Jemma doesn't want to give way to paranoia. Really, it's probably nothing, after all. Only… Jasper hasn't returned any of her calls. Or texts. For two weeks. It's not as though he isn't busy and she isn't busy, it's not as though either of them haven't had to undertake lengthy missions, it's just… well, she's accustomed to a little warning first. Typically if either of them are going to be unavailable or unreachable for more than a few days, they call. Or text, at the very least. The fact that he'd done neither of these, that he hasn't returned her calls and that she hasn't heard from him in a fortnight just leads her to expect the worst. At this point she's just swiping aimlessly at the touch screen, locking and unlocking it, hoping that the next time she'll see a message she's missed.

"I know that look."

She nearly jumps out of her seat at the unexpected voice, having thought everyone was asleep, but settles down when she finds it's only Phil.

"You know," he says, pointing to the cell phone cradled in her hands, "I'm pretty sure genies only come out of lamps."

Hurriedly she stows the phone in the pocket of her robe, tucking her hair behind her ear as she wraps her arms around her legs. She doesn't want him thinking she's desperate or anything. Because she's not.

"It's a bit late, isn't it, sir?" Jemma prods.

"I could say the same to you," Phil proclaims, filling the kettle and moving it to the stovetop. He looks back over his shoulder. "Tea?"

"Please," she answers.

He nods to himself and grabs her mug from the cabinet—the pink one with the rabbit wearing glasses on it—and sets it next to his. She smothers a smile, as usual, because it's always funny to see their team leader set out his dark blue mug with Captain America's shield emblazoned on it. They're all a little like that, in a way. The things she's learned about her teammates simply by observing their favorite coffee mugs is astounding.

"If you need to talk, Jemma," Phil says, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against the counter, "we've got time while the water boils."

She bites her lower lip, wondering if she should.

"Of course, you don't have to," Phil amends. "But I want you to know that if you ever do need to talk, I've got an open door policy."

Jemma wrinkles her nose. "…but it's silly."

Phil smiles. "Try me."

Maybe it's the fact that she really does want to talk to someone about this, or maybe it's simply the fact that her superior looks oddly disarming in his pajamas, but she finds her resolve has gone out the window in a matter of seconds.

"He hasn't returned any of my messages," Jemma sighs.

"Alright," Phil says. "When was the last time you spoke?"

"Well, the last text he sent was two weeks ago," Jemma recounts. "And the last time we'd spoken on the phone was two days before that."

"And was there any sort of… disagreement? Anything to suggest he might avoid contacting you for this long?" Phil asks.

"If anything it's the opposite," Jemma says, resting her chin on her knees. "We've been getting along well. Very well."

Too well? Doubt starts to gnaw at her insides.

"No, he hasn't been leading you on," Phil says.

"How did you know?"

"That you were thinking that or that he hasn't been leading you on?"

"Both, I suppose."

"You break eye contact when you're feeling self-conscious and tend to look at the floor. The natural progression from your responses would be to say that you thought things were going too well," Phil says with a shrug. "As for Jasper, I know that he hasn't been leading you on mostly because he's been nagging me night and day to find out if you say anything about him."

"He… he has," Jemma says, not quite sure that she's heard him right.

The kettle begins to whine and he briefly turns away from her, seeing to each their mugs before approaching her. Setting out two coasters, he places the mugs down to let the tea steep and nudges the milk and sugar between them so they can each doctor it to their liking, before he sits on the couch beside her. He leans back, folding his hand in his lap and slouching just the slightest bit.

"I haven't seen him this anxious over a woman in a long time," Phil tells her.

"Anxious? Because of me?" Jemma repeats.

"Does that surprise you?" Phil asks with a small smile.

"Frankly, yes. Very much so," Jemma admits with a frown. "I just can't imagine what he could be anxious about. He certainly never seems it."

"He's good at playing it smooth," Phil says. "But I'll let you in on a secret: he's got a powerful weakness for cartoons and animated movies. I personally guarantee he will cry any time he watches The Land Before Time."

Jemma makes a mental note of this and decides that between missions, she's going to have to purchase a copy.

"When it comes right down to it, he's about as nervous over this whole thing as you are," Phil says.

She wonders though. Phil and Jasper are friends and have been so for quite some time. It's not as though she would expect the man sitting beside her to lie on Jasper's behalf, but she wonders if she's getting the whole truth here.

"Sir, you don't have to lie to make me feel better," Jemma declares stubbornly. "I'm quite capable of handling the truth, even if it's unpleasant."

That seems to get Phil thinking and she wonders, what with his sudden silence, if she's about to get the truth she assured him she could handle. Because she's not sure she can handle it. Or, rather, she doesn't especially want to handle it. Because for once she has something good, something nice in her life and she's loathe to give that up. It might hurt just a little too much to find out that Jasper isn't as interested in her as she is in him.

"Jemma, you are a bright, charming, gorgeous young woman. You're passionate about your work, you're clever beyond reason and hands-down one of the most caring, dedicated individuals I've had the pleasure of working with," Phil says gently. "You are—if you'll excuse the pun—a gem. Jasper's very much aware of the fact that any man—or woman—would be lucky to have your attention and, speaking from experience, that's enough to make any guy anxious. In this line of work, when you find something good, the risk of losing it is high. So naturally when you find something amazing, you have to wonder how you were lucky enough to find it in the first place and when you can expect the other shoe to drop."

She doesn't want him to think she's overly emotional or that she can't handle a simple conversation without bursting into tears, but… well… here she is. Burying her face in the sleeves of her too-large sweater doesn't help, as the tears just come all the same. Even her hope that he won't notice, that he'll just think she's hiding her face out of embarrassment, doesn't go as she'd planned.

"Oh," she hears him say. "That… wasn't supposed to make you cry. Uh… tissues. Tissues."

She lifts her head and scrubs the tears away with her sleeve. In the end, she winds up laughing the rest of them away as Phil searches high and low for tissues, only to come back with a stack of napkins, looking highly disappointed.

"I can't believe we don't have any tissues around here," he declares as she pulls a few from the stack. "What kind of operation am I running that we don't think to bring tissues?"

That gets another laugh out of her as she dabs at her eyes, even more embarrassed than before. He probably thinks the worst of her, watching her spring a leak over a compliment.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I really didn't mean to cry. It's just that… well. When you say things like that, I mean, I'm not like Agent May or… or like Skye—"

"And you don't have to be," Phil cuts her off. He studies her for a moment, and while not uncomfortable, having his gaze on her leaves her feeling exposed. "I think you've gotten a little too used to selling yourself short and I think it's a great pity that you can't see what I do. Everything I've just said is true—and I'm not the only one who sees it. Maybe someday you'll see it, too."

"Thank you, sir," Jemma says.

She's sure he likely thinks she's saying it just to placate him, but she really does mean it. It's one of the nicest compliments she's ever received and it baffles her a little to know that he really is telling the truth. She's not skilled and sexy like Melinda, she's not pretty and talented like Skye is. She's plain old Jemma Simmons, gifted with the ability to bore everyone to death with science babble in under ten seconds or your money back. Plain old Jemma Simmons, cursed with the ability to stick her foot in her mouth at the drop of a hat. She's always been plain, shy and out of the way. To think that someone sees something more than that—it almost seems like too much to wish for.

"But let's get back to your problem," Phil says, as though sensing her need to shift the topic. "Did he mention being assigned to any missions?"

"No," Jemma answers. "And usually if he is, he'll let me know that he won't be able to talk. And I do the same. But there's been nothing. And I hate to seem paranoid or that I'm looking too far into this, but it just seems… strange."

Phil sips thoughtfully at his tea, processing her answer. "I don't think you're being paranoid. I know Jasper to be punctual enough that two weeks without acknowledging your messages is more than odd."

"Do you think there may be something wrong?" Jemma asks.

"I don't know," Phil admits with a frown. "I can check, see if he's been sent out on any assignments lately."

"I would appreciate that," Jemma says with a sigh, finally reaching for her own tea.

"It could just be he's on an assignment and something happened to his cell," Phil assures her. "You know, one time I missed my check-in on an assignment in Russia and everyone was convinced I'd been captured by enemy agents."

"Were you?" Jemma asks.

"No, I, uh…" Phil says, clearing his throat. "Actually I was lost. I missed my check-in because I couldn't find it and I dropped my communications equipment down a mountain."

Jemma snorts into her tea, trying to smother a laugh and Phil indulges her, a slightly embarrassed smile on his face.

"The point is, it could just be simple human error," he tells her. "But I'll see what I can find out for you. In the meantime, why don't you finish your tea and try to get some sleep."

She nods at that, finding it reasonable enough. Staying awake wondering at this point won't do anyone any good and by the time she wakes up, she's sure she'll have some sort of answer to go off of.

"You should try to sleep, too, sir," she tells him.

There's a moment where his smile seems to falter, losing some of its natural ease and looking decidedly more forced. But the moment passes and she wonders if she'd seen any of it at all and thinks that perhaps she's just imagining things.

"After I look into this," he assures her. "I'll clean up here. You get to bed."

"I don't mind cleaning up," Jemma's quick to say.

"I'm sure you don't mind," Phil answers, already rising from his seat. "But it's late and I can see that you're tired. I'm going to be awake for a bit anyway, and if this job has taught me anything, it's to sleep when you can."

She heaves a sigh and rises with him, picking up her mug. She really is very tired, if she's being honest, and arguing with him will likely not result in being allowed to help. At the very least she can bring the few items to the sink to be washed, though. He doesn't object and follows close behind her. Once she deposits the mugs and the spoons, she hesitates, lingering by the sink.

"Something wrong?" Phil asks.

"No," Jemma says. "Just… Thank you, sir."

She doesn't think to question whether or not it's appropriate to hug her superior before she goes ahead and does it. But she feels him tense at the action, remaining stiff and unresponsive for a moment before he relaxes enough to carefully return the embrace. When she pulls away, she's heartily embarrassed at having acted without thinking.

"Goodnight, sir!" she squeaks, eager to put some space between them.

"Goodnight," he says simply.

She doesn't stick around long enough to see the look on his face, just hurries straight off to her bunk wondering if she's created another situation that needs to be apologized for.

Phil watches Jemma scurry off to her bunk, a little thankful that the hugging has concluded. It's not her fault; it's just that since he's returned to the field, unexpected physical contact sometimes puts him on edge. Much to his annoyance.

Deciding not to dwell on the matter, he sees to the mugs and the spoons before retreating to his office. There's research to be done. Booting up his computer, he enters his credentials and accesses S.H.I.E.L.D.'s database. Jasper's file states that he is currently on assignment, and has been for the past two weeks, matching the date that Jemma had given him. When he attempts to access just where and what this assignment is, however, a heavy frown settles on his face.

The words ACCESS DENIED flash across his screen.

Knowing full well that his security clearance is higher than Jasper's, he picks up his phone and decides to get the information he needs the old fashioned way. Twenty minutes and a blooming migraine later, he finds himself with no more information than he'd begun with.

I'm sorry, Agent Coulson, but your security clearance doesn't permit you to access that information.

The words ring in his ears. All of this spells trouble to him and, for a moment, he's tempted to go remove Skye's bracelet just for the sake of having her root through their system for the answer that the system says he's not allowed to have. But he knows he can't. He knows he shouldn't. And he won't.

Because you have to trust the system.

If Phil feels uncomfortable with Jemma's breach of his personal space the night before, he certainly doesn't let on. The next morning, he calls her into his office for a private word. Apparently, wherever Jasper is, not even Phil's security clearance is high enough to access. This leaves her feeling both relief and fresh concern. On one hand, it would certainly explain why he hadn't contacted her, being a highly classified mission and all. On the other hand, well… it's got to be dangerous, hasn't it? To be that highly classified means it's bound to be something terrible.

Phil tells her that she should try not to worry and that he's sure Jasper will get into contact with her whenever he returns from this mission. He tells her to trust the system. But something in the pit of her stomach tells her that's not right.

It isn't until the next day that she gets any relief.

She's back at the apartment she and Fitz share—because in-between missions they have to live somewhere—enjoying a nice long soak in the tub when there's an urgent knocking at the bathroom door. With a sigh, she slips further beneath the water. Is a little time to herself too much to ask for?

"You can have it in ten minutes, Fitz, just wait your turn," she calls.

"I suppose you'd like me to tell Agent Sitwell to call back, then," Leo's muffled voice declares from the other side of the door.

"No!" Jemma cries, hurriedly reaching for a towel as she staggers out of the tub, nearly taking half the bath water with her.

She wrenches the door open, shivering at the temperature difference as steam comes pouring out of the bathroom, and plucks the phone from Leo's grasp. Her partner in crime makes a strangled noise of dejection as she promptly shuts the door in his face and sits down on the edge of the bath.

"Hello?"

"Why does it seem like I always manage to catch you at a bad time?"

She breaths out, something that's half-laugh and half-sigh and all relief.

"It's not a bad time," she assures him. "It's never a bad time."

"Your lab partner seemed to think otherwise," Jasper answers.

"Fitz is just… well, he's Fitz," Jemma says by way of an explanation.

"I get it," Jasper says. She hears a sigh from him, and it sounds strained. Pained, even. "Listen, I'm sorry it took me so long to get back to you."

"No, no, not at all," Jemma says. She tugs at a loose thread on her towel. "I know it likely seems a bit paranoid, but where I hadn't heard from you in some time, I spoke to Agent Coulson about the matter. He looked into your status."

"You spoke to Phil about this?"

"Yes," Jemma answers, frowning at how sharply the question had been asked. "Would you prefer it if I hadn't?"

"No, it's just… it's complicated," Jasper says, his voice softening noticeably.

Jemma worries at her lower lip. "He told me that his security clearance wasn't high enough to allow him access to your whereabouts. Where were you?"

"I can't tell you that," Jasper answers. "I wish I could. But it's classified."

Of course, she'd known that she'd get that answer, but she'd had to ask anyway. She gets that feeling again in the pit of her stomach that something's terribly wrong, but from the sound of it, she's not going to find out just what that something is.

"I understand," Jemma answers truthfully. "Can you at least tell me if you're alright?"

"I'm a little banged up, but nothing worse than what I've dealt with before," Jasper tells her.

"Well, I hope you saw a doctor for whatever was banged up," Jemma says.

She hears him hum in affirmation. "I didn't get your messages until I got back today. I really am sorry I wasn't able to get in touch with you until now… it was kind of a dick move."

"Well, I was just afraid it might seem… clingy of me," Jemma confesses.

There's a pause, long enough to make her worry that he's going to say something absolutely dreadful. She can hear him breathing and the anticipation gets to her.

"I was worried," she says quietly.

"Where I was, what I was doing," Jasper says, speaking at last, "I can't tell you those things. Not right now, anyway. But what I can tell you that it wasn't easy on me and that your messages were about as far from clingy as possible. It's been a while since I've had someone to worry after me. I'll be honest, I was planning on hitting the scotch and the bed, but I think I needed to hear you more than I need either of those things."

She hears another long, slow sigh. She wonders where he's been and what's gone on and hates that she can't know. It's clear something's happened—something to hurt him or rattle him, or both—and she thinks back to her conversation with Phil. So maybe he really does fancy her like she does him. And maybe she's not the only one getting something out of this… relationship. Is it a relationship? Is it a relationship if you've really only ever spoken over the phone and through text and email?

"Jasper, are you alright?" Jemma asks.

"I will be."

"What can I do to help?" she presses gently. "Tell me what I can do."

"Just… talk to me."

So she does. And as they talk, she begins to see that Phil was right. While she very much enjoys the flirtatious smooth-talker she's come to know Jasper as, underneath that is someone who is clearly as invested in this as she is, someone who desperately does not want to mess this up. Someone who wants to be wanted. Whatever doubt she'd been feeling begins to be chiseled away, piece by piece, and when it's clear that Jasper needs sleep more than he'd claimed, he agrees to hang up only after she promises to call him in the morning.

The bath water has long gone cold, so she pulls the stopper and changes into her pajamas and brushes her teeth. Leo is sprawled on the sofa, giving her a look that is distinctly unhappy and she gives him her best apologetic look in return as she settles beside him.

"When they say that girls take ages in the bath, is it really because they're fielding calls from their secret boyfriends?" he jabs.

"Next time you can use the bath first," she sighs, settling back into the sofa.

Leo watches her and apparently picks up on the fact that she's not in the mood for teasing. He shifts closer and nudges her ankle with his. "I'm not trying to stop you… I just want him to treat you right. That's all. Because you deserve a bloke who'll treat you the way you deserve to be treated."

"He makes me feel wanted," Jemma says honestly. "And I think that's how I make him feel, too."

"Alright then," Leo says with a nod.

Approximately half a minute goes by before he leans over and pulls her into a hug. She gives him every bit back and more, knowing that he really is concerned for her and that, given past forays into this field, he's got good reason to. But this time will be different. Something tells her that, this time, he won't need to worry.