Law & Order: MCU

-o-

Part Three

-o-

Unlike his usual mornings, Detective Triplett woke up quickly, sun pressing down on him, heating his skin and leaving him seeing spots when he tried to open his eyes.

"What the hell?" he muttered. His bedroom faced another apartment building. The sun did not shine through his window. That was the primary reason he had picked that apartment when he moved to the city. He blinked, trying to adjust to his surroundings, and slowly sat up. He was in an armchair in an unfamiliar living room.

Not entirely unfamiliar.

He was in an armchair, his feet on the coffee table, shoes and tie still on, a white board outlining quite possibly one of the craziest conspiracy theories of all time, in Jemma Simmons' living room. He must have fallen asleep here after they discussed her getting him into Furious Pharmaceuticals under the pretense of an interview. He flipped his wrist up to take a look at his watch. It was closing in on seven.

"Damn."

He really wanted to close his eyes and get some more sleep. He'd only been asleep for what, three hours? If that. Last he remembered looking at the time it had been well after three and Fitz and Dr. Simmons had been babbling about the different drugs at her company that had a high value on the black market, whether or not the person responsible for these disappearances was some sort of crime king pin. He didn't remember what any of the drugs were called, much less what they did, that's how tired he had been by that point.

Triplett stretched, feeling his joints pop and crack as they adjusted to not being crammed into the tiny chair that was clearly picked out by a small woman and not a six-foot-plus man. He glanced over to the couch and just shook his head. Fitz was sprawled across the couch, feet tucked underneath the coffee table, head tilted back on the upholstered arm, his mouth slightly open. Curled up against his side like a cat was Jemma. Triplett thanked his lucky stars for what felt like the millionth time that this was not an official case and Jemma Simmons was not an official witness. If she was, he would have been forced to take Fitz off the case, or write him up if anyone else found out that Fitz had a little crush. He couldn't afford to have Fitz get into any trouble.

Not that Triplett hadn't had a fling or two with a witness in the past. Sleeping with someone after celebrating a closed case was very different from cuddling up to someone while you were investigating a missing friend for them though.

Jemma shifted, mumbling something in her sleep, and Fitz's arm seemed to instinctively twitch toward her, fingers curling into her pajama top.

Against his better judgment, Triplett grinned. They were kind of adorable for two people who had just met. Maybe she would be good for him. He was prickly. Like a cactus. She was definitely not. They could be cute and adorable like this as long as nothing actually happened and it didn't interfere with work. It wasn't like they'd done anything but fall asleep while Jemma gave them information about the case. Yeah, that was all. No policy infringement when it was just sleep.

Instead of waking them up, he carefully made his way into the kitchen, making as little noise as possible, and located coffee and a coffee maker. Dr. Simmons didn't seem like a coffee drinker. The way she had forced cup after cup of tea on him last night made that clear. It was probably the roommate who drank the coffee. If he had one more cup of tea, he was going to throw the mug out the window. He set about making a pot, letting the fresh brewed scent wake up the duo on the couch.

And yeah, okay, while he was waiting for his coffee, he may have been watching to see how this whole "morning after" deal would go down, but that was because he was curious. And because he could really use a new reason to make fun of Fitz that didn't involve him being the only crime scene tech afraid to go in the morgue.

The coffee dripped and slurped its way into the pot and Triplett took a deep breath as the fun began. Fitz stretched his arm back above his head, a small groan escaping him. Something that sounded like "mmppph mm" probably came from Dr. Simmons as she slowly came around to the smell of coffee. Fitz, being the always vigilant man that he was, realized a split second later that he was in a strange place with a person up against him, and let out something that could have been a shriek if he was a twelve-year-old and he hadn't clamped it down just in time. The noise, slight as it was, was enough to make Triplett choke back laughter and startle Jemma into snapping up, and then tumble off the couch into an ungraceful heap on the floor.

"What the bloody – " she mumbled from the floor before looking up at the couch. "Oh. Right." She cleared her throat and smoothed her hair awkwardly, trying to tame the waves into something that didn't resemble a frizzy bird's nest. "Morning?" she offered in a small voice. Fitz just nodded his head and she scrambled to her feet. "I'm just – I'm going to – " she shot her eyes over to Detective Triplett, her face flooding crimson, and bolted from the room.

"Sleep well, Doctor Fitzy?" Triplett joked from the kitchen when he was sure Jemma couldn't hear him.

"Shut it."

Triplett laughed to himself, pouring them both cups of coffee while they waited for Jemma to come back.

-o-

Fitz snatched Trip's keys from midair as the detective tossed them from the kitchen.

"Don't scratch my car," he reminded him. "Remember, we drive on the right side of the road here."

"I've been in tha States since I was eighteen," Fitz shot back. "I think I'll remember no' ta travel on tha wrong side o' tha road." He rolled his eyes in Jemma's direction, and she answered him with a small smile. He opened and closed the fist surrounding Triplett's keys, biting down on his lip in thought. "Ye two be careful, yeah? Donnae let Sitwell know yer a detective." The words were for Triplett, but his eyes stayed on Jemma as he spoke.

She nodded. "You too. I mean, obviously, you don't have to worry about Sitwell, but you should be careful too. I imagine you can get into a lot of trouble erasing files from the crime lab."

"Suspension probably," Fitz lied. "Especially since it's no' an open investigation, but a personal task." Realistically, he knew he could lose his job, regardless of what files he was deleting. And it would follow him if he was caught. It would go in his personnel file. He'd never be able to work in law enforcement again. "I'll see ye later." He headed into the hall, his brain full of images of Triplett and Jemma being escorted out of Furious Pharmaceuticals in handcuffs – or worse.

Jemma stood in the kitchen, her fingers playing with the ends of the yellow legal pad in front of her. She was dressed in typical work wear, but she had made sure not to wear any makeup, leave her hair limp and lifeless. She was supposed to be out sick. But she was coming in, briefly, to get Triplett in for an interview in the security department under the pretense that her boyfriend could really use the extra money and he was incredibly good at walking perimeters. She sighed as Triplett set his mug back down on the counter.

"You ready?"

She started to nod, then paused, her eyes on the legal pad in front of her. "Erm – just – one second. Fitz should take this with him." She ripped the top page from the pad; it contained all of her limited notes about Lake Lerna Industries. Every piece of information that had appeared in the files was outlined there.

She jogged out the front door and into the hall, just meeting Fitz at the doors to the elevator before he left. "Fitz?"

He spun, sticking his arm out to prevent the door from closing on him. "Wha's wrong?"

"I thought – erm – I know you don't really take notes, keep everything in your head like some sort of Sherlock, but – " she stopped talking, taking a breath and shoving the paper at him, "this is everything on Lake Lerna. I know you're going in to get rid of all the searches you had them run last night, but I thought –"

"I could see if there's any other mentions o' tha business across other files I didnae pull. See if I can use financials ta track down the owner. Yeah. Thanks." He nodded, carefully folding the paper into a small square and sticking it in one of his pockets.

"Okay. Well. Be careful." She backed away from him, turning to go, but then spun back around, stepping into the doorway as the elevators started to close, her body signaling to them to run back along their track again. "Maybe – I mean – I was thinking… I know I have Detective Triplett's direct line, but you two aren't going to be at his desk today. Obviously, Detective Triplett will be with me this morning, so – I mean, just in case you have any other questions while you're working, maybe you should take mine? Number, that is." She let it all out in one breath and if Fitz had been anyone else, he probably wouldn't have understood anything she said, but Fitz was used to talking a kilometer a minute, so he knew where she was going before she even got there.

He bit down on a grin, fishing his phone from his pocket, unlocking it and handing it to her so she could put the number in herself. He watched the tips of her fingers run gracefully over the surface of his phone, tapping away before she gave it back to him.

"I'll – er – text ye. So ye have my number too. In case anythin' happens. And ye need backup."

"Backup." A nervous smile bloomed on her lips. "Yes. That would be good." She let out a nervous twitter. "I should – " she gestured behind her down the hall.

"I'll let ye know wha' I fin' then?" Fitz asked.

She nodded again, waving awkwardly as she took a few steps back, the elevator doors closing between them.

-o-

"Time for breakfast, Skye."

She didn't move from her position on the threadbare twin bed, staring at the ceiling. The door to her room unlocked and in came Grant, a tray in hand with a cup full of something steaming. She flicked her eyes to him once, then back to the ceiling.

"You need to keep your strength up. Raina negotiated for you. You get us the location on this magic drug, and you get to talk to your friend."

"Raina negotiated? I thought she was in charge."

"If this was a ship, Raina'd be the first mate. She's not the captain." He sat the tray on the bed as Skye sat up, her eyes darting to the door. "Probably take you three seconds slower than me to get to it," he told her. "I wouldn't try it."

She decided not to remind him that she had managed to get in one good punch to his eye before he stopped her before. She picked up the spoon from the cup, letting the lumps fall back inside. "What is this?"

"Oatmeal. It's good for you."

She wrinkled her nose. "Think you can negotiate me some cinnamon?"

"Just eat it," he sighed.

"Fine," she snapped back, making a show out of picking up the spoon again and shoving some in her mouth.

He nodded his head and turned back to the door. "I'll be back to get you soon."

"Grant?" Skye knew it was stupid and it shouldn't even matter, but it had been bothering her since she woke up here and she had to know the truth, if he'd even tell her. She was usually better at reading people. She waited until he was facing her again before she asked him, using the spoon to scrape at the side of the bowl, afraid to look him in the eyes. "Did you even like me?"

"I still do."

-o-

An hour later and Fitz was hunched over a computer terminal at the back of his old work room in the crime lab, his phone sitting next to him, just in case. It wasn't because he was expecting her to call him, he told himself. He wasn't some high-schooler waiting for a message from the cute girl in his chemistry class. He was trying to solve a kidnapping for Christ's sake. And keep the three of them safe.

He scanned through the work log in front of him, quickly deleting each and every print, whether a match was found or not, that he had scanned and submitted to one of the few friends he had in the lab. Most people thought he was abrasive, but he just liked things done a certain way. You had to be precise when you were working with evidence of a crime. You couldn't just leave envelopes and evidence bags scattered on the table with no system in place to organize them. Convicting a murderer could hinge on whether you improperly handled evidence. It was important.

His brain ran to the thought that maybe becoming a detective wasn't what he should be doing. Maybe he should be working in the crime lab. Most of the other people here were incompetent. They were lucky the police department even hired them. But when he had expressed an interest to Triplett, his friend had requested him – he was getting off track.

He deleted a slew of prints, and then did something he wasn't technically allowed to do – he accessed Grant Ward's juvenile file, using one of the few pieces of computer magic he knew to conceal what he was doing, hoping against hope he wasn't going to get caught. It was always tricky, accessing the files of another database, especially one in another state. If anyone found out… well, he wasn't going to let that happen.

Ward was from a small town. One older brother. A younger brother and younger sister. Dad had a couple of DUIs. Ward was recommended for extensive counseling at 12 when he stole a bunch of medical supplies from a local drugstore to stitch up his little brother himself. Claimed his little brother got into a fight at school and he was just trying to keep him from getting in trouble. A year later, Ward was busted for a string of fights at school. Two years without even a blip on his record after that. And then, he set his house on fire with his older brother inside. His parents didn't even show up to his hearing. And then, he vanished off the face of the earth. No trace of his fingerprints. No mention of his name anywhere. Except for the print on the side table in Skye's bedroom.

Fitz sighed, quickly closing all of the files and attempting to do another search of the system instead, targeting financial research instead of scanned evidence. Lake Lerna Industries. He never needed notes, but he stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out the folded square of paper from Jemma with a smile.

"Doctor Fitz? Wasn't expecting to see you. Thought you were on your way to being a big bad detective now."

Fitz sighed when he recognized the voice, minimizing his current screen and shoving the paper back down into his pocket. "Well, I'm no' a detective jus' yet," he responded cagily. "I was jus' checkin' on a few things for one o' Trip's cases. Thought it would be faster ta do it myself instead o' callin' it in." He quickly typed in the case number for the last case Triplett had been assigned before this whole thing with Jemma had happened. He and Triplett had decided it was an accidental drowning, but they hadn't submitted all of the paperwork yet, just waiting on toxicology reports to come in to confirm that the guy who'd landed in the fountain had been high out of his mind.

Maria Hill, currently in charge of the day-to-day goings on of the crime lab, and their direct link to the rest of the police department strode purposefully to his workstation. He swallowed nervously. It had taken a hell of a lot of petitioning to get her to agree to him making the move to the force and out of the lab. He was still supposed to be putting in at least ten hours of work in the crime lab, something he hadn't done in weeks.

"Well, it's good to see you back in here. Your work's more thorough than anyone else's," she admitted, a rare compliment. "I'll probably have to hire three techs to replace you when you officially make detective." She paused. "Shouldn't you be taking your last test soon?"

"A few days," Fitz answered, pretending to scan the information in front of him. It looked like the lab was still testing for a few more substances. He wasn't going to be able to pretend for long. But with Hill on the other side of the station, she couldn't see the screen in front of him. He clicked, bringing up the results for his original search, and began skimming as quickly as he could.

"You ready?"

Lake Lerna was, from what he could gather, a biotech industry, specializing in rehabilitation for injured soldiers. Seemed harmless at face value, the kind of company that was doing good works.

"I think so. Havenae botched anythin' yet."

"There's always a first time."

The company used to be a part of the larger Cnidarian Tech, a firm that had been shut down for creating false contracts to pad their finances. One of the Cnidarian Tech board members, John Garrett, who claimed to know nothing about the falsified records, had been the one to break away with Lake Lerna Industries, wanting to make sure the company was legitimate, that they were doing their part, and he was quoted in an interview, " to change the world in the wake of corruption." That sounded familiar. He clicked and clicked, his eyes narrowing. The money trail had this John Garrett, former military operative and field doctor, as the CEO. The trail stopped at him.

"I'm very careful," Fitz managed to respond while digesting all of that information. When Hill smirked at him, he closed the screens and deleted his search history in every possible way he could think of. No one was going to be able to track his work.

"Didn't you have the chance to take the exam last month too?" Hill needled.

"Yeah, but I was in tha middle o' helpin' Trip on a case. Never made it ta tha exam." The screen on his phone lit up with a text message from Jemma and he pulled it towards himself, hoping Hill couldn't see it.

He's in. How do you stand undercover work? Nerve wracking!

She had strung together a line of smiley faces of different types after that, some smiling broadly, others with what appeared to be sweat dripping from their heads. Fitz felt the beginning of a smile. His fingers itched to respond, but he turned his attention to Hill instead.

"Did ye need anythin' from me? I'm headin' back. Tox screens arenae complete."

"I just think you need to quit playing both sides, Doctor Fitz. If you're too scared to make the field a permanent assignment, we'd be happy to have you back here."

Her smile wasn't unkind. And she was probably just trying to help, but it annoyed Fitz more than anything.

"I'm takin' the exam nex' week. I'll be sure ta let ye know when I pass it."

He strode from the room.

-o-

Jemma was trying very hard not to pace. She had been in the women's restroom in the lobby for a few minutes, hiding out, making sure no one had seen her. After getting Triplett an appointment with human resources with him coaching her through it (her boyfriend had just lost his job, and he was really good at walking perimeters and watching security tapes, and she knew they were hiring on a few more people), she had disappeared from view, not wanting to push her luck. With Triplett's incoming text that they had sent him upstairs though, she had to return to the lobby to make sure Sitwell wasn't going to be heading up to his office.

He was currently in a room at the other end, making some sort of presentation to a group of journalists about one of their new asthma medications. She hadn't worked on that project, but she was fairly certain, if she remembered from company memos, that the medication he was praising only differed from what the company currently had on the market by a single component. It wasn't more effective, just less expensive for them to manufacture.

For the first time in a long time, Jemma realized she worked for a company that made most of its money from controlling people's illnesses, not curing them. She sat in one of the chairs and sent a quick text of her own to Fitz, hoping getting to speak with him would distract her from this terrible plan she had created. He didn't respond.

Of course.

Because he was working as well. What was she thinking? She could get him into trouble. Her fingers hovered over her phone, wanting to send him an apology for interrupting his work, but realizing that sending the message would defeat the entire purpose of the apology. She held fast to the phone and pretended to browse the selection of Nature magazines on the table in front of her, keeping one eye on Jasper Sitwell.

When her phone buzzed in her hands, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Hello?"

"Okay, Jemma, you said his office is on the twelfth floor, right?"

"Yes," she whispered. "There are only three offices. His is the first, closest to the elevators. His secretary shouldn't be in yet."

She heard Triplett's breathing as he climbed the stairs, quick, but steady. She tried to match her heartbeat to it so as not to give herself a panic attack at the thought that she was helping a police detective illegally gain access to the office of one of her bosses. They could both wind up in jail if they weren't careful, and then who would help Skye?

Fitz. Fitz would help Skye. She was sure of it.

"Erm – Trip?" She asked as she noticed movement in the room at the end of the lobby. He had instructed her over and over to not call him Detective. It would be a giveaway, which should have been obvious to her, but if he hadn't reminded her so often, she would have been likely to slip up.

"Yeah?"

The sound of a door opening and closing could be heard through the line.

"I think he's done. He's leaving the room. And he's heading toward the elevator bank. What do we do?"

"Stall him."

"What exactly do you mean by stall him? How am I supposed to slow him down?" Jemma was on the verge of panic again, one hand pressing the phone to her ear so hard she was probably going to leave a mark, the other twisting insistently in the hem of her sweater.

Detective Triplett sighed on the other end. "You're a bright girl. You have a PhD for Christ's sake! I'm sure you can think of something."

"I – I've never had to stop someone from going up to their office because someone was ransacking it before!" she hissed into the phone. "And he's smart too, what if he sees right through me?" She stood and shifted so that she was slightly hidden by a potted plant, trying not to appear suspicious.

"Well, don't lie to the man, just… flirt with him a little. Take his mind off his office."

She could almost hear the smirk in his voice. It was like Triplett was enjoying this. Was this the same man who kept going on and on about how she wasn't trained for this and she needed to follow his instructions exactly? "You want me – to flirt – with him?" She dropped the tone of her voice even further. "I can't –" She watched Sitwell milling around in the lobby, shaking hands with a few of the reporters, and cut herself off, waiting for Trip to explain.

"Everyone can flirt, Doctor Simmons. And don't say you can't. I've seen you with Fitz. Even when you're nervous. If you're that nervous, use it. Act like you're in a hurry. When you're breathing fast, like just after jogging, it changes the rhythm in the way you speak. Makes it easier to lie, harder for people to figure it out." There's a clunk on the other end of the line, and Jemma hoped that noise meant he might have just found something they could use. That would be worth her discomfort right now.

She wanted to ask if they got training in lying at the Police Academy or something, but she was too stuck on the earlier part of his statement. "I don't – I have more important things on my mind than flirting with your colleague – Not that Fitz isn't appealing or that I wouldn't flirt – Wait, don't tell him I think he's appealing – I mean – Oh, god – " She sputtered, unable to get her thoughts in order as their target crossed the remainder of the lobby to head for the elevators. Heat crept up from her throat to her face. This was not the time to be thinking about that. She heard the quiet chuckling coming through the phone. "Right, fine. I have to get on the elevator now, so I probably won't be able to hear you," she hedged, slowly walking over to the elevator banks. "I'll talk to you later." Without actually disconnecting, just in case she needed help at some point, she carefully slid her phone into the pocket of her sweater, rocking back on her heels and smiling up at Jasper Sitwell. When the metal doors opened, she sidled up behind him and followed him inside the otherwise empty elevator and hoped that this company was large enough that he wasn't going to recognize her on sight.

"What floor – Sir?" she asked politely, positioning herself next to the buttons and swiping her employee card.

"Twelve."

She nodded and hit the button, then pressed the 11 for herself, knowing she couldn't very well exit on the same floor as him. Her hands shook, and she balled them into fists at her sides. She gave a huff, smiling at him. "I'm a little nervous," she told him conspiratorially. "I'm supposed to be interviewing for a promotion." That was logical, right? Human resources was on the eleventh floor. That's where Triplett was supposed to be.

He smiled sympathetically. "I'm sure you'll be alright."

She turned toward him, leaning just a bit closer to the elevator buttons as the doors closed. "Oh, I hope so. At least the project models are lovely to look at while I wait…." She inwardly cursed her inability to make small talk. "That model of a rainforest biosphere in the lobby? Amazing."

He turned toward her as well as the elevator began its ascent. "Oh, are you in agriculture? Natural remedies?"

"Oh, no, I've always been much more interested in chemistry…" She told him emphatically, leaning fully against the panel now, trapping one hand behind her back to push each of the lower level buttons. She could do this.

"Really?" The way he smiled at her made her even more uncomfortable, but she took Triplett's words about her ability to flirt (not that she had been doing that at all) with Fitz to heart and imagined what his expression would be after her words, her cheeks coloring prettily at the thought.

"Oh, definitely." She tried to make her voice low and seductive, the way Skye had often procured them free drinks at the bar around the corner from their apartment. "The different reactions when you mix unknown quantities together? Thrilling." She was practically purring at him now, and it made her slightly nauseated. She hoped it didn't show on her face. "Don't you think so, Mr. Sitwell?"

"I do. Call me Jasper. Please."

Jemma let out a high pitched giggle to cover the fact that she was in no way offering up her name to him. She was fairly certain she had never made that sound before. Her eyes widened and she struggled to keep an innocent look on her face as they stopped on a floor where there was no one waiting to get on the elevator. She shrugged when no one got on, still blocking his view of the buttons.

As they stopped at three more floors with a ding and whoosh of the elevator doors, but no one came aboard, Jemma could see the frustration playing out on his forehead. If she didn't distract him, he was going to want to get off and take the stairs.

"I – er – I love your shirt," she remarked lamely, wanting to smack herself in the forehead. "It really brings out the curve of your – elbows." Elbows? She really was very, very bad at this.

"My elbows?"

Yes." Jemma nodded her head firmly. She had said it. She was going to commit to it. "Perfect shirt for them, really. What is it made of?" She took half a step closer to him, trying to keep his view of the buttons blocked, but reaching out her hand to allow her fingers to graze his elbow, letting her touch linger and fluttering her eyelashes for good measure. It was quite possible that she was really going to be sick.

Ding.

"Cotton?" Sitwell said, eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

"Cotton. Of course," Jemma smiled as though that was the most obvious answer in the world. "Such a useful product, isn't it? We use it for so many things. So versatile, almost like hemp." She inwardly cringed as she realized what she had just said. Hemp? Really. Had she actually said that? "Not that I am overly familiar with hemp. I just know that the different varieties of the plant have been used in clothing, jewelry, building materials, you know… things like that."

Ding.

"Uh huh." Sitwell was staring at her as though she had just grown two heads.

Maybe, Jemma considered, a little makeup wouldn't have hurt, especially that red lipstick Skye had always insisted was a man magnet. Jemma's brain grappled at topics that meant nothing. "Do you find that cotton keeps you cooler than other fabrics as studies suggest, or is that all just rubbish?"

"I've never really thought about it." He paused. "What position did you say you were applying for?"

Ding.

"Oh, I – " The doors opened yet again, and there was a woman standing just outside. "Hello!" Jemma called cheerfully, waving at her manically.

"Are you going down?" She asked.

"Up," Sitwell told her tersely.

The other woman sighed, putting her hands in the pockets of her lab coat as the doors closed in front of her.

Jemma stood quietly for the next few floors, trying to calm her rapidly beating heart.

Ding.

"Well, this is me. Wish me luck!" She stood in the open doors, hesitating. She hoped Triplett had enough time to get out of there.

"Good luck."

She hurried down the hall toward the office for the head of human resources, then ducked quickly into the women's bathroom, pulling her phone from the pocket of her sweater.

"Trip?" she whispered. "Everything okay?"

"Stairs," he responded.

-o-

They ran down four flights of stairs in relative silence until he gestured for them to exit to the seventh floor, where they grabbed an elevator.

"Did you find anything?" she asked him.

"Nothing, really. I only had time to go through a few drawers. I did grab this list of properties the company's looking at for an expansion project though. One of them is labeled LLI. Probably not a coincidence." Triplett shook his head, leaning back against the elevator wall.

"You mean – " Jemma cut herself off, allowing that to sink in.

"Well, I hope so. Otherwise, this might have been a waste of time. Though listening to you tryin' to flirt with Sitwell? That made up for it. What the hell was that?" He gave her a slow smile. "If you were on the force, we would never be able to put you undercover."

"Excuse me if I don't have a lot of practice deceiving people," Jemma told him haughtily, running her hands through her hair and looking away from him.

"Cotton is so versatile," Triplett mimicked in a horribly high pitched attempt at an English accent, "just like hemp." He doubled over with laughter. "That shirt brings out your elbows!"

"I do not sound like that!"

"Oh, girl, that made my day!"

"It's really not that funny," Jemma said, trying to keep herself perfectly composed, but her lips twitched in spite of herself.

"I told you, you didn't have to lie to him, just flirt with him a little, keep him entertained." Triplett wiped one of his eyes.

"And I told you I don't really know how to do that," she shot back, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Jemma, please," Triplett waved off her protest. "Everyone knows how to flirt. You know how to flirt. I've seen you." When she attempted to protest, he held up one hand, cleared his throat, and leaned toward her, blinking his eyelashes slowly, ducking his head, and then moved his hand to his hip. "Fitz," he breathed out in his horrible imitation at her voice, "you're a regular Sherlock Holmes."

Jemma opened her mouth and closed it again, not sure how to respond to that. She narrowed her eyes as he began laughing again. "You weren't even there when I said that."

Triplett doubled over again. "Did you really say that?" He asked between bouts of laughter. "What did he say?"

"We are not talking about this. You are supposed to be helping me find Skye, not coaching me on my love life."

Triplett's lips twitched again, but he didn't say anything else until they exited the elevator on the ground floor.

"Jemma!" A voice called to her from the reception area. "I thought you were out sick?"

"Who – " Triplett started to ask her, leaning in close as he remembered the charade.

"Anne Weaver, head of our Genetics department," Jemma whispered, hands fluttering nervously in front of her. As Weaver got closer to her, all business, Jemma smiled wanly. "I am," she said loudly, voice shaking. "I just stopped by to drop off some paperwork. Never made digital files… you know how it is." Her face heated, sweat dripping down the back of her neck.

"Let me know when you're back," Weaver said easily, though her eyes were narrowed in suspicion, "I've got some interesting projects coming up. I might be able to steal you away from Immunology."

"Oh – erm – we'll see," Jemma answered with false cheer.

"Come on, babe," Triplett cut in, quickly taking her hand and twining their fingers together, "I told you I was takin' you to see a real doctor."

"I am a real doctor," Jemma protested defiantly, as he pulled her away. She didn't breathe until they were outside and on their way to her car.

-o-