactly what I was thinking, but when I'm around you I get even more flustered than I already am. So then I start going on about pointless facts in an attempt to calm myself down, and sometimes I forget that you're listening because I'm too busy trying to figure out what I should be talking about, when all the while I should probably stop talking and just… stop talking."
She hiccoughed.
Fitz took the opportunity to put his hand over her mouth. "Shh, Jemma. Shh." She hiccoughed again, and his lips quirked up a little bit.
"I'm going to take this moment to validate everything that you've just said," he began. She hiccoughed again and glared at him, but he still had his hand over her mouth.
"Mostly the stop talking part." She was still glaring, so he took his hand off of her mouth and put both hands on her shoulders so that he could keep her facing towards him. She was wearing the necklace he had given her on Christmas morning, an old-fashioned heart locket that was, like her, both delicate and enduring.
"Jemma, I'm just as idiotic as you are, and you know I have a tendency to run at the mouth. I get frustrated too quickly and start thinking about all the reasons why you probably don't even really like me, and how you actually want to go off and be with Ward. Like when you were talking about the pickle."
At this she raised her eyebrows as if she couldn't quite believe what he was saying, and he probably shouldn't be saying all of these things, but words were words and he had always been a little liberal with them. But he needed to finish the thought while it was still there.
"So I'm sorry for my inability to laugh at jokes when they're directed at me, and for the way I get frustrated when I don't know what you're thinking." Her hands were coming up to rest on his arms again, just above his elbows. It wasn't helping his thought process to continue, but he was going to try. "And I'm sorry that… that putting away Christmas ornaments is making me cranky, but I really like Christmas and it's always rather depressing for me to pack them up."
Now her hands were coming up to rest on each side of his face, because she knew that it was her turn to apologize and she didn't want him to make any sudden moves due to embarrassment. His face was already turning a faint shade of pink. Her hiccoughing had stopped.
"This is exactly what I mean," she whispered. "Leo, you're absolutely lovely and you don't even realize why. There is no reason that I could ever even think of Ward because you're the only one. You're the only one who can calm me down and cheer me up and remind me that I'm not the only one in the world." She was going to start crying if he kept looking at her like that, but she needed to get through it.
"Leo, I'm sorry that I talk without thinking and that you have to figure out what I'm thinking because I don't actually say what I mean. I'm sorry that I made fun of your pickle." She giggled a little, and his smile grew bigger. "And I'm sorry that we won't have another Christmas together for 354 days."
Fitz's hands tightened on her shoulders and pulled her to lean against the couch, careful not to get any ornaments caught between them. She rested her head on his shoulder and snuggled into his chest as he wrapped his arms around her.
"Apology accepted?" she asked, closing her eyes as she felt him brush a kiss on her forehead.
"Always," he replied. "I will always forgive you. Will you forgive me?" His hands were running through her hair, gently twisting the strands.
"Yes, Leo. I always will." She smiled. "Are we going to finish the tree today?"
He looked around at the chaos spread out across the floor and closed his eyes. "Probably not today, Jem. Do you think Ward will start punching me?"
She giggled. "If he does, I'll come save you. I'll grab the night-night gun, and it will be fine."
"You're only saying that because you think I'm lovely."
She started to laugh, and he kissed her.
"Only because I think you're lovely."
This was not going to be anything more than a way for me to get out all of my FitzSimmons feels, but then reviews happened (thank you!), and alerts happened (thank you again!), and the feels continued. So the one-shot turned into something more - I needed a break from grad school applications anyway...