A/N:

Look! I wrote a thing. My apologies for not getting it done sooner. BUT, I didn't know where to stop. I'm still not convinced this is a great stopping point for this chapter, but I split the update into two chapters (because it was so long that you all would've grown beards reading it) and the second half will be up within the next few days. It's like a double chapter bonus. Cool!

Unfortunately, Dr. Banner hasn't quite made this chapter. He'll be in the next one, but he's a bit of a catalyst, so I couldn't very well throw him into the action and end it abruptly. I also solemnly swear to be up to no good re: bad girl shenanigans more and more in coming chapters.

Anyway, thanks so much for reading. You've all been very kind. Thank you for subscribing/commenting/following/bookmarking/kudos-ing(?)/favorite-ing/liking/reviewing, etc.

You are true gems. Don't you ever forget it. 3

Oh! And as always, if you're interested in my playlist for this little project, message me in some form or another and I will send you the spotify link. It'll be fun. Also, here's a link to the a href=" .com"Tumblr/a where all of these stories live if that's a thing you're into.

Enjoy!

Chapter 4: If It Makes You Feel Better

"Gamma radiation?!" Fitz exclaims, "Are you saying the Jemma's had some kind of radiation poisoning!?"

I take this opportunity to sit up slowly, stifling a groan. My muscles feel like they've been thoroughly worked-over with a rusty rake.

"Not likely," I chime in, "there wasn't enough radiation in those samples to be of any real danger."

"You keep saying that, but the evidence would suggest that something's rotten in the state of Denmark," Skye says, a hint of irritation in her voice.

"We'll know more once we touch base with Banner," Coulson interjects. "Simmons, you feel alright?"

I vaguely register a scoff issuing from Skye, but ignore it and respond, "Yessir," dutifully.

Coulson nods, but appears unconvinced. It's clear that he wasn't asking because he expected an honest answer, but because both S.H.I.E.L.D. protocol and his conscience insisted upon it.

"Skye, take Simmons into the lounge and wait there," he says before turning to May and muttering something I can't her. She nods stiffly and slips out of the conference room's side door.

Skye pulls me up swiftly-with more strength than I'd have expected-and guides me to my feet. Her hand settles just below my shoulder blade for a moment before she urges me forward, ushering me through the doors of the conference room and into the lounge.

"Sit," she instructs, gesturing toward the couch.

I do as I'm told, watching as she busies herself with a pot of coffee in the kitchenette. Allowing myself to become distracted momentarily, I look down and pick at a loose bit of stitching on one of the cushions. I've always thought this couch was a little bit luxe and out-of-place in the largely utilitarian decor of the Bus. But apparently it is not as high-class as I'd previously assumed, as evidenced by the loose stitching.

Just when I'm beginning to ponder who, exactly, chooses the furniture for S.H.I.E.L.D. facilities, a pair of well-worn sneakers appear in front of me. I look up to find a mug with Skye's fingers wrapped around it in front of my face.

"Oh, er, thanks," I stammer, "but I don't really drink coff-"

"It's tea."

I raise my eyebrows in surprise, but take the mug. "Thanks," I mutter, a little touched that she remembered that a) I prefer Earl Grey to coffee and b) that my favorite mug is the one with the the cartoon coyotes on it that we got from a gas station in Montana.

Skye sits down next to me, folding one leg underneath her and reclining casually against the opposite armrest of the sofa. I remain where I am, but turn slightly to face her. Once I am facing her, however, I find that I'm drawing a blank on what, exactly, to say.

I'm saved the trouble of coming up with a topic of conversation when she says, "How's your head?" in a small voice whilst she feigns extreme interest in her coffee.

Unsure of how to respond, I take a sip of tea. Unfortunately, it's still quite hot and burns the inside of my mouth. I play it off clumsily, though, not wanting to draw attention to my carelessness.

"It's fine," I say after I've recovered. I open my mouth to tell her that this is no big deal and that she shouldn't be concerned. But, at the last possible moment before the words leave my lips, I consider her reaction to the other half-dozen times that I've insisted that I'm 'fine'. Not exactly ideal, to say the least. So, instead, I decide to leave it at 'It's fine.'

I venture a glance at Skye, who's observing me with equal parts concern, skepticism and thinly-veiled irritation.

Apparently having run out of topics of conversation, she remains quiet, still taking an interest in the coffee she hasn't touched. We settle into an uncomfortable silence. Despite the close quarters of the bus, we've spent remarkably little time alone together. There always seems to be someone around. She's different now-withdrawn and silent in a way that I didn't even know Skye was capable of being.

My brain kicks into overdrive, wondering if it's me that's responsible for the change in her demeanor.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, willing my tea to cool down just a little bit faster. When the silence becomes unbearably oppressive, I say the first thing that comes to mind.

"Have you ever been to Canada?" Stupid, boring small talk, but it's better than silence.

Skye shakes her head, finally taking a sip of her coffee. With her head ducked, I take the opportunity to observe her for a moment. I see her tension begin to ebb visibly after I've broken the silence. She closes her eyes, seemingly savoring the coffee for a moment. Her grip on the mug loosens and her features soften. From the way she exhales, I can see her chest and her shoulders relax considerably.

"It's excellent," I assure her, "lots of trees and lakes and fresh air. In fact, did you know that Manitoba is home to world's tenth-largest freshwater lake? And obviously there are moose and deer and a whole host of other fascinating cold-weather mammals. There are even polar bears! "

Upon seeing the smirk on her face, I reign in my excitement. I'd be embarrassed, but the majority of my energy is dedicated to my relief at the sight of seeing her thaw slightly.

"Well, it's beautiful," I finish. "You'll love it, I'm sure."

After taking another sip, she looks me in the eyes for the first time since we sat down. Her eyes aren't icy like I'd expected them to be. In fact, there's a distinct glint in them as her lips curl into a smile that reaches her eyes and makes them dance brilliantly. She tucks a lock of unruly hair behind her ear and she doesn't even seem to mind when it stubbornly falls back into it's previous position.

"I'm looking forward to it," she says.

Of course, Fitz chooses this exact moment to burst forth from the conference room, spitting out sentence fragments in rapid-fire.

"Best in our class-"

"-Gamma radiation, not enough to-"

"-mycology isn't even her field!"

I watch as he runs his hands through his curly hair, clearly exasperated.

I'm about to say something when he gets his "What If" idea look on his face and rushes to the spiral staircase. He thunders down it with a speed I didn't know he possessed and is out of sight in seconds, apparently not having realised that Skye and were in the same room.

Skye looks at me, puzzled.

"Is he...?"

"Yeah," I fill in, "he's fine. He's just had an idea, that's all."

After another ten minutes or so of halting and uncomfortable 'banter', May calls Skye back into the conference room and points at the large screen, looking frustrated. Skye goes to work fixing it, which I take as my cue to go see what Fitz is up to in the lab.

When I arrive, I find him in a hazmat suit, with the samples shoved under a microscope. He's alternating between peering into the eyepiece and scribbling furiously in his ratty notebook.

I don't know what he thinks he's going to find. When it comes to anything remotely biological, he knows more than your average bear, but not much more.

"Fitz, what're you doing?"

Fitz jumps, startled by my voice. He frequently gets very jumpy when he's focused.

"Jesus, Jemma!" He shouts, then rushes over to me and pushes back out the doors of the lab by my shoulders. Once we're 'safely' outside and the doors have closed, he removes the suit's hood.

"What do you think you're doing?! That stuff's dangerous!" he scolds.

I can't help but roll my eyes. "Fitz, it's not dangerous. I tested the samples twice. There's hardly enough radiation to turn a leech green."

He guffaws. "Radiation's not all that's in there, Jemma. I can't believe you missed it. You of all people." He shakes his head, "There's something else in there."

I raise an eyebrow at him, confused and disbelieving. "Something else?" I move past him to head back into the lab when he catches my arm.

"Jemma. Suit."

I breathe in deeply in an attempt to keep my patience. I'm 85% sure that he's just forgotten to clean the microscope and whatever he thinks he found is, in fact, a smudge of pesto aioli. However, I decide to indulge him and grab my own hazmat suit from the locker next to the lab doors.

After I've begrudgingly put it on, I turn and face him through the plastic of the sealed hood.

"Happy?" I grumble.

"Not as happy as I'll be when you admit that I'm king of the lab."

"Keep dreaming," I shake my head as we re-enter the lab. "Show me what you think you've uncovered, boy wonder."
-

I pull back from the microscope, stunned. "No way," I shake my head. "That's impossible. There's no way that-"

"That you were wrong?" Fitz crosses his arms, looking smug. "It's possible." He grins, "Tough break, losing the King of the lab title."

"Queen of the lab. And you can't know what this is for sure. Maybe it's a fluke."

"I checked the other samples as well."

I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off.

"On both microscopes, before you go blaming the pesto aioli that I have been very careful to keep away from the equipment since the particle accelerator incident."

I frown, "But then…what is this?"

He shrugs, "No idea. You're the biologist."

"It's like nothing I've ever seen before," I look through the eyepiece again, to see the same thing: crazy strong and crazy fast cellular breakdown and regeneration. I shake my head, "It doesn't make any sense. Their physical structure shouldn't even be able to support something like this. It's like super fungus."

Fitz nods, "I thought you'd say that," he points at the other microscope, with another sample. "Take a look at that one."

I do as he says and am suitably shocked by what I find. I look at him, disbelieving. "They've got…"

He nods again.

"But, they don't look any different. Or feel any different. And yet, they're-"

"Super," he fills in. "Stronger, faster, healthier. They'd probably be smarter, too, if they had brains. It's lucky they're fungus, really."

Still a little shocked, I take a seat on the stool next to our large metal table. "How could I have missed this?"

Fitz takes a seat on the stool across from me and shrugs, "You were probably a bit distracted." He puts a suspicious about of emphasis on the last word.

I narrow my eyes at him. "Spit it out. What do you know?"

He grins smugly. "Skye told me you slept together."

I nearly fall off my stool. "She what?!"

"You know, I'm a little salty that you didn't tell me first, Jemma. We're best friends. I always have your back and you've got mine. Usually. You ought to at least be able to tell me when you lure a girl into your bed by fainting." He shakes his head, "Honestly, I knew your moves were terrible, but I thought you might've learned your lesson with the fainting bit when we were at the Academy." He ponders for a moment, "Though, it did work, so maybe you're Queen of the lab after all."

"Fitz!" I shriek, "She did tell you that we just slept in the same bed, didn't she?! Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing happened."

Fitz strokes his chin thoughtfully. "Now that you mention it, I think maybe she did say something about that." He shrugs, grinning. "My mistake."

If looks could kill, there would be a Fitz-shaped hole in the bottom of this plane and they'd be hearing his girly scream from a hundred miles in every direction.

Too irritated to remain in the room with him, I get up and storm out of the lab before furiously un-doing the four hundred clasps, zippers and seals on my stupid hazmat suit.

He follows me, much to my chagrin.

"I kid," He begins taking off his own massive suit. "But, if it makes you feel better, she seemed genuinely upset this morning."

I balk at him. "And why, exactly, would that make me feel better?" You know, I'd like to assume that Fitz understands why it is generally not considered a victory when a woman leaves your bedroom upset, but his ignorance constantly surprises me.

He removes his hood, "Well, she was worried. And her face was screaming 'I'm over-analyzing' when she intercepted me after I got my scone. She was full of questions: 'Have you talked to Simmons?' 'Has Simmons said anything about me?' 'Do you know what kind of shampoo she uses?'"

I roll my eyes, trying not to laugh at the high-pitched voice he uses to imitate Skye. "Shut up. She did not ask you about shampoo."

He chuckles, "Well, no. But she did ask if you ever talk about her."

I look up from unstrapping the massive boots to inspect his expression. I'd know if he was messing with me, and when I see his face, I know he isn't. My mouth goes dry.

"And you said?" I manage to choke out.

"No, of course. I told her you never even mention her."

I stand up, my eyes wide with shock. "You what?!"

"Well, I couldn't very well tell her the truth. She's all you talk about!" He looks thoughtful for a moment, "In fact, I know exactly why you missed the bonkers cells in the fungus. You've been so distracted the last few weeks, it's a wonder you haven't missed more."

I glare at him, willing my eyes to become lasers and turn him into a miserable pile of ashes on the spot.

"Listen, don't be angry. I was doing it for your own good. You're second to none at being clueless, but when it comes to…well, the rest of it, you are about as adept as Ward is at...feeling things."

My glare intensifies but remains decidedly laser-less.

"I just figured if you seemed a little more aloof, Skye might-"

"Shut up. Just shut up."

"Jemma, don't be mad. I promise, you'll thank me for it later, when you're-"

"Thank you for what?" says a voice that isn't mine.

I'm surprised that I don't give myself whiplash as I turn my head to see Skye standing at the top of the spiral staircase.

"For…" Fitz is struggling to come up with a lie.

"For ordering a case of Jammie Dodgers delivered to the S.H.I.E.L.D. field office in Manitoba," I turn back to Fitz, telling with my eyes him not to say another goddamn word.

He laughs nervously. "Yeah, Jammie Dodgers. Right."

I turn back to Skye, watching as she descends the stairs. In a few seconds, she's standing in front of me, her hair pulled back now, like it always is after she's been hard at work on something. She frowns when she sees that we're stepping out of our hazmat suits.

"Er, what's up with the suits?"

"Simmons missed something," Fitz pipes up triumphantly. "The fungus is super fungus."

Skye looks confused. "Super fungus?"

Fitz nods gleefully. "They're strong. And their cellular regeneration is amazing. Completely through the roof!"

She nods slowly, "Right. And how does super fungus equal hazmat suits, exactly?"

Fitz frowns, trying to find a suitable answer.

"They don't," I interject.

"You don't know that," Fitz says indignantly. "We still haven't figured out why you're fainting."

I roll my eyes. "Not this again," I grumble, "It's nothing. I'm just tired. I was up late working on the samples. I'm fine."

Even as I say it, I can feel an edge of doubt creeping in.

I can see that Fitz is about to argue when Coulson's voice booms over the bus-wide intercom.

"Take a seat, everybody. We're getting ready to touch down."

Obediently, we move to the bank of seats on the far wall. I notice Fitz maneuvering awkwardly, trying to position himself on my right side whilst sort of shepherding Skye to my left.

"Stop it," I hiss at him as we reach the seats. I sit down and begin buckling my seatbelt. Due in no small part to Fitz's efforts, he sits down on one side of me with Skye on my other.

"I'm just trying to help," he hisses back, buckling his own seatbelt.

"Well…stop. We're just friends, she and I. That's it," I whisper. I busy myself with fastening the mostly unnecessary shoulder harness before continuing. "I mean, can you imagine? Us? It would be a disaster. Total unmitigated disaster." Even as I say it, the words catch in my throat. I know it's not true. Or, at the very least, that there's no evidential support for my claim.

Fitz rolls his eyes in response, "Oh please, Simmons. I am many things, but a moron is not one of them. Especially when it comes to my best friend," he says those words with extra emphasis, trying, I suspect, to shame and guilt me into an admission. "It wouldn't be the end of days if you just admitted it, you know."

I say nothing in response, but instead turn to face forward and settle in to ignore him until we've landed.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Next chapter up shortly!