Jemma had already fielded one difficult phone call today—although, in many ways, speaking to Mum and Dad had been a weight off her shoulders—so she really wasn't expecting another so shortly after. Well, to be fair, when Mr. Agent Sitwell Sir (Skye had insisted that no other contact name would be acceptable) flashed across her screen, she couldn't help but smile a little. This phone call wasn't difficult in the same way the one with her parents had been, it's simply that between her hurried, late-night apology call and now, they haven't spoken. She'd been tempted to call the next morning to see if he actually remembered any of it, but had thought better and held off.

Now she finds her phone buzzing insistently just as she had been preparing to go to bed. Glancing over at Leo's sleeping form in twin bed he'd claimed in their shared hotel room, she decides that he really is quite asleep and answers the call.

"Give me a moment to get to the balcony," she says quietly into the receiver.

"This a bad time?"

"No. No, no, no, now is a perfect time," she whispers insistently, tiptoeing past her fellow scientist. "Just give me a moment…"

Very carefully, she unlocks the sliding glass door and nudges it open just enough to slip through before sliding it shut behind her, all without disturbing her roommate. Thankfully the awning overhead has kept the balcony dry as the rain had set on, so she can now comfortably tuck herself into one of the chairs there, curling her toes over its edge as she watches the city down below.

"Sorry," Jemma says, breathing out a sigh of relief as she permits herself to speak at a conversational volume. "Didn't want to wake Fitz."

There's a pause on the other end of the line following this announcement. "If I misunderstood our last conversation, we could always just blame it on the drugs."

"What?" she says, confused. But her brain catches up to her mouth rather quickly and the meaning of his words becomes clear, bringing up a healthy flush to her cheeks. "Oh, no, no, it's not like that between me and Fitz. Really, he's like the brother I never had. Although I can't really say that, as I've got actual brothers, it's really more that whole 'You can't pick your family' sort of thing. Not that I would ever pick anyone besides the brothers I have, it's just that I could have done with a little less chewing gum in my hair and a little more understanding when I brought up anything even remotely scientific."

She clamps her mouth shut suddenly. God, here she's been rambling on like a loon again when all he'd done was say one thing. She hears a chuckle from the other end of the line.

"Why the sudden silent treatment?" he asks.

"I was just thinking I was rambling a bit," Jemma admits.

"That's okay. I like it when you ramble," Jasper assures her.

"Really? You're not just saying that? Most people find it a bit much," Jemma says.

"When you 'ramble' you speak quickly because you're saying things you think no one will be interested in hearing, which, from what I'm gathering, you probably picked up from having brothers who couldn't keep up with what you were talking about and therefore just talked over you. So you had to adapt to get a word in," Jasper says. "So when I say I like it when you ramble, I like it when you talk. Don't go assuming people don't want to hear what you have to say."

Jemma finds herself a little astounded at his deduction and, on top of that, a little touched. So maybe she's got a few issues with self-confidence that need addressing, sure, but who doesn't? But it's nice, for once, to have someone other than Fitz who's patient enough to actually listen to what she's saying. Someone who wants to hear all these things she thinks are inane and stupid and better off unsaid.

"Thank you," she says, smiling despite knowing he can't see it. "That's actually quite accurate."

"See? I'm good for something."

She laughs at that. "I'm sure you're good for a great deal of things. Agent Coulson told me that he was your SO when you first joined. He seems fond of you."

"Phil and I have a lot of history," Jasper says. "And I should hope he's fond of me. I've saved his ass enough times to earn a little fondness."

"Oh really?" Jemma intones, making a soft, interested noise.

"Don't get the wrong idea, it's a mutual arrangement, but he's got a talent for getting himself into sticky situations. But I guess when you've got the devil's luck when it comes to getting out of them, you don't worry about that as much," Jasper notes idly. "Speaking of sticky situations, I heard you were involved in one of an Asgardian nature."

"The good old S.H.I.E.L.D grapevine hard at work, I see," Jemma quips.

"Like you expected anything else," Jasper comments. "Everything okay over there?"

Jemma sighs, hugging herself a little tighter in her oversized sweater. "For the most part, yes. Everyone's in fairly good shape, considering what's gone on. Honestly, I'm a tad worried about lingering effects from the Berserker Staff; both Ward and May handled it and Ward already demonstrated how the effects don't wear off simply because contact has ceased."

"Ward seemed to get himself under control, from what I've gathered," Jasper replies.

"Yes, that's true," Jemma says. "I suppose I'm just overly concerned. It's just that Professor Randolph had told us that touching the staff would bring about the wielder's worst memories… seeing how shaken both of them were after, I can't even begin to imagine what they'd seen."

"They've seen some terrible things, both before and during their time with S.H.I.E.L.D., but in this case I think it's probably better to not think too hard about it," Jasper tells her. "Just keep an eye on them, make yourself available if they need to talk—but I doubt they will. It's all you can do. And if your gut tells you something, take it to Phil."

"I suppose you're right," Jemma says. She toys with the hem of her sweater. "How have things been at the Hub?"

"Running like clockwork, as usual. Why the sudden change in topic?" he asks.

"Well, we've been talking about me and how my day's gone all this time and I'd like it if you talked a little about yourself, too," she tells him.

"Well," Jasper says, sighing noticeably. "It's been a long week. And the idea of hearing the sound of your voice for a little seemed like the right prescription for that."

Jemma's thankful he can't see her blushing. Because she is. Quite ferociously at that. Apparently he takes her answering silence the wrong way.

"Does that bother you?"

He says it in a way that sounds like he'd drop the matter entirely if it did and that only serves to make the whole thing more endearing than it was to begin with.

"No, not at all," Jemma says, shaking her head. "It's quite nice, actually."

"If I'm ever coming on too strong, you're in the clear to tell me to back the fuck up," he declares.

She laughs at that, a little louder than she should, perhaps, and she claps a hand over her mouth as she gazes through the glass of the sliding door worriedly. Thankfully, Leo seems undisturbed by her mirth, but she makes a mental note not to wake the entire hotel.

"If I ever think you're coming on too strong, I'll be sure to let you know," Jemma agrees. "But I'm enjoying our conversations. I'm looking forward to having more of them. Perhaps you'll even tell me about one of the many times you've saved Agent Coulson's ass."

He laughs at her cheeky tone, a warm, deeply amused sound.

"I'll make sure to have a good one prepared next time," Jasper says. "In the meantime, I'm probably keeping you awake at this point."

"I don't mind," Jemma answers honestly.

Because yes, it's past midnight, but Jasper isn't the only one who's had a long few days. Jemma loves her team, is growing to love them more as they spend more time together, but talking to someone outside the team is refreshing. Talking about silly things, everyday things, is something she finds she needs. And Jasper is… well. He's Jasper. And maybe she likes hearing his voice as much as he likes hearing hers.

"You don't, but I do. I'm gonna feel guilty if I keep you up all night," Jasper tells her. "Believe me, I'd love to keep you up all night, but I'll feel like an ass about it tomorrow if I do."

"Alright. If only because I wouldn't want you to feel guilty," Jemma says, giving in. "Perhaps I could text you in the morning?"

"I'll be sad if you don't."

"Then a text you will get," she says brightly. She hesitates, biting her bottom lip as she mulls something over. What was it Phil had said, though? Sometimes you have to just jump right in and figure things out. Granted, this doesn't compare to sticking your hand into the gaping wound in an Asgardian's chest, but it's still something she has to work herself up to. "And Jasper?"

"Yeah?"

"I'd like it if you'd call me 'Jemma,' please," she states.

"Jemma it is."

"Goodnight, Jasper," she says.

"Goodnight, Jemma," he answers.

She disconnects from the call and slowly stretches her legs. Really, she thinks, her name shouldn't sound that good when he says it. But it does.

The team is looking a little haggard when they all gather in the lobby. From Grant and Melinda she had expected this—and her conversation from the night prior echoes in her mind. She'll be keeping an eye on them as they proceed to do what she's sure they'll do, which is to deny, deny, deny that anything at all is the matter and to cover up any traces of supposed weakness with brute strength and grit. But she knows how Melinda takes her tea and she knows that Grant likes his sandwiches cut from corner-to-corner and not side-to-side, and sometimes these small things can help. Small, familiar things can act as a balm even when they cannot fix the larger problem at hand.

She had expected this from them; she had not expected it from Phil. He smiles when she bids him good morning and offers the same. He puts on a good show of it, but when you look close enough you can read the exhaustion in his smile and the strain in his eyes, which crinkle fondly all the same. The night has not been kind to the three agents and she can't help but feel guilty for the pleasant conversation she'd enjoyed.

› Good morning. Sleep well?

She sends the text as they climb into the company car. They'd taken two, since they all wouldn't fit in one and Phil had no intention of letting them anywhere near Lola. So Jemma rides back to the Bus with Phil and Skye while Leo rides back with Melinda and Grant.

›› Like a baby. You?

› A full eight hours and no complaints. Wish I could say the same about everyone.

›› Uh-oh. What happened?

› Well, I'd expected as much from AM and AW. But AC seems rather out of tune this morning as well.

›› Hard mission. Maybe everyone needs a little downtime before you pick up another one.

› I hope that's all it is.

›› If you think it's bad, I will personally come and force feed them sleeping pills, no questions asked.

Jemma can't help it. She giggles. Phil glances at her from the driver's seat, eyebrow hiked up curiously, but doesn't ask. He knows well enough that people need their privacy and living together on the Bus means you should afford it to each other at every opportunity. Skye has no such qualms.

"Are you texting Mr. Agent Sitwell Sir?" she exclaims excitedly, leaning forward from the back seat.

Jemma clutches her phone to her breast. "I might be."

"Oh, come on, spill. Details," Skye urges.

"Skye, sit back and put your seatbelt on, please," Phil says, frowning in the rearview mirror.

"It's private," Jemma declares. "I never asked to see anything you texted to your secret boyfriend."

As soon as the words are out, Jemma wishes she could kick herself. Skye adopts the smuggest look imaginable, her grin nearly stretching from ear to ear. Jemma pretends not to notice the slight swerve in the car's steering following the announcement.

"That's not what I meant, he's not my boyfriend," she says hurriedly, certain her face has to be as red as Lola's paintjob by now.

"Oh yeah? Then let me see," Skye prompts.

"No."

"Come on."

"No."

"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease."

"I've told you, it's private!"

"Daaaaaaaaaaaad," Skye mock-whines, "Simmons isn't sharing."

"If you two can't get along, I'll turn this car around," Phil declares. "Simmons, you can text Sitwell when we're back on the Bus. Skye, sit back and put your seatbelt on. And don't call me 'dad' it makes me sound old."

"Yeah, well—"

"Finish that sentence and you're grounded," Phil says, glancing warningly into the rearview mirror.

› I'll have to text you later. Dad's put us on lock-down.

›› Call him 'old man.' :)

› No! My God, I'll be killed.

Jemma catches Phil glaring sidelong at her and, giving him her best apologetic smile, she texts Jasper a quick 'ttyl' before hurriedly shoving her phone in her jacket pocket. Best not to tempt fate.