Law & Order: MCU
-o-
Part Four
-o-
"How's it coming, Skye?"
John Garrett swaggered through the room like he owned the place. Well, he probably did. Or someone on his payroll did. Either way, he was the one bankrolling everything.
"Another dead end. Sorry."
Skye tried not to push herself away from the table when he leaned on the other side. Of all the people she met in this place, he was the only one who creeped her out. Raina gave her pause, but she could handle Raina. She could practically feel her skin crawling away from her body when John Garrett entered a room.
"You've been trying to locate this drug for us for almost a week now. I'm starting to think Grant and Raina were wrong. You aren't as good as they think."
"I am good. I'm the best. But their system is… strange. Wouldn't it have been better if you had someone on the inside?"
"What makes you think I don't? Furious Pharmaceuticals compartmentalizes their classified work in their different departments. Some of the execs don't even know what they're sittin' on. Bunch of paranoid babies."
"Looks like they're right to be paranoid," Skye muttered under her breath. Louder, she asked, "When do I get my phone call?"
"When you prove you're worth keeping alive."
She breathed out a sigh when he left the room. Grant eyed her curiously from his position at the other end of the table.
"You don't like John, do you?"
No, Grant, I don't like John. He's kind of an asshole. I'm pretty sure he's a terrorist. And I'm pretty sure I've got files on him from when I worked for that organization I'm not supposed to talk about a while back. He's bad news.
Skye didn't say any of that aloud though, figuring it wouldn't go over very well. Instead, she asked, "Do you?"
Grant didn't say anything, just looked back down at the newspaper in front of him. Skye was tempted to ask him how a seemingly normal guy got mixed up with a group that wanted to steal a miracle drug, but she didn't. She clicked a few more keys on the computer instead, burrowing her way into Furious Pharmaceuticals' system. She'd broken through their firewalls every day, sometimes multiple times a day, easily covering her tracks, but she kept purposely making mistakes so the system would lock her out and she'd have to start over again.
To put it plainly, she was stalling.
She was stalling while she counted how many steps there were from the room they kept her in to the bathroom (37), while she kept track of the number of airplanes that regularly flew overhead (3), while she counted how many windows she had seen in this building (1, but it was covered), while she paid attention to how many mornings they woke her up with crappy oatmeal (6), while she counted how many members of this criminal team she had seen with her own eyes (4), and how many different voices she had heard when she wasn't supposed to be listening (7).
She was stalling while she tried to find a way to contact Jemma or the police in a way that wouldn't be noticed and wouldn't get anyone (really, herself or Jemma, anybody else was collateral damage in her mind at this point) killed. But she hadn't found one. Not yet. But she wasn't done. Skye didn't give up easily.
-o-
Settled into the driver's seat of his car, Trip sipped his coffee, eyes flicking from the front door of the convenience store and along the sidewalk. There were still a couple people inside the store, but on a busy street like this, they probably weren't going to get another chance to do this with less civilians in the way.
"You ready?" he asked Fitz.
Fitz didn't answer him. Again.
"Fitz?"
"Hmmm?"
Trip turned his head, setting his coffee down, and looking at his partner to see what had his attention so wrapped up. He was staring raptly at the screen on his phone, a grin on his face.
"Are you even listening to me?"
Fitz snapped his head up, his face flushing. "Yep." He nodded his head enthusiastically. "I'm listenin'."
"Yeah? What's the plan?"
"Ye go through tha fron' an' I go 'round back?"
Trip shook his head.
"Tha's no' tha plan? Tha's always tha plan. When did tha plan change?"
"Fifteen minutes ago when I told you the owner's got the back entrance locked down for us, and we can pick up Chan in the front. He's working the register. Fifteen minutes ago when I took that phone call. Seriously. You haven't been paying attention for the last fifteen minutes, have you?"
Fitz turned away from him and looked out the window at the door to the convenience store. "If I say I havenae, are ye goin' ta shoot me?" He joked and gave a sly grin, hoping Triplett wasn't as annoyed with him as he seemed.
"Nah. Too much paperwork. And I'd have to get a new partner because Internal Affairs would probably be worried that we had some sort of problem," Trip drawled. "I don't want to have to break someone else in."
"Glad ta know ye value me so much," Fitz quipped, the grin still on his face.
"I value you a lot more when you're not busy flirting with Doctor Simmons when we're supposed to be working," he deadpanned.
"I'm no' flirting!" Fitz protested.
Triplett had a fleeting thought of telling him that was true because the two of them were apparently really bad at it. He kept his mouth shut though and kept staring at Fitz until the other man finally turned back to look at him.
"I don't care if you flirt with her, all right? But you can't be distracted on the job."
"She said she's go' Sitwell's schedule fer tha next couple o' days. She's friends with his secretary, I guess? Called an' asked abou' him, made up some story abou' wantin' to avoid runnin' inta him." He sounded proud of her. Trip didn't think Jemma had gone into detail about her disastrous attempt at flirting with the executive. "He's supposed ta have 'meetin's' with someone about tha LLI properties tha next two days." Fitz used air quotes as he said "meetings," just in case Triplett didn't understand what he and Jemma were thinking.
"You and I can stake it out tomorrow, see what's going down. But we gotta arrest Chan today." Triplett paused. "Jemma's case isn't even a case, remember? We let our other work suffer, someone's going to know something's up."
"Yeah, I know." Fitz tucked his phone back in his pocket. He sighed, the back of his head connecting with the headrest when he leaned back. "She's jus'… We're the only ones she can talk ta abou' this, ye know?"
"She doesn't text me every few hours," Trip pointed out with a chuckle.
"Let's jus' go an' get Chan, yeah?" Fitz was already out the door before Trip could say anything else.
"Come on, Fitzy," Trip called, jogging after him when he got out of the car, waving at and dodging a cab as it pulled out ahead of him. "You can tell me if there's something going on. It's obvious you like her."
"We go' a fire bug ta arrest. You should focus on the job," Fitz teased as he opened the door to the convenience store. A quick scan of the inside showed that there were a pair of teenage girls at the soda fountain, so he ambled down one of the aisles, stopping in front of a selection of gummy bears and peach rings.
"No junk in my car," Trip told him from the next aisle.
Fitz rolled his eyes and picked up a pack of gum instead.
"Sugar free," Trip called to him.
Fitz rolled his eyes again, but he switched the gum out, holding the pack he chose over his head to prove to Triplett that he had picked up the sugar free option.
"Oh, hey, look at this, Fitzy," Triplett remarked as the two girls walked up to the register to pay. "Did you know they sell Cajun boiled peanuts here? Man, I haven't had those since I was a kid."
"Why tha hell would ye boil peanuts? Tha' sounds disgustin'." Fitz made a face, but came around the end of the aisle to move closer to the display of heated foods near the register.
"Man, don't talk about things you know nothin' about. Cajun boiled peanuts are like… ambrosia to the southern gods." Trip smiled wistfully, taking a deep breath in and savoring the aroma of the different spices. The teenage girls giggled as they handed over their money, elbowing one another and pointing at Trip.
"Yeah," Fitz told them, "he's a special lad."
That only made the girls giggle harder as they walked out the door and whispered to one another behind cupped hands.
"You want a cup of the nuts?" The attendant at the register asked. Fitz eyed his nametag.
Chan, 1 years of service
"Yes!" Triplett exclaimed. "I'd like the biggest cup you've got."
Chan smiled at them, shaking his head, and preparing a Styrofoam cup full of the peanuts for him. Fitz plopped his pack of gum on the counter and pulled out some cash to set next to it. As Triplett took the cup from Chan, he backed up, knocking over a display of packaged snack cakes.
"Oh, man, I'm so sorry," he said easily, starting to bend to pick one of the packages up, but Chan hurried around the counter and waved Triplett off.
"No problem. Happens all the time."
When Chan had his back to Fitz, Triplett nodded his head at him, so Fitz pulled out his handcuffs with a sigh. Triplett was on this whole Fitz-practicing-his-collar kick lately.
"Chan Ho Yin, yer under arrest fer three counts o' arson in tha fourth degree. Ye 'ave tha right ta remain silent…"
Triplett watched proudly as Fitz brought the other man's arms around his back and slapped the handcuffs in place before the guy could even pick anything up. He quickly reassembled the display while Fitz went through the whole spiel, the owner coming out from his office in the back while he did, and when he tried to pay the man for his peanuts, the owner just waved him off. He picked up Fitz's gum from the counter and followed him back to the car.
"I didn't do it," Chan protested from the backseat as Triplett bit into a peanut, spitting out the shell.
"Ye really shouldnae talk," Fitz told him. "There's a lot o' evidence against ye. Wait fer yer lawyer at the station."
Triplett tilted the cup in Fitz's direction. "Try one."
"I'm no' tryin' a boiled peanut."
"Doctor Simmons would try one."
Fitz rolled his eyes.
"Fine, then you drive so I can eat."
Fitz climbed into the driver's seat and started the car.
"Really, I didn't do anything," Chan pleaded from the back of the car, "just let me go."
Fitz and Triplett ignored him.
"Ye know, she's makin' lasagna tonight."
"Have you had dinner at your own apartment at all this week?"
"When else am I suppose' ta talk ta 'er abou' her case? She invited ye too."
"I have a date."
Fitz pulled out of the parking space and into traffic. "Ye donnae have a date."
"I do."
"Is it tha FBI agent?"
"Why do you always say the FBI agent like she has the plague?"
"She doesnae like me."
"She likes you just fine. She just doesn't like that you always beat her at pool when we go to McClaren's."
"She called me weak."
"She wasn't talking about you, she was talking about our case. You need to pay more attention."
"Ye wan' me payin' closer attention to yer girlfriend?"
"That's not what I meant."
"Wha' is Sif even short for?"
"Huh. I never asked."
"Siffany? Siffnifer?"
"Bro. Seriously?"
"Guys, really, I didn't do it!" Chan tried again from the backseat.
"Shut it," they told him in unison.
-o-
Jemma paced.
Slowly, but she still paced.
There were now three dry erase boards in her living room. One still had the original notes from the first night the detectives had been in her apartment. Another was full of the information they had been able to find on Lake Lerna Industries and John Garrett, which admittedly, wasn't much. The third had all of the information she had been able to gather about Skye.
With her roommate being missing for six days, Jemma was starting to doubt her own belief that Skye was a victim in all of this. The thought that Skye could have been in on whatever was happening was making her physically ill. She was exhausted all the time, but she wasn't about to hide under her covers worrying and wondering. She was determined to figure this out.
If it wasn't for Fitz and Triplett –
There was a knock on her door, and Jemma jumped. She had almost forgotten that she invited the two of them for lasagna while they talked about the next step to finding Skye, even with Fitz's text from ten minutes ago letting her know he was on his way. It was a good thing she hadn't actually forgotten to make the lasagna. In fact, the smell of cheese and tomato and basil had been permeating through the apartment for the last hour, but she wasn't particularly hungry. At least the food wouldn't go to waste with Fitz coming to share it.
She padded carefully over to the door, standing on her toes to peer out and see who it was, just in case. Fitz stood on the other side, hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. He almost looked nervous. Her mouth curved into a smile just seeing him on the other side of her door, her heart beating a bit faster, warmth spreading through her like she was outside on the first spring day after a long winter. It was unfair that he could cause this reaction in her when she was still so upset about Skye.
Fitz was very quickly becoming the silver lining to the storm cloud.
She unlocked the trio of bolts and buttons to let him in.
"No Triplett?" She asked curiously.
"Ah, no. I tol' him he was invited too, but he apparently has a big date." Fitz rolled his eyes.
"I take it you don't like his date?" Jemma tried not to smile so wide. The effort of clamping down on it was making her cheeks ache.
He locked the door behind himself when he stepped inside. She watched his fingers twist the bolts into place with an easy familiarity before he loosened his tie and shrugged out of his jacket, and her stomach fluttered like a teenager getting picked up for the big school dance. She very determinedly tried to ignore it.
"It's no' tha' I donnae like her. She's jus'… she doesnae seem ta like me very much."
"I find that hard to believe," Jemma said without thinking. She had quickly come to the conclusion that there was very little about Fitz not to like. She didn't even mind when he acted like a petulant child or when he angrily jumped to conclusions with his partner. All the little pieces that would be annoying on someone else just combined to make him all the more appealing. He was determined, smart, quick thinking. He looked at her curiously. Oh, screw it, she thought to herself. "Would you like something to drink? I've got water or wine. Or tea." She headed toward the kitchen, listening to his footsteps as he followed her. They were light, but steady, and it was nice to hear the sounds that came with another person being in the apartment instead of jumping every time the heat kicked on. Especially since that person was Fitz.
"Erm –" Fitz watched as she pulled open the oven and fished out a lasagna that could have fed ten people. "Wine," he decided firmly. "Wine is good."
"Okay. Could you – " Jemma gestured with her shoulder to one of the cabinets as she put the lasagna down. "The glasses are – "
But Fitz understood quickly enough and set about getting them both glasses of wine while she grabbed plates and cut one large section of the pasta for him, and a much smaller one for herself. She wasn't sure how much of it she was going to be able to eat, but lasagna was supposed to be comfort food, and there was a chill in the air, so it was what she had filled her afternoon with. She was tempted to put the plates on the counter and perch on a barstool, but that would put them side by side, and she wasn't sure if that was too intimate, so she led him to the small dining room table she and Skye had picked up from the sidewalk outside their building, setting their plates across from one another. She wanted to see his face when he took his first bite of lasagna too, especially considering that as tired as she'd been today, staring at the white boards in between chopping up fresh herbs and boiling noodles, she might have forgotten some crucial ingredient.
He didn't disappoint.
When the first piece of gooey tomato and cheese entered his mouth, he closed his eyes and made a noise that made her flush.
"Good?" she asked needlessly before taking a bite of her own. The expression of pure joy on his face left her feeling smug.
"This is bloody amazin'. Been a long time since've had homemade lasagna." He grinned at her. "Thank ye."
She shrugged, hiding her smile behind a sip of wine. They were both quiet for a few moments, Fitz wolfing down half of his food while Jemma slowly made her way through hers. It was, surprisingly for Jemma, not awkward to sit with him in almost complete silence. It was nice. It made her feel like a normal woman after the end of a long day having a relaxing date with her boyfriend. As soon as the thought entered her mind, it made her pause and take a long pull from her wine glass.
She wasn't stupid. She knew she liked Fitz. That's why she found all of his traits endearing. Okay, she more than liked him. It had become fairly obvious given that her heart practically beat out of her chest at just the thought of him. But he was a police officer. And he was investigating the disappearance of her best friend. And that made things very complicated.
But he was also in her apartment with her drinking wine and eating dinner and – oh, he was saying something to her. She set her glass back down on the table.
"Thank ye for sending me Sitwell's schedule. Trip an' I 're goin' ta try to follow him to his meetin' tomorrow."
"Just you and Detective Triplett?" She pulled apart one of the layers of lasagna in thought. "But I – "
"Jemma, you cannae go on a bloody stakeout!"
"Why not?"
"Because – I – You – Trip – I mean – Yer not trained fer it," he sputtered, struggling to put the emotions he was feeling at the idea of Jemma on the side of the street watching a suspect into words. "If somethin' were ta happen–"
"I wasn't trained for sneaking someone into a pharmaceutical company either, but I managed to do that just fine. I'm not trained to investigate missing people or murder victims, but I've been doing that too."
"Maybe ye shouldnae be," Fitz said before he could stop himself.
"What?" Jemma gasped out the word, her fork hitting the plate with a clatter.
"I'm no' sayin' ye shouldnae be tryin' ta find Skye. She's yer friend and her bein' missin' is horrible," Fitz explained, putting his own fork down as well. The ideas of wanting to make her feel better about her situation and wanting to tell her the statistics on people missing longer than 36 hours warred in his brain. His hand reached forward on the table, intent on comforting her, then pulled back just as quickly, too fast for Jemma to notice it even happened. "We've seen it happen with tha family members of missin' kids – they get so caught up in tha search, they donnae remember ta live their lives. I think ye need ta let Trip and I do more o' tha work, alright? Go back ta work, cure some diseases," he offered with an attempt at a smile. "Donnae stop thinkin' abou' helpin' Skye. But let us help ye."
"You are helping," Simmons responded quickly. "I just – all those files you had before, all those missing people?"
Fitz nodded, gesturing for her to continue.
"So many of those people, there's no one looking for them. There's no one that cares about them. They don't matter to anyone. There's no one out there waiting for them to come home, keeping their phone charged in case they call or hiding their favorite vodka in the freezer or making sure there's still enough of their shampoo in the shower." One of her hands played with the neck of her shirt, a nervous habit she'd had for years. "I don't want Skye to be forgotten. She matters to me."
"I'm no' goin' ta forget abou' her."
"I didn't mean that you would forget," Jemma whispered. "But what you're asking me to do is just go about my life as though nothing's changed and come back to an empty apartment and not know where my best friend is, and I don't think I can do that."
"Alrigh'," Fitz said, nodding his head. "Well, wha' would ye normally be doin' on a night like tonight, if ye got back and Skye was out?"
"Erm – I don't know. Laundry? Go through files for work? Watch television?" She flicked the fork on her plate experimentally, but didn't pick it up again.
"Okay. Then this is wha' we are goin' ta do tonight. We are goin' ta eat this fantastic lasagna. Then, we are goin' ta go over the information we 'ave. Then, we are going ta spend time doin' somethin' normal, like watchin' somethin' on the television. A little bit o' normal at a time."
He smiled encouragingly at her, so she picked up her fork, suddenly finding herself ravenous, and took another bite.
-o-
For the third time that week, Fitz woke up on someone else's couch with that someone else curled up next to him. This time, he didn't twitch away in surprise or send her tumbling to the floor. Instead, he watched Jemma sleep and texted Triplett to cover for him. He was going to stay until she woke up, however long that took, whether it was a good idea for him to be there or not. He knew that she was worried about Skye, that Skye didn't have anyone else. But the truth was, despite the few work acquaintances she spoke of, Jemma Simmons didn't seem to have anyone else either, and he wasn't going to leave her to suffer alone.
-o-
Triplett leaned back in his seat, languidly signing his name to another file. He had no more open cases. He was spending his morning catching up on paperwork. Fitz was supposed to be helping. Instead, he'd had to lie to three different people, telling them that his partner was chasing down a missing witness statement on one of their cases that had somehow disappeared from the file. He added the folder in front of him to his done pile and picked up the last one he needed to finish, the arson arrest he and Fitz had made the day before, flicking through the pages and making sure there was nothing out of place, nothing that would come back to bite him in the ass when the case went to trial.
He heard the quick clack of boots behind him, and he stopped himself from clenching his teeth in annoyance.
"Captain Hand," he announced loudly when the reflection of her face could be seen in his computer monitor. "To what do I owe this visit?"
"Just checking in. How's your paperwork coming? All caught up?"
"Just about. I triple check my work, you know."
"Cute." Her tone of voice made it clear he was anything but. "Where's your doctor?"
"My partner is tracking down a missing witness statement for me. I didn't want to bog him down with paperwork since he's got his exam tomorrow. Want his head clear." Trip signed another line, checked a few boxes, and closed the file with a loud slap.
"He going to take the test this time?" Hand asked, perching on the edge of his desk and tucking one of her strands of bright red hair behind her ear.
"Course he is. We don't have any open cases." Triplett paused, raising an eyebrow. "Nothin' to get in the way this time. Unless you're here to give us another case?"
Hand shook her head, her lips pursed as though something else was on her mind, but she whatever it was, she didn't voice it. She hadn't been particularly thrilled with Fitz as Triplett's partner, but they were clearing twice as many cases as anyone else, so she couldn't really be that upset by the pairing now.
"Well, if that's all, since I'm done with my paperwork and it's after noon, I'm going to give my partner a call and have him meet me for lunch, if that's alright, Captain?"
Hand nodded reluctantly, so Trip climbed to his feet and got the hell out of there.
-o-
Fitz took the stairs from his apartment building two at a time, a tie hanging around his neck and a coat draped over one arm, hiding his own computer. He didn't even feel the crispness of the fall air right now, but he didn't know how long he and Triplett were going to be sitting on the side of the road with their eyes trained on a building, waiting to figure out if Jasper Sitwell was the guy they needed to find a way to Skye. He could be freezing by sundown. Or he could need a pillow. His coat worked great as a pillow, as he had discovered on his last (and first) stakeout with his partner. And his laptop was loaded with the necessary software to track Sitwell's company credit card. He had also duplicated the company's security interface, and set it up to alert him if Sitwell used his ID badge in any of the company's satellite offices as well. He had learned a few things from his brief tenure in the cyber division of the crime lab, but he definitely had no plans to go back.
Triplett's car was idling next to the curb in a no parking zone, and he was working his way through a bag of banana chips.
"Crisps made from bananas?" Fitz asked as he climbed in the car, ignoring the cab driver who flipped him off when he opened the door into traffic.
"Wanna try one?" Trip held the bag out to him expectantly.
Normally Fitz would turn down an offer of Trip's attempt at a healthy snack, but he had a good feeling about this one, so he snatched one from the bag and popped it into his mouth, and almost choked.
"Why're they as hard as a bloody rock?" He snapped after finally chewing and swallowing.
Triplett shrugged, pulling the car out into the steady stream of vehicles. "Maybe you need better teeth."
"Tha's ridiculous."
"Hand asked about you today."
"Wha' did ye tell 'er?"
"That I had you tracking down a missing witness statement."
"Thanks."
"Sure."
Triplett didn't say anything else as he drove, but Fitz could tell that he was dying to. Fitz bounced his left leg, shaking the entire car when they came to a stop at a traffic light.
"Nothin' happened," Fitz informed him when the light changed from red to green.
"I didn't say it did."
"Ye were thinkin' it."
"You don't know what I was thinking."
"We ate lasagna, an' we talked abou' Skye, and I fell asleep watchin' some stupid musical tha' made her laugh, okay?"
"Fitz," Triplett laughed as they pulled into the parking lot of Furious Pharmaceuticals just a few spaces back from Jasper Sitwell's car, "I'm not judging you for not coming into the station. You like her. I get it."
They both watched the front door to the building for any sign of Sitwell, but after a few minutes of silence, Fitz added, "I'm worried about 'er."
"Doctor Simmons?"
Fitz nodded his head. "She took a leave o' absence from work when Skye wen' missin'. She's spendin' all 'er time focused on gettin' Skye back. I'm no' sayin' she's no' smart, that she isnae a huge help for us, cause she is, but – "
"But working a case like this, when it's someone you know, it eats you alive." Trip reached for his banana chips and tossed one into his mouth. He crunched and swallowed. "I know." He sighed. "We find Skye, and Doctor Simmons will be able to put her life back together."
"We need ta work faster." Fitz swallowed uncomfortably, opening his computer and pulling up the security program for the company. He located Sitwell's ID badge number that Jemma had managed to needle out of his secretary. She had somehow made her think it had something to do with a birthday present. Fitz didn't understand how that could have gone over, but she'd got it for him, and that was all that mattered. He was still logged in to his office computer system, so either he was running late for his meeting, or the meeting had moved here. "Looks like he's still in his office. Ye remember ta bring a camera in case we need pictures?"
"Yeah," Trip patted the console between their seats. "It's in here." He hesitated. "Fitz?"
"Yeah."
"If you really like Doctor Simmons, you should do something about it."
"But –"
"I know it goes against protocol. But this isn't an official case." Trip sighed. "And we don't know how this is all going to turn out or who we're even going to be able to turn it over to at this point. So, you should do something about it."
"Well – okay."
"Okay."
They waited another fifteen minutes in silence and Sitwell still hadn't logged out.
"Ye think I'm safe ta tag his car?" Fitz wondered aloud. "Ye still got a GPS tracker in here?"
"You know I am always prepared with the toys," Trip agreed, pointing to the glove compartment.
Fitz fished around for a minute until he found one, putting the log number into a program on his phone so the signal would be sent to him instead of the police station. "Turn tha bass up really loud on yer radio or somethin' if Sitwell logs out, yeah?"
"Yeah, okay."
It took Fitz all of two minutes to get out of the car, meander up to Sitwell's SUV, hide the tracker in one of the wheel wells, and return to his seat. He didn't even break a sweat.
Several hours later and they were parked across the street from a chintzy French restaurant where Sitwell was presumably having another meeting. Really, it looked like more of a date. The only problem was they couldn't see the person he was having the meeting with. Sitwell was in full view of the window. The person he was animatedly talking to and pointing out things to in the portfolio on the table was hidden behind an artfully decorated column.
"I remember now why I hate stakeouts," Triplett remarked, stifling a yawn.
Fitz halfheartedly held up the camera and snapped another picture, pretty sure that they weren't going to be getting anything on film anyway. This had been a waste of an afternoon. And evening. "Is tha' duck he's eatin'?" He groaned when Trip agreed that it was. "I'm bloody starvin', stuck in a car with ye and yer health food, and he gets ta have roasted duck."
A knock on his window made him jump, almost hitting his head on the ceiling.
"Some bloody detectives we are," he muttered as he gestured to the backseat, unlocking the door.
Triplett craned his head and saw Jemma Simmons slide in behind them, her hair hidden under a black newsboy cap, a dark coat wrapped around her.
"I know I'm not supposed to be here," she began when both of the men attempted to turn around, "but I brought you dinner." She pushed the bag in her hands between them in the front seat. "Lasagna. And there's a mug of coffee. I know you prefer coffee, Detective Triplett. And there's cookies because I got nervous waiting to hear from you, and I've recently discovered I cook when I'm nervous."
Triplett eyed the bag suspiciously, but Fitz dug in, helping himself to a cookie. Triplett wasn't going to yell at him for eating a cookie when it had been brought to them as a present.
"Ye have perfec' timin'. I was jus' sayin' how I'm starvin'. Thank ye."
Jemma grinned in the backseat, seemingly proud of herself.
"How did you know where we were?" Triplett asked, his hand now on the thermos of coffee, watching Fitz devour the cookie in three bites.
"Erm – I'm the one who got you Sitwell's schedule for the day, remember? I just drove to each of the places he was supposed to be until I saw your car." She scrunched her nose up in a kind of apology. "I'm sorry, I'm just not very good at being the person waiting for the results instead of being the person out getting them." Her hands fluttered nervously in her lap.
Fitz and Triplett exchanged a look in the front seat, but neither of them told her to leave.
"Did I miss anything important?"
"Nah. We can't even tell who he's meeting with. Can't see them." Triplett opened the coffee thermos and took a sip.
"Why don't one of you just go inside, pretend to have a reservation?"
She was met with silence.
"You didn't think of that?"
"Well, it's just that this place is more of a romantic couple environment, and we're not really dressed for that," Triplett joked.
"Also, we wouldnae be able to see tha table from tha entrance. 's just our luck they were seated there." Fitz breathed in the aroma of the lasagna he had opened, rooting around in the bag for utensils, finding a fork wrapped up in a napkin.
"You get sauce on my seats, and I will shoot you," Trip said out of the corner of his mouth.
"I thought ye didnae wan' ta deal with tha paperwork."
"This is a nice car."
"It's ten years old."
"Doesn't mean it's not a nice car."
Jemma gave a giggle in the backseat that turned into a cough when Triplett turned around to glare at her. "It's a very nice car," she told him solemnly. "I especially like the Garfield figure clinging to the front window." She pointed to the spot in question and her lip twitched.
"You should like that. My niece gave that to me. It was very thoughtful."
"Garfield would 'ave thanked Jemma fer the lasagna before he ate it all," Fitz said out of the corner of his mouth. "Cat after my own heart, tha' one."
Trip rolled his eyes, but dutifully responded, "Thank you for bringing food to the stakeout that you were not supposed to attend, Doctor Simmons." He then took a container out of the bag, opening it up, and took a bite of the pasta to prove that he appreciated it.
"You're welcome." She paused before mentioning in what Skye often referred to as her "science lecture" voice, "You know, Garfield is such an inaccurate portrayal of a house cat. Most cats develop lactose intolerance as they age. All of that cheese would be horrendous for his digestion. And there is so much starch in the pasta. Not nearly enough protein in lasagna for a cat…" she trailed off when they both looked at her in amusement. "Never mind." She sat forward in the seat, angling herself between them so she could get a better look at Sitwell through the window. "How long has he been there?"
"Over an hour," Triplett remarked. "This is really good, by the way."
"Thanks."
It wasn't long before Sitwell was asking for the check. Jemma hurriedly packed everything back into the bag while Trip started the car and Fitz got the camera ready.
"Come on," Fitz muttered to himself. "Let us see ye."
Jemma worried her lower lip between her teeth while they waited.
When Sitwell came through the front doors though, a large party of women in black dresses followed just behind him, milling around on the sidewalk, laughing loudly and hugging one another goodbye. They couldn't tell who he was speaking with while he nodded his head and leaned down to kiss someone on the cheek before walking away. They couldn't see her face.
"You have got to be kidding me," Triplett said in disbelief, his eyes trying to follow the woman, but there were too many people in the way.
Fitz clicked picture after picture hoping they would be able to see something in one of the photos, but when he clicked back through the images, there was no view of the woman's face.
Jemma sighed from the back before asking, "Are we going to follow Mr. Sitwell?"
"No, I think we're done for the night." Triplett shook his head. "I've got to prep with one of the district attorneys tomorrow. I'm supposed to be testifying in court on Friday. I've got to get some sleep." He ran a hand over his forehead in frustration. "Besides, Fitz put a tracker on Sitwell's car. We'll know where he goes."
"Right, well, I'll talk to you soon then." Jemma nodded her head, grabbed her bag, and opened the car door.
Triplett and Fitz had some sort of silent conversation in the time that she was climbing from the car that resulted in Fitz saying, "Can I ride with ye, Jemma? Trip's goin' in tha opposite direction."
"Oh. Yes. Of course."
-o-
Jemma was quiet most of the car ride, following Fitz's instructions for how to get to his apartment. She asked him if anything in Sitwell's schedule seemed suspicious, and Fitz had to admit that nothing had.
"Well, hopefully we'll know more tomorrow. Maybe he'll, what is it they say in all those police dramas, slip up?" Jemma asked.
"Yes," Fitz agreed, watching her instead of the road now. "That is what they say." She was glowing under the unflattering light from street lamps. Most people would look horrendous under the soft orange light, but Jemma managed to be enchanting instead. How important was breathing again? Did he need to be remembering how to do that while watching her drive?
"Is it true?"
"'s wha' true?"
"That's how most criminals are caught. They make a mistake."
"Depends on tha criminal, tha type o' crime really." Fitz drummed his fingers on the cup holder between them, giving his mind a point of contact to focus on instead of the way Jemma pursed her lips or furrowed her brows as she digested new information. "Some people donnae know how ta get rid o' physical evidence, and tha's how ye can catch 'em, but it's always hard to have a tech or a scientis' explain tha' kind o' evidence ta a jury. Juries like witnesses more than anythin' else, even if they arenae as reliable."
Jemma nodded her head. "I guess I can understand that."
"But yer a scientis'."
"Yes, but people want to trust other people, not scientific procedures."
He looked back outside when she glanced over at him, realizing where they were almost too late, and gestured for her to make a right at the next light, pointing out his building as she did.
"This is me," he told her needlessly, since she was already slowing to a stop per his instructions.
"That was faster than I expected," Jemma admitted with a rueful smile. Her fingers clenched on the steering wheel, and she twisted her hands around the circle nervously.
Fitz was tempted to ask her to drive around the block again, maybe several times, but instead, he cleared his throat and offered, "Ye could come up for a cup o' tea?"
Jemma's smile widened, and she took in a breath as though she would agree, but when she shook her head regretfully, he made sure not to frown. "I shouldn't keep you up. You've been very nice, checking on me, staying with me, but you've got your test tomorrow. You need a proper night's sleep. Probably not on a couch. Or with someone." She blanched as she realized what words had just tumbled from her mouth. "That's not what I meant." She covered her face with her hands and shook her head again.
Fitz silently laughed. "'S alright. I understand." He paused, hand on the door handle. "Thank ye fer the dinner. Trip would've let me starve."
"Sure." Jemma lowered her hands and peered at him over the tips of her fingers. "Any time."
They both nodded, probably looking like a couple of bobble head dolls to anyone who passed them by.
"Let me know when ye get home safe, alright?"
"Alright."
He nodded again, not sure what else to say, and turned to open the passenger door.
"Fitz?"
"Hmm?"
He turned back toward her, only to find her leaning over the middle of the seat and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "Good luck on your test," she whispered against his skin before pulling back from him.
"Yeah, thanks."
He couldn't stop himself from grinning all the way up to his front door.
-o-
"Alright, Skye. It's day seven, and John is getting very antsy at your lack of progress." Raina sat down at the table across from Skye in the seat usually occupied by Grant.
"Where's Grant?"
"Don't worry about him. He'll be back later." Raina smiled at her, the smile of a woman who knew all your secrets. It made Skye shift in her seat as she typed. "You like him."
"Yeah, sure, for a psychopath that kidnaps people, he's great."
Raina gave a small laugh. "It's all right to like him. Grant isn't a bad person, you know. He just does what's required of him. He's very loyal."
"Like abducting people."
"It was a last resort. We were on a bit of a time crunch. If he'd had a better window, we would have asked you to join us."
"Weirdly, that makes me feel a little bit better," Skye lied. "I thought he was just using me." Her mind raced to figure out what kind of deadline they were on. Did they need the drug by a certain day? Or could they only steal it on a certain day?
"Oh, no. Your reputation was what made him notice you, but when he was tasked with keeping an eye on you and another candidate, he chose you."
"Really?"
"Really."
Skye forced herself to smile, like a schoolgirl with a crush. She needed them to think that she wasn't still trying to find a way out of this mess, though she knew she had stalled long enough. It was time to tell them the truth about the computer system in place at Furious Pharmaceuticals.
"I figured out why the system keeps kicking me out."
"Oh?"
"Parts of the company have an open network, but the top secret projects, the executive's private computers, they're all on a closed network."
"You're going to have to tell me what that means, Skye. I'm smart, but I'm not as good with computers as you are."
"It means I need to be in the building, on one of their computers. Preferably, the boss's computer."
"In the building?" Raina echoed. She grinned like a cat that ate the canary. "John is not going to like that."
"Does that mean no?" Skye was confused.
"No. It just means I'll have to convince him to let you come. We're going to have so much fun, Skye."
Skye stopped herself just short of asking if she could have her promised phone call now. She had a feeling she was going to have to wait.
-o-
Fitz poured himself a cup of coffee, trying to tune out the sounds around him of detectives on the phone tracking down witnesses, placing bets with one another on the number of cases they could close, and the general background sound of clicking fingers on keyboards, ringing phones, scratching pens, and scanners alerting them to dispatch calls. This place was loud enough on the best of days, but when you got no sleep the night before, it seemed to be worse, everything echoing and compounding like he was suffering from a hangover.
He didn't have the mental capacity to prepare himself a proper cup of tea this morning. On top of being out for the stakeout, he found he couldn't make himself fall asleep until he knew Jemma was home, no strange people there with her. It wasn't lost on him that whomever Skye was currently with knew where Jemma lived. And he hadn't been able to stop with just a simple good night message either. He wasn't much of a television person, but he had flipped through channels, finding an old science special on DNA that was so cheesy, he couldn't believe it had ever been made. He and Jemma had texted back and forth about the ridiculous program for over an hour. She used a lot more smiley faces than he did, but he couldn't stop himself from grinning at each and every one of them.
He added more sugar than could ever have been necessary into the mug and took it over to his desk. With a sigh, he opened up his computer, and began to quickly scroll through all of Sitwell's activity from after their stakeout. His car had gone to what looked like a bank before heading to a parking garage, probably one near his home. That wasn't too unusual. But after parking in the garage, about an hour later Fitz noticed, Sitwell's ID card was used to open the loading dock at Furious Pharmaceuticals.
What, did he switch cars and go back? That didn't make any sense. Unless he suspected someone was following him.
Sipping his coffee, Fitz started to think, and began systematically comparing Sitwell's credit card usage, ID log ins and outs, and tracked his car during the time they had been monitoring him. Something was definitely going on. There were a handful of times that it didn't match up. It could be a glitch in the system, but Fitz didn't think so.
Three hours later, he looked at the clock. That couldn't be right. He grabbed his phone out of his pocket, but the time was exactly the same. Damn. He had missed the detective's exam. Again.
Trip was going to kill him. If Hand didn't get to him first.
Fitz slipped the phone back in his pocket, glancing around surreptitiously, seeing if anyone noticed that he was still there. No one was paying him any attention. He shut down his computer, grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair, and swiftly left the squad room. He wasn't going to listen to the ribbing about him missing the exam again. He had better things to do.
-o-