Disclaimer: I do not make any claim to own Agents of SHIELD. I'm just taking the characters out for a spin.
Jemma's ankles are protesting against the curved floor and her crouched position, but seeing as she can still feel her ankles and she was shot at rather purposefully only minutes ago, she's willing to live with it. She's hiding in a sewer drain-off that smells about as good as one would expect. Ahead of her, closer to the opening, is Trip. His shoulders are tense and he's holding one arm up, indicating she should wait.
She's not certain how long it takes before his arm drops and his shoulders slump. He seems to shrink a little as the fight goes out of him but when he turns he's got that same winning smile as always. She tries her best to return it but is afraid it comes off rather pathetic.
He carefully makes his way closer to her, stopping just past the hard line of sunlight coming through the entrance. Awkwardly he sits, pulling a face when his bum hits the shallow stream running at their feet. Jemma follows suit and while her ankles thank her, she knows she'll have to scrub her skin raw to feel clean again after this.
"I think we're good for a while," he says. "If any of them knew about this place they wouldn't be such wusses about jumping off the cliff."
Jemma turns to look deeper into the dark sewer. There's a thump from Trip's direction. His head hitting the wall from the looks of it.
"Sorry. I shouldn't joke."
"No. It's fine. Better than dwelling on it in a negative fashion, anyway. I may be afraid of heights but that doesn't mean I'm unwilling to face that fear." She forces herself to take a deep breath. That all came out very quickly.
If Trip thinks the same she can't tell. He only smiles - less brilliantly this time - and turns toward the entrance to watch for trouble.
Jemma draws her knees up to her chest and looks into the darkness again. It's unlikely trouble will come from that direction, but not impossible. She taps her communicator a time or two. There's nothing, of course. She'll know the moment the comms are up and running again but she can't help hoping to hear Skye's voice telling them the coast is clear.
Wind off the ocean blows steadily into the pipe. Outside, with the sun shining down, it was a pleasant breeze but in here it's bracing. Jemma runs her hands over her arms, trying to warm herself up.
"Here," Trip says. He's shrugging out of his jacket.
"No. No, I couldn't. You need it." She shakes her head and turns away from the outstretched jacket.
He stands as far as he's able with the low ceiling and looms over her to drop the jacket around her shoulders. He ensures it's secure around her before retreating back to his seat. The jacket is warm and smells like him. That sweaty, earthy scent she gets whiffs of when she's patching him up after a mission. When he's not looking she takes a deep, lingering breath. She missed this while she was away.
"I'm sorry," he says suddenly, using the serious voice he typically reserves only for missions gone particularly bad. His throat convulses and he pulls his gaze away from the opening to look her in the eye. "For kissing you."
As has often been the case the last few months, she has a hard time forming words as that particular memory is pulled suddenly to the forefront of her mind. It was before she left, on a day they'd both been woken up in the middle of the night to tend Ward. They managed to save his life and stabilize him and, with nothing left to do, both were ready to return to bed, regardless of the coming dawn.
Trip walked her back to her room, which wasn't all that surprising considering it was on the way to his, but then he stopped when she did.
"Listen," he said, "this is probably out of line and I'm okay if tomorrow we just blame it on the sleep deprivation, but- I just had to hold down a man I used to consider a friend while you pulled him back to life and that makes a man rethink some things he's been putting off."
She was confused, ready to tell him as much, but then he bent down and pressed his lips to hers. He lingered a moment too long, as if he were tempted to push it further only to drag himself back from the brink. She didn't respond when he smiled, nodded, and said, "Good night, Simmons." In fact she was still standing there for several minutes after he disappeared down the hall.
She has no idea why he would be sorry for that kiss unless he's sorry he stopped himself.
"I didn't mean to scare you off," he says. "And if you want, I'll go. I can find other places to be useful to the cause, I don't have to stick around the Sandbox."
"Wait," she says, holding up a hand. His jacket threatens to slide off her shoulder and she absently puts her arms through the sleeves to ensure it doesn't fall into the muck.
There are a few things she needs to get straight. It's rare she has trouble keeping up with a topic but then there are very few topics that have her mind stuttering to a halt at the mere mention of them.
"I did not leave because you kissed me," she says, trying to be very clear. "I left because I was hurting Fitz. When I was working with him, he would lean too heavily on me and when I wasn't, he would become agitated. You remember when I had to stitch up Mack's arm? When I came back to the lab and told Fitz I'd been with Mack, he was angry. He thought I was replacing him. He couldn't-" Jemma looks away. "He needed to find himself without me. We always hated being called Fitzsimmons but he seemed so attached to it after … well, after."
"Hey," Trip says softly, forcing her to look at him. "I never thought for one minute you'd leave Fitz if you didn't think it was best for him. I just thought, maybe, I kinda forced your hand without meaning to."
He gives her an inviting smile which she can't return. Not yet. There's still another important matter to clear up.
"Why are you apologizing?"
He shrugs, clearly uncomfortable and trying to hide it. "Because you didn't want it and it scared you. I meant it when I said we could blame it on the whole facing death thing. No pressure here. And I will leave, if that's what you need."
"So you haven't …" she searches for the least embarrassing way to phrase it, "fallen madly in love with Skye in my absence?"
He barks out a laugh and immediately clasps a hand over his mouth. The sound is still echoing in the tight space when he's at the opening, looking cautiously upward for signs of trouble.
Several minutes pass before he's satisfied that there's no attack coming and he crawls back down the pipe.
"Skye?" he whispers, a grin on his face as he sits perhaps a little closer to her than before. "Seriously? I mean, she's fun and I'm sure there are guys out there who would go for her who aren't completely insane, but she's not exactly my type. We're friends. I helped her steal back her van from the government. We bonded."
"Oh." That certainly sounds like an interesting story, one they'll likely catch her up on later. "So you're not interested in her?" she asks, just to be certain.
Trip is still smiling, like there's something amusing about this whole thing. "Nope. Not her or anyone. Well. Anyone who's not currently making my jacket look better than I ever dreamed possible."
She's glad he won't be able to see her burning cheeks clearly in the dim light. "That was terrible."
"Can't blame a guy for trying."
She steels herself for what she's going to say next. "Then I suppose I should admit the kiss did have some bearing on my decision to leave."
Trip's smile wavers and grows considerably less bright. "Ah. I get i-"
"I knew," she hastily cuts in before he can finish, "given Fitz's unhealthy reliance on me, that if you and I were to pursue a relationship it would likely cause him unnecessary distress. I didn't want to push his limits."
"You're saying, if you'd stayed…"
"I would likely have found it very difficult to refrain from actions which would likely cause Fitz pain, should he discover them."
"'Very difficult'?"
"Extremely so," she confirms.
Trip eases himself across the pipe and next to her in one fluid motion.
"Dr. Simmons," he says, "that is the best news I've heard all day."
His arm rests against hers. It was the one most exposed to the wind and she can feel, even through the thick material, how cold he must be without his jacket. She grasps his hand, lacing their fingers together. For the purely medical purpose of warming him up of course.
"But Fitz is still…" He lets it hang and she leans her head against his shoulder. Despite his statement he immediately rests his head atop hers.
"I know. As much as I'd like to spend the rest of my life protecting him, that's not good for either of us. When I left I thought I was doing what was best but I was just running away, removing myself from my own life. I can't say for certain whether that was worse for Fitz than if I'd simply chosen to live it for myself, but it was definitely worse for me."
Trip flexes his fingers around hers. "So," he says slowly, "have some pity on the guy who spent the last few months thinking he'd been rejected. Are we…?"
She twists her head up to look at him. "I would very much like to be a couple, yes."
He kisses her. This time he doesn't pull himself back, not that she would let him.