"Fitz, have you been here all night?"
Of course he has. Jemma's walked into the lab to find him sitting in front of his computer, head propped up in his hand and his eyes staring blankly at the screen.
"Fitz!"
The man in question inhales sharply and springs up, looking around wildly as he clutches onto the edge of his desk. "What? Huh?"
Jemma tries not to laugh at his disorientation. "What are you doing?"
Fitz rubs his hands over his face and blinks rapidly. "Oh, um..." He pushes a foot against the floor and scoots his chair over to the holotable. His fingers fly over the desktop, and the image of a device in the shape of a pyramid pops up and unfolds like a flower. It spins for a few seconds, different parts of it lighting up, before the words 'Simulation Failed' blink insistently. He sighs. "I just can't work it out."
She stares at him with her school teacher face, because she knows he hates it. "Go to bed. You'll never be able to solve it whilst you look like the living dead." She flushes. "I mean..."
"It's all right, you know. I know I nearly died, but I'm not going to be a princess about it." He gives her an easy, lop-sided smile, the one that's guaranteed to make her all aflutter, and she returns it instantly, the corners of her mouth tugging up as his eyes, tired as they are, sparkle at her.
A bubble of laughter rises in Jemma's throat. It's been a month, now, since he came back, and she's happier than she's been in ages. Things aren't perfect by any stretch of the imagination. Fitz is opening up more, smiling more, engaging in regular conversation, but he still catches himself at times, still steps back from her, still goes quiet without warning. It's like they're new friends, still discovering each other, still working out boundaries, and while she doesn't particularly relish that thought, she accepts it, because she's certain, now, that it won't be forever.
"Bed. Now. Come back later when you don't resemble someone who passed out in a hedge."
Fitz pops a playful eyebrow up at her. "Well, in that case, I won't offend you with my presence any longer," he teases. "I'll see you in a few hours."
"Eight," she calls, as he walks off.
He turns, walking backwards. "Then I might as well not bother coming back today. Four."
"Seven," she challenges.
"Five." He narrows his eyes at her.
Jemma puts her hands on her hips, and tilts her head at him. "Six, and I don't tell Coulson that the reason you were tinkering with Lola before her service was due or before he asked you to, wasn't because you'd suddenly had an ingenious idea for upgrading the rocket boosters, but because you were playing with lasers irresponsibly and ripped a hole through her belly."
Fitz's jaw drops in horror, his eyes comically wide - he looks like a disgruntled tarsier, and she almost, almost, laughs. "You would never."
She shrugs nonchalantly, confident that her poker face is intact, and lifts a hand to stare at her nails. "If you do as you're told, you won't have to find out."
He starts walking backwards again, a finger reaching out to point at her. "Evil." Then he turns and disappears through the lab doors.
Jemma smirks and moves to collect her Petri dishes. She hadn't meant it when she'd said he looked like he'd fallen asleep in a hedge - on the contrary, his ruffled, sleepy, stubbly-faced appearance had been quite adorable. No. Not adorable. Something else...
She clears her throat, slips on her lab coat, and gets on with her current task.
xxxx
It's a little after three when Fitz returns, freshly showered and dressed in clean clothes. He gives Jemma a small wave when he walks in, then frowns to himself and goes back to his previous work without a word.
Jemma decides not to say anything. Since his outburst at her behaviour, she's become much better at not smothering him, so she leaves him be. However, as pleased as she is that she's been able to outwardly adjust, inside, she's still in turmoil. Being in love, knowingly in love, is still something she's having to get used to, especially since she can't express it. She fidgets a lot, which she never really used to do, and at night she dreams of him. Most of the time they're just talking, but they're happy and close and he touches her freely without hesitation, looking at her like she's the most precious thing in the whole world, something so rare and wonderful that he can't keep his eyes off of her, and she thinks her heart might burst. On rarer nights, dream-Fitz kisses her and folds her into his arms, and on one occasion it had felt so real that she'd woken breathless and flushed, before realising that she was actually alone in her bed and not on some exotic beach at sunset or in a corner of the lab, hidden away from view, and hot tears of frustration and longing had slipped down her face, dampening her pillow as she'd sniffed into it.
It's hard.
She's surviving, she's getting through it, day by day, but it's the most difficult thing she's ever faced.
Well, aside from that utterly helpless feeling she'd had when she didn't know if he'd ever recover from almost drowning, and he was miles away, unconscious in a hospital bed, while she'd been sat here, sad and lonely and terrified that she'd never seen him again, putting on a brave face for the team and working hard, all the while collapsing on the inside, her foundations slowly crumbling and leaving dust at her feet.
Every day, now, more and more of her is being cemented back together.
xxxx
Later that day, when they need to work closely and carefully side by side, sharing the same space and reaching around one another, something unexpected happens.
They've been fairly focused up until now, and Jemma has so far successfully managed to ignore just how close Fitz is to her. Likewise, even though she can tell that he's a little anxious, he's soldiered on for the sake of science.
Jemma is just having a mini-celebration in her head at this new step they've managed to accomplish, when she realises that she needs an extra beaker. She turns from the lab table, at the same time as Fitz decides to do the same, and as they've both turned inwards instead of outwards, they're suddenly so close to each other that Jemma's vision swims a little out of focus as she stares at him, and she has to blink a few times to clear the mist in her eyes. She finds herself frozen in an unintentionally intimate tableau with him - they're stuck there like magnets, unable to repel away, and she doesn't know what to do. He's making no attempt to move away from her, but she can tell that he's struggling with a decision, despite his gaze being cast away from her and down at his shoes. She wills him to look back up with every fibre of her being, and somehow, to her surprise, it works, and he gives her a look that she never thought she'd see again. It's the same one he often used to give her before she knew what it meant, a look he only ever gave to her and her only, and god, she's missed it. It's so intense that she falls into his baby-blues and completely forgets how to breathe, which is ridiculous, considering she's been breathing her entire life. Is it one breath in, one breath out? Or is it one out, and then one in? Does it actually matter which way round it goes? Is it two in, one out? Is that even possible? Oh, shut up.
Fitz's expression changes again, and Jemma suddenly remembers how to draw air into her lungs. Sort of. But then his eyes flicker to her mouth, and she can't get enough oxygen inside her. She's aware that she's breathing far too rapidly, but she doesn't care, and, actually, it's not like he sounds any better.
She mimics him, her eyes resting longingly on the fullness of his soft lips, before sliding back up. There's already but a hair's breadth between them, so when he leans in, his gaze back on her mouth, she's so caught up in the moment, her heart thumping, her stomach doing celebratory backflips, her whole body buzzing with nerves and desire, that she doesn't realise he's paused until it occurs to her that he should have kissed her by now, given how his head is tilted, how his lips are parted. She blinks, and then sees that his eyes aren't shut gently in anticipation of meeting her lips, but, instead, are screwed shut, and he looks like he's in pain. All at once she's trembling for an entirely different reason, and then he speaks, and he's so close that his mouth very lightly brushes hers as he does so, and she would have whimpered at that tiny bit of contact if he hadn't whispered a shaky "I'm sorry" against her. And then he's off and out the door before she even has a chance to register that he's moved.
Jemma inhales sharply, and with wide, unblinking eyes, presses her hands to her cheeks. A small, strangled sob works its way up her throat and out of her mouth. For a split second she's angry at him. And then she's not. How can she be, when what she'd caught in his face in the moment before he'd turned and fled, had been guilt and confusion and disappointment, disappointment in himself.
She takes a few, deep breaths to try and steady herself, to try and quell the rapid beating of her heart and the shock of what just happened. She needs to centre herself, to not think about how close she'd been to knowing what his kiss felt like, to reign in her emotions and halt her tears before they start to flow uncontrollably.
She brushes her fingers across her lips, and she can still feel the ghost of his mouth, the touch of his apology.
For a moment, Jemma wonders what would have happened if she'd taken charge, if she'd kissed him before he could realise what he was doing. Would it have turned out differently? Who knows. But, to have the tease of his kiss, to feel the warmth of his breath wash over her... She'd had a taste, and she wanted more.
Jemma wipes a sleeve across her damp eyes and presses a hand against the tight knot in her stomach. There's one thing she does know, one thing that stands out amongst the swirling emotional mess like a beacon: he still wants her. He still loves her, she finally knows that's true, and she clings to it. He'd wanted to kiss her.
She knows he's terrified of getting hurt again, and this in turn hurts her, and she wonders if he'll ever be able to completely trust her again, especially with his heart.
She decides to finish off their experiment alone, tries to pretend that nothing happened, which almost works, except for the trembling of her hands and the rush of sadness that courses through her like a tidal wave.
xxxx
As luck would have it, their bunks on the Bus had been mostly untouched whilst the plane had been under Garrett's command, and Jemma had been grateful to find that one of her most treasured possessions, her photo album, had been exactly where she'd left it, safely tucked away beneath her bed. She has all her photos stored on her laptop, but her favourite ones have been printed out and placed in this old, well-loved, highly cherished album. She loves having hard copies of photos the same way she loves books over Kindles and CDs over downloads.
It's a big album, having been built up over the years, and she scans through the pictures, smiling fondly at memories of family barbecues and parties and holidays, of early days at the Academy - there's a sneaky shot she took of Fitz while they were studying, because the light was just right against the concentration on his face. She flips through a few more pages, nostalgia tightening its grip on her. Shots of them in the lab, in the Boiler Room, trips to museums, that summer they travelled around Europe - she laughs at a particularly silly photo of Fitz in a sombrero from when they visited Spain, and again, when she flips further along and finds the photo of him with a monkey wrapped around his neck at London Zoo, with the biggest grin on his face. She tries hard to hold back tears as her eyes trace over the ones they're in together, laughing, hugging, smiling, pulling stupid faces. Their graduation ball. Holidays. Christmases. Birthdays.
That selfie they'd taken in Peru.
There hadn't been many more after that. There were a few, during moments of relaxation - there's one of the team locked in a fierce game of Pictionary, one of Fitz trying to escape her that time his face was covered in cream after he'd been pranked (even now, no one had confessed to that), and she'd managed to stop laughing enough to get up and chase after him with her phone. But being on the Bus, being part of missions, had kept them busier than they had ever been before, and then when everything had started to fall apart, there had been no time to indulge in fun and the documentation of it.
When she gets to the end, Jemma makes herself a promise. There will be more photos, more memories to cherish, and Fitz will be part of every single one.
She closes the album and slides it into the drawer of her bedside table. She'd told herself that she'd get an early night, but she's restless, so she decides to go for a walk around the base.
As she passes the gym, she quickly ducks to the side. Fitz is in there with Trip, and she slides past, not wanting to intrude or be seen. She only manages a few steps before she quite literally bumps into Skye.
"Woah, what are you doing, sneaking around?"
"I'm not-"
"Relax, JS, I was joking."
Jemma scrunches her face up. "JS?"
"Yeah... No, it doesn't work, does it? Sorry. Anyway, whatcha doin'?"
She doesn't get the chance to reply as Skye looks past her as noise floats out from the gym.
"Wait, is Fitz in there? Were you spying on him?!"
"Shhhh! Keep your voice down!" Jemma hisses, grabbing her friend by the wrist and pulling her further down the hall with her. "I wasn't spying, I was walking past. This is all just one big coincidence."
"Oh, a coincidence... What a coincidence."
Jemma rolls her eyes.
"Come on, I'm only teasing. Something's wrong, though, I can tell," Skye says, all sympathetic in a way which means she wants Jemma to open up to her, and as much as she appreciates Skye's "You-can-tell-me-anything-and-I'll-try-my-best-to-help" policy, she really doesn't want to divulge the fact that Fitz almost kissed her and then legged it, leaving her feeling as if a rug had been pulled from under her. It's taken her long enough to calm down as it is - she doesn't want to drag it all back up with anyone unless it's Fitz himself, and at the moment, she has the awful feeling that all the progress they've made will be rewound and they'll have to start all over again. That's if he wants to. Oh, god, what if this is it? What if Fitz is now lost to her completely? He tried, and he just couldn't do it, so that's it.
"Simmons, hey, are you okay?"
"I have to go."
"But-"
"I'll see you tomorrow!" She turns and practically bolts back to her room.
If she's going to panic over the possible complete breakdown of her relationship with the man who has been her best friend and her rock and her everything, then she needs to do it in private, preferably with her face shoved into her pillow.
Minutes later, she's doing just that.
xxxx
After a restless night, Jemma gets to the lab early the next morning, and is surprised to find Fitz already hard at work, although, actually, being first in was probably easier for him than walking in with her already there.
Jemma stares at his back and swallows heavily to try and push her stomach back down to where it should be. Just do it quickly, like ripping off a plaster, she tells herself. She smiles. "Morning, Fitz." It's light and cheery, and she's proud of herself for it.
His shoulders jolt as she startles him, and he spins round, looking somewhat like a deer caught in the headlights. However, upon seeing her smile, his face relaxes a little, enough so that he's able to offer her a tentative one back. "Morning."
The tension starts to drain slowly from Jemma's body, not completely, but at least now she doesn't feel so edgy. That was much easier than she'd anticipated it would be. She'd had visions of him being skittish all day and avoiding her eyes and... Well, just her in general. But he's not, so. Good start. It's probably helped that she came in the way she did and set the tone for him. After all the nightmarish thoughts that had plagued her last night, she's beyond thrilled that he's not pulling away from her again, or at least, not like she thought he would. She'd half expected to not see him today, had been truly worried that he'd disappear back to his old lab.
After that, they work in silence for a while. The mood isn't entirely uncomfortable, but it's not without any awkwardness, either. Jemma watches Fitz out the corner of her eye from time to time, mostly to make sure he's still there and hasn't slipped out, unable to be around her any longer. At the moment, he's wearing a pair of magnifying goggles and holding a pair of tweezers, concentrating hard on the small device in front of him, reaching in to pluck something out. Focused like this, she can't help but be dragged in by the determined set of his jaw, and when he glances up, as if sensing her, she jerks her head away so hard that it feels like she's given herself whiplash. Her wish to remain casual, as if she hadn't been staring longingly at him, is certainly ruined by her needing to reach up and massage the yanked muscle in her neck.
If he notices, which he probably did, he doesn't say anything.
"Simmons?"
She freezes. He's right behind her, his voice a couple of octaves lower than normal, and it sends shivers down her spine.
"Yes?" she replies, lowering her hand and turning slowly so as not to aggravate her neck any further. His face is neutral, but his eyes are burning, a mixture of nervousness and something undefinable which has her desperately trying to remember how to speak.
"Here." He hands her the dispersal mechanism she'd asked him to make for her new adrenal-boost serum. It's small, lightweight, and easy to use, something agents can easily hide on themselves and use discreetly and quickly. It's exactly everything she'd wanted it to be. Not that it would be anything less.
Jemma reaches for it, and his hand lingers a moment before he lets go. Her breath rushes out of her. "Oh, great, thank you. Let's test it, shall we?" Oh dear, that was exceedingly squeaky. She clears her throat.
"Yeah," he nods, sounding slightly strained, and that makes her feel a little better about her Minnie Mouse impression. "You add the serum, and I'll get our subjects ready. Er... Like this..." he adds, his hands sliding over hers as he pops the clip open - and it takes everything she has to keep herself completely still and not make a sound.
"Right. Good." As Fitz moves away, she exhales shakily, her eyes on him as he shrugs on his lab coat, and then she pulls herself together, sets the mechanism down, and fetches her serum.
They have work to do.
A/N: Poor FitzSimmons - will they ever get to where they both really want to be?
It's probably self-explanatory, but what we call a 'plaster' others will call a 'band aid', just in case that confused anyone!