A/N: Put the kiddos to bed because we're getting a little explicit with this one.

Jemma paces about her room as Jasper brushes his teeth, trying to decide if there are clothes which need to be shoved in drawers or stuffed animals which she should hide in her closet. It's not as though he wouldn't find those things eventually—and just why is she thinking so far into the future?—but she wants to make a good first impression. Something tells her that a man who tears up at The Land Before Time likely won't judge her for a few plush toys, but she worries all the same.

"Need some help?"

Jemma jumps, squeezing the stuffed bear in her hands so hard that she's surprised his head doesn't pop off. Jasper is watching her with a vague look of amusement as he leans against the doorframe.

"No, no, just… tidying up a bit, I suppose," she admits.

"You know, you really don't need to," Jasper comments. "Although, having said that I can guarantee you that the first time you come to my apartment I'll have freaked out and spent the whole day cleaning it."

"So in essence you're telling me not to do something you admit that you yourself would do?" Jemma presses.

Jasper opens his mouth to respond, but shuts it quickly. Jemma smiles, amused that she'd managed to catch the fast-talking agent off guard. It's not always the easiest thing to do, but it's almost rewarding to watch him have to think about what he wants to say when he's so used to being able to come up with a reply without so much as a second thought.

"Yeah, I guess I did just do that," he admits after a moment of reflection.

"If I get to see you flustered over the same thing, then that will make up for it," Jemma says, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Looks like I'll get a chance to make up for it then," Jasper answers, shaking his head.

Jemma toys with the teddy bear in her hands, smoothing out the bow around his neck distractedly as Jasper watches her from the doorway. She likes the way he looks at her. It's not like the way any of the others had. He has a way of focusing on her like she's the only thing he sees.

"You may find it a bit ridiculous, but first impressions are very important to me," Jemma tells him. "And oftentimes I feel as though I'm still trying to make up for my first impression with you. I've made some terrible first impressions, but shooting a superior and dragging his unconscious body off the side of a restricted hallway beats all the others by miles."

"You're not seriously still feeling guilty about that, are you?" he asks.

He doesn't laugh, doesn't tease her for clinging to embarrassment for so long, but he does sound surprised. It's only natural, considering they've been seeing each other—well, perhaps seeing is not the optimal word, but certainly interested in one another, at least—for some months now. Finally leaving the doorway, he crosses the room and sits next to her on the bed.

"Jemma, listen. You never had anything to make up for," Jasper corrects her. "If anything, that was a good first impression."

"I hardly see how it could have been any good at all," Jemma argues.

"Of course it was. Because then I couldn't get a certain gutsy biochemist out of my head for the next few days," Jasper tells her, a smug grin falling into place. "I could've kissed Phil for giving you my number."

"It's just…" Jemma says, blowing out a frustrated sigh. "I feel like that's always going to be there. I just wish there was some way I could erase it or go back and do it over."

"So, let it always be there. It'll make for a good story when people ask how we met," Jasper says.

"I suppose there is that," Jemma concedes. She pauses. "When you say that, though… exactly how far have you planned this relationship out?"

She shouldn't laugh, but the way he freezes like a deer caught in the headlights forces it out of her. Jemma covers his mouth with one hand as he snorts, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and making a face that's about as close to a pout as she's seen.

"So I maybe daydream a little sometimes," he admits.

She waits. He rolls his eyes.

"Okay, a lot sometimes," he amends. "…you don't?"

"I'm afraid if I told you just how far I've planned everything out you'd run screaming from the building," Jemma answers.

"I guarantee you haven't planned anything as far as I have," Jasper challenges her.

"Oh, Agent Sitwell, I don't believe you know who you're dealing with," Jemma tuts, leaning towards him.

"Well, Agent Simmons, I'm always happy for a challenge," Jasper answers.

He chuckles just as his lips touch hers and she smiles at the sensation, smiles at the fact that she can feel it as well as she hears it. There's something to be said of these slow, languid kisses when she's so used to the hurried affair of trying to catch a minute alone between each of their schedules. It's not easy. More than once she's gotten a sympathetic look from Phil and more than once he's asked Melinda to indulge him and run the checks again before they take off, just to buy her a little more time with Jasper. Melinda knows of course, but she acts like she doesn't and will tease Phil for his paranoia in the way that only Melinda May can. For this, Jemma is thankful.

Now, though… Now there is no hurry. There is no rush to be anywhere or to meet anyone or to run off and save the day. So she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him down with her as she lies back on the bed. The new position suits him if his hum of approval is anything to go by. There's a moment of silly, childish giggling as he attempts to kiss her from a different angle and the movement nearly knocks his glasses off his face. Jemma reaches up and removes them, kissing his forehead as she reaches over to rest them on the nightstand.

"I don't believe I've ever seen you without your glasses," she comments.

"I don't believe I can see you without my glasses," Jasper replies, blinking owlishly.

"Oh! I'm sorry!" she gasps.

"No, no, Jemma it was a joke," he answers with a laugh, planting a quick kiss on her lips. "I can see you just fine."

"You're such a terrible tease," she says, slapping him playfully on the arm.

"So I've been told," Jasper says.

The grin he offers her is slow and smug and so very, very suggestive. She finds that her ideas of sleep are rapidly going out the window, not that she minds so much. Jemma isn't a prude by any means, but she does wonder if perhaps she's taking things a bit quickly. How many times have they even been face to face? They really haven't even had a first date yet. Shouldn't those things come first?

There should be dates and dinners and things of that nature… right? That's what they're told anyway. Frankly, she's tired of telling herself that it doesn't count until they've had a 'proper' date. It counts. It's all counted. All the late nights, the phone calls, the text messages, the Skype chats… Those count. Every time that she's had him to listen to her worried babbling, every time that he's called her just to hear her voice, those count.

She gazes up at him, brown eyes wide, expression open and wanting. It's thrumming in her veins, quickening her heart and her breath as she dares to ask for what's on her mind.

"Jasper, I want… what I mean is, can we…?" she asks softly.

Jemma is startled by the sudden look of embarrassment on his face.

"Believe me when I say I would love to more than anything right now," he tells her. "But as prepared as I like to try to be, I'm actually not the kind of guy that carries a condom around in my wallet 'just in case' so unless you've got something…"

"O-Oh, I hadn't thought of that," Jemma admits, kicking herself inwardly. How could she have been so stupid? Of course they're not going to do this without protection. And now she'd probably just offended him by accidentally implying—

"Please, please don't feel bad for asking," he implores her. "I'm serious, Jemma, you're…"

He looks down at her as he lies propped up on his elbows, dark eyes boring into her with an intensity that is nevertheless quite tender. There is a genuine fondness in the way he looks at her, something more than just simple attraction. Balancing himself on one arm, he cups the side of her face in his hand, gently running his thumb along her jawline.

"You're important. You're so important and I want to do this right," he says, his tone at that quiet, intimate volume that implies that he's imparting some great and terrible secret to her. "I've fucked up a lot of things in my life; I've told you some of them tonight. But I'm not going to add this to that list. You deserve the best and I've got no clue if I can ever give you anything close to that… but I'm going to try my damnedest. Okay?"

Jemma can feel her heart thudding in her chest like it's looking to jump straight out. Does he know that she wants these things for him as well? Does he know that he's brightened her life in a way she was never expecting? And just how can he think he is anything but perfect to her when he's so brave and kind and intelligent and all the things she'd never hoped to find in one person? How is it that he can be all those things, how is it that he can make her laugh and make her feel wanted, and still doubt that he means the world to her?

"Jasper Sitwell, you are a very, very silly man," she says. "Whom I would very much like to kiss again."

He raises his eyebrows in surprise, but instead of refuting her, he just shakes his head with a soft huff of laughter and says, "I think I can manage that."

She doesn't feel so bad about expressing her desires anymore. Not when every action of his seems to scream: I want you. No, they will not be having sex tonight, but that doesn't mean they have to turn in for the night either. She encourages him, arching up against him as his hand slips beneath her shirt, finding bare skin. His touch is light, exploratory, his fingertips ghosting along her ribcage as though he's committing every inch of skin to memory.

Jemma sighs into their kiss as he cups her breast, fondling gently. Her hands flutter from one spot to another, never resting for too long, desperate to touch him and be touched by him. She knows she surprises him when she pushes forward and takes control of the kiss away from him, but he's far from complaining, it seems. That is, until he decides his mouth could be put to better use elsewhere. A jolt of disappointment runs through her as he withdraws, but that quickly dissipates as he hikes up the hem of her shirt and begins planting a trail of kisses up her abdomen.

Her heart is beating so loudly, she's almost sure he can hear it, and while his lips have been traveling upward, his hand has been steadily moving downward. He reaches the waistband of her pajama bottoms and hooks a finger in them, tugging just enough to get her attention.

"Whenever you want me to stop, just say the word," Jasper says.

He doesn't want to stop, she knows that. She can see it in dark eyes gone even darker with arousal. But he will. Whenever she wants, if she wants, he will. The thing is that she's sure that if he stops now, she'll lose her mind. She tells him as much and he laughs, soft puffs of air tickling her skin at the action.

He returns to his previous activities, slipping a hand beneath the waistband of her pajama bottoms. He massages her slowly over her panties, applying pressure now and again and making her squirm in anticipation. She grips his shoulders tightly as he kisses her breasts before taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking, his tongue prodding and teasing as he does so.

The tingling warmth of arousal pools low in her belly and she wonders when he'll provide her with an opportunity to return the favor. The thought flies out of her mind the second his hand slides beneath her panties. Her breath hitches as he touches her at last without a barrier between them. Biting on her lower lip, she parts her legs a fraction wider as he presses a finger inside her. It's been a long, long time since she's even had this sort of contact, and perhaps it's a bit telling that she's this wet already, but she can't bother with wasting too much time on the thought.

It seems like no time at all before he's thrusting two fingers inside her, his thumb rubbing small, tight circles on her clit. She trembles, whimpering as her hips follow the motion he's set and she does her best not to make any noise. There's still Leo to consider and while it's true that he's across the hall and he had proclaimed them both adults who could do whatever they liked, she doesn't really want to have to subject him to hearing anything he wouldn't want to hear.

Jemma can feel that knot slowly but surely forming at her core, winding tighter and tighter as each moment passes. Jasper is patient, working her towards her climax with the sort of diligence that could be called admirable. She thinks of telling him that she's close, but having to open her mouth now might be disastrous. For whatever reason, he chooses that very moment to make eye contact and she just knows that he knows. She sure of it when he suddenly doubles his efforts, thrusting his fingers faster than before but without sacrificing any of the care he'd placed in the action and he presses on her clit and curls his fingers just so and—

Jemma presses a hand to her mouth as release comes crashing over her like a great ocean wave. She'd meant to stifle any noise, but her whimper had emerged as something more like a squeak because of it as her whole body felt like it was contracting before suddenly relaxing. Pleasure ebbs out from her core, rippling through her entire body, from her head to her toes. Jasper slows his ministrations, coasting her through it, aiding her in riding it to the finish. She sighs breathily when at last he draws away, leaving her shivering pleasurably and feeling absolutely boneless.

"Christ, you're even cute when you come," he says, kissing her nose.

"Oh, don't," Jemma pleads, hiding her bright red face behind her hands.

"I'm serious," Jasper says, tugging her shirt back down and kissing her neck. "Everything about you is cute."

"If I didn't know any better, I would swear that you're attempting to embarrass me to death," Jemma says, propping herself up on her elbows as she tries to catch her breath.

"I'm just calling it like I see it," Jasper says with a grin.

The smirk is wiped off his face the second she shifts her leg, deliberately moving so that her thigh is pressed between his legs. He curses softly before shaking his head.

"Oh, so you're playing dirty?" he asks.

"You seem surprised," Jemma says, leaning over to pull one of the drawers in her nightstand open.

"It's just that, when Fitz said you were secretly devious, I guess this isn't what I had in mind," Jasper admits. He raises an eyebrow. "What are you looking for?"

Jemma rummages for another moment before she holds up a small bottle triumphantly. "Well, I thought it might be a tad uncomfortable for you without a little lubrication."

She sees the way he looks at her, like he hadn't really been expecting her to reciprocate—or to have a bottle of lubricant lying around—and heaves a sigh. Really, has she been giving that impression? She's shy at times, yes, and there's something to be said about her level of self-confidence, but honestly!

"I'm not a blushing virgin, Jasper," Jemma says. "I've touched a man before, I know what I'm doing."

"You are blushing, though," Jasper points out.

She pinches his cheek. "Shush."

"Ow," Jasper says, pouting. "Mean."

"Such a baby, you are," Jemma says with a laugh, leaning in to kiss him.

He murmurs something in the negative against her lips before she shuts him up in the most effective manner readily available. She doesn't get straight down to business, but rather takes the time to explore his body as he'd done hers. Her hands wander, over fabric and beneath it, tracing harsh angles and muscle. Unexpectedly, he tenses when she nears his stomach. It's just a slight change in demeanor, not quite a flinch, but noticeable all the same. She halts her progress, unsure of why his behavior has changed, until she remembers the story Jasper had told them earlier in the evening. He'd been shot in the stomach, hadn't he?

"It's alright," he breathes against her lips.

Jemma wonders if he's saying it for her or for himself.

"Sometimes I get a little self-conscious. About the scars. And the tattoos. People see them and they ask questions," Jasper murmurs. "I know I told you tonight, but it's just a reflex. I'll work on it."

"You're always very quick to reassure me that if there's something you're doing which I don't want that you'll stop it," Jemma answers. "Do you think I would behave any differently?"

He pulls away from her, blowing out a clearly frustrated breath and running a hand over his head. It bothers her that he feels embarrassed by the whole thing or that he feels he should somehow be immune to feeling these sorts of things. He groans as he presses his hands to his face and quickly begins muttering in something which sounds like Spanish, but is spoken so fast and with such agitation that she can't say for certain.

"Sorry. Sorry," he apologizes, lowering his hands. "Sometimes when I'm…"

Jasper makes a vague sort of hand motion, looking more than a little annoyed with himself. She understands what he's trying to say well enough. When he's nervous he speaks another language to avoid having to actually tell anyone what's wrong.

"Usually it's not a problem," he says, trying to force the words out slowly. "Usually I don't care. If people see, they see. Whatever they think, they think. If they talk, they talk. It doesn't matter, I've got thicker skin than that. But the thing is, you matter. What you see matters and what you think matters and what you say matters."

"I don't care," Jemma says firmly.

Jasper looks somewhat startled by the declaration and she realizes how it must have sounded.

"Oh, no. No, not that, I meant… I do care about how you're feeling now. I care about that," she assures him. "I meant that I don't care about whoever you used to be. I care about who you are now. And who you are now is… a good man that I care for very deeply. That's all that matters to me."

"You're not even the slightest bit worried?" Jasper asks. "Not concerned that the man I used to be might be the man I'll always be?"

"I'll admit, when you told us… it had crossed my mind," Jemma tells him. "But people change."

"Do they?" he asks, watching her carefully for a response.

"Yes," Jemma says emphatically. "And I believe you have. I think you believe you have, too, but maybe… maybe the idea of being in a relationship with someone you care for makes you worry that it might not be true."

She can see clearly that she's hit the nail on the head. Over the months, she's come to know Jasper as being sure-footed and confident, but even Phil had said some time ago that Jasper's been about as nervous about this relationship business as she has. Apparently he just does a better job of hiding it. Still, as awful as she feels about the whole thing, it's nice to know he has his insecurities, too. It makes her feel as though they're on more level footing.

"You know, why don't we just get some sleep," Jasper suggests.

"You're sure? You don't want me to, ehm…" Jemma says, her sentence trailing off as she holds up the bottle in her hand uncertainly.

Jasper actually grins at that and shakes his head. "No, I, uh… think I've done a pretty good job of killing the mood. But thank you."

"Alright," Jemma says, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. "I'm just going to use the bathroom."

She does so, dropping her panties in the laundry bin and stepping into a new pair before returning to her room. Jasper hasn't moved and she finds him still sitting on the edge of the bed, hands folded in his lap. Jemma sits beside him and places a hand on his arm.

"Do you prefer to be the big spoon or the little spoon?" she asks.

If he'd been preoccupied with unpleasant thoughts, that comes to an end with her question. He smiles, laughs and looks to her with an expression of mock seriousness.

"What about the about-your-height-but-heavier-than-you spoon?" he asks.

"What about the sofa in the living room?" Jemma asks sweetly.

"You're terrible," Jasper says. "I don't know why I ever thought you were nice."

"Devious, remember?"

"I'm not about to forget it after tonight."

They continue to casually flirt as they find their way under the bed sheets and turn out the light, only to teasingly whisper back and forth under cover of darkness. Their pillow talk ranges from who was the best Bond to upcoming assignments to what should be done about breakfast the next morning. It hasn't been the most conventional of dates, to be sure, but Jemma's fairly certain that talking each other to sleep is one of the best ways she's ended one in quite some time.

Jemma doesn't consider herself the kind of light sleeper that someone like, oh, say, Melinda May is. She doesn't know that she'll wake to the sound of a pin dropping or dust settling and be poised and ready for action. But she will wake to change of a more noticeable variety.

She comes to slowly, to the sensation of a lingering warmth where someone else had lain not long ago. Blearily, she sits up and rubs her eyes, her gaze travelling first to the spot Jasper had previously occupied and next to the clock, which reads 3:41 a.m. At first she considers simply going back to sleep, thinking that he must have needed to use the bathroom, but after lying back down and waiting (and waiting and waiting) she decides that a little investigating is in order.

Stepping into her slippers and tugging her robe on, she shuffles out of her room and into the hall. The bathroom is dark (apart from the night light) and empty, so she continues on to the living room. Even half-asleep, she can sense that something is off. Jasper is on his phone, his back turned to her, his posture stiff and all-business.

"I'm just saying that it might do some good if I get in well enough with them," Jasper says quietly into the phone. "I'm already making headway in that department."

That's all he says before he stills, goes even stiller than before if that's possible, and turns on the spot with military precision. There's a moment when he sees her that Jemma thinks she sees something in his face—something akin to horror or fear, or perhaps both—before his expression shifts back to something more neutral. He mouths the word 'work' at her while pointing at his cell phone with his free hand.

She mouths a quick 'sorry' before hiking a thumb over her shoulder, indicating that she'll be waiting for him when he's finished whatever sort of business it is he's conducting. At his affirmative nod, she retreats back to her room and crawls back into bed.

The clock tells her it's another half hour later that he slips back in behind her and she drowsily moves to make room for him.

"Sorry I woke you. Had to take that," he whispers, kissing her shoulder.

"You're supposed to have a few days off," Jemma whispers back.

"You know we don't ever really have days off," he reminds her.

She concedes the point with a hum of acknowledgement, but can't allow herself to go back to sleep just yet. Not when she can feel how tense he is. She shifts, rolling over just enough so that she can look him in the eye.

"Has something happened?" Jemma asks.

"No, it's just about an assignment," he answers. "It's not a big deal."

"You're lying," she says. "Something's bothering you."

"Jemma…"

"I wish you would talk to me," Jemma says. "I'm not asking for specifics; I know our difference in security clearance means that's not possible. But something's troubling you and I really do wish you would just talk to me instead of letting it eat away at you."

He doesn't answer straight away and usually she's not the sort to be pushy about this sort of thing, but this isn't exactly the first time she's noticed this behavior from him, is it? On more than one occasion, she's received a phone call from him or has called him following what he'll only describe to her as a 'bad day' or a 'rough assignment.' It's gotten to the point where she wonders just what sorts of things S.H.I.E.L.D. could be sending him out to do and why it sometimes seems so taxing.

"Not right now," Jasper tells her. "But tomorrow. Before I leave tomorrow, we'll talk."

"You swear."

"I swear. Honestly."

"I'm not allowing you leave until we do."

He snorts.

"Well, I'm sorry, you're just worrying me, is all," Jemma says defensively.

"No, no, you're right, I'm sorry," Jasper apologizes. "I promise we'll talk. But for now can we just go back to sleep?"

"Of course."

She waits for him to fall asleep first. It takes a great deal longer than she thought it would. Whatever had been said during that phone call, it's left Jasper uneasy. He remains tense for the longest time, as though he's waiting for something to happen. Eventually, though, he relaxes and eases back into sleep. Jemma listens to deep, even breaths, counting each one as her mind comes up with question after question.

Thankfully, her tired mind decides to shut that particular operation down before she gets herself wound up enough to force a bout of insomnia. With a soft sigh, she huddles further under the blankets and puts the impending conversation as far from her mind as possible.

It can wait until morning.

Breakfast is an interesting affair. Jemma can honestly say she never knew Leo was so opinionated about eggs or that Jasper would consider it a challenge. Now, though, after all is said and done, she finds herself in the hallway outside their apartment, waiting for whatever conversation she'd been promised. Jasper doesn't seem too happy to give it to her, but rather resigned to the task as though it's something that simply must be done. And it must be.

"Whatever I tell you now, it won't make sense until later," Jasper begins, his voice quiet. "But I promise you, one day, it'll all make sense."

Jemma stays quiet, giving him the floor.

"Some of the things I'm doing, some of the things I've been up to, it's not pretty," Jasper admits. "People like you, like Fitz, like Phil, you're not meant for this kind of work. I am. I can't tell you or anyone else what that work entails, but I can tell you that it means something. It's important. It's not easy, but it's necessary."

He shakes his head.

"I can't tell you what or how or when, but not so very far from now, things are going to change. There are going to be changes of the most drastic kind imaginable," Jasper tells her. "And when the time for that comes…"

"When it comes…?" Jemma prompts.

"I need you to trust me," Jasper says resolutely. "And if you can't trust me, trust Phil."

"Of course I trust you," Jemma says with a small frown. "Why wouldn't I?"

Jasper hesitates. "Remember that."

"You're not making much sense," Jemma says, sighing softly.

"Like I said, it won't make sense until later," Jasper admits.

"And when will 'later' be?" she asks.

"You'll know," Jasper sighs. "Believe me, you'll know."

They stand in silence for a time. He'd spoken cryptically enough so that Jemma really was left with more questions than answers, but at the very least she supposed he hadn't tried to cut and run without speaking to her first. She's worried, though. The way he's talking is… strange.

"Are you alright?" she wants to know.

"I'm alright," Jasper says, almost convincingly enough to make her believe him. "Are you alright?"

"I'm alright," Jemma answers.

She tugs him forward for a quick embrace and he catches her lips in a not-quite-so-quick kiss before he pulls away. "Call me, huh?"

"I will," Jemma promises. "Text me to let me know you've made it home safely."

Her natural concern works a smile out of him, and for the time being, whatever uneasiness had settled over him seems to disappear. Assuring her that he'll do so, he disappears down the hall and out the door. Jemma lingers, watching the spot where he'd last been.

Something isn't right. She knows that. But for the time being, without anything further to go on, she'll do as she promised.

After all, she trusts him.