"Help"

Jemma Simmons had learnt how to swim when she was only a few years old. As a scientist, she was well aware that the human body was capable of more things than the mind would allow. Where many people thought they could only hold their breath for twenty or thirty seconds, she could hold hers for up to three minutes, even when she was physically exerting herself. Fitz knew this, knew that she had the best chance, and made her take it.

Like hell was she going to leave her best friend to drown.

She heaved him out of the water as soon as she gulped down some air. Just because she could hold her breath longer than that, it didn't mean that her body wouldn't react instinctively. Tugging Fitz along as he floated on his back, she searched around. Surely someone could have found their signal? Surely someone could help them?

It felt like an age before she registered the sound of whirring blades, and felt the water churning around her. Jemma craned her head, and saw a heli-jet – whatever they were called – hovering above them.

"Help!" she screamed, waving her free arm while her legs moved faster to keep them afloat. The jet-or-copter lowered towards them, and the hatch on the side opened. Even if it was the enemy, it was better than being left in the middle of nowhere.

A shaded face appeared, and a hand stretched out to her. Keeping Fitz in one hand, she clasped on with the other, squinting against the sun, and hoping that they were with friends.

Her rescuer pulled with a grunt, and someone beside him hauled Fitz up. Jemma stumbled into the first man, relying on his solid support until she found her centre of gravity once more. The door slid shut, and she watched as two medics – she hoped – lifted Fitz into a chamber like the one they'd used for Skye. She shivered, and accepted the blanket wrapped around her shoulders with a grateful smile.

Wait a moment. That was…

Too stunned to say anything, Jemma sat down where Nicholas Fury indicated. This couldn't be right. They'd been told… no, surely not. She looked over to the chamber, biting her lip as tears came to her eyes. Were they dead?

"You're in decompression on a jet back to the mainland."

Her head jerked up and she stared at the director. Was there still a SHIELD to be director of? Did it even count if he turned out not to be…?

"They told us you were dead," she said numbly. His eyes widened, but he didn't say anything. With the soulmark stretching from one side of her waist to another… it wasn't as though anyone else was likely to say those exact words to her ever again.

Well, it certainly explained her past tastes, and why she'd never been attracted to Fitz.

"Good," Fury said. "We want word to get around on that."

The day had been long. Last few days, really. Jemma wiped the moisture off her face, but the water in her hair kept dislodging itself. It was getting in her ears, her eyes, down the back of her clothes, down her neck…

She noticed Fury kneel in front of her, and shyly met his eyes.

"He'll be alright," he said. "We'll get the best care we can for your friend, okay?"

Jemma nodded. "Thank you," she whispered. "He's my best friend in the world. If he got hurt because of me…"

"This is on HYDRA, not you."

"Sir, you should get your belt on!" the pilot called over her shoulder. "The girl, too."

"Sit next to me?" Jemma asked. Fury paused, and then strapped himself in next to her, buckling her in when her icy hands wouldn't co-operate. She leaned into his warmth.

"Tell me what happened," he said.

"It was supposed to float," was all she could say.

After a lifetime, the team got together at the secret base. Fury and Coulson had a private chat, and from where she stood Jemma could hear the word 'stupid' being used multiple times. She hovered around while they transferred Fitz to the medical room (to call it a ward would have been generous). The other Ward, the traitor Ward, had been imprisoned downstairs, and Jemma didn't trust herself near him. No matter what arguments Fitz had presented, Grant Ward was HYDRA and he'd betrayed them. Done possibly irreversible harm to her best friend. What if he had brain damage?

When Coulson and Fury finally emerged, it was to the revelation that Coulson was now in charge of rebuilding SHIELD. Director Coulson; no longer Agent Coulson. Did they even have the title of 'agent' anymore? What was SHIELD now?

Too many questions; too few answers. She approached her soulmate while Coulson made his announcement.

"What are you going to do now?" Jemma asked. Fury looked at her over the top of his sunglasses.

"Pretty much what you're gonna do, I guess," he said. "Finish Captain America's job. Track down HYDRA bit by bit, take `em out."

"By yourself?"

"It's better that way."

She stepped closer. "Let me come with you."

"I can't ask that of you. You're needed here. Your friends need you."

"Are you really going to be all on your own?"

He sighed, and pulled off his sunglasses.

"I'm gonna be going undercover," he said. "Have you done that before?"

"Not solo."

"The fewer people involved in a cover-up, the better, Simmons."

She smiled. "Please call me Jemma. You're my soulmate, after all."

"Yeah." He half-smiled. "Know how young you are. Thought I didn't have a soulmate, then your mark came along. You're so much younger."

"If it makes you feel better, you're basically all my types rolled into one."

Fury's eyebrows shot up. "Be that as it may, Simmons, you're better where you are, or wherever Coulson sends you. No point trusting the system anymore; trust him instead. And your instincts."

"But how will I know where you are?"

"The point is that you don't know where I am. The point is that no one finds out our connection."

"Right," she said, crossing her arms as her stance shifted subtly, "because HYDRA isn't already after my blood."

"It's worse now. I can't even track down your parents and move them to safety, because someone could find out. I'm just…" He sighed again, sounding more frustrated this time. "Glad that no one knew before. Anyone in the organisation – Ward, for example – could've taken advantage of that. Now you know not to trust anyone not thoroughly vetted."

"Is there a problem?" Coulson called to them.

"No," Fury replied.

"Yes," Jemma said. "Let me come with you. They can find a replacement for me here. You might get hurt—"

"Much as I'd love to have a pretty young thing nursing me, I can't take you away from here. When HYDRA's down, when this is all over… I'm gonna be older than before."

"So am I."

"The age difference won't just go away."

"It will mean less as time passes by," she said. "Please."

"Do you really think I can keep it platonic if you're with me all the time?"

"I was rather counting on you not being able to keep it platonic. Sir."

"Call me Fury."

"Everyone would know who I'm referring to," Jemma pointed out.

"Well, you're not calling me Marcus. That's a specific code name."

"And I can't name you after Thor's father, or he might think I'm talking to him."

"Very funny," Fury muttered.

"Mister Sir?"

"No. Just… Don't make contact with me. Let me come to you."

"But—"

"Jemma. Please." She closed her mouth. "I've been in this game a long time, and I know how to direct my resources. If the time comes that I need you with me more than Coulson needs you here, I'll come for you. I'll say…"

He leaned in and whispered something in her ear. Jemma fought to concentrate on the words, and not on the way his breath tickled her skin.

Fury touched her cheek once, lightly, then left. When she turned back to face the others, she saw them staring at her, gob-smacked. She giggled nervously.

"That was… classified," she said.

I'm not telling you how much time has passed; that's classified as well

Jemma was grateful to be in a proper bed in a real motel. In the team's past, motels usually followed terrible times, and this occasion was no different. They'd collected new agents since beginning to rebuild SHIELD, plucking them from unlikely places. Some of the more logical places included jails, drug dens, brothels, and the streets. Knowing Phil Coulson's methods, she shouldn't have been surprised.

She had tried to achieve her original rapport with Fitz, who had far less trouble with his words. It helped that he'd found all three of his soulmates – she'd always told him he had a big heart – in Mack, Hunter, and Bobbi. They were just what he needed, and she was truly happy for him.

But she missed the soulmate she'd only had ten minutes with. She'd bought a few toys, but they didn't seem to help. She couldn't help thinking of him using them on her.

On the plus side, she had been training up her replacements. Anything could happen on missions; she might not be as lucky as she had been when she was undercover. She wouldn't always have a Bobbi Morse on her six. It was a terrible thought, but she didn't have that many positive thoughts these days. She'd contacted her parents only once, just before they all had to go dark. Skye kept an eye on them for her using international contacts, which was going above and beyond the call of friendship, and she would forever be grateful.

If Jemma had an ulterior motive for training more-than-acceptable replacements, she mentioned it to nobody.

In the middle of the night, she was woken by a hand over her mouth. Automatic reaction (i.e. Melinda May's thorough training) had her striking out before she could even escape from the covers. She had kicked her 'visitor' on the elbow and managed to punch in the vicinity of his stomach before her hands were held above her head in one hand, the other back on her mouth before she even noticed that it was missing.

"Shh. Stop struggling, and don't wake everyone up."

She blinked, relaxing. When the hands were gone – almost a disappointment – she stared up at the former director.

"Nicholas?" she said, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. "Is that—"

"Up for beating the next great adventure?" he said. Recognising the words, even though it had been so long since he whispered them to her, she tossed off the bedclothes and launched herself at him. He chuckled softly as she wrapped her arms around his torso, nuzzling into his hard chest.

"You've finally come for me," she said.

"I need you, Jemma."

She looked up at him, and smiled when he cupped her chin.

"Let me pack, and I'll go anywhere with you."

"Only what you need."

"If I had to pack only what I needed, I'd pack you."

He coughed quietly. "Better get moving, Dr. Simmons. The bad guys wait for no man. Or woman."

Jemma grabbed whatever she would need the most, leaving behind anything unnecessary. Although at the last moment, she stuffed her favourite toy into her case. You never know, she reasoned to herself.

"I must leave a note," she said. "Something so they'll know I'm safe."

"You're not."

"Fine, that I'm leaving of my own free will, that I won't be alone, and that I'm not leaving them to the wolves. I'm simply… working from another direction."

"That's one way of putting it," he muttered. "Better than me leaving a note saying 'She's mine now'."

She snorted delicately. "Please. I've been yours for a long time. Just as you're mine, I hope."

He helped her climb out the window, touching her probably more than was strictly necessary. She shivered as her shirt rode up beneath his hands.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," he said. "C'mon. Your ride's this way."

"I thought you were my ride," she said, giving him her innocent face. His eyes raked up and down her body as he led her through the dark.

"Later," he said. "When we're somewhere a little more comfortable."

"We should have taken advantage of the motel room."

"You'd wake up the hotel and blow our cover."

Blushing, Jemma wondered who was doing the seducing here. How marvellous if they both were. She'd been unsure how receptive he would be; it seemed her fears were unfounded.

"We'd better find somewhere comfortable pretty quickly," she said. "Because lonely nights have given me plenty of time to work out just what I want you to do to me… and what I want to do to you."

He growled softly and dragged her into his arms.

"Soon," he said. And he set about undoing her with a single, soul-penetrating kiss.

Cripes, but I shouldn't be allowed to write fan fiction late at night. 'Soul-penetrating kiss'? Bloody hell.

Nice!Fury in this one, to make up for 'Notes'. Yeah, I know, they've met in canon, so I'm breaking my own rule. Which I might do a few more times, considering that I've got a Phil/Tony idea. My mind is a dangerous, dangerous place, as I'm sure you've gathered since the first flippin' chapter of this fic.

Please review!