-o-

Part Five

-o-

Every time his phone alerted him to an incoming call or a text message, Fitz jumped, then ignored it. By the time the evening rolled around and he was supposed to be keeping tabs on Sitwell again, he had missed two calls from the precinct, probably from the captain herself, and half a dozen from Trip. He couldn't bring himself to listen to the voice mails.

Trip finally texted him with a curt message about having another meeting with the District Attorney. He had to testify the next day, and Fitz was in charge of the stakeout for the evening. It said something to the effect of Fitz needing to stop acting like a dumbass too, but Fitz chose to ignore that part of it as well. Instead, he called Jemma to see if she wanted to spy on her boss with him.

When he pulled up outside her apartment building, a blond woman wearing heavy makeup, huge sunglasses, and a khaki trench coat made a beeline for his car. When she climbed into the front seat next to him, he had to stifle a laugh.

"What the bloody hell are ye wearin'?"

"A disguise."

"Ye do realize we're jus' goin' ta be in tha car, right?"

"Yes, but you do realize that we're going to spy on my boss that I spent a very awkward few minutes up close and personal with in an elevator so Detective Triplett could get in his office, right?"

"Tha sun will be down soon. Ye donnae need tha sunglasses," Fitz said, reaching up and removing them from her face. "Better," he mumbled, smiling at the thick eyeliner and bright red lips she was sporting as her disguise. He didn't ask why she needed the eyeliner when she had been wearing the oversized sunglasses. "Yer probably goin' ta be uncomfortable in the coat after a while too."

"I'll leave it on for now," she told him, taking her sunglasses from him and dropping them in her bag, her cheeks pink when he finally turned his attention back to traffic and pulled the car out.

Jemma opened Fitz's laptop, balancing it on her knees, after he parked them a few spaces back from Sitwell's car, just as he and Triplett had done the day before. "What exactly are we looking for?"

It was a little disconcerting hearing her voice coming from underneath the platinum blond curtain of hair, but Fitz ignored that, and pointed out the different programs she would need to open, his shoulder resting against hers on the console.

"This one is a duplicate security system. See here," Fitz pointed, leaning closer, feeling the pressure of her arm against his, "this is Sitwell's ID badge. It's active. He's logged in at tha computer in his office, probably finishin' up fer the day. This program here," he gestured to another button on the screen, "this tracks his company credit card use. See?"

"He had lunch at that café up the street," Jemma said.

"Right." Fitz peered at her out of the corner of his eye, but she was focused on the screen in front of her. "This program," he pointed out one more piece of the Sitwell surveillance system, "logs everywhere the car goes."

They both skimmed through the route list, and Fitz quickly typed in a few commands, fully aware that it meant his hands were basically in her lap, but Jemma didn't seem particularly uncomfortable with that, so he tried not to worry about it. A map popped up on the screen, showing them exactly where Sitwell had driven since the last time Fitz had opened up the program.

"Is this his home, then?" Jemma asked, pointing at the black dot that indicated the starting point on the map. She turned to look at him for confirmation and found their noses just inches apart.

"Yes," Fitz breathed, nodding his head. He swallowed, but he didn't look back to the computer screen until she did.

"So then," Jemma struggled to stay focused, his proximity making her head swim, "he stopped at a bakery, then came into work, went to lunch, came back." She shook her head. "Nothing unusual."

"No, nothin'."

"What if I was wrong?" she asked in a small voice.

"Then it's a lead we followed tha' didnae pan out. Happens all tha time." When she didn't have a response to that, just looked even more upset, Fitz nudged her with his elbow. "Really. Ye 'ave ta get rid o' tha things tha donnae make sense in order ta get ta tha real bad guys."

Jemma made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "When you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

"Yer quite tha Sherlock Holmes fan, huh?"

"I think he's an interesting character, yes. A fascinating detective."

"Uh huh."

Jemma turned to face him again, leaning her cheek against the back of the seat and shifting her legs so he could easily access the laptop. "I do not develop feelings for fictional characters," she told him primly.

"O' course no'," he answered with a cheeky grin, "tha' would be strange, yeah?"

She responded with her own grin. "I think everyone has their own favorite fictional detective. You work in the business, you must have one." She poked him playfully. "Who is it?"

He only made a halfhearted attempt at pushing her hand away. "Ye 'ave ta promise no' ta laugh at me."

"Oooh, this sounds like it's going to be a good one." She clapped her hands together in delight.

"I'm serious," Fitz said, trying to keep his face straight. "No laughin'."

"No laughing."

Fitz cleared his throat, gaze focused on the slight curve of her smile and the way her eyes were shining at him. For someone who was sitting in a car on a stakeout, she looked remarkably happy. "Ye ever see tha' old American series Murder, She Wrote?"

Jemma's eyes danced as she giggled. Full on giggled. Like a schoolgirl gossiping with friends about cute boys.

"Ye said ye wouldnae laugh!" Fitz protested with his own chuckle. Her laugh was infectious.

"Angela Lansbury plays your favorite fictional detective? Jessica Fletcher, mystery novelist, is your favorite fictional detective?" Jemma dissolved into giggles again. "That's adorable."

"I jus' think it's pretty great tha' someone's grandmother is out there bringin' villains ta justice. Everyone underestimates 'er."

"Mmm." Jemma's giggles slowly subsided. "That is pretty great." She tore her gaze away from him to take a quick peek at the laptop, making sure they hadn't missed Sitwell on the move. When his number was still logged in at the same spot on the grid, she met Fitz's eyes again. "So… what else does Doctor Fitz like?"

They spent two hours discussing anything and everything. Jemma learned that his mom was the only family Fitz had, that his first name was Leopold (how had she gone an entire week without learning his first name?), and that he had a healthy interest in monkeys. Fitz learned that Jemma was an only child, that she had thought about becoming a veterinarian as a kid, and that even though she was far too old for them, she still liked to read fairy tales. Somewhere along the way she had removed the trench coat as well, tossing it into the backseat.

He was in the middle of telling her about the time he broke his arm when he was eight years old when he noticed a blip on the computer.

"What?" she asked when he abruptly stopped talking.

"Looks like yer boss is on tha move."

Jemma leaned closer to him, peering at the screen. Sitwell had just logged off the network and activated the elevator. But just as his ID badge activated the elevator, another blip appeared on the screen at a completely different spot on the grid.

"Fitz, how can Sitwell be accessing the elevator and the door to the loading dock at the same time?"

"He cannae."

They watched the dots on the screen.

"This doesn't make any sense," Jemma exclaimed. "Which one is really him?"

"We'll 'ave ta wait an' see who comes out tha front door," Fitz began, but then he shook his head as he worked through the problem at hand with breakneck speed, "No, tha person at tha loading dock, tha cannae be Sitwell. Sitwell came back from lunch, went back ta his office, so tha one comin' down tha elevator is definitely him." He moved into position and started the car back up.

"Fitz?"

"We're goin' ta find out who else has got his access. Someone could jus' be usin' Sitwell's information ta get in an' out o' the buildin'."

Jemma nodded, moving the laptop back to her knees and straightening up in her seat. "Pull around the left side of the building. There's an alley that goes through to the next street. You'll be able to see the dock without getting too close."

Fitz did as he was told, cutting the lights before they could flash down the street, and pulling the car neatly behind another parked vehicle that had a trio of parking tickets on it. No one was getting in that car.

Ahead of them, the door to the loading dock was open, a security guard standing outside, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. He was young, almost too young to be working a job like this.

"Ye recognize 'im?"

"No." Jemma shook her head. "But Fitz, he's just a kid."

"Donnae mistake youth fer innocence, Jemma."

"Jessica Fletcher would never," Jemma agreed with a sly smile, keeping her eyes on the young man at the door. She probably shouldn't be teasing him, but the entire idea of Fitz curled up in bed with a bowl of popcorn watching Angela Lansbury solve murders between typing out novels was too good to resist.

In spite of the circumstances, Fitz laughed.

"Do you think he's waiting for someone, or is he really taking a smoke break?"

A car pulled up from the other side.

"I guess tha' answers tha' question."

A man got out of the car, and even from far away, Jemma thought he looked vaguely familiar. He only spoke with the kid for a few minutes, shaking his head, the kid passing over a portable hard drive before the man got back in and drove away. It was a very quick exchange.

"I think I've seen him before," Jemma whispered, "the guy in the car, but I don't know where." She wracked her brain, trying to place him, but nothing was coming to mind. Just as the kid put his cigarette out on the concrete and tucked it back into the pack in his pocket, he seemed to glance in their direction. "Fitz… I think he sees us."

"Ye said they wouldnae see us here, we're fine."

But the young man in the security uniform started walking their way, a flashlight in hand. He was quickly closing the distance between the door and Fitz's car.

"We should leave," Jemma bit out in a panic. "What if he knows who I am? I work here, Fitz. I can't get caught sneaking around the alley in the middle of the night!"

"We leave an' we look more suspicious," Fitz told her, turning inward, placing a hand on her arm, and snapping the laptop shut. He moved it to the floor by her feet before glancing back and forth between her and the security guard, knowing one very easy way to get out of this. "Ye trus' me, right?"

"Of course, but – "

Jemma was cut off by him pulling her closer and placing his mouth over hers. She made a small noise of protest before she knew what was happening, wanting him to tell her his plan, sure that kissing was not a good plan right now, but when his hand reached up to cup her cheek, she relaxed into his touch, focusing on the dizzying feeling his kiss produced instead of the potential problem walking toward them. When he pulled back just slightly to take a breath, she did something she had wanted to since the first night he'd showed up at her door with a pile of files, following his mouth and pulling at the lower lip that he was always biting, not letting him get too far. She felt him smile against her lips before he began kissing her in earnest, one arm sliding around her waist to bring her even closer to him. Up against the middle console of the car's front seat already though, there wasn't much closer she could move without sliding into his lap, and she didn't think he was intending for that to happen. Instead, she reached up and gripped the collar of his shirt, just as the light of the flashlight swept over them and a harsh knock hit the driver's side window.

Jemma let out a shaky breath as Fitz simultaneously rolled down his window with one hand and used the other to push Jemma back and into his shoulder just enough that she was obscured from the line of sight of the guard.

"Kin I bloody well 'elp ye?" Fitz asked, mustering up a thicker accent than usual, lacing his tone with annoyance. That always seemed to throw people off, playing up the stereotype of the angry Scotsman. It wasn't that hard under the circumstances. "Me fiancée an' I're tryin' ta celebrate!" He hoped this kid wasn't going to ask what they were celebrating or why they were doing it in an alley. He wasn't sure he could come up with an answer to that right now, not with Jemma's fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt, keeping up their charade with fingernails grazing his chest with gentle pressure through the material, or with her breath ghosting over his neck every few seconds as she struggled to catch her breath.

"Um, I'm sorry, sir." The kid, his nametag read Seth, said, shuffling his feet, the light from the flashlight bouncing around as he did. Fitz had the fleeting impression that he'd seen this kid before, but with darker hair and a scowling expression, in one of his missing person's files. "You can't park here." He was clearly trying not to fall apart in laughter. "This is private property."

"Fine!" Fitz snapped out, catching his own reflection in the side view mirror. Good lord, did Jemma have to wear red lipstick? It was everywhere. No wonder this kid was a few steps away from hysterical laughter. "We're leavin'." He waved his hand angrily to indicate that Seth should back away from the car, and as soon as he began to walk toward the building, Fitz backed his car up and turned onto the main street. "Jesus," he muttered, not sure if the word was a result of the adrenaline coursing through his veins at almost getting caught, or the lust clouding his judgment since he still had one arm wrapped around Jemma, tucking her awkwardly against him. He cautiously untangled himself from her, not looking at her until he was pulling into a gas station parking lot a few miles away.

"That was very smart, quick thinking," she finally said, slowly turning to face him again, her face feeling as though it was on fire.

"Yes. Thank ye. Ye improvised well." He inwardly cringed at his words. He sounded like an instructor at the Police Academy approving of her technique.

"Fiancée though?"

"Sounded like tha mos' – respectful – option."

When he met her eyes, they both burst into laughter.

"Does my lipstick look as bad as yours?" Jemma asked between bouts.

"Yes," Fitz nodded his head emphatically, smiling widely. "'s actually a nice color on ye," he offered, "maybe a little messy though."

She ducked her head, shoulders shaking with laughter, and picked her bag up from the floor, searching for tissues or napkins, anything to get the ridiculous red smeared across Fitz's face off. "Here," she said, still giggling when she glanced up at him, "let me see."

She gripped his chin with one hand, her heart fluttering when his eyes met hers, and she forced herself to keep focused on the bright red surrounding his mouth. Not that it helped much since it meant she was spending her time staring at his lips, which she now didn't have to wonder about – she knew they were just as amazing as she thought. She used a tissue to gently swipe at the pigment on his skin, but it wasn't doing much good, so she shrugged, licked a corner of the tissue, and wiped again, watching with satisfaction as the red appeared on the fabric instead. When she dropped her hands to her lap, Fitz reached forward and grabbed one of the other tissues, doing the same for her, though it took him much less time.

"Yers wasnae as bad as mine after all," he breathed as he made one final pass of the tissue just under her bottom lip, his thumb grazing it in the process.

"Well," Jemma tried to tease him, "I am rather used to being the one wearing the lipstick," but she couldn't think with his fingers on her skin and his mouth so close to hers.

He didn't say anything for a moment, but there was the hint of a smile on his face as he reached up and pulled the blond wig from her head. Jemma tried to smooth down her own hair which had been haphazardly tucked beneath it, attempting to surreptitiously wipe a line of sweat from her forehead.

"Thanks. That was hot." Her cheeks pinked further. "The wig. I mean the wig. Obviously. Not – this is –"

"Better," Fitz whispered, tossing the wig in the backseat with her coat, and tucking a few unruly strands of hair back into place for her. He nodded. "Much better."

"So I shouldn't make the blond a permanent change?" she attempted to joke again, to lighten the weight that had settled around them in the car.

"Nah. 's no' ye." He settled back into his seat, placing his hands back on the steering wheel. "I guess I should be gettin' ye home."

"Oh. Right." Jemma nodded her head in agreement. "We should do that instead of sitting in a parking lot."

"No' tha' this hasnae been good – I mean – It's been fun? No, wait, I – nevermind."

Jemma pursed her lips to stop the smile that was threatening to split her face in half. She didn't have to try so hard to stop her smile though once Fitz explained who he thought the security guard was.

"You think he's one of those missing kids? But if they have someone working security, what do they need with Sitwell?"

"They donnae need him. Maybe they needed his codes to access files, but now –"

"They're setting him up. Whatever it is they're planning on stealing, they're setting him up to take the fall. His name will be all over their access logs. That's brilliant. Awful, but brilliant. I'd believe he stole from the company."

-o-

Instead of dropping her off at her building as he had planned, Fitz found a parking space and walked Jemma up under the pretense of wanting to look at the white board with her list of missing people on it. She had added the most recent photos she could find, and he wanted to determine if Seth was really Seth. It had nothing to do with the knowledge that she tasted like chamomile tea or that she made the smallest of groans when he had stopped kissing her. It had nothing to do with wanting to be alone with Jemma for just a little bit longer. At least, that's what he told himself.

Sitting outside her front door, feet stretched out in front of him, effectively killing whatever mood there had been, was Detective Triplett.

"Let me guess," he drawled as they got off the elevator, "you both had your phones off while on your stakeout?"

"Oops," Jemma tried, shrugging her shoulders, her eyes wide.

"What is all that?" Triplett asked, gesturing to Jemma's face. He didn't think he'd ever seen her with that much makeup on before.

"My disguise." She held up her blond wig and trench coat for good measure. "I didn't want anyone to recognize me."

"Smart." Triplett managed to crack a smile at that as he climbed to his feet, and Jemma unlocked the door with another murmured apology, letting them all into her apartment. He eyed Fitz suspiciously as he walked by him.

"Okay, I was all set to yell at you for missing your test again, but Fitzy, is that lipstick you're wearing? A dark red lipstick?" Trip poked the spot just above Fitz's lip where there was a line of red that Jemma had missed in the darkness of the parking lot.

Fitz jerked away from him, wiping at his lip with the back of his hand.

"It was a cover – "

"I'm sorry, I thought I got it all."

Triplett glanced back and forth between the two of them. "You know what, I don't need to know." He was still smiling though, and when his eyes strayed to Jemma's lipstick, he gave a little laugh. He resisted the urge to comment on their now adorably matching pink complexions.

"Wait a minute," Jemma turned on Fitz as he locked the door to her apartment, her thoughts catching up to what Triplett had originally said, "you missed your exam today? You never said anything! Fitz –"

"Probably too busy kissing you," Triplett commented under his breath, edging his way into the kitchen and putting on a pot of coffee like it was his own kitchen. Since he had been sitting outside Doctor Simmons' door for over an hour and had got dirty looks from two different neighbors before he flashed his badge at them, he was feeling entitled to a nice cup of coffee. He didn't care if it was going to keep him up and he was going to be irritable when he had to testify in court tomorrow. Besides, he spent almost as much time in this apartment as he had his own for the last week.

"I know, I know!"

"How many times have you missed taking the exam?"

"Erm –"

"This is his third," Triplett called. "Tell him he can't miss the next one!" They might not have known Doctor Simmons for very long, but he already knew this was the one person who was going to make Fitz realize that taking this test was important.

"You really can't miss the next one, Fitz." Her voice was soft, and Trip shot a glance over his shoulder to see Fitz leaning against the other side of the counter, Doctor Simmons (maybe he really should start thinking of her as Jemma now) standing far too close to him to be deemed simply as friendly. Seriously, how much had gone on at this stakeout? "How many tests can you not take before they decide you're not going to be a detective?"

"I dunnae." He ran one hand over his face in frustration. "I was so focused on Sitwell this morning, some of tha trackers didnae make sense, and I lost track o' time. I didnae mean ta miss it. Really."

"When can he take the next one?" Jemma directed her words to Triplett without looking away from Fitz.

Their eyes had locked, and Triplett was starting to feel like he was intruding. "Another month. The Academy offers it once a month," he informed her.

"So, you have to take it next month, no matter what happens." Jemma tapped his arm with the tips of her fingers. "You're a brilliant detective, Fitz. Promise me you'll take it."

"I promise."

"Good."

-o-

The next day, with Fitz at work being forced to tend to the evidence room until he was allowed to participate in active cases again, and Triplett spending his day in court waiting for his turn to testify as an arresting officer, Jemma found she couldn't sit still. She would read the information on one white board, the little star next to Seth's name sticking out at her as she did, and then she would move on to the next.

She sipped a cup of tea and tracked Sitwell's movements on the laptop Fitz had left with her. She leafed through a few of the copies of paper files they had left at her apartment. Then, she paced, and she started the process all over again.

She knew this wasn't good for her. She knew that Fitz was right and that she should go back to work. But going back to work meant working alongside people who might have been planted there by Lake Lerna Industries. And it wasn't as though she was going to be very productive; these days there were only two things she could concentrate on – the search for Skye and the way Fitz looked at her. And she could only do something about one of those things right now.

Jemma walked the length of the boards again before plopping back down on her couch and opening up the GPS tracker and the duplicated security system. She wanted to see what Sitwell was up to today. To her surprise, he wasn't at his usual office at Furious Pharmaceuticals. Instead, his code was being used in one of the lower level labs. An archive facility, where abandoned projects were stored.

She had an idea.

Jemma rifled through her bag, searching for the last few files she had been working with when she put in for sick leave. One of those files had included a list of abandoned research projects from the last six months. Once she had finished her data entry on the more successful research projects, she was supposed to be a member of the team analyzing the components of those drugs, determining if they could be applied to different illnesses. She had never gotten around to that part of the files.

"Here we go," Jemma muttered, finding the thinnest of the files. There were five different research projects outlined in it, all abandoned because they were deemed too dangerous to use, but the chemical formulas could be worth a fortune to the right person. She set herself down in the middle of the couch and started to read. "Which one of you is it?"

After reading through the thin bits of information outlined in the files though, Jemma had a problem. She needed the details of the research to figure out which ones were more important. And there was only one place she could get all of the research. She groaned, pulled on a sweater and a pair of shoes, and headed out, shooting a text message to Fitz as she rode the elevator down to the lobby.

He wasn't happy as his response in all uppercase letters indicated. But she kept going, sending him a smiling face and assurances that she would be fine.

When Jemma walked inside Furious Pharmaceuticals, she pulled the clip from her hair, allowing it to obscure her face, and moved quickly by the security desk at the front where Seth was sitting. She took the stairs instead of an elevator, up just two floors, and she was in the mostly deserted archive department. File cabinets upon file cabinets greeted her. This was where the drugs that didn't have to be electronically catalogued had all of their research stored. The drugs themselves would be in the refrigeration vault, carefully kept under lock and key and fancy software, but Jemma would worry about that when the time came. Instead, she pulled her list from her pocket and hit the filing cabinets.

-o-

"Skye, I've got good news," Raina was practically purring when she unlocked the door to what had become Skye's bedroom.

"You do?" Skye tried her best to appear eager and happy to see Raina, like the two were now the best of friends.

"I do." Raina smoothed her hands over the skirt of her black dress with the large red roses printed on it. "John has agreed to let you come on the job with me and Grant. Isn't that exciting?"

"Yay!" Skye even jumped up off the bed and gave a little hop of excitement to show the proper enthusiasm.

"And, if you'd still like to call your old roommate, John thinks it's a good idea for you to let her know you're okay."

"Okay." Skye went completely numb, but she kept the smile on her face. She had wanted a chance to call Jemma, to warn her about what was happening, but she still hadn't worked out exactly what she was going to say to her.

"Come with me."

-o-

"Are ye bloody insane?"

Fitz and Triplett were standing outside her building waiting for her when she walked up. Triplett, for his part, had a bag of takeout from an Indian place in his hands, and appeared perfectly relaxed. Fitz looked like he was ready to punch a hole in the wall.

"Excuse me?"

"Are ye insane?" He repeated, following her inside. "Ye shouldnae have gone in there alone."

"I work there, Fitz. What was I supposed to do? Have someone else break in and steal the files I needed when I could just access them myself?" She hissed at him, trying to keep her voice down as they waited for the elevator.

"One o' us could 'ave come with ye!"

"I'm fine. See?" She grabbed his hand and squeezed as though proving she was there and real, but Fitz didn't relax. "You told me to go back to work."

"Tha' was before."

"I went back to work."

"It was a bad idea ta go in there alone."

"You and Trip have jobs to do. This is my job. Well, kind of."

"Ye got Trip in before –"

"That was different. We didn't know what we were looking for –"

"An' now we know tha' they're lookin' fer somethin' there –"

"That reminds me, Seth was at the security desk. You were right about that."

"Bloody Seth, see?"

"But I know what they're after. And I know where it is."

"Wha'?

"Hydromorphodiazecodone."

Fitz stared at her like she had three heads. "That doesn't exist."

"No, it's just not on the market because it's dangerous."

The elevator dinged, doors opening, and the three of them stepped inside. Triplett pushed the button to get to Jemma's floor, not interjecting into this conversation. He wasn't about to get involved. This didn't really feel like a witness overstepping her bounds kind of argument. They had all overstepped enough bounds at this point that it couldn't be an issue anymore. This felt more like an overprotective boyfriend scared for his girlfriend argument. Not that the two of them were even dating. Not yet.

"How's it dangerous? Wha's it for?"

"It was developed as this treatment to block the pain receptors in MS patients, but it did its job too well. It's like every pain medicine that's ever existed, all rolled into one. It doesn't just block neurological pain. It stops the physical and emotional sensations associated with pain, blocking several different kinds of neural receptors at once. It's like a dopamine overload. People are in a perpetual state of false happiness as a result."

"Perpetual happiness doesnae sound so bad," Fitz remarked off hand. "No' like gettin' caught by possible kidnappers on yer way home from work."

Trip was, he decided while half-listening, willing to give it a few more days before telling them to just go out on a real date already and put him out of his misery. He tapped his foot while the elevator climbed, and he was the first one out the doors when they opened on Jemma's floor.

"Fitz," Jemma said softly as the two of them trailed behind him. "I was careful. No one even talked to me. No one noticed I was there."

"Yer sure?"

"I'm sure."

She unlocked the door, dropping her keys back into her purse and leading them into the kitchen.

"And that false happiness, no pain? Think about it. You could break your foot and not realize because you don't feel the pain. It could cause serious damage. You wouldn't understand what it meant to have a broken heart, or appreciate falling in love because you've never experienced loss. There's no emotional high to reach because you're already there. Nothing would be real. You would never feel the need to question something that could hurt."

"But people would be docile without any o' tha pain tha' leads ta sadness or anger," Fitz cut in, realizing what she was getting at. "It would be cult-like behavior on a massive scale. They could almos' control tha way people act."

"Exactly. If they figured out how to properly administer it, the right dosage, there's no telling what they could do."

"You two done yet?" Triplett asked, stopping this line of thinking before it could curb his appetite. "Because I brought curry. And it's amazing. We should eat before we hear any more about this crazy drug and a plan to rule the world."

"Hydromorphodiazecodone," Fitz and Simmons said in unison.

The strains of an old nineties pop song began to echo through her apartment and Jemma jumped at the unexpected sound.

"You have an alarm set on your radio or something?" Triplett asked, his hand immediately going to his holster at the sudden noise.

Jemma shook her head mutely. Triplett gestured for her and Fitz to stay put in the kitchen as he crept purposefully toward the sound. It was coming from Skye's room. Jemma reached out, unthinking, and grabbed onto Fitz's arm in fear.

"Stay here," he muttered to her, squeezing her hand before removing it.

"What?" she hissed as he began to walk away. "No!" She grabbed onto his sleeve and tugged. "You are not leaving me alone! What if there's someone back there?"

"Ye don' think Trip might need backup?"

"What if it's just a distraction?" She pulled him in closer. "Someone could be luring you to the back so they can come in the front door?"

"There was no one in tha hall outside."

"It's Skye's phone," Triplett called to them. "A call's coming in from a blocked line."

Jemma hastily let go of Fitz's shirtsleeve while he smiled reassuringly at her. "Ye need to answer it," he told her. "It could be tha people who have Skye."

She nodded her head as Triplett came back into the room. Fitz began dialing on his own cell phone, explaining to someone on the other end that they had a number and they needed to know who was calling it. He nodded at Triplett.

"Keep them on the phone as long as you can, okay Jemma?"

"Okay."

Triplett slid the screen to answer the call, hitting the speaker button immediately after, holding it in front of him so Jemma could talk.

"Hello?" She hated the way her voice squeaked and wobbled. She wanted to sound confident. She wanted these people to think that she wasn't afraid of them. Mostly she just wanted to know that Skye was all right.

"Jemma? Thank god. I wasn't sure if you were going to be able to answer or not. I couldn't remember where I left my phone."

Jemma gripped the counter in front of her, her face slack with shock. "Skye?" She recovered quickly, forcing her brain to make the cognitive leap that Skye was alive and had access to a phone and was talking to her. "Where are you? Are you okay? What – "

"I don't have a lot of time to talk. I just wanted to let you know that I'm fine. I'm on a job. It was very last minute. I didn't even have time to grab my stuff. I didn't want you to worry."

"You didn't want me to worry," Jemma repeated in disbelief, hands balling into fists. Skye was lying to her. She could hear it in her voice. It was strained, pulled as tight as a rubber band about to snap. Someone was there with her. Listening. They must have been. She wasn't out on her own. She was still in trouble. "You shouldn't have just left then – "

Triplett had been gesturing for her to keep the conversation going, but now he was lowering his hand in front of him, indicating Jemma needed to find a way to tone it down.

"I was worried. I hadn't heard from you. Do you need me to bring you anything? Send you anything?"

"No, nope. We're well stocked here. They're taking good care of me."

"Oh. Are you sure? I don't mind." Jemma pressed, knowing she was pushing her luck, but she needed something from Skye. Her roommate wasn't giving them anything to go on. They needed a clue. Even something cryptic. "I can – "

"Yep. Yeah. I'm fine." There was a rustling on the other end and Jemma could hear Skye's muffled voice asking for just a little more time. "God Jemma, you sound really tense though. You've got to loosen up a little bit. You're probably working harder than I am, like usual. You know what you need?"

"Skye – "

"You really need to get laid."

Jemma closed her eyes at the insistence in Skye's tone and tried to ignore the two detectives who were staring at her. God, what were they going to think? What was Skye thinking?

"Skye, I don't think – "

"No, Jemma, seriously. How long has it been? Not since that Mike guy last year, right? Don't you remember? I gave you that thing for when you really need a good screw? Use it."

Jemma's eyes popped open in understanding. "Okay. Yeah. You're right. I'll – I'll do that."

Across from her, Agent Triplett was biting down hard on his bottom lip, trying desperately not to laugh. This was not the kind of phone call most people got in a kidnapping situation. Fitz's mouth was open in shock, and his eyes kept darting from the phone to Triplett to Jemma, as though he wasn't entirely sure how he was supposed to react to the conversation they were listening to.

"Good. Don't worry about me. Have some fun. Get into some shenanigans. I'll see you soon, Jems, okay?"

The line went dead.

"Anything?" Fitz whispered into his phone. He shook his head at Triplett as he disconnected his own call.

The three of them stood very still for a moment, no one saying anything.

Triplett was the first to comment. "Do we need to leave so you can be alone with Skye's present? I could go pick you up some spare batteries. Or did you want to stay, Fitzy? Cause – " He was cut off as Fitz hit him in the shoulder, pretending to be in pain from the sudden blow.

Jemma snapped her gaze up to him in confusion, then realized what he was referring to, her cheeks heating in embarrassment. She groaned at Skye's method of getting her point across. "Skye was just –"

Fitz smirked, and if it was possible, her face became an even darker shade of red and she stopped talking altogether.

"Been a while then, Jemma?"

"Like you're any better," Triplett teased him.

Fitz cleared his throat, turning the tide of the conversation before anyone else said anything too embarrassing. "Well, obviously, that was a code, right? Strange one, but a code, yeah?"

Jemma nodded, trying to shake off the heat on her skin. "Where are my keys?" she muttered. She ran from the kitchen to the table by the front door, but her keys weren't in the dish there.

"Your keys?" Fitz asked as he followed her. "I think ye dropped 'em back in yer bag."

Running back into the kitchen, she rummaged around in her bag, listening for the tell-tale sound of the small pieces of metal hitting against one another. When she fished them out of her bag, the detectives both nodded their heads at the bright pink screwdriver dangling from her key ring.

"I didn't even date Mike. Or sleep with him for that matter," she told the two of them. "Not that it should matter…" She cleared her throat, not looking at Fitz as she added, "He lived down the hall with his son, Skye and I used to watch Ace for him, and in exchange he did some repairs for us. When they moved upstate, Skye bought the screwdriver for me as a joke." She removed the screwdriver from her key ring very carefully and placed it on the countertop. "I'm not sure why, but this is what she wanted me to find."

"A screwdriver," Trip asked, shaking his head. "Your roommate is a little odd. But at least now we know that someone is keeping her. She's not doing this on her own."

Jemma narrowed her eyes at him. "Not that we thought she was doing this on her own before, right?"

"No," Trip agreed, "but you know we have to consider all the possibilities. Part of the way the job works."

Jemma relaxed slightly and watched Fitz who was staring at the screwdriver, lost in thought. "What do you think?" she questioned him.

"Ye sure this is jus' a screwdriver?"

He reached across the counter, picking it up from in front of Jemma, weighing it in the palm of his hand. Jemma didn't answer him, just observed, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth as he ran the tool between his fingers, trying to find something special about it. His fingers worked more delicately than she had seen, moving effortlessly over the material of the screwdriver, pushing and pulling, testing the material. He gently ran the tip of one finger over the handle. She wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he must have found it because the tip of his finger pressed more firmly against the tool and he bit his own lip in concentration, humming to himself. She sucked in a breath.

She had just spoken with her missing roommate for the first time in over a week. He was examining a screwdriver. She should not be turned on right now. No.

His fingers gently moved over the pink surface, one fingernail scraping against it before he applied pressure with his thumb and forefinger, twisting at the handle. Jemma cleared her throat, feeling the flush rise on her neck. She brought one of her own hands up to the collar of her shirt, fingertips worrying the fabric while he twisted the handle completely around, pulling it apart and revealing a flashdrive hidden inside.

"Clever," Triplett remarked. "Let's find out what's on it."

-o-