FIC: In the Distance of our Lives (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.)
Title: In the Distance of our Lives
Author: asterie_smiles
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Word Count: 9087
Summary: “I know you think you’re too old for this,” says Fitz, “but your mum and I would like to tell you a story.”
Or, the future of FitzSimmons and how they get there.
Warnings: Spoilers for Agents of Shield Season 1 Finale; wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey.
Betas: minnow_53, who gave me the permission I needed to tear this thing down and rebuild it better, stronger, (not at all faster).
Shamelessly cross-posted to ff.net, AO3, and shield_tv
My wild girl, we have had
to regain time
and march backward, in the distance
of our lives, kiss after kiss,
gathering from one place what we gave
without joy, discovering in another
the secret road
that gradually brought your feet close to mine...
-Pablo Neruda, “Ode and Burgeonings”
Fifty
“This is so unfair!” shouts Amy, pacing in front of the sofa. “Literally everyone is going.”
“Literally?” asks Jemma with a smile. “I’m fairly certain you don’t mean that.”
“Urgh, you are ridiculous! I swear, I could tell you that me and my friends killed someone, and all you’d say is -”
“My friends and I.”
Amy rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. “Exactly. And you won’t even listen to reasoned arguments as to how this trip will benefit my education.”
“We listened; we just decided that your personal safety outweighs the relative merits of the visit.”
“What do you know? You’re professors. You spend every day in a lab, or a library, or in a lecture theatre droning on at students who almost certainly aren’t listening.”
“Just the title ‘Professor’ assumes we know more than the average,” Fitz points out.
“You know exactly what I mean. Cathy’s dad says she can go and he’s a policeman, which means he has far more expertise in the area of security.”
Jemma and Fitz exchange a look.
“We know it seems arbitrary and unfair right now, but we have very good reasons for this, and we really do know what we’re talking about,” Jemma says carefully. “You need to trust that we have your best interests at heart.”
“That is not a real reason! This submarine was in World War Two; it’s an amazing history lesson. You need to give me a proper, rational explanation of why I can’t go. It’s not like you could take me yourselves, can you imagine? Winching Dad’s wheelchair down the hatch...” She mimes the action and Jemma gasps.
“Amelia Rose FitzSimmons, you apologise right now.”
Amy just throws her hands in the air and stomps up to her room.
“She definitely takes after you,” Jemma observes, nudging Fitz’s arm. He smiles, but knows it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Fitz? What’s the matter?”
He sighs heavily. “I think she deserves to know the truth.”
“Are you sure she’s ready?” Jemma asks quietly. “We can’t just say, ‘Your parents nearly died when they were stranded at the bottom of the ocean,’ and be done with it. If we decide to do this, we need to tell her everything, from the very start. About SHIELD, about your coma, about HYDRA... Can she handle that?”
Fitz takes her hand. “She’s ready, Jemma.” He looks at her, searching for assent. “The question is, are you?”
Jemma nods, uncertain.
He continues, “We’ve done some pretty amazing things as well. Who knows, the girl might actually start to respect us.”
“She’s a teenager; she’s not meant to respect us, or even like us.”
“If she knew, it would make life so much easier. We could bring our work home, finally explain we have to fly to the States so often, and most importantly, seem less like paranoid control freaks.” His voice softens. “Come on, Jem, I know how much you hate keeping something this big from your own daughter.”
She slumps against his side. “You’re right, I know you’re right. It’s just that when we were her age, we were already at the Academy, immersed in politics and secrets that were far too big for us. I don’t want her to have to grow up as fast as we did.”
Fitz laughs. “Did you hear that outburst? She is very much not a grown up. And just telling her about SHIELD doesn’t mean we’re signing her up. Besides, do you really think her favourite Aunt Skye isn’t dropping all kinds of hints?”
Amy pretends not to hear them knocking on her bedroom door at first, but finally lets them in when Fitz starts to take it off its hinges. “What do you want?”
“We owe you an apology,” says Jemma, sitting beside her on the bed.
“Actually, we owe you a lot more than that,” Fitz adds, pulling out a tablet and opening a folder called “6-1-6”.
“What are all these pictures?” Amy asks, peering over as he skims through. “Wow, Mum, you used to be pretty.”
Jemma rolls her eyes at Fitz behind their daughter’s back. “Thanks, sweetheart. Look, I’m afraid we haven’t been entirely honest with you.” She takes the tablet and blows up a picture of her and Fitz standing on the cargo ramp of a plane, a blurry selfie that makes her heart ache a bit.
“I know you think you’re too old for this,” says Fitz, “but your mum and I would like to tell you a story.”
Sixteen
Fitz and Simmons first meet on a SHIELD Academy orientation day. They’re by far the youngest people in their class, and are both pretending not to be totally in awe of their surroundings.
The agent showing them round stops at the Wall of Valor, and between sheer excitement and her residual desire to change “Valor” to its proper spelling, Simmons doesn’t notice another cadet leaning across for a better look until he’s nearly pushed her over.
“Oh, excuse me!” she says, at the same time as he stutters, “S-Sorry, sorry, just trying to get a better look.”
They turn to look at each other, folding their arms and putting their guards up. “You could have just walked round,” she replies, at the same time as he says, “It’s pretty hard to see if you’re not in the front row.”
The agent showing them round gives them a stern look. “Cadets Fitz and Simmons, is there a problem?”
“No, ma’am,” they say contritely, glaring at each other.
Simmons keeps an eye on Fitz over the next few weeks. He’s shy and introverted; fiercely resistant to criticism yet hungry for instruction. The only classes they have together at first are Holographic Engineering and Professor Vaughn’s Introduction to SHIELD: History and Protocol, so she has no idea what he can do in real terms, but she assumes he must be talented. Why else would he would be here, the youngest student in history? Beating her by a couple of months, not that she’s at all resentful of that.
Fitz, on the other hand, doesn’t understand what all the fuss is about. Simmons is always talking, which probably shows she’s not doing much thinking. She’s desperate for praise and validation, and annoyingly cheerful, which means she clearly cares too much what other people think. Also he’s been to school and uni with pretty girls: the ones who bother to do their hair and makeup don’t often have that much going on underneath. And Simmons is very pretty. Honestly, it’s a mystery why she’s here, but then again, Biology always was science for people who can’t do science.
Twenty-seven
Fitz is finally allowed to stay in his own room, and although he’s still sleeping in a hospital bed, Jemma manages to curl up next to him.
“Coulson wants me to go to the Hub,” she murmurs. “We need to be central to start auditing and transporting resources for the new Sci Ops facilities, and you’re not ready to travel yet. I made it very clear that I objected to the decision, but he’s a hard man to argue with.”
“All that power gone to his head, has it?” Fitz jokes, stroking Jemma’s back to reassure her that he is taking this seriously. “Look, it’s probably best for you anyway. I mean, hanging round here watching me try to use a screwdriver isn’t exactly how I dreamed life would be when we finally got together.”
She sits up and smiles softly, and he still can’t quite believe they’re here. “What did you imagine?”
“Working legs, house in the suburbs, maybe a pet monkey...”
She frowns for a second and then bursts out laughing, trying to bury her face in his shoulder so no one can hear. “Oh, Fitz.”
“Well?” he asks after a few minutes. “What did you picture?”
“Honestly, I didn’t,” she admits, propping herself up on her arm and looking at him. “I’ve always assumed we’d be together, but not like this. I don’t know whether it was because there was no point, with SHIELD’s protocols, or because you were my first real friend here, or just because there are still a few areas in which I’m not an expert.”
Fitz brushes some errant hair from her face. “You’re doing pretty well so far,” he points out, reaching up to kiss her. “I always thought we’d move back home, eventually. Get a house somewhere prices aren’t through the roof, preferably a university town so we can get to the libraries. Have a couple of kids and mercilessly push them into academia, maybe fly out to the Academy every once in a while to remind those cadets who’s boss.”
“That sounds wonderful. Do you really think we could get there?”
“Just as soon as I get over my newfound fear of flying over water,” he jokes, but neither of them laughs. “And if we don’t get kicked out of SHIELD for fraternisation,” he adds.
“Oh, no, Fitz, don’t remind me. Coulson hates bureaucracy; he’s not going to spend hours changing all the protocols.”
“Which means that we can’t be on the same team and in a relationship. I know this is difficult, but you’re going to have to-”
“I can’t lie, Fitz! You know that.” She stares at him in panic, and Fitz swears he feels his heart skip a beat, seeing how important this is to her. She’s right, though. Her inability to lie is one of his favourite things about her; the anxious look on her face when she tries to improvise under pressure is up there in his top five Jemma Simmons expressions. The only problem is that it renders their chances of successfully maintaining a secret relationship pretty much zero.
“Well, then we need to come up with a plan,” he suggests. “I think the team will accept that we’re a bit clingy for the moment, but long term we need to have a good cover.”
“Maybe we don’t,” she says, and there’s his number one favourite facial expression; the light in her eyes when the pieces of a puzzle come together. “With your help, maybe I can... compartmentalise it.”
“What do you mean?” Fitz asks, and for a moment he doesn’t understand why she looks so concerned. “Oh, no, this isn’t the hypoxia talking, I know what compartmentalisation is. I just don’t know how you’re planning to do it. ”
“That’s the brilliant part! For example, while Jemma is dying for proper British food, Agent Simmons has never once seriously contemplated hijacking the Bus and flying home just so she can have a roast dinner.”
“We’ve all had that fantasy,” Fitz interjects, “but the idea of facing May’s wrath is much scarier than months without Yorkshire puddings.”
“Oh, please; it’s all about the roast potatoes. But more importantly,” she announces, jabbing him in the arm with her finger, “Agent Simmons would never, ever dream of carrying on a romantic relationship with her lab partner.”
She gives Fitz a moment to reply, and when he doesn’t she gives a broad smile. “See, exactly. You and Jemma can get up to all the inappropriate, sexy hi-jinks they want, but FitzSimmons are serious agents who care about science and research.”
“So if I were to carry on calling you Jemma in the lab, it would be-”
“Terribly confusing and distracting, yes.”
“And if Coulson himself were to ask-”
“I would laugh in a carefree manner and say, ‘Don’t be silly, sir, there’s far too much work to do for me to carry on a relationship right now.’”
“You are certifiable, you know that?” he laughs, wrapping his arms around her. “Totally and utterly mental.”
”But I can’t lie to save my life, and we can’t risk-” she starts, but he cuts her off with a lingering kiss, threading a hand through her hair and pulling her close.
“Fitz, have you seen - oh my God!” Skye’s voice comes from the doorway.
Jemma’s mortified but Fitz can’t stop laughing. “I think we might need a new plan, Agent Simmons.”
Twenty-two
“I cannot believe you’re actually excited about this,” Fitz grumbles, pushing open the door.
“Well, you could at least do people the courtesy of pretending,” Simmons says. “There are some highly acclaimed scientists attending today.”
They walk into the hotel lobby and are greeted by a man in a suit, probably C.I.A.. Fitz rolls his eyes behind Simmons’ back: all the agencies get overprotective at this kind of things, even when the technologies involved are neither classified nor controversial.
“Good morning, are you with the conference today?”
They nod. “Agents Simmons and Fitz, with SHIELD,” Simmons confirms.
He looks at his tablet and shakes his head. “First names?”
“Jemma and Leopold,” Simmons replies, and Fitz winces.
“Give me one moment, please?” He steps away and makes a call.
Fitz and Simmons frown at each other. “I’m suddenly reminded of trying to get into school discos,” she says. “Although I was working in a Year 6 class, I wasn’t considered old enough to attend.”
“I didn’t even bother trying to go,” he replies. “That was the age when I was trying to make a mobile phone. I cared a lot more about that than the latest Boyzone album.”
“Ronan Keating was my first crush,” Simmons admits, hoping Fitz won’t judge her for not fancying someone a bit more erudite. “Well, him and Tony Stark, but that goes without saying.”
The agent who greeted them holds up a finger to show that he’ll be another minute, and Fitz groans. Simmons smiles at him. “Look on the bright side, Fitz, the bar should be open by the time we get in.”
He opens his mouth and closes it again, before speaking. “How the hell are you so positive all the time?”
The agent finally puts down the phone and comes back to them. “Okay, I think we’ve worked this out. Because you have the same name, we only have down Dr. L. Fitzsimmons, and not both of you. Who is that?”
“He’s Leo Fitz, but, sir-”
“So it’s you we’re missing. Not a problem, we can get another pass sorted, ma’am. It means we only have one room booked, but I assume you won’t mind sharing with your husband?”
Fitz and Simmons exchange a glance and both start talking at once.
“Sorry, sir, we’re not married.”
“We don’t have the same name; that is ridiculous.”
“Who were you speaking to at SHIELD? We’ll get in touch with Communications.”
“Look at our badges. Different people.”
“Sorry: I’ll get your passes changed right away. We do only have the one room, though; the whole hotel has been booked for the conference. Will that be acceptable for tonight while we try to make alternative arrangements?”
Simmons nods. “Yes, yes, that should be fine. Thank you so much for your assistance, sir.”
Fitz can do nothing but grab the bags and follow her to the lifts. “What was that all about? ‘Sorry, sir, our mistake, let me go and share a bed with my lab partner because I’m too British to make a scene’.”
Simmons rolls her eyes. “It’s not like that, Fitz, and you know it. Besides, they might have twin beds!”
He smirks. “I knew it.”
“Knew what?”
“That you wanted a piece of this.” He gestures dramatically down at his body. “Please, I’ve seen the way you look at me.”
She squints at him in confusion and starts to protest before recognising the smirk on his face. She smacks him in the arm as they get out of the lift, but can’t help laughing.
He grins back and puts his hand over his heart. “You wound me with your laughter, Simmons. I am a catch, I’ll have you know.”
She puts a hand on his arm and gives her best sympathetic look. “Oh, Fitz,” she says, opening the door to their room. “And, it’s a double bed. Of course it is.”
“I call the left side,” Fitz says.
By the time they get back upstairs after the introductory drinks reception, they’ve almost forgotten about the situation, but the reality soon comes flooding back.
Simmons grabs her bag and heads to the bathroom, and Fitz gets changed and waits for her to come out so he can brush his teeth. A few moments later, he hears a muffled, “Oh, bloody hell!” from behind the door.
“Simmons, you okay in there?”
“Yes, I’m fine, it’s just… I prefer not to have pyjama bottoms on when I’m sleeping, and didn’t anticipate sharing a room this weekend so I haven’t brought any. I would appreciate it if you’d look away until I’m under the covers.”
“Simmons, if you’re trying to seduce me-”
“Oh, grow up, Fitz, I’ve got underwear on.”
When he turns around and she’s sitting in bed wearing a camisole and holding a tablet, there’s nothing out of place except the beet-red blush on her cheeks.
“Shut up,” she mutters.
She shuffles as far over to the right as she can when he joins her; and she wouldn’t have thought it was possible to feel this awkward around him. They sit in silence for a few moments, before he asks, “What are you reading?”
Simmons relaxes. “I’m looking over Dr. Ryland’s research before his talk tomorrow. The use of individualised weaponry is fascinating, but-”
“I don’t think he’s looked into the more subtle possibilities of using genetics in espionage-”
“Because there’s so much intelligence that needs to be kept compartmentalised, so it would perhaps be more beneficial in communications, drop boxes…”
Half an hour later, they’re huddled together over the tablet trying to work out how they can create a comms receiver with an embedded DNA sensor, until Fitz lets out a yawn.
Simmons is reminded that they’re not side by side in a lab but pressed together in a double bed that suddenly feels way too small.
“We’re a good distance away from this design; shall we get some sleep?” she asks, wriggling as far over to her side as possible.
“Yeah, yeah, we should… Yeah.” He turns off the light and they roll over.
“We’ll follow up on the room change first thing tomorrow,” she murmurs.
“And when we get back to work, we are going to hunt down whichever idiot’s calling us FitzSimmons and make sure it never happens again,” Fitz replies.
“Mmm,” Simmons agrees, “will do. Good night, Fitz.”
“Night.”
Thirty-four
Jemma knows it’s probably quite unhealthy, but she actively misses Fitz, even though they’re in the same building. It gets to twelve twenty before she decides that it’s too quiet for her to accomplish anything in the lab, and heads down to the lecture hall with Fitz’s lunch.
The cadets are on their way out when she arrives, and she waits in the doorway as they file past.
The last one goes up to Fitz. “I’ve been working on a design for a comms device that responds to neurological signals, so you can, like, talk without talking. Could I come by and go through it with you at some point?”
Fitz skims his diary. “Sure, tomorrow at three? I’ll be in lab six; bring the schematics and any components you have and we’ll try and make it work.”
The cadet looks relieved. “Thanks, Professor F, you’re a lifesaver. See you then!”
“I do wish the students would stop calling you that,” Jemma protests, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s as if all they can see is the wheelchair.”
“I like to think it’s because of my superior intellect,” Fitz corrects, tapping his temple.
“Actually, you’re more intelligent than Charles Xavier, even without any superpowers. It is a shame you’re not telepathic, though.”
“Oh, please, I can definitely read your mind.”
“Really? Well, what am I thinking right now, Professor?” She moves into the room with her arms crossed, a teasing smile on her face.
“Let me see… You’re thinking that I’d better not take this Professor X thing to heart because you couldn’t take me seriously if I shaved my head.”
“I was actually wondering whether anyone manufactures maternity lab-coats.” Jemma shakes her head and clicks her tongue. “You’re losing your touch.” A look of panic appears on her face as she finally processes his reply. “Oh no, Fitz, please don’t shave your head!”
He laughs. “Relax; these curls are all I have left of my boyish charm. Without them I’m just a middle-aged genius with a great sense of humour and disproportionate upper body strength.”
She gasps theatrically. “We are not middle aged!”
Fitz laughs, but not for long. “You do realise that you’re not meant to be in a lab at this point? I forbid you to bring my child into contact with hazardous chemicals.”
“As if you could forbid me from doing anything,” she replies. “But I am fully aware of the dangers, hence my attractive new facemasks. It’s safer for the baby here at the Academy than back at Sci Ops, anyway. Far fewer volatile alien substances.”
“True, but I still think it’s not the safest place. In fact...”
Jemma frowns at him. “What is it?”
“That may be the first sentence of mine you haven’t been able to finish in at least fifteen years. Should we alert the press?”
She shakes her head and quirks an eyebrow, and Fitz sighs, knowing he can’t hide anything from her.
“I think we should move back home when the baby’s born,” he says, eyes fixed on Jemma’s. He holds up a hand when she opens her mouth to speak. “No, hear me out. We can consult for SHIELD, and Coulson can definitely swing us lab access at a well-equipped university.”
“Fitz-”
“We could even get lecturer roles as well; we both enjoy it here. Plus it could be rewarding to teach for the sake of learning and not for the next generation of spies.”
“Fitz-”
“Oh, and I designed the most incredible tree house, but it really needs to be in an English oak; the trees around here don’t have the right density and stability. Not that that’s the most important reason, but what kid doesn’t want a tree house, right?”
She raises her voice. “Fitz, for goodness’ sake, I agree with you!”
“And come on, could you really live with yourself if our daughter had an American accent?”
Jemma tries not to laugh. “What did I just say?”
His eyes widen. “Wait, what? You want to leave?”
“Yes! This is not a remotely appropriate profession for new parents. I just didn’t know how to tell you: I know how you hate change.”
“I’m getting used to it.” Fitz smiles and pulls her down for a hug. “When you’re involved, I can usually embrace the change.”
Jemma wipes tears from her eyes, and before he can point it out she gives him a stern look. “Not a word from you; it’s the hormones.”
“Sure it is,” he replies, and she decides to ignore the sarcasm.
“Skye is going to be very disappointed; I think she has plans to corrupt our child under the guise of babysitting.”
Fitz snorts. “Please. If Skye can’t corrupt an infant through the internet, she’s clearly not the hacker we thought she was.”
“You’re right, not that we should be encouraging her.” Jemma takes a deep breath. “I’ve actually started looking at houses - purely for research, of course - but I may have to rethink my choices now that a fully grown oak tree is one of our non-negotiables.” She stifles a giggle and he looks outraged.
“You laugh now, Simmons, but this is going to be the culmination of our life’s work; the most advanced tree house there ever was. I may need your help, though; we need to engineer it so it only admits people with FitzSimmons genes. You can’t be too careful these days.”
Jemma can’t suppress her laughter any longer. “Fitz, there is no way a tree house is going to be the most significant invention of our lives. We’ve saved lives, we’ve worked with alien matter... This is a child’s plaything.”
He shakes his head solemnly. “Oh, poor, naïve Jemma; you have no idea. Just wait till you see the blueprint.”
Seventeen
Simmons desperately tries not to fidget as she stands next to Fitz, waiting for Agent Weaver to give them the verdict on their prototype. She wasn’t best pleased when their professors recommended they combine their projects, but she had to admit that they worked well together, and their initial designs complemented each other. Nevertheless, she’s convinced that if the test run doesn’t work, it will be his tech at fault and not hers.
She and Fitz exchange a nervous look as Agent Weaver comes back through the door, and Simmons almost feels a sense of solidarity until he whispers, “I really hope those sensors of yours work.”
“I have to say, this is very impressive, Cadets, especially for this stage in your training. It will need refining, of course.”
“It’s the start of something so much bigger,” Simmons interrupts. “This one can pick up sound waves, but we can develop more in time; they’ll be able to register smells, matter density, radiation-”
Agent Weaver holds up her hand and smiles. “I really appreciate your enthusiasm, Simmons. Tell you what; I’ll let the two of you carry on with this project. You clearly make a great team.”
Weaver heads out of the lab, and Fitz and Simmons give each other a high five.
Buoyed by their success and feeling unnaturally warm towards Fitz, Simmons turns to him and asks, “Would you like to get some lunch?” just as he says, “I’m absolutely starving.” They smile at each other nervously.
“I can make you a sandwich if you want? I don’t have many supplies in, but the cafeteria food is truly awful,” she suggests, at the same time as he asks, “Can we go anywhere other than the canteen though? You’d think all the chemistry experts here could make a decent spaghetti bolognese.”
“Perfect,” they both pronounce.
As Simmons struggles to make aioli with her mum’s old stick blender, she starts to relax a little. “My parents always wanted me to enter Masterchef,” she says, “because that’s really how I got into chemistry in the first place. Drove Mum mad when I was little, asking about why cakes rose! I perfected emulsions like this early on, but I really cared less about how they tasted than how they came together in the first place. I just wish we had better facilities than this. Honestly, I’d be better off whipping this up in the centrifuge downstairs than here; I hope it doesn’t taste completely horrible.”
Fitz’s eyes widen. He dashes out of her room, and Simmons tries to ignore the disappointment rising in her throat. She can barely hide her relief when he comes back from his dorm with a toolkit and sets to work converting her blender and a couple of plastic bowls into the most state-of-the-art mixer possible, taking a break only to eat his lunch.
“Oh my God, Simmons, this is the single greatest sandwich I have ever eaten.”
She blushes. “If you want, you can call me Jemma. I mean, you don’t have to, but, well, you solved the sensor problem and you’ve dramatically improved my blender and I thought we could be-”
“Friends? Sure, yeah, great. I can’t really see you as a Jemma though, might stick with Simmons. My real name’s Leopold, but that is truly awful, so you can call me Leo if you must, but Fitz is fine, really.”
Simmons cuts him off with laughter that feels almost affectionate. “Friends, then,” she beams.
They bump their water bottles together and laugh.
Thirty
“I can’t wait to see them; can you believe it’s been so long?” Simmons says, practically bouncing up and down as they wait in the hangar.
“Calm down, Jem,” Fitz laughs, grabbing her hand.
“Fitz, not here, she says sadly, letting him go, and they both look at the ground. “I’m sorry, but you know how important it is to maintain professionalism, even if our team already knows. There are so many people walking round here; I’m just not willing to take the chance.”
“I know, sorry; it’s just a big moment, and-”
“They’re here, Fitz, they’re here!” she interrupts, pointing at the Bus as it descends towards them.
When the cargo ramp lowers, Skye is the first to bound off the plane, sweeping Simmons into a hug.
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t get up,” Fitz quips, and Skye just laughs and bends to hug him too.
“It is so good to see you guys!” she says. “Fill me in on everything. What’s the Sci Ops gossip? Are we going to get to see the new house?”
“We were hoping you’d all come for dinner tonight. It’s lovely, but we’re having to sleep downstairs at the moment because someone decided to upgrade his stair lift and didn’t have all the parts.”
“We thought that was the best solution; it’s a little emasculating to have your girlfriend carrying you upstairs.”
“I don’t know; I reckon she totally wears the pants in this relationship. Or maybe you don’t like her wearing pants when she’s carrying you to bed.” Skye gives an overblown wink.
Fitz starts to shush her, but he’s interrupted by other familiar faces.
“Fitz, Simmons,” says May with a rare smile, and Coulson comes up behind her and shakes both their hands.
“It’s so nice to see you, sir! Most divisions have closed for the night so we’ll head home soon, but if you would like to have a look around now, the robotics team are working on producing a mass-marketable prosthetic, similar to CyberTek’s, but with improved neurological connectivity and a tad less evil. We have a prototype ready in our lab space if you’d like to see?” Simmons leads the group into the complex.
“What, so you’re going to finally give Fitz robot legs?” asks Skye.
“No way in hell,” Fitz announces. “It’s taken Simmons and me years to produce a wheelchair that is perfectly attuned to neurological sensors, and I am not going through any more surgery. Besides, I quite like this look. I feel distinguished.”
“Where’s Trip?” asks Simmons with a frown, and Fitz shoots her a look that isn’t entirely teasing.
“He’s driving in,” says Coulson. “He had to go via a drop-box a couple of miles from here.”
“I miss the Bus,” says Fitz. “Missions and drama... Is there any way I can convince you to let me put a lift in next to the lab stairs?”
“We’ve had this conversation,” says Coulson apologetically. “I’m not prepared to put you in that kind of danger and you’re needed here.”
“He also doesn’t want to do any more damage to the plane,” says May. “SHIELD insurance isn’t what it used to be.”
“Yeah, thought as much,” Fitz replies. “Worth a shot though. Anyway, this is our private lab. The office is Simmons’.”
“Obviously,” Skye adds.
“There is nothing wrong with organisation and accurate paperwork,” Simmons retorts. “Oh, do you want to see the latest genetic workup on your parents?”
Skye rubs her arm through her jacket, where her skin has started to crack and peel, and Simmons backs off. “Maybe later, then?”
“How are the two of you?” asks May quietly.
Fitz catches Simmons’s hand, and she doesn’t pull back this time.
“It’s stressful. We appreciate your ongoing support, sir,” she tells Coulson, “but it’s difficult day-to-day. We understand that we need to command respect and be seen to be demonstrating adherence to protocol, and of course we would never behave inappropriately, but-”
“You’re painfully co-dependent,” Skye interjects. “I can’t be the only person at SHIELD who assumed you were together when you weren’t.”
“Yeah, but it’s different now,” says Fitz.
“Hey, I’m looking for whoever runs this joint,” comes a voice from the door, and Simmons runs to give Trip a hug. Fitz follows closely and shakes his hand.
“I got the package,” Trip tells Coulson. “But enough shop talk for now. We’ve been travelling all day; where do you get a drink round here?”
“Welcome!” Jemma calls enthusiastically, and puts down a case of beer in the living room. “I’ll put some food on.”
“Wow, casa de FitzSimmons is nice!” Skye says, sinking into her seat. “Where’s the furniture from? Can we get this armchair on the Bus?”
Trip helps Fitz out of his wheelchair and onto the sofa and passes round the drinks, and Coulson’s updating them on the hazards of re-establishing the Moroccan office when Jemma comes back in with food. “Sorry it’s just fajitas,” she says, “we haven’t had much time to shop.”
“Are you kidding?” asks Skye, piling her tortilla high. “Home-cooked food is possibly the best thing that’s happened to me in months.”
Jemma and Fitz exchange a look.
“Okay, what is up with you?” Skye demands. “Simmons is talking way faster than usual, and Fitz is all jumpy. What, do you think we’re going to whisk you away to a fraternisation tribunal, or send you on a submarine mission?” They both wince.
“Sorry, but you know what I mean.” She turns to the others. “Come on, D.C., back me up! You can’t say you’re not a little worried that they’re taking the R&D positions with Stark now that he’s retiring.”
“We turned that down, actually,” Fitz says. “But it’s good to know you trust our loyalty.” Skye sticks out her tongue at him.
“Skye’s right,” says Coulson. “It may be that we’re not used to having you around all the time, but you both seem subdued. If you need some time away from running Sci Ops, just say the word and I’ll send you anywhere.”
“Except Tahiti,” mutters Skye, and the group laugh nervously.
“Well, actually, sir, we were going to ask for a bit of time off in a few months,” says Jemma, and Fitz squeezes her leg. They look at each other for a beat before turning back to the group with broad smiles.
“We’re getting married,” they announce, and Skye lets out a squeal and launches herself at them.
“Food, furniture,” Jemma forces out through a faceful of Skye’s hair, but she can’t stop laughing as the rest of the team crowd round.
“When did this happen?” asks Coulson. “I think we can bend old SHIELD’s rules about asking permission to take this step, but unfortunately you will need to file some additional paperwork.”
“By which he means congratulations,” May puts in.
“I asked her two weeks ago,” Fitz says. “Not that she made it easy. I was trying to design the ring and she was all over me. ‘Fitz, I didn’t authorise any vibranium orders. Fitz, you don’t need these tools to make the prosthetics; what are you really doing?’ It’s a mystery why I’d want her around for an even bigger proportion of the time, really.”
Jemma hits him in the arm, but keeps smiling and takes the ring off her necklace to show everyone.
“It’s an adamantium-vibranium alloy,” Fitz explains. “Pretty much indestructible.”
“Is that a blue diamond?” asks May, and Fitz is taken aback at her interest. She shrugs. “Every girl should know her jewels.”
“It’s not natural,” he replies. “That’s a bit beyond my pay grade. I irradiated and superheated it myself to create exactly the right hue for her favourite colour.”
“Well, I am in shock, Simmons,” says Trip with a smile, “Skye and I talk to you all the time and you kept this secret for two whole weeks? You’ve gotten to be a pretty good liar after all.”
“I know, right?” Skye replies. “Our little spy is all grown up.”
Jemma slips the ring onto her finger and leans against Fitz’s shoulder. “It’s nice to actually show this off,” she sighs. “Aside from the inherent hazards of wearing jewellery like this in a research lab, it’s not exactly an appropriate talking point with agents who are meant to report to us.”
“I know it’s hard,” says Coulson. “I put the two of you in charge of Sci Ops not only because you’re both brilliant and trustworthy, but also because you’re a great team. The division is thriving thanks to your joint strengths, and anyone who has a problem with that will have a problem with me.”
“Thank you, sir; that means a lot,” says Jemma, getting a bit choked up.
Skye clears her throat. “So have you thought about the wedding at all?”
“We don’t have much extended family, so it will probably be something small,” Jemma replies, grabbing a tablet. “These are some of the locations we had in mind.”
May goes to peer over their shoulders, and Fitz rolls his eyes at Trip and Coulson. “Jem’s been dying to go over this stuff with someone other than our mums,” he says. “They’ll be busy for a while. Do you have any good tales from the field? Who’s nearly died lately?”
Twenty-five
“I know what the dendrotoxin needs to be, it’s just not possible with this small a shell-casing,” Simmons snaps, taking off her goggles and slamming them down.
Fitz points at the gun on the table. “Well, I’ve already made the thing, so you’ll have to alter the concentrations and just get it to work.”
“Oh I’m sorry, you’re clearly the expert on all of this; shall I leave you to manipulate the highly dangerous compound?”
“FitzSimmons?” They both turn around; an agent they don’t know is standing in the doorway.
“Yes?” says Simmons.
“May we help you?” asks Fitz.
“I’m Agent Trent. Will you come with me, please?”
They exchange a glance, remove their gloves and lab-coats, and follow him to a conference room.
“Agents Fitz and Simmons, there is someone who is very interested in your skill set. This is beyond your security clearance, so if you choose not to accept you will need to assure us that what you hear doesn’t go beyond these walls.”
Simmons notices Fitz start to smile, and shoots him a look that says, ‘Yes, he’s taking this job too seriously, and yes, he sounds like something from a bad film, but we can have a good laugh later when we might not lose a clearance level or two.’
She holds her breath for a moment, hoping he at least picked up the gist of it, and sees him biting his lip before he answers, with a straight face, “We understand, sir.”
She then bumps straight into Fitz's back as he stops dead in his tracks, and peers round him to see who’s in the room.
“Agent Coulson?” they ask in unison.
“In the flesh,” he replies with a smile, shaking hands with them. “I’m sure you have a few questions.”
It may be the first time in her life that Jemma Simmons is speechless. It doesn’t last long, and then she and Fitz talk at once.
“But I thought you were dead!”
“What’s Tony Stark like in real life?”
Simmons kicks Fitz under the table for his utterly stupid question (though she secretly wants to know the answer herself).
“Okay, one at a time. Tony Stark is exactly as he is in the media - arrogant, obnoxious and brilliant. And yes, I was dead, but only for a short while. Director Fury made the executive decision to keep that quiet. It’s amazing what you can accomplish when no one knows you exist.” Agent Coulson leans forward over the table. “But that’s highly classified, level seven and above. Which is why it’s imperative that this meeting stays between us.”
“But sir, we’re only level five,” Simmons points out.
“I know. But when I was given the remit to choose my own team, you were first on my list. Everyone at the Academy and Sci Ops talks very highly of you, and I’ve had to cash in a lot of favours to get this meeting.”
“Where would we be based?”
“That’s the best part - I’ll be running a mobile operation, airborne, travelling wherever we’re needed.”
“Field work?” Simmons blurts out. “Sorry, sir, it’s just neither of us has been trained for that.”
“I know. And I don’t care. We’ll have a specialist on board, and you won’t have to see combat. You’re there to do what you do best: research, analyse and develop technology.”
Fitz frowns. “I’m sorry, how are we meant to do proper research and analysis while airborne?”
“This isn’t just an ordinary plane, Agent Fitz. It’s a CXD 23 Airborne Mobile Command Station, gutted and renovated for my operation, with a lab that will be set up exactly as you require.”
Fitz perks up at this. “Does it have Pratt & Whitney F117-PW-100 turbofan engines?”
“Six of them, engineered to be capable of vertical flight. Oh, and it has a bar. I hear that’s pretty important to you Brits.” Agent Coulson stands and shakes their hands. “It was a pleasure meeting you both. I’ll be in touch within a week for your answer, but I very much hope you’ll be joining the team.”
“Thank you very much, sir,” says Fitz.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, sir,” says Simmons with a broad smile.
The smile doesn’t leave her face as they head back to their lab. “Oh, Fitz, it’s the most perfect opportunity for us to see the world! We’d be fools to pass this one up; it’s so exciting! Imagine all the places we’ll go!”
“And the people we’ll see, I know,” Fitz finishes flatly, and Simmons frowns.
“Why aren’t you excited?”
“I don’t know, Simmons, why aren’t I excited about leaving our nice, comfortable life and fully equipped lab to live on an aeroplane?”
“I didn’t know you were scared of flying! You’ve been fine whenever we’ve gone home, Fitz, you should have said!”
He stops in his tracks and stands in front of her. “Simmons, please. I am not scared of flying.”
A couple of agents walking past give them a worried look, and he lowers his voice. “Look, I don’t want to talk about this now. Can we just get on with the Night-Night gun? It’s meant to be field tested in four weeks.”
“But Fitz, imagine; we could be testing it ourselves!”
He throws his hands in the air and opens his mouth, but instead of arguing just turns and walks away.
“Fitz!” Simmons calls, but he doesn’t listen.
She can normally predict his movements, but he’s not in the robotics lab where he goes to be alone, he’s not at the bar where they go to unwind, and he’s not at home. She calls him and it goes straight to voicemail, and she slumps down on the doorstep of their building, suddenly very alone. She’s taken for granted that he will always be around, but if it feels so weird not to have him here for a couple of hours, she can’t imagine what it would be like if she went to work by herself.
“What the hell are you doing out here? Aren’t you freezing?”
She stares up at Fitz, and it’s slightly gratifying that he looks as bad as she feels.
“It’s too quiet in there, and the only thing on TV is the fourth Harry Potter film, which-”
“Totally massacred your favourite of the books.”
“It’s the pacing,” Simmons confirms, but with none of the usual force. She watches as he opens the door behind her, deciding not to follow him, but he comes back a few minutes later with her jacket and two beers.
“I’m not going,” she says. “If you don’t want to, then I’m not going either.”
“You don’t have to-”
“I know.” She tries to smile but doesn’t quite manage. “Fitz, where do you see yourself in ten years’ time?”
“Working Night-Night gun, house in the suburbs, maybe a pet monkey?” he jokes, but stops smiling at her expression. “I hadn’t really thought about it, to be honest.”
“It’s been nearly a decade since we joined SHIELD. Can you believe that? When I left home, I thought nothing could be more exciting than coming over here and learning from the best scientific minds in the world. And after that there was our own lab, a seemingly endless list of inventions and challenges: we’ve made some incredible things. But I don’t think I can do this forever, Fitz. I want to see the world: I’ve always wanted to visit the Large Hadron Collider, to go to the birthplaces of Nobel Laureates, to try Thai food that doesn’t come in a box.”
She doesn’t recognise his expression as he processes what she’s said. Finally he asks, “Aren’t you scared?”
“Scared? Fitz, I’m terrified! But in a good way. It might be dangerous, but we could be the first ones to encounter alien artefacts and new compounds. Remember how long we had to wait to get our hands on one small sample of Extremis? This is why we joined SHIELD in the first place, and this way we would-”
“Genuinely be on the frontlines of innovation,” he finishes.
She pauses. “Sorry, I’m not trying to change your mind, it’s just that-”
“You can’t help thinking out loud, I know,” he replies. “I nearly had a heart attack when I came up to the door and you were actually quiet for once. Feel like I should’ve taken advantage of that a bit more.” He nudges her leg with his own, and she knows he’s trying to get a laugh out of her but it’s hard to oblige.
“Jemma,” he says eventually, and she looks at him in surprise. They never call each other by their first names, and her heart is pounding. Then he takes her hand, and she feels a lump in her throat. They’ve also never had this kind of casual physical intimacy, and this must be him breaking it to her that the partnership that’s worked so well for so long is changing, that he’s going to tell her to go out on her own. She doesn’t understand why she’s so afraid.
He takes a deep breath. “One day, I’m going to regret this.”
“Fitz?” she asks, trying to stop her voice from trembling.
He holds her gaze. “Let’s do it; let’s go live on a plane.” She takes a moment to process this as he continues, “Well, not just any plane, a classic SHIELD Globemaster with-”
She cuts him off, as she can’t help throwing her arms around him.
“Whoa, steady, watch my drink,” he murmurs, but he squeezes her tight before pulling back and standing up to go inside. “Oh, great, this means I have to pack. I hate packing.”
“Tell you what; I’ll do your packing if you reconsider the size of those shell casings.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Simmons, but I think we can come to some kind of arrangement.”
Twenty-six
“Come on, Fitz, you can do it.”
“I don’t know if I can, Jemma…” Sweat beads on his brow, and he lifts the pencil carefully, trying to trace the letters. “This is ridiculous, I know exactly what to do; my muscles just won’t work.” He throws the pencil down as hard as he can, trying not to show his frustration when it just rolls gently onto the table. “If I can’t write, how the hell am I meant to do my bloody job?!”
“This is going to take time. But you are the strongest person I know, and you can get through this. It just takes practice.” She puts her hands on his shoulders. “Give it another ten minutes, and we’ll have some food. Plus, think of where you were last week, think of what you can do now!”
Fitz sighs, wondering if there’s a future for an engineer who can’t even hold a screwdriver. But Jemma’s right: last week he couldn’t hold a pencil at all, two weeks ago he could barely bend his fingers, and three weeks ago he couldn’t even remember the word pencil. And the whole time, she was there to stop him from giving up. Hell, she dragged him from the depths of the ocean with a single breath; he owes it to her to keep trying. “You’re right, I know you’re right. Where on earth did you find the patience to deal with me?” He picks up the pencil again, taking a while to position it properly.
“Please, I get off lightly,” Jemma replies, moving round to stand next to him. “Doctor Khan deserves a medal for taking charge of your physiotherapy; patients should never be that demanding about their treatment.”
“Yeah well, it’s your fault for leaving all that research unattended.” He remembers the joy at being able to move his finger across the tablet, being able to understand what he was reading. “You should’ve made a hard copy, then I wouldn’t have been able to turn the pages and could never have read it in the first place.”
“Fitz, that’s not funny!” she says, folding her arms.
“Please, I heard you giggling when I was getting my speech back and couldn’t remember the word ‘aphasia’.”
“That laughter was mostly hysterical, I’ll have you know. But really, forgetting the word for forgetting words?”
“I know why it’s funny, thank you!” he snaps, immediately hating himself a bit, but knowing Jemma’s already forgiven him. His mood swings have settled down a lot, but he can’t help the rush of guilt whenever he gets upset with one of the team.
“Sorry, I just…” She looks down at the page. “That’s it, Fitz, you’re doing it!”
Across the paper in a childlike scrawl read the words, “LEO FI”.
He can feel that his face is screwed up with the strain, and Jemma looks like she might cry, but instead she turns his chair to face her and plants a gentle kiss on his lips.
He reaches his good hand up to his mouth, unable to hide his surprise. “Jem, wha-”
“Oh God, I’m sorry, it’s so soon and you’re still healing, and you probably didn’t mean what you said anyway, imminent death and all that…” She backs away and he tries to reach out but his arm won’t work properly.
“No! Jemma, no, I’m just…” Fitz pauses. Thinking of the term for aphasia was nothing compared to finding the right words now, to make her understand and make her stay. “I want this, more than anything in the world. Except maybe the feeling in my legs.” He smiles weakly. “But only if you want it too. And not because you feel sorry for me, or because you think you’re responsible for me being all broken.”
She kneels in front of him, actually crying now, and he can barely breathe. “Fitz, you don’t think-? Yes, I am grateful, and I’m sure I’ll feel guilty about this for the rest of my life. But that’s not why I kissed you.” He lifts his hand to her cheek and she swallows hard before continuing. “You are the most important person in the world, and I can’t stop thinking about how close I came to losing you. I never want to get into another situation like this without you knowing that-”
“I love you,” he interrupts, unable to help himself, and he uses all his strength to pull her in for another kiss.
She can’t stop smiling when they finally move apart. “I love you,” she confirms, nodding. “And I think we’ve just come up with a rather pleasant incentive for you to finish your exercises.”
Fifty
Amy blinks back tears as she looks at the photo in front of her; her dad lying in a hospital bed with her mum curled up in a chair beside him, clasping his hand.
“Skye took it,” says Jemma softly. “I think she knew I’d be furious if I caught her, so she didn’t show us until we knew he’d be okay.”
“She was still furious,” Fitz adds.
“You were in a coma, with no guarantee you’d ever wake up! It was totally inappropriate.”
“Please,” says Fitz, turning to Amy and whispering, “it’s because she’s not wearing any makeup.”
“I guessed,” Amy replies, hoping her parents do her the service of ignoring the tremor in her voice. They don’t.
“Are you all right?” asks Jemma.
“I’m fine, Mum. It’s just... a lot to take in. I guess you don’t really think about the fact that your parents were people before they had you, let alone international spies.” She looks at Fitz. “Also, as distressed as I am about it, that is a far cooler way to end up in a wheelchair than your car accident story.”
Jemma looks as if she can’t decide whether to laugh or cry, but Fitz just shrugs. “Very true,” he admits. “Though perhaps a tad more traumatic for all involved.”
Amy takes a deep breath. “And this pains me, but I understand why you don’t want me to go on this submarine trip. Yes, it’s been decommissioned, yes, it will never go underwater again, yes, I’ll be one hundred percent safe, but after all you’ve been through, your concern is perfectly understandable.”
Her parents exchange one of their long looks, which Amy swears are some infuriating form of telepathy, before speaking in unison.
“We’ve had a change of heart,” says Jemma.
“You can go on the trip,” says Fitz.
“Really?” Amy looks at both of them, but doesn’t see any signs of deception. “Thank you!”
“I’ll sign the permission slip and put it with your lunch for tomorrow,” Jemma confirms.
“But now, it’s a school night, and you need to go to bed,” Fitz finishes, and they head out of the room. “I assume I don’t need to tell you to keep this to yourself... as tempting as it is to brag when your parents are as cool as we are.”
“Urgh, dad!”
When the door clicks shut behind them, Amy reaches for her phone and sees a new message from Aunt Skye: ‘Did the plan work?’
She sits back on the bed and starts to type a reply, a triumphant grin spreading across her face.
Author: asterie_smiles
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Word Count: 9087
Summary: “I know you think you’re too old for this,” says Fitz, “but your mum and I would like to tell you a story.”
Or, the future of FitzSimmons and how they get there.
Warnings: Spoilers for Agents of Shield Season 1 Finale; wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey.
Betas: minnow_53, who gave me the permission I needed to tear this thing down and rebuild it better, stronger, (not at all faster).
Shamelessly cross-posted to ff.net, AO3, and shield_tv
My wild girl, we have had
to regain time
and march backward, in the distance
of our lives, kiss after kiss,
gathering from one place what we gave
without joy, discovering in another
the secret road
that gradually brought your feet close to mine...
-Pablo Neruda, “Ode and Burgeonings”
Fifty
“This is so unfair!” shouts Amy, pacing in front of the sofa. “Literally everyone is going.”
“Literally?” asks Jemma with a smile. “I’m fairly certain you don’t mean that.”
“Urgh, you are ridiculous! I swear, I could tell you that me and my friends killed someone, and all you’d say is -”
“My friends and I.”
Amy rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. “Exactly. And you won’t even listen to reasoned arguments as to how this trip will benefit my education.”
“We listened; we just decided that your personal safety outweighs the relative merits of the visit.”
“What do you know? You’re professors. You spend every day in a lab, or a library, or in a lecture theatre droning on at students who almost certainly aren’t listening.”
“Just the title ‘Professor’ assumes we know more than the average,” Fitz points out.
“You know exactly what I mean. Cathy’s dad says she can go and he’s a policeman, which means he has far more expertise in the area of security.”
Jemma and Fitz exchange a look.
“We know it seems arbitrary and unfair right now, but we have very good reasons for this, and we really do know what we’re talking about,” Jemma says carefully. “You need to trust that we have your best interests at heart.”
“That is not a real reason! This submarine was in World War Two; it’s an amazing history lesson. You need to give me a proper, rational explanation of why I can’t go. It’s not like you could take me yourselves, can you imagine? Winching Dad’s wheelchair down the hatch...” She mimes the action and Jemma gasps.
“Amelia Rose FitzSimmons, you apologise right now.”
Amy just throws her hands in the air and stomps up to her room.
“She definitely takes after you,” Jemma observes, nudging Fitz’s arm. He smiles, but knows it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Fitz? What’s the matter?”
He sighs heavily. “I think she deserves to know the truth.”
“Are you sure she’s ready?” Jemma asks quietly. “We can’t just say, ‘Your parents nearly died when they were stranded at the bottom of the ocean,’ and be done with it. If we decide to do this, we need to tell her everything, from the very start. About SHIELD, about your coma, about HYDRA... Can she handle that?”
Fitz takes her hand. “She’s ready, Jemma.” He looks at her, searching for assent. “The question is, are you?”
Jemma nods, uncertain.
He continues, “We’ve done some pretty amazing things as well. Who knows, the girl might actually start to respect us.”
“She’s a teenager; she’s not meant to respect us, or even like us.”
“If she knew, it would make life so much easier. We could bring our work home, finally explain we have to fly to the States so often, and most importantly, seem less like paranoid control freaks.” His voice softens. “Come on, Jem, I know how much you hate keeping something this big from your own daughter.”
She slumps against his side. “You’re right, I know you’re right. It’s just that when we were her age, we were already at the Academy, immersed in politics and secrets that were far too big for us. I don’t want her to have to grow up as fast as we did.”
Fitz laughs. “Did you hear that outburst? She is very much not a grown up. And just telling her about SHIELD doesn’t mean we’re signing her up. Besides, do you really think her favourite Aunt Skye isn’t dropping all kinds of hints?”
Amy pretends not to hear them knocking on her bedroom door at first, but finally lets them in when Fitz starts to take it off its hinges. “What do you want?”
“We owe you an apology,” says Jemma, sitting beside her on the bed.
“Actually, we owe you a lot more than that,” Fitz adds, pulling out a tablet and opening a folder called “6-1-6”.
“What are all these pictures?” Amy asks, peering over as he skims through. “Wow, Mum, you used to be pretty.”
Jemma rolls her eyes at Fitz behind their daughter’s back. “Thanks, sweetheart. Look, I’m afraid we haven’t been entirely honest with you.” She takes the tablet and blows up a picture of her and Fitz standing on the cargo ramp of a plane, a blurry selfie that makes her heart ache a bit.
“I know you think you’re too old for this,” says Fitz, “but your mum and I would like to tell you a story.”
Sixteen
Fitz and Simmons first meet on a SHIELD Academy orientation day. They’re by far the youngest people in their class, and are both pretending not to be totally in awe of their surroundings.
The agent showing them round stops at the Wall of Valor, and between sheer excitement and her residual desire to change “Valor” to its proper spelling, Simmons doesn’t notice another cadet leaning across for a better look until he’s nearly pushed her over.
“Oh, excuse me!” she says, at the same time as he stutters, “S-Sorry, sorry, just trying to get a better look.”
They turn to look at each other, folding their arms and putting their guards up. “You could have just walked round,” she replies, at the same time as he says, “It’s pretty hard to see if you’re not in the front row.”
The agent showing them round gives them a stern look. “Cadets Fitz and Simmons, is there a problem?”
“No, ma’am,” they say contritely, glaring at each other.
Simmons keeps an eye on Fitz over the next few weeks. He’s shy and introverted; fiercely resistant to criticism yet hungry for instruction. The only classes they have together at first are Holographic Engineering and Professor Vaughn’s Introduction to SHIELD: History and Protocol, so she has no idea what he can do in real terms, but she assumes he must be talented. Why else would he would be here, the youngest student in history? Beating her by a couple of months, not that she’s at all resentful of that.
Fitz, on the other hand, doesn’t understand what all the fuss is about. Simmons is always talking, which probably shows she’s not doing much thinking. She’s desperate for praise and validation, and annoyingly cheerful, which means she clearly cares too much what other people think. Also he’s been to school and uni with pretty girls: the ones who bother to do their hair and makeup don’t often have that much going on underneath. And Simmons is very pretty. Honestly, it’s a mystery why she’s here, but then again, Biology always was science for people who can’t do science.
Twenty-seven
Fitz is finally allowed to stay in his own room, and although he’s still sleeping in a hospital bed, Jemma manages to curl up next to him.
“Coulson wants me to go to the Hub,” she murmurs. “We need to be central to start auditing and transporting resources for the new Sci Ops facilities, and you’re not ready to travel yet. I made it very clear that I objected to the decision, but he’s a hard man to argue with.”
“All that power gone to his head, has it?” Fitz jokes, stroking Jemma’s back to reassure her that he is taking this seriously. “Look, it’s probably best for you anyway. I mean, hanging round here watching me try to use a screwdriver isn’t exactly how I dreamed life would be when we finally got together.”
She sits up and smiles softly, and he still can’t quite believe they’re here. “What did you imagine?”
“Working legs, house in the suburbs, maybe a pet monkey...”
She frowns for a second and then bursts out laughing, trying to bury her face in his shoulder so no one can hear. “Oh, Fitz.”
“Well?” he asks after a few minutes. “What did you picture?”
“Honestly, I didn’t,” she admits, propping herself up on her arm and looking at him. “I’ve always assumed we’d be together, but not like this. I don’t know whether it was because there was no point, with SHIELD’s protocols, or because you were my first real friend here, or just because there are still a few areas in which I’m not an expert.”
Fitz brushes some errant hair from her face. “You’re doing pretty well so far,” he points out, reaching up to kiss her. “I always thought we’d move back home, eventually. Get a house somewhere prices aren’t through the roof, preferably a university town so we can get to the libraries. Have a couple of kids and mercilessly push them into academia, maybe fly out to the Academy every once in a while to remind those cadets who’s boss.”
“That sounds wonderful. Do you really think we could get there?”
“Just as soon as I get over my newfound fear of flying over water,” he jokes, but neither of them laughs. “And if we don’t get kicked out of SHIELD for fraternisation,” he adds.
“Oh, no, Fitz, don’t remind me. Coulson hates bureaucracy; he’s not going to spend hours changing all the protocols.”
“Which means that we can’t be on the same team and in a relationship. I know this is difficult, but you’re going to have to-”
“I can’t lie, Fitz! You know that.” She stares at him in panic, and Fitz swears he feels his heart skip a beat, seeing how important this is to her. She’s right, though. Her inability to lie is one of his favourite things about her; the anxious look on her face when she tries to improvise under pressure is up there in his top five Jemma Simmons expressions. The only problem is that it renders their chances of successfully maintaining a secret relationship pretty much zero.
“Well, then we need to come up with a plan,” he suggests. “I think the team will accept that we’re a bit clingy for the moment, but long term we need to have a good cover.”
“Maybe we don’t,” she says, and there’s his number one favourite facial expression; the light in her eyes when the pieces of a puzzle come together. “With your help, maybe I can... compartmentalise it.”
“What do you mean?” Fitz asks, and for a moment he doesn’t understand why she looks so concerned. “Oh, no, this isn’t the hypoxia talking, I know what compartmentalisation is. I just don’t know how you’re planning to do it. ”
“That’s the brilliant part! For example, while Jemma is dying for proper British food, Agent Simmons has never once seriously contemplated hijacking the Bus and flying home just so she can have a roast dinner.”
“We’ve all had that fantasy,” Fitz interjects, “but the idea of facing May’s wrath is much scarier than months without Yorkshire puddings.”
“Oh, please; it’s all about the roast potatoes. But more importantly,” she announces, jabbing him in the arm with her finger, “Agent Simmons would never, ever dream of carrying on a romantic relationship with her lab partner.”
She gives Fitz a moment to reply, and when he doesn’t she gives a broad smile. “See, exactly. You and Jemma can get up to all the inappropriate, sexy hi-jinks they want, but FitzSimmons are serious agents who care about science and research.”
“So if I were to carry on calling you Jemma in the lab, it would be-”
“Terribly confusing and distracting, yes.”
“And if Coulson himself were to ask-”
“I would laugh in a carefree manner and say, ‘Don’t be silly, sir, there’s far too much work to do for me to carry on a relationship right now.’”
“You are certifiable, you know that?” he laughs, wrapping his arms around her. “Totally and utterly mental.”
”But I can’t lie to save my life, and we can’t risk-” she starts, but he cuts her off with a lingering kiss, threading a hand through her hair and pulling her close.
“Fitz, have you seen - oh my God!” Skye’s voice comes from the doorway.
Jemma’s mortified but Fitz can’t stop laughing. “I think we might need a new plan, Agent Simmons.”
Twenty-two
“I cannot believe you’re actually excited about this,” Fitz grumbles, pushing open the door.
“Well, you could at least do people the courtesy of pretending,” Simmons says. “There are some highly acclaimed scientists attending today.”
They walk into the hotel lobby and are greeted by a man in a suit, probably C.I.A.. Fitz rolls his eyes behind Simmons’ back: all the agencies get overprotective at this kind of things, even when the technologies involved are neither classified nor controversial.
“Good morning, are you with the conference today?”
They nod. “Agents Simmons and Fitz, with SHIELD,” Simmons confirms.
He looks at his tablet and shakes his head. “First names?”
“Jemma and Leopold,” Simmons replies, and Fitz winces.
“Give me one moment, please?” He steps away and makes a call.
Fitz and Simmons frown at each other. “I’m suddenly reminded of trying to get into school discos,” she says. “Although I was working in a Year 6 class, I wasn’t considered old enough to attend.”
“I didn’t even bother trying to go,” he replies. “That was the age when I was trying to make a mobile phone. I cared a lot more about that than the latest Boyzone album.”
“Ronan Keating was my first crush,” Simmons admits, hoping Fitz won’t judge her for not fancying someone a bit more erudite. “Well, him and Tony Stark, but that goes without saying.”
The agent who greeted them holds up a finger to show that he’ll be another minute, and Fitz groans. Simmons smiles at him. “Look on the bright side, Fitz, the bar should be open by the time we get in.”
He opens his mouth and closes it again, before speaking. “How the hell are you so positive all the time?”
The agent finally puts down the phone and comes back to them. “Okay, I think we’ve worked this out. Because you have the same name, we only have down Dr. L. Fitzsimmons, and not both of you. Who is that?”
“He’s Leo Fitz, but, sir-”
“So it’s you we’re missing. Not a problem, we can get another pass sorted, ma’am. It means we only have one room booked, but I assume you won’t mind sharing with your husband?”
Fitz and Simmons exchange a glance and both start talking at once.
“Sorry, sir, we’re not married.”
“We don’t have the same name; that is ridiculous.”
“Who were you speaking to at SHIELD? We’ll get in touch with Communications.”
“Look at our badges. Different people.”
“Sorry: I’ll get your passes changed right away. We do only have the one room, though; the whole hotel has been booked for the conference. Will that be acceptable for tonight while we try to make alternative arrangements?”
Simmons nods. “Yes, yes, that should be fine. Thank you so much for your assistance, sir.”
Fitz can do nothing but grab the bags and follow her to the lifts. “What was that all about? ‘Sorry, sir, our mistake, let me go and share a bed with my lab partner because I’m too British to make a scene’.”
Simmons rolls her eyes. “It’s not like that, Fitz, and you know it. Besides, they might have twin beds!”
He smirks. “I knew it.”
“Knew what?”
“That you wanted a piece of this.” He gestures dramatically down at his body. “Please, I’ve seen the way you look at me.”
She squints at him in confusion and starts to protest before recognising the smirk on his face. She smacks him in the arm as they get out of the lift, but can’t help laughing.
He grins back and puts his hand over his heart. “You wound me with your laughter, Simmons. I am a catch, I’ll have you know.”
She puts a hand on his arm and gives her best sympathetic look. “Oh, Fitz,” she says, opening the door to their room. “And, it’s a double bed. Of course it is.”
“I call the left side,” Fitz says.
By the time they get back upstairs after the introductory drinks reception, they’ve almost forgotten about the situation, but the reality soon comes flooding back.
Simmons grabs her bag and heads to the bathroom, and Fitz gets changed and waits for her to come out so he can brush his teeth. A few moments later, he hears a muffled, “Oh, bloody hell!” from behind the door.
“Simmons, you okay in there?”
“Yes, I’m fine, it’s just… I prefer not to have pyjama bottoms on when I’m sleeping, and didn’t anticipate sharing a room this weekend so I haven’t brought any. I would appreciate it if you’d look away until I’m under the covers.”
“Simmons, if you’re trying to seduce me-”
“Oh, grow up, Fitz, I’ve got underwear on.”
When he turns around and she’s sitting in bed wearing a camisole and holding a tablet, there’s nothing out of place except the beet-red blush on her cheeks.
“Shut up,” she mutters.
She shuffles as far over to the right as she can when he joins her; and she wouldn’t have thought it was possible to feel this awkward around him. They sit in silence for a few moments, before he asks, “What are you reading?”
Simmons relaxes. “I’m looking over Dr. Ryland’s research before his talk tomorrow. The use of individualised weaponry is fascinating, but-”
“I don’t think he’s looked into the more subtle possibilities of using genetics in espionage-”
“Because there’s so much intelligence that needs to be kept compartmentalised, so it would perhaps be more beneficial in communications, drop boxes…”
Half an hour later, they’re huddled together over the tablet trying to work out how they can create a comms receiver with an embedded DNA sensor, until Fitz lets out a yawn.
Simmons is reminded that they’re not side by side in a lab but pressed together in a double bed that suddenly feels way too small.
“We’re a good distance away from this design; shall we get some sleep?” she asks, wriggling as far over to her side as possible.
“Yeah, yeah, we should… Yeah.” He turns off the light and they roll over.
“We’ll follow up on the room change first thing tomorrow,” she murmurs.
“And when we get back to work, we are going to hunt down whichever idiot’s calling us FitzSimmons and make sure it never happens again,” Fitz replies.
“Mmm,” Simmons agrees, “will do. Good night, Fitz.”
“Night.”
Thirty-four
Jemma knows it’s probably quite unhealthy, but she actively misses Fitz, even though they’re in the same building. It gets to twelve twenty before she decides that it’s too quiet for her to accomplish anything in the lab, and heads down to the lecture hall with Fitz’s lunch.
The cadets are on their way out when she arrives, and she waits in the doorway as they file past.
The last one goes up to Fitz. “I’ve been working on a design for a comms device that responds to neurological signals, so you can, like, talk without talking. Could I come by and go through it with you at some point?”
Fitz skims his diary. “Sure, tomorrow at three? I’ll be in lab six; bring the schematics and any components you have and we’ll try and make it work.”
The cadet looks relieved. “Thanks, Professor F, you’re a lifesaver. See you then!”
“I do wish the students would stop calling you that,” Jemma protests, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s as if all they can see is the wheelchair.”
“I like to think it’s because of my superior intellect,” Fitz corrects, tapping his temple.
“Actually, you’re more intelligent than Charles Xavier, even without any superpowers. It is a shame you’re not telepathic, though.”
“Oh, please, I can definitely read your mind.”
“Really? Well, what am I thinking right now, Professor?” She moves into the room with her arms crossed, a teasing smile on her face.
“Let me see… You’re thinking that I’d better not take this Professor X thing to heart because you couldn’t take me seriously if I shaved my head.”
“I was actually wondering whether anyone manufactures maternity lab-coats.” Jemma shakes her head and clicks her tongue. “You’re losing your touch.” A look of panic appears on her face as she finally processes his reply. “Oh no, Fitz, please don’t shave your head!”
He laughs. “Relax; these curls are all I have left of my boyish charm. Without them I’m just a middle-aged genius with a great sense of humour and disproportionate upper body strength.”
She gasps theatrically. “We are not middle aged!”
Fitz laughs, but not for long. “You do realise that you’re not meant to be in a lab at this point? I forbid you to bring my child into contact with hazardous chemicals.”
“As if you could forbid me from doing anything,” she replies. “But I am fully aware of the dangers, hence my attractive new facemasks. It’s safer for the baby here at the Academy than back at Sci Ops, anyway. Far fewer volatile alien substances.”
“True, but I still think it’s not the safest place. In fact...”
Jemma frowns at him. “What is it?”
“That may be the first sentence of mine you haven’t been able to finish in at least fifteen years. Should we alert the press?”
She shakes her head and quirks an eyebrow, and Fitz sighs, knowing he can’t hide anything from her.
“I think we should move back home when the baby’s born,” he says, eyes fixed on Jemma’s. He holds up a hand when she opens her mouth to speak. “No, hear me out. We can consult for SHIELD, and Coulson can definitely swing us lab access at a well-equipped university.”
“Fitz-”
“We could even get lecturer roles as well; we both enjoy it here. Plus it could be rewarding to teach for the sake of learning and not for the next generation of spies.”
“Fitz-”
“Oh, and I designed the most incredible tree house, but it really needs to be in an English oak; the trees around here don’t have the right density and stability. Not that that’s the most important reason, but what kid doesn’t want a tree house, right?”
She raises her voice. “Fitz, for goodness’ sake, I agree with you!”
“And come on, could you really live with yourself if our daughter had an American accent?”
Jemma tries not to laugh. “What did I just say?”
His eyes widen. “Wait, what? You want to leave?”
“Yes! This is not a remotely appropriate profession for new parents. I just didn’t know how to tell you: I know how you hate change.”
“I’m getting used to it.” Fitz smiles and pulls her down for a hug. “When you’re involved, I can usually embrace the change.”
Jemma wipes tears from her eyes, and before he can point it out she gives him a stern look. “Not a word from you; it’s the hormones.”
“Sure it is,” he replies, and she decides to ignore the sarcasm.
“Skye is going to be very disappointed; I think she has plans to corrupt our child under the guise of babysitting.”
Fitz snorts. “Please. If Skye can’t corrupt an infant through the internet, she’s clearly not the hacker we thought she was.”
“You’re right, not that we should be encouraging her.” Jemma takes a deep breath. “I’ve actually started looking at houses - purely for research, of course - but I may have to rethink my choices now that a fully grown oak tree is one of our non-negotiables.” She stifles a giggle and he looks outraged.
“You laugh now, Simmons, but this is going to be the culmination of our life’s work; the most advanced tree house there ever was. I may need your help, though; we need to engineer it so it only admits people with FitzSimmons genes. You can’t be too careful these days.”
Jemma can’t suppress her laughter any longer. “Fitz, there is no way a tree house is going to be the most significant invention of our lives. We’ve saved lives, we’ve worked with alien matter... This is a child’s plaything.”
He shakes his head solemnly. “Oh, poor, naïve Jemma; you have no idea. Just wait till you see the blueprint.”
Seventeen
Simmons desperately tries not to fidget as she stands next to Fitz, waiting for Agent Weaver to give them the verdict on their prototype. She wasn’t best pleased when their professors recommended they combine their projects, but she had to admit that they worked well together, and their initial designs complemented each other. Nevertheless, she’s convinced that if the test run doesn’t work, it will be his tech at fault and not hers.
She and Fitz exchange a nervous look as Agent Weaver comes back through the door, and Simmons almost feels a sense of solidarity until he whispers, “I really hope those sensors of yours work.”
“I have to say, this is very impressive, Cadets, especially for this stage in your training. It will need refining, of course.”
“It’s the start of something so much bigger,” Simmons interrupts. “This one can pick up sound waves, but we can develop more in time; they’ll be able to register smells, matter density, radiation-”
Agent Weaver holds up her hand and smiles. “I really appreciate your enthusiasm, Simmons. Tell you what; I’ll let the two of you carry on with this project. You clearly make a great team.”
Weaver heads out of the lab, and Fitz and Simmons give each other a high five.
Buoyed by their success and feeling unnaturally warm towards Fitz, Simmons turns to him and asks, “Would you like to get some lunch?” just as he says, “I’m absolutely starving.” They smile at each other nervously.
“I can make you a sandwich if you want? I don’t have many supplies in, but the cafeteria food is truly awful,” she suggests, at the same time as he asks, “Can we go anywhere other than the canteen though? You’d think all the chemistry experts here could make a decent spaghetti bolognese.”
“Perfect,” they both pronounce.
As Simmons struggles to make aioli with her mum’s old stick blender, she starts to relax a little. “My parents always wanted me to enter Masterchef,” she says, “because that’s really how I got into chemistry in the first place. Drove Mum mad when I was little, asking about why cakes rose! I perfected emulsions like this early on, but I really cared less about how they tasted than how they came together in the first place. I just wish we had better facilities than this. Honestly, I’d be better off whipping this up in the centrifuge downstairs than here; I hope it doesn’t taste completely horrible.”
Fitz’s eyes widen. He dashes out of her room, and Simmons tries to ignore the disappointment rising in her throat. She can barely hide her relief when he comes back from his dorm with a toolkit and sets to work converting her blender and a couple of plastic bowls into the most state-of-the-art mixer possible, taking a break only to eat his lunch.
“Oh my God, Simmons, this is the single greatest sandwich I have ever eaten.”
She blushes. “If you want, you can call me Jemma. I mean, you don’t have to, but, well, you solved the sensor problem and you’ve dramatically improved my blender and I thought we could be-”
“Friends? Sure, yeah, great. I can’t really see you as a Jemma though, might stick with Simmons. My real name’s Leopold, but that is truly awful, so you can call me Leo if you must, but Fitz is fine, really.”
Simmons cuts him off with laughter that feels almost affectionate. “Friends, then,” she beams.
They bump their water bottles together and laugh.
Thirty
“I can’t wait to see them; can you believe it’s been so long?” Simmons says, practically bouncing up and down as they wait in the hangar.
“Calm down, Jem,” Fitz laughs, grabbing her hand.
“Fitz, not here, she says sadly, letting him go, and they both look at the ground. “I’m sorry, but you know how important it is to maintain professionalism, even if our team already knows. There are so many people walking round here; I’m just not willing to take the chance.”
“I know, sorry; it’s just a big moment, and-”
“They’re here, Fitz, they’re here!” she interrupts, pointing at the Bus as it descends towards them.
When the cargo ramp lowers, Skye is the first to bound off the plane, sweeping Simmons into a hug.
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t get up,” Fitz quips, and Skye just laughs and bends to hug him too.
“It is so good to see you guys!” she says. “Fill me in on everything. What’s the Sci Ops gossip? Are we going to get to see the new house?”
“We were hoping you’d all come for dinner tonight. It’s lovely, but we’re having to sleep downstairs at the moment because someone decided to upgrade his stair lift and didn’t have all the parts.”
“We thought that was the best solution; it’s a little emasculating to have your girlfriend carrying you upstairs.”
“I don’t know; I reckon she totally wears the pants in this relationship. Or maybe you don’t like her wearing pants when she’s carrying you to bed.” Skye gives an overblown wink.
Fitz starts to shush her, but he’s interrupted by other familiar faces.
“Fitz, Simmons,” says May with a rare smile, and Coulson comes up behind her and shakes both their hands.
“It’s so nice to see you, sir! Most divisions have closed for the night so we’ll head home soon, but if you would like to have a look around now, the robotics team are working on producing a mass-marketable prosthetic, similar to CyberTek’s, but with improved neurological connectivity and a tad less evil. We have a prototype ready in our lab space if you’d like to see?” Simmons leads the group into the complex.
“What, so you’re going to finally give Fitz robot legs?” asks Skye.
“No way in hell,” Fitz announces. “It’s taken Simmons and me years to produce a wheelchair that is perfectly attuned to neurological sensors, and I am not going through any more surgery. Besides, I quite like this look. I feel distinguished.”
“Where’s Trip?” asks Simmons with a frown, and Fitz shoots her a look that isn’t entirely teasing.
“He’s driving in,” says Coulson. “He had to go via a drop-box a couple of miles from here.”
“I miss the Bus,” says Fitz. “Missions and drama... Is there any way I can convince you to let me put a lift in next to the lab stairs?”
“We’ve had this conversation,” says Coulson apologetically. “I’m not prepared to put you in that kind of danger and you’re needed here.”
“He also doesn’t want to do any more damage to the plane,” says May. “SHIELD insurance isn’t what it used to be.”
“Yeah, thought as much,” Fitz replies. “Worth a shot though. Anyway, this is our private lab. The office is Simmons’.”
“Obviously,” Skye adds.
“There is nothing wrong with organisation and accurate paperwork,” Simmons retorts. “Oh, do you want to see the latest genetic workup on your parents?”
Skye rubs her arm through her jacket, where her skin has started to crack and peel, and Simmons backs off. “Maybe later, then?”
“How are the two of you?” asks May quietly.
Fitz catches Simmons’s hand, and she doesn’t pull back this time.
“It’s stressful. We appreciate your ongoing support, sir,” she tells Coulson, “but it’s difficult day-to-day. We understand that we need to command respect and be seen to be demonstrating adherence to protocol, and of course we would never behave inappropriately, but-”
“You’re painfully co-dependent,” Skye interjects. “I can’t be the only person at SHIELD who assumed you were together when you weren’t.”
“Yeah, but it’s different now,” says Fitz.
“Hey, I’m looking for whoever runs this joint,” comes a voice from the door, and Simmons runs to give Trip a hug. Fitz follows closely and shakes his hand.
“I got the package,” Trip tells Coulson. “But enough shop talk for now. We’ve been travelling all day; where do you get a drink round here?”
“Welcome!” Jemma calls enthusiastically, and puts down a case of beer in the living room. “I’ll put some food on.”
“Wow, casa de FitzSimmons is nice!” Skye says, sinking into her seat. “Where’s the furniture from? Can we get this armchair on the Bus?”
Trip helps Fitz out of his wheelchair and onto the sofa and passes round the drinks, and Coulson’s updating them on the hazards of re-establishing the Moroccan office when Jemma comes back in with food. “Sorry it’s just fajitas,” she says, “we haven’t had much time to shop.”
“Are you kidding?” asks Skye, piling her tortilla high. “Home-cooked food is possibly the best thing that’s happened to me in months.”
Jemma and Fitz exchange a look.
“Okay, what is up with you?” Skye demands. “Simmons is talking way faster than usual, and Fitz is all jumpy. What, do you think we’re going to whisk you away to a fraternisation tribunal, or send you on a submarine mission?” They both wince.
“Sorry, but you know what I mean.” She turns to the others. “Come on, D.C., back me up! You can’t say you’re not a little worried that they’re taking the R&D positions with Stark now that he’s retiring.”
“We turned that down, actually,” Fitz says. “But it’s good to know you trust our loyalty.” Skye sticks out her tongue at him.
“Skye’s right,” says Coulson. “It may be that we’re not used to having you around all the time, but you both seem subdued. If you need some time away from running Sci Ops, just say the word and I’ll send you anywhere.”
“Except Tahiti,” mutters Skye, and the group laugh nervously.
“Well, actually, sir, we were going to ask for a bit of time off in a few months,” says Jemma, and Fitz squeezes her leg. They look at each other for a beat before turning back to the group with broad smiles.
“We’re getting married,” they announce, and Skye lets out a squeal and launches herself at them.
“Food, furniture,” Jemma forces out through a faceful of Skye’s hair, but she can’t stop laughing as the rest of the team crowd round.
“When did this happen?” asks Coulson. “I think we can bend old SHIELD’s rules about asking permission to take this step, but unfortunately you will need to file some additional paperwork.”
“By which he means congratulations,” May puts in.
“I asked her two weeks ago,” Fitz says. “Not that she made it easy. I was trying to design the ring and she was all over me. ‘Fitz, I didn’t authorise any vibranium orders. Fitz, you don’t need these tools to make the prosthetics; what are you really doing?’ It’s a mystery why I’d want her around for an even bigger proportion of the time, really.”
Jemma hits him in the arm, but keeps smiling and takes the ring off her necklace to show everyone.
“It’s an adamantium-vibranium alloy,” Fitz explains. “Pretty much indestructible.”
“Is that a blue diamond?” asks May, and Fitz is taken aback at her interest. She shrugs. “Every girl should know her jewels.”
“It’s not natural,” he replies. “That’s a bit beyond my pay grade. I irradiated and superheated it myself to create exactly the right hue for her favourite colour.”
“Well, I am in shock, Simmons,” says Trip with a smile, “Skye and I talk to you all the time and you kept this secret for two whole weeks? You’ve gotten to be a pretty good liar after all.”
“I know, right?” Skye replies. “Our little spy is all grown up.”
Jemma slips the ring onto her finger and leans against Fitz’s shoulder. “It’s nice to actually show this off,” she sighs. “Aside from the inherent hazards of wearing jewellery like this in a research lab, it’s not exactly an appropriate talking point with agents who are meant to report to us.”
“I know it’s hard,” says Coulson. “I put the two of you in charge of Sci Ops not only because you’re both brilliant and trustworthy, but also because you’re a great team. The division is thriving thanks to your joint strengths, and anyone who has a problem with that will have a problem with me.”
“Thank you, sir; that means a lot,” says Jemma, getting a bit choked up.
Skye clears her throat. “So have you thought about the wedding at all?”
“We don’t have much extended family, so it will probably be something small,” Jemma replies, grabbing a tablet. “These are some of the locations we had in mind.”
May goes to peer over their shoulders, and Fitz rolls his eyes at Trip and Coulson. “Jem’s been dying to go over this stuff with someone other than our mums,” he says. “They’ll be busy for a while. Do you have any good tales from the field? Who’s nearly died lately?”
Twenty-five
“I know what the dendrotoxin needs to be, it’s just not possible with this small a shell-casing,” Simmons snaps, taking off her goggles and slamming them down.
Fitz points at the gun on the table. “Well, I’ve already made the thing, so you’ll have to alter the concentrations and just get it to work.”
“Oh I’m sorry, you’re clearly the expert on all of this; shall I leave you to manipulate the highly dangerous compound?”
“FitzSimmons?” They both turn around; an agent they don’t know is standing in the doorway.
“Yes?” says Simmons.
“May we help you?” asks Fitz.
“I’m Agent Trent. Will you come with me, please?”
They exchange a glance, remove their gloves and lab-coats, and follow him to a conference room.
“Agents Fitz and Simmons, there is someone who is very interested in your skill set. This is beyond your security clearance, so if you choose not to accept you will need to assure us that what you hear doesn’t go beyond these walls.”
Simmons notices Fitz start to smile, and shoots him a look that says, ‘Yes, he’s taking this job too seriously, and yes, he sounds like something from a bad film, but we can have a good laugh later when we might not lose a clearance level or two.’
She holds her breath for a moment, hoping he at least picked up the gist of it, and sees him biting his lip before he answers, with a straight face, “We understand, sir.”
She then bumps straight into Fitz's back as he stops dead in his tracks, and peers round him to see who’s in the room.
“Agent Coulson?” they ask in unison.
“In the flesh,” he replies with a smile, shaking hands with them. “I’m sure you have a few questions.”
It may be the first time in her life that Jemma Simmons is speechless. It doesn’t last long, and then she and Fitz talk at once.
“But I thought you were dead!”
“What’s Tony Stark like in real life?”
Simmons kicks Fitz under the table for his utterly stupid question (though she secretly wants to know the answer herself).
“Okay, one at a time. Tony Stark is exactly as he is in the media - arrogant, obnoxious and brilliant. And yes, I was dead, but only for a short while. Director Fury made the executive decision to keep that quiet. It’s amazing what you can accomplish when no one knows you exist.” Agent Coulson leans forward over the table. “But that’s highly classified, level seven and above. Which is why it’s imperative that this meeting stays between us.”
“But sir, we’re only level five,” Simmons points out.
“I know. But when I was given the remit to choose my own team, you were first on my list. Everyone at the Academy and Sci Ops talks very highly of you, and I’ve had to cash in a lot of favours to get this meeting.”
“Where would we be based?”
“That’s the best part - I’ll be running a mobile operation, airborne, travelling wherever we’re needed.”
“Field work?” Simmons blurts out. “Sorry, sir, it’s just neither of us has been trained for that.”
“I know. And I don’t care. We’ll have a specialist on board, and you won’t have to see combat. You’re there to do what you do best: research, analyse and develop technology.”
Fitz frowns. “I’m sorry, how are we meant to do proper research and analysis while airborne?”
“This isn’t just an ordinary plane, Agent Fitz. It’s a CXD 23 Airborne Mobile Command Station, gutted and renovated for my operation, with a lab that will be set up exactly as you require.”
Fitz perks up at this. “Does it have Pratt & Whitney F117-PW-100 turbofan engines?”
“Six of them, engineered to be capable of vertical flight. Oh, and it has a bar. I hear that’s pretty important to you Brits.” Agent Coulson stands and shakes their hands. “It was a pleasure meeting you both. I’ll be in touch within a week for your answer, but I very much hope you’ll be joining the team.”
“Thank you very much, sir,” says Fitz.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, sir,” says Simmons with a broad smile.
The smile doesn’t leave her face as they head back to their lab. “Oh, Fitz, it’s the most perfect opportunity for us to see the world! We’d be fools to pass this one up; it’s so exciting! Imagine all the places we’ll go!”
“And the people we’ll see, I know,” Fitz finishes flatly, and Simmons frowns.
“Why aren’t you excited?”
“I don’t know, Simmons, why aren’t I excited about leaving our nice, comfortable life and fully equipped lab to live on an aeroplane?”
“I didn’t know you were scared of flying! You’ve been fine whenever we’ve gone home, Fitz, you should have said!”
He stops in his tracks and stands in front of her. “Simmons, please. I am not scared of flying.”
A couple of agents walking past give them a worried look, and he lowers his voice. “Look, I don’t want to talk about this now. Can we just get on with the Night-Night gun? It’s meant to be field tested in four weeks.”
“But Fitz, imagine; we could be testing it ourselves!”
He throws his hands in the air and opens his mouth, but instead of arguing just turns and walks away.
“Fitz!” Simmons calls, but he doesn’t listen.
She can normally predict his movements, but he’s not in the robotics lab where he goes to be alone, he’s not at the bar where they go to unwind, and he’s not at home. She calls him and it goes straight to voicemail, and she slumps down on the doorstep of their building, suddenly very alone. She’s taken for granted that he will always be around, but if it feels so weird not to have him here for a couple of hours, she can’t imagine what it would be like if she went to work by herself.
“What the hell are you doing out here? Aren’t you freezing?”
She stares up at Fitz, and it’s slightly gratifying that he looks as bad as she feels.
“It’s too quiet in there, and the only thing on TV is the fourth Harry Potter film, which-”
“Totally massacred your favourite of the books.”
“It’s the pacing,” Simmons confirms, but with none of the usual force. She watches as he opens the door behind her, deciding not to follow him, but he comes back a few minutes later with her jacket and two beers.
“I’m not going,” she says. “If you don’t want to, then I’m not going either.”
“You don’t have to-”
“I know.” She tries to smile but doesn’t quite manage. “Fitz, where do you see yourself in ten years’ time?”
“Working Night-Night gun, house in the suburbs, maybe a pet monkey?” he jokes, but stops smiling at her expression. “I hadn’t really thought about it, to be honest.”
“It’s been nearly a decade since we joined SHIELD. Can you believe that? When I left home, I thought nothing could be more exciting than coming over here and learning from the best scientific minds in the world. And after that there was our own lab, a seemingly endless list of inventions and challenges: we’ve made some incredible things. But I don’t think I can do this forever, Fitz. I want to see the world: I’ve always wanted to visit the Large Hadron Collider, to go to the birthplaces of Nobel Laureates, to try Thai food that doesn’t come in a box.”
She doesn’t recognise his expression as he processes what she’s said. Finally he asks, “Aren’t you scared?”
“Scared? Fitz, I’m terrified! But in a good way. It might be dangerous, but we could be the first ones to encounter alien artefacts and new compounds. Remember how long we had to wait to get our hands on one small sample of Extremis? This is why we joined SHIELD in the first place, and this way we would-”
“Genuinely be on the frontlines of innovation,” he finishes.
She pauses. “Sorry, I’m not trying to change your mind, it’s just that-”
“You can’t help thinking out loud, I know,” he replies. “I nearly had a heart attack when I came up to the door and you were actually quiet for once. Feel like I should’ve taken advantage of that a bit more.” He nudges her leg with his own, and she knows he’s trying to get a laugh out of her but it’s hard to oblige.
“Jemma,” he says eventually, and she looks at him in surprise. They never call each other by their first names, and her heart is pounding. Then he takes her hand, and she feels a lump in her throat. They’ve also never had this kind of casual physical intimacy, and this must be him breaking it to her that the partnership that’s worked so well for so long is changing, that he’s going to tell her to go out on her own. She doesn’t understand why she’s so afraid.
He takes a deep breath. “One day, I’m going to regret this.”
“Fitz?” she asks, trying to stop her voice from trembling.
He holds her gaze. “Let’s do it; let’s go live on a plane.” She takes a moment to process this as he continues, “Well, not just any plane, a classic SHIELD Globemaster with-”
She cuts him off, as she can’t help throwing her arms around him.
“Whoa, steady, watch my drink,” he murmurs, but he squeezes her tight before pulling back and standing up to go inside. “Oh, great, this means I have to pack. I hate packing.”
“Tell you what; I’ll do your packing if you reconsider the size of those shell casings.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Simmons, but I think we can come to some kind of arrangement.”
Twenty-six
“Come on, Fitz, you can do it.”
“I don’t know if I can, Jemma…” Sweat beads on his brow, and he lifts the pencil carefully, trying to trace the letters. “This is ridiculous, I know exactly what to do; my muscles just won’t work.” He throws the pencil down as hard as he can, trying not to show his frustration when it just rolls gently onto the table. “If I can’t write, how the hell am I meant to do my bloody job?!”
“This is going to take time. But you are the strongest person I know, and you can get through this. It just takes practice.” She puts her hands on his shoulders. “Give it another ten minutes, and we’ll have some food. Plus, think of where you were last week, think of what you can do now!”
Fitz sighs, wondering if there’s a future for an engineer who can’t even hold a screwdriver. But Jemma’s right: last week he couldn’t hold a pencil at all, two weeks ago he could barely bend his fingers, and three weeks ago he couldn’t even remember the word pencil. And the whole time, she was there to stop him from giving up. Hell, she dragged him from the depths of the ocean with a single breath; he owes it to her to keep trying. “You’re right, I know you’re right. Where on earth did you find the patience to deal with me?” He picks up the pencil again, taking a while to position it properly.
“Please, I get off lightly,” Jemma replies, moving round to stand next to him. “Doctor Khan deserves a medal for taking charge of your physiotherapy; patients should never be that demanding about their treatment.”
“Yeah well, it’s your fault for leaving all that research unattended.” He remembers the joy at being able to move his finger across the tablet, being able to understand what he was reading. “You should’ve made a hard copy, then I wouldn’t have been able to turn the pages and could never have read it in the first place.”
“Fitz, that’s not funny!” she says, folding her arms.
“Please, I heard you giggling when I was getting my speech back and couldn’t remember the word ‘aphasia’.”
“That laughter was mostly hysterical, I’ll have you know. But really, forgetting the word for forgetting words?”
“I know why it’s funny, thank you!” he snaps, immediately hating himself a bit, but knowing Jemma’s already forgiven him. His mood swings have settled down a lot, but he can’t help the rush of guilt whenever he gets upset with one of the team.
“Sorry, I just…” She looks down at the page. “That’s it, Fitz, you’re doing it!”
Across the paper in a childlike scrawl read the words, “LEO FI”.
He can feel that his face is screwed up with the strain, and Jemma looks like she might cry, but instead she turns his chair to face her and plants a gentle kiss on his lips.
He reaches his good hand up to his mouth, unable to hide his surprise. “Jem, wha-”
“Oh God, I’m sorry, it’s so soon and you’re still healing, and you probably didn’t mean what you said anyway, imminent death and all that…” She backs away and he tries to reach out but his arm won’t work properly.
“No! Jemma, no, I’m just…” Fitz pauses. Thinking of the term for aphasia was nothing compared to finding the right words now, to make her understand and make her stay. “I want this, more than anything in the world. Except maybe the feeling in my legs.” He smiles weakly. “But only if you want it too. And not because you feel sorry for me, or because you think you’re responsible for me being all broken.”
She kneels in front of him, actually crying now, and he can barely breathe. “Fitz, you don’t think-? Yes, I am grateful, and I’m sure I’ll feel guilty about this for the rest of my life. But that’s not why I kissed you.” He lifts his hand to her cheek and she swallows hard before continuing. “You are the most important person in the world, and I can’t stop thinking about how close I came to losing you. I never want to get into another situation like this without you knowing that-”
“I love you,” he interrupts, unable to help himself, and he uses all his strength to pull her in for another kiss.
She can’t stop smiling when they finally move apart. “I love you,” she confirms, nodding. “And I think we’ve just come up with a rather pleasant incentive for you to finish your exercises.”
Fifty
Amy blinks back tears as she looks at the photo in front of her; her dad lying in a hospital bed with her mum curled up in a chair beside him, clasping his hand.
“Skye took it,” says Jemma softly. “I think she knew I’d be furious if I caught her, so she didn’t show us until we knew he’d be okay.”
“She was still furious,” Fitz adds.
“You were in a coma, with no guarantee you’d ever wake up! It was totally inappropriate.”
“Please,” says Fitz, turning to Amy and whispering, “it’s because she’s not wearing any makeup.”
“I guessed,” Amy replies, hoping her parents do her the service of ignoring the tremor in her voice. They don’t.
“Are you all right?” asks Jemma.
“I’m fine, Mum. It’s just... a lot to take in. I guess you don’t really think about the fact that your parents were people before they had you, let alone international spies.” She looks at Fitz. “Also, as distressed as I am about it, that is a far cooler way to end up in a wheelchair than your car accident story.”
Jemma looks as if she can’t decide whether to laugh or cry, but Fitz just shrugs. “Very true,” he admits. “Though perhaps a tad more traumatic for all involved.”
Amy takes a deep breath. “And this pains me, but I understand why you don’t want me to go on this submarine trip. Yes, it’s been decommissioned, yes, it will never go underwater again, yes, I’ll be one hundred percent safe, but after all you’ve been through, your concern is perfectly understandable.”
Her parents exchange one of their long looks, which Amy swears are some infuriating form of telepathy, before speaking in unison.
“We’ve had a change of heart,” says Jemma.
“You can go on the trip,” says Fitz.
“Really?” Amy looks at both of them, but doesn’t see any signs of deception. “Thank you!”
“I’ll sign the permission slip and put it with your lunch for tomorrow,” Jemma confirms.
“But now, it’s a school night, and you need to go to bed,” Fitz finishes, and they head out of the room. “I assume I don’t need to tell you to keep this to yourself... as tempting as it is to brag when your parents are as cool as we are.”
“Urgh, dad!”
When the door clicks shut behind them, Amy reaches for her phone and sees a new message from Aunt Skye: ‘Did the plan work?’
She sits back on the bed and starts to type a reply, a triumphant grin spreading across her face.