Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

December 24^th

More than inconvenient weather or life-changing decisions, Jemma Simmons really hated being wrong.

Snow whirled outside the windows of the hired car, headlights wavering as the wheels tried to gain traction. Eyeing the driver from the backseat, she hunkered down in her jacket, heart pounding and not because of the storm that might make her miss her flight from Glasgow to London. If she missed that flight, she would surely miss her connection to New York and therefore the meeting that could determine the future of her entire career.

Strangely, however, the pull she felt was not to the city she had called home for the past half a decade, but to the quaint little village she’d just left. Jemma swiped angrily at a tear that rolled down her cheek. A month ago, she’d promised herself that she wouldn’t get attached to anything while on this whirlwind escape from her real life. But now she couldn’t get the vacation out of her head, and she hated how much she wanted to escape again, hated how her familiar old life didn’t feel like it was enough for her anymore. For the first time ever, she hadn’t been alone.

Hadn’t been, of course, until she’d left Perthshire half an hour ago.

------

November 23^rd

When Jemma arrived in Perthshire for the first time, the weather outside was frightful – and she couldn’t have been more ecstatic about it. By the time she made her way up the short, cobbled path to the cottage’s front door and unlocked the rather finicky bolt, her cheeks were bright pink from the wind. A wooden sign on the gate had declared the abode's name Rosehill Cottage, and, although the time of year was wrong to prove that title correct or not, she thought that the holiday house's prospects seemed very rosy indeed.

All the feeling in her ears was gone and snow dusted her lashes, quickly melting down her face as she shut and locked the door behind her. Wiping the wetness off her cheeks, she smiled, thinking that crying was the last thing she had any inclination to do right now. On the contrary, as she looked around the simple, homey cottage, Jemma was so thrilled to be here she briefly considered jumping up and down like a child. Instead, being the practical, adult woman that she was, she strode over to the hearth to get a nice, warm fire going. And if there was a little hop and a skip in her step, no one needed to know. 

Living in the Scottish countryside for the next month – unusually wintry weather be damned – seemed like the perfect antidote to the entire previous week. Truthfully, she had needed a break ever since the terrorist attack against SHIELD, for whom she was working on a contracted basis, four months ago. But it wasn’t until yesterday that she’d decided that she hated New York City, all men, and her job. Well, not her actual job, because being a Nobel Laureate in biochemistry was one of her greatest joys.

Being contracted with SHIELD, however, was turning out to be rather less enjoyable than she’d hoped. It was also the cause of her newfound hatred for men. (New York itself was truly blameless in the situation, but she’d been feeling so nettled that she lumped it in with the others.) Apparently when one is saddled with a new, incompetent coworker, it serves that he will also make vastly inappropriate advances before the day is out. 

Jemma Simmons hadn’t worked her arse off to get two PhDs before most people had their college diplomas just so that lowlife lab rats could objectify her as they pleased, and so she’d promptly reported his behavior. The whole experience had left a vastly sour taste in her mouth, so she’d also spontaneously decided to tell SHIELD that she was going to work remotely for the next month. The meeting that would determine the outcome of her experience with the company was scheduled for the morning after Christmas, unfortunately, so she would end up traveling through the holiday itself. Significant preparation would need to be done before the meeting so that she could successfully present the results of the project on which she’d been working at SHIELD for the past year and a half. As there was a month between now and then, and considering how stressful work had been in general since the Rising Tide attack, Jemma thought she deserved some time away.

As she happily settled into her home for the remainder of November and most of December, a small ping interrupted the howling snowstorm outside. Jemma paused in the middle of squeezing her clothes into the miniature closet to read the new message on her phone.

SKYE
find everything ok? just got to ur place & dude – this shit is cray

Chuckling to herself, Jemma tapped out a quick response. Although being a Nobel Laureate was not as well paid as one might hope, she had managed to land an apartment with a rather fetching view of Central Park. (Having friends in high places had its benefits.)

JEMMA
All set here! Cottage is divine. Bizarrely good WiFi.

SKYE
yeah – if I’m gonna live in the boonies, I fuckin better have good WiFi

SKYE
also, met ur neighbor. he’s not taken rite? cuz damn, boy

JEMMA
I don’t actually know. But if you’re asking whether he and I are an item – no. Have not, will not. I adore Trip, but not that way. 

SKYE
coolcoolcool, just checkin. enjoy nowhereville. don't go all jack torrance.

JEMMA
Who? 

SKYE
nvm. happy cottaging! 

JEMMA
Enjoy the Big Apple!

With that, Jemma slid her phone into her jeans pocket and grabbed her jacket. Weather or no, she needed to go into town for sustenance – and maybe to explore a little in the meantime.

Until yesterday, she and Skye had never heard of each other, let alone spoken. But as Jemma had been poking angrily around on her computer after work, a banner had popped up advertising a home exchange website. Normally, she didn’t click advertisements like that, but the picture shown was strikingly similar to the dream home she’d been imagining since she was a little girl. The site offered to connect people who wanted to swap houses for a set length of time, and since Jemma never kept any of her (very classified) work at home anyway the idea of escaping so completely from her life was infinitely appealing. (Besides, she’d told her neighbor and good friend, Trip, about the whole thing, and he’d promised to keep an eye on her apartment from afar.)

Finding the listing whose house matched the advert was simple, and agreeing to swap houses had taken only minutes. In all honesty, Jemma had probably never thought about anything less in her life – and she overthought everything. Apparently, Skye was sick of being trapped in the godforsaken little Scottish town in which she lived, and was ecstatic to hear that Jemma lived in the center of New York City.

One important query Jemma had made of her new acquaintance was whether or not there were any men in her town, to which Skye had eagerly replied that – other than her half-brother – there were absolutely none worth either of their time. Jemma had pushed the “purchase” button on the airline’s ticketing website that very second. 

The drive to and from the town of Birnam (the nearest one to the somewhat isolated cottage) in the snow was a little more nerve-wracking than Jemma would have liked, but she made it in one piece. At least Skye’s car was an automatic, and driving on the left side of the road came back to her without much of a problem. The woman in the shop gave Jemma a long, hard look when she bounced up to the front with a case of wine and half a basket of crisps and snacks, but she just ignored her. It was her vacation time and if she wanted to indulge herself then she would, local busybodies be damned. By the time she was done shopping, the wind had picked up again and she decided that she should probably get home before the roads became impassable. Her pajamas awaited her when she was back at the cottage, and she spent the rest of the evening curled up with a glass of wine and a book she’d long wanted to read.

Just as she was about to nod off on the couch, a loud banging startled her so much that she flung her book across the room and narrowly saved the last of her wine from flying with it.

“C’mon,” a gruff Scottish voice snapped from the other side of the door. “Get here faster!” 

Taking a deep breath to slow the adrenaline that now speeded through her veins, Jemma hesitantly unfurled herself from the sofa. The front door had a small, mottled pane of glass through which she could see the silhouette of her very insistent visitor.

“Skye,” he shouted, “if you don’t open up I’m gonna piss on your door!” 

Jemma let out a huff of indignation, steeled herself in case she might need to fend him off, and then swung the door open. Standing on her (well, Skye’s) stoop was a skinny man with sand-brown curls, shoulders hunched against the cold, and he whirled towards her with a drunken wobble.

“About bloody – you’re not Skye.”

“Well spotted,” Jemma sniffed, snugging her cardigan more tightly around her torso.

The man stared blankly at her, shifting from foot to foot and brows furrowing in thought. After an awkward few seconds, he bent his knees a little and grimaced. “Sorry, it’s just that I’ve really got to use the loo, and....” He nodded behind her, pleadingly turning one gloved hand palm up. Raising an eyebrow, Jemma stepped back to let him in, having decided that if he acted in an untoward manner she could probably take him. “Cheers,” he breathed gratefully, hustling past her to shuck off his coat and gloves on the floor. She noted that he’d clearly been here before because he needed no directions to the toilet, rushing in without another word and slamming the door behind himself. A relieved sigh wafted from beneath the door.

With a few quick tucks, Jemma fixed her shoddy, late-night appearance, fluffing up her hair and adjusting the hem of her camisole. Then she almost smacked herself on the forehead. Even if this drunken friend of Skye’s was rather handsome, pastiness notwithstanding, Jemma had not traveled all the way to Scotland just to meet a man. Oh, she thought suddenly, a man! Skye’s half-brother. The jetlag must be taking its toll; that was the kind of detail she should have remembered far sooner.

The cottage’s sole toilet made its usual gurgling flush, and the intruder stumbled rather gracelessly through the door, propping himself up against a nearby wall. 

“Sorry, was desperate,” he explained, accent even harder to understand with his slight slur. “Pub had a line down the hall, and I didn’t want it to fall off in the bloody... erm, y’know. So.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You’re a friend of Skye’s?” 

Wondering if he’d forgotten his half-sister’s vacation plans or if she simply hadn’t told him, Jemma gave him a small nod. “You could say that.” 

“Don’t see many English out here,” he said, quirking his lips up in a half-smile. “Wilds of Scotland and all.” 

Jemma let out a small snort. “I’m not sure I’d call Birnam ‘wilds,’ exactly.” 

“Beware the woods come marching,” he intoned with a grin, and she laughed.

“Lead on, Macduff,” she teased back, and his eyes lit up, their blue shining fetchingly in the dying fire’s embers.

“Y’know, most people don’t get that joke.” 

“Well, even scientists should at the very least know Macb–” 

“Don’t!” 

Rolling her eyes, Jemma gave him a dry look. “Oh, really.”

He gave her a sheepish smile and rubbed the back of his neck. “I know – force of habit. Mum used to go on about goblins and sprites when I was a wee tike. Never believed it, though. Always wanted proof.”

“But saying the name of ‘The Scottish Play’ is unreasonable?”

Darkness passed over his face, and he glanced down at the carpet. “Let’s just say I’m trying not to jinx anything these days.” An uncomfortable silence stretched between them until he met her gaze again, crossing his arms. “So, d’you have a name?” 

“I could ask you the same thing,” she pointed out, and he shrugged.

“I asked first.” 

Throwing one hand out to the side, Jemma made a loud tsk of annoyance. “Are you always like this, or is it the drinking?”

“Fitz.” 

She blinked at his apparent white flag, taking the hand he offered and watching as his cheeks flushed. “Jemma Simmons. Fitz can’t possibly be your first name.” 

“It’s not.” Another few seconds passed before he caught on to her expression, and he grumbled, leaning against the archway into the living room. “Leo. Never much liked it.” 

“Okay then – nice to meet you, Fitz.”

His eyes fluttered partway closed and he shot forward, as if he’d almost fallen asleep where he stood. “I – sorry, I know this is awkward as arse –” 

“Quite,” she said, giving him a small smile.

“But sometimes Skye lets me kip on her sofa when I go into town –” 

“And get pissed?”

“It’s another whole mile to mine. I promise, I’ll leave first thing tomorrow and then you never have to see me again. So, would you mind...?” Fitz gestured towards the living room, and Jemma hesitated. Nothing about him screamed axe murderer – in fact, something odd and instinctive in her gut told her to trust him implicitly – but at least the bedroom did have a solid-feeling lock. 

“Not a problem,” she assured him, and he released an overdramatic sigh of relief.

“Thank you.” Taking a couple unbalanced steps forward, he grabbed her shoulders and met her eyes with an unnervingly earnest gaze. “You, Jemma Simmons, are a lifesaver.”

As he tilted forward, she turned her head at just the wrong moment and their lips collided. Fitz pulled away instantly, a bright flush spreading up his neck and into his cheeks. “Christ, I’m sorry, that’s not –”

Before he could finish his sentence, though, Jemma curled her hand around his neck and pulled his mouth back to hers. He made a small noise of surprise, but as she closed her eyes he seemed to give in, muscles relaxing against her. His hands were gentle, pulling her in as she brushed their lips together one more time and then moving away. Their breaths mingled in the cold air of the cottage, the storm outside unabated and the fire flickering weakly in the hearth. 

“Interesting,” Jemma said at last, and Fitz wrinkled his nose. 

“That bad?”

“No! I’ve just....” She inhaled, gnawing at her bottom lip. “Let me try....”

When she stretched up this time, he met her halfway, snugging her more firmly against his chest. Jemma let out a quiet hum, losing herself in the way his lips moved in concert with hers, languid, heated. Her tongue teased at the seam of his mouth and he groaned, slanting her mouth open as he pushed against her, walking her backward until she bumped into the wall. His hand was already tangled into her hair to cushion a blow, and her fingers tightened against his neck when his tongue finally slid against hers. He tasted of alcohol and something salty, but she found she didn’t mind nearly as much as she should.

Wanting to make sure he didn’t get the wrong idea, Jemma allowed herself just a few more seconds of indulgence, brushing their lips together twice, three more times before dropping her head back against the wall. They stared at each other for a few long seconds, chests heaving slightly, until Fitz raised an eyebrow.

“Well? Still interesting, or better?”

A laugh stuttered out of her throat, and she dropped her gaze, continuing to smooth her thumbs over his chest. “I mean, yes, but that’s not – I’ve never done that before.” The look he gave her in response was one of complete befuddlement, and she chuckled. “Not that – kiss a stranger. I’ve never kissed a stranger before.” She wasn’t quite sure what had come over her, but at the time kissing someone completely unknown seemed like something she should do at least once during her dream vacation – even if she had so recently promised that she would stay away from men.

“But I’m not a stranger.” It was her turn to arch an eyebrow, and he gave her a cheeky grin. “You know my name.” 

“Oh, for heaven’s...” Jemma muttered, rolling her eyes and extracting herself – somewhat regretfully – from his embrace.

“Hey!” He shouted this a bit louder than necessary, right into her ear, and she rubbed the offended appendage as he swiped up a collection of papers from the side table. “You’re a scientist! I do that.” 

“You ‘do’ science?”

“Yup,” he replied, unaware of her amusement as he rifled through what he’d picked up. “Engineering mostly, but I dabble in programming in my free time. Oh, yeah, I love her.” He jabbed at the cover page of one of Jemma’s old papers, which she’d brought along for revisions. “Won the Nobel two years ago, bloody brilliant at pretty much everything related to biochem – um, ever. You researching her work for your PhD or something?”

Crossing her arms, Jemma tried to not be insulted that he thought she was still working towards her first PhD. Most scientists weren’t prodigies, after all. “Do you remember my name, Fitz?”

He squinted at her over the papers, brain spinning before latching on. “Yes! Jemma Simmons....” The papers fluttered to the floor, his mouth dropping open as he stared, dumbfounded, at her. “Holy shit.” 

“And I have two PhDs, thanks,” she sniffed, unable to help her indignation after all. 

“What the hell are you doing in bloody Perthshire of all places?!”

Jemma sighed, gaze drifting from where he’d begun sweeping the dropped papers into a pile. “Trying to pretend I’m not ‘Jemma Simmons, Nobel Laureate,’ just for one month.” 

“But she’s great,” he said automatically, pushing himself back into a standing position and dropping the papers back on the table. “I mean, you are.” After a second, he winced and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shit.”

Unable to help the smile that ticked up the corners of her mouth, she turned towards the bedroom. “Goodnight, Fitz.”

When she paused at the door, he stared back at her, his clear blue gaze feeling rather more piercing than it should for someone who was quite that drunk. At last, he shook his head. “Night, Simmons,” he mumbled, stumbling to the sofa and grabbing a nearby throw as he went.

Once she’d closed the door behind her, Jemma’s fingers drifted up to her lips, mind lingering on the taste of his tongue and the press of his hands. “Ugh,” she muttered, carding her fingers through her hair and flouncing on her bed. What was she thinking, kissing a strange man who had half-barged into her house after midnight? And, oh lord, did she have to apologize to the person for whom she was sort-of house-sitting for kissing her half-brother – in her house? Shaking her head at herself, Jemma scooted under the covers and quickly turned out the light. She’d barely been in Scotland for six hours, and already things were not going as she’d expected.

------

When Jemma peered through the cottage’s wispy curtains the next day, Perthshire was hushed, icy, and bathed in light. Fallen snow sparkled in the early morning sun, not a person visible in any of the nearby fields, and a wide smile spread across her face. Having lived in a bustling, suffocating city for so long, she couldn’t remember the last time she felt such an acute sense of peace. 

Of course, she was reminded almost immediately that she wasn’t alone, thanks to the enthusiastic snoring of her current housemate. One peek out the door of her bedroom assured her that Fitz wouldn’t be up for hours, and she went about her morning routine with only slight adjustments to accommodate his presence. By the time he woke up and stumbled directly into the restroom, Jemma was in the process of mixing pancake batter and wondering what you said to a complete stranger who had spent the night on your couch.

As she poured out two cups of tea, Fitz shuffled blearily into the kitchen. He blinked a few times at her, shook his head, and then grabbed hold of the back of one chair before easing himself into it.

“Least I didn’t hallucinate that. Score one for me.”

Narrowing her eyes, Jemma grabbed the milk. “Do you often consider the morning a success when you haven’t hallucinated something?”

He gave her a wry chuckle, shook his head when she raised the milk, and then winced at the movement. “I may’ve overdone it a bit last night.”

“A bit,” she drawled, passing over the sugar when he reached for it.

“Yesterday was my four-month anniversary of living out here,” he explained, humming happily when she handed over his mug. “How’d you know the tea I like?”

Jemma held up a tin labeled with a blue post-it note that said Fitz’s stash in sprawling handwriting. “Hard to miss.”

After taking a slow sip and sinking a little further down in his chair, he smiled. “So Skye’s actually labeling things now. That’s a first. Must really be going bonkers out here.” His eyes followed Jemma as she moved over to the stove, keeping his fingers wrapped around the warm mug. “Where is she, anyway? Still in bed?” 

Pausing with her hand just above the burner switch, Jemma frowned. “In – bed. What bed? You must know there’s only one,” she said, thinking about how he’d immediately gone to the couch last night without asking for a guest room.

With another sip, he raised an eyebrow at her. “Yeah....” Just as Jemma figured out what he was insinuating, he leaned forward over the table. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with that, course –”

“What? No –”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about –”

“I did not sleep with your sister!” Her cheeks were bright pink at this point, her voice all high and squeaky in the worst way possible. “Half-sister. I’m not – I’m sure she’s very nice, but I’m quite single, and not interested in women. In that way. And, oh, for heaven’s sake, she’s not even in the country,” Jemma trailed off, rubbing one hand against her temple and wondering how horrific that explanation had sounded. Why her first instinct had been to declare that she was single, she really didn’t know.

At the table, Fitz’s whole body went stiff, and he stared at her with a flat, nearly angry expression. “What do you mean she’s not in the country?” 

That really should have been her first salvo, she mused. “I thought you would have... I’m sorry, I just assumed. She and I swapped houses for the holidays. I found her cottage on a home exchange website, and....”

His whole face became more and more pale as she spoke, until finally he lurched out of his chair. “Where’s your house?”

“I have an apartment in New York. What’s the matter?” She reached forward instinctively to steady his mug as he sprinted into the living room to grab his coat and boots. 

“Need to make a phone call,” he gritted out, running out the front door and letting it slam behind him. To her bemusement, once he’d shrugged on his coat he began pacing through the snow in her front yard – Skye’s front yard – arms crossed and phone held to his ear.

A quick glance at the living room told Jemma that he wasn’t going to be actually leaving any time soon, as not only had he shoved his bare feet into his boots, he’d also left his keys and wallet on the coffee table. Without any better idea of how to spend the time waiting for an irate Scotsman to come in from her yard, she returned to making pancakes. As she flipped over the first batch on the sizzling pan, she could see him gesticulating wildly, yelling loudly enough that she could hear sounds but not enough that she could make out words. He glanced towards the window where she was staring at him, and she ducked back down, a blush warming her cheeks. His tousled morning hair was rather adorable.

When she was sliding the last of the pancakes onto a platter, Fitz barged in through the front door, searching for something in his pockets before doing a small double take. At the sight of the food on the table, he froze, mouth dropping slightly open. 

“You made breakfast.”

Jemma’s brows furrowed briefly, the surprise of his tone catching her attention. If she wasn’t mistaken, there was something almost like longing behind the expression he now wore. “Yes,” she said, tucking hair self-consciously behind her ear. “It never seemed logical to make them for myself, but since you were here anyway, I thought....” 

After staring at her, dumbstruck, for a few more seconds, he let out a frustrated groan, twisting around towards the sofa. “Christ, I just – I can’t, I have to go....” He sniffed the air, shoving his socks and keys in his pocket. “Is that... cornmeal?”

“Mum’s secret recipe,” she chirped, her own cheerfulness feeling forced. Even if she had no idea what he was like sober – he could be a complete sod for all she knew – the idea of having made all these pancakes just for her seemed ludicrous... and somewhat lonely.

Another few seconds passed where he stared at her, opened his mouth a few times as if to speak, and then shook his head. “Arggh, I’m sorry, I can’t, I just can’t.” He quickly did up the buttons of his coat, eyes drifting back to the table. “And, um, thanks for – for last night. I mean, letting me stay. It was – yeah.” 

Without meeting her gaze, he sped out the door and slammed it shut behind him. Jemma watched him hasten through the gate through the window and let out a small sigh. In his drunken ramblings last night he’d mentioned his work in engineering, and she’d been hoping to get him talking about it over breakfast.

Oh well, she thought, spearing a pancake and plopping it onto her plate. She was leaving in a month anyway, so it was perfectly fine that he had no interest in getting further acquainted.

------

A couple hours later, a hesitant knock sounded on the front door. In the midst of showering after having shoveled the front walk, it took Jemma a few seconds to dry off enough that she could answer the door, and by the time she did there was no one on her stoop. Instead, a piece of paper was stuck to the door’s window, and she plucked it off to read inside the now-warm cottage.

Dr. Simmons – I owe you an apology. More like five, but I’m a little fuzzy on the details so I’m just gonna assume I owe you a lot. My actions last night & this morning were inexcusable, but I’d like to make it up to you. If you think you might be willing to let me try, I’ll be at the Three-Headed Hound tonight at 6. If you’re not there, I promise I won’t bother you the rest of the time you’re in Perthshire. Enjoy your holiday. – L. Fitz

A grin teased at the corners of her mouth, and she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. Though she’d dined alone this morning, at least that wouldn’t be the case tonight.

------

The Three-Headed Hound was Birnam’s largest pub, and – according to the local paper – also the town’s best restaurant. After having spent a little too long fussing over her hair (and deciding on loose curls rather than leaving it straight), Jemma arrived at ten to six. Ideally, she would’ve gotten there ten minutes prior to that, but at least she had enough time to scope out the place and find a good seat. Despite the outside chill, the room was warm, and it seemed that half the town was having a drink after work. Not wanting to sit idly by herself as she waited, she ordered herself a pint of Thistly Cross and found a nice, two-person table at the edge of the hubbub. Much to her relief, most of the patrons were either older than her or already with someone, and for once she had the pleasant experience of not needing to fend off unwanted attention from strange men. (The irony was not lost on her that she was here to meet someone who was, for all intents and purposes, a strange man.)

At six o’clock exactly, the door to the pub swung open to reveal Fitz, eyes bright and cheeks pink from the cold. As he scanned the room, his face fell, until at last he let out a low sigh and scuffed one foot against the floor in dejection. Jemma realized that her table was obscured by one of the lovely wooden pillars scattered throughout the room.

“Fitz,” she called out, leaning forward to wave around the column. 

When he saw her, his whole face lit up in a boyish grin, and he strode quickly over. “You came,” he breathed, sliding his maroon beanie off of his head. His curls puffed adorably up once freed, and Jemma smiled.

“How could I resist the offer of a night at the Three-Headed Hound?”

He chuckled, shoving the hat in his coat pocket. “S’not much, but they’re what Birnam’s got. Good ale and food, anyway.” His brows furrowed at the sight of her drink. “I’ll buy the next round, alright? I feel really badly about – erm, everything, really. So the least I can do is get you a drink.”

“Actually,” she said, rubbing her fingers with those of the opposite hand, “could you get me something warm? This is lovely, but my hands are freezing.”

Without a pause, Fitz reached out to take her hands and gave a low hiss at the feeling of how cold they truly were. “Christ Almighty,” he muttered, sinking into the chair next to her rather than the one across the table. As he spoke, he rubbed her hands between the two of his, and she was deeply gratified by how warm his were. “You’re not lying. Did you forget gloves on the walk over?”

“No,” she answered, sighing lightly as he continued warming up her hands in an adorably tactile way. “I’ve just got terrible circulation – my hands get cold even in the dead of July.”

Exhaling a little noise of disbelief, he pulled her hands up to cup them within his and then breathe slowly over them. His eyes lifted in the middle of this and he seemed to realize quite how close this had brought them at the same time she did. Abruptly dropping her hands, he flushed again – but this time obviously not because of the cold. “Right,” he said quickly, draping his coat over the chair, “hot tea, coming up. Decaf?”

“Yeah, thanks,” she replied, watching as he sped over to the bar and feeling a little disappointed that he’d become self-conscious about the simple gesture of warming up her hands. Forthcoming hot tea or no, she was quite sure his hands had been warmer and infinitely more pleasant. 

In short order, he returned with both his and her drinks, and then apologized profusely about the night before until she ordered him to stop worrying about it. “Honestly,” she said with a small laugh, “it was a far more interesting welcome to Scotland than I’d been expecting.”

“Ugh, I know,” he mumbled, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “I dunno what I was thinking, accosting a Nobel Laureate.”

“To be fair, you didn’t know that at the time.” Leaning back, she curled her fingers more securely around her teacup. “Actually, I wanted to ask about that. So, you thought that I was there because I was seeing your sister –” 

“Half-sister,” he corrected. “And, I’m not sure I’d say ‘seeing’ was exactly what’d crossed my mind, but yeah.”

“But you were perfectly happy to snog me anyway.” She laughed at his wince, watching his shoulders curve bashfully forward.

“I’m... look, you’re, ah, completelygorgeous,” he mumbled, not meeting her eyes and running the words together, “and I wasn’t... it wasn’t my proudest moment, alright?”

“I suppose I’ll take that explanation,” she said, nudging his arm and getting him to meet her gaze again. “Though, I just – that’s really not something I’d ever do.”

“Snog a complete stranger? Because I’m pretty sure you did that –”

“No! Going home with someone I’d just met, like you were implying,” she pointed out. “I’m not very good at that, so I’d never –”

“At what?” He frowned bemusedly at her, and she sighed, raising her eyebrows and tilting her head to the side. “Oh,” he exclaimed at last, “at sex?!”

“Fitz,” she hissed, and he cringed, leaning forward.

“Sorry, sorry.”

“An ex said I wasn’t once, and, well....” Jemma trailed off, realizing that this might not be the kind of thing you tell someone you barely know on a first date. (If that’s even what this was.) “That’s not something you ever forget.”

Fitz let out an incredulous guffaw, stretching back in his chair and reaching for his pint. “I – sorry, but if you do that at all like the way you kiss, I think your ex is barmy.”

“Oh,” she breathed, feeling a blush bloom on her cheeks. “Um, cheers.” His eyes flickered down to her mouth for a long moment, and her mind drifted to the gentleness of his lips even in his extreme state of inebriation. Perhaps there was something to be said for kissing strangers – as long as you found the right one.

“So,” he said, and she jumped a little in her seat as she pulled herself out of her reverie. “Not seeing anyone back at home, then?”

“Seeing-seeing, or seeing?” She grinned as he laughed, and she glanced down at her mug. “No – as I said this morning –” 

“Oh! Right,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Single, not into women. That’s good.”

“Which one?” His ears were turning pink again, and she found that she was becoming quite fond of his particular brand of endearing awkwardness. 

“Um – both? I mean, not that there’s anything wrong... with the opposite – of either. Just, for me, it’s good.” A smile spread across Jemma’s face again as he swore and dropped his head into his hands. “Not that there’s any reason... for me.... Can we just pretend that this conversation never happened? I honestly just wanted to ask you about your work, that’s all, I’m not, um, expecting – anything. At all.”

He looked pleadingly up at her, possibly debating whether or not to make a run for it, and Jemma realized that she had about ten seconds to decide where she wanted her relationship with Fitz to go. The way she answered that question would decide it for her – and hinged on what she wanted the rest of her month in Perthshire to be like.

“Do I have to pretend the part where you said I’m ‘completelygorgeous’ never happened, too? Because I rather liked that part,” she said, leaning forward over the table and letting her hair fall fetchingly to the side. It had been a long time since she’d really decided to flirt with someone, and she felt more than a little awkward about it. Even if she was a certified genius with an above-average fashion sense, she was absolute crap at dating.

His eyes widened as he caught her meaning, and an eager smile spread across his face. “Yeah,” he said, tone overly serious, “you’re gonna have to forget that part, too. But in about five minutes I’m gonna say it again, so it’ll even out.”

“That sounds fair,” she agreed, and he ducked his head to take a sip of his pint. “Now, you said you’re an engineer –”

“Oh, no, wait,” he interrupted, eyes widening earnestly. “I wanted to ask about your –”

“Too slow, I got there first,” she teased, reaching over for her own pint again now that her hands were considerably warmer. “Besides, you seem to know a fair amount about my work already.”

“Ah, well,” he mumbled, scooting his chair forward slightly. “I’ve only read a few of your papers. Obviously haven’t watched any of your talks yet, or believe me when I say I would’ve recognized you straight off last night. But go on then, ask what you wanna know.”

Settling in, Jemma proceeded to pepper him with questions, increasingly fascinated to learn that he was actually qualified to be one of the most respected scientists in his field. He was a little evasive about where he’d actually worked and why he was now living outside of Birnam rather than working for some large corporation’s R&D department, but she supposed that since they’d only known each other for a day he was allowed to have his secrets.

Later, as Fitz fetched them another round from the bar and ordered them chips, Jemma decided that maybe her decision to swear off all men had been a bit hasty. Slight social ineptitude aside, Fitz was unlike any other person she’d ever met, let alone men, and she felt exceedingly lucky that he’d decided to pound on the door of the cottage she’d rented.

Chapter Text

The first thing Jemma thought the next morning was that the entire cosmos was out to get her. After rapidly contorting herself to get away from the sharp sunlight, she let out a loud squawk as she somehow landed on the floor. She groaned, squeezing her hands over her eyes and wondering what the hell had happened last night.

Following a quick trip to the restroom, Jemma shuffled into the kitchen. Fitz stood by the kettle, in the process of switching the burner off before he turned to her and suppressed a smirk.

“I’ve never had that much to drink in my life,” she whined. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of her lavender bra where it hung over a lamp. Letting out a shrill squeak, she darted across the hall and grabbed the bra, hugging it to herself as Fitz watched, eyes twinkling. “Oh nooooooooooo....”

“I had nothing to do with that,” he said, raising one hand.

“But you were here,” she moaned, dropping into one of the kitchen chairs and wincing again at the sunlight. Really, they were in Scotland – it shouldn’t be nearly this sunny every day. It was downright unseemly to have bright sunshine two days in a row.

“Yes, yes I was,” Fitz answered, and she glanced up just in time to see him grinning smugly as he poured her the larger mug of tea.

“Don’t sound so pleased,” she muttered, reaching for the mug, sugar, and then milk as he handed them over in quick succession. Jemma kept an eye on him as he brought his own cup over and sat next to her, at absolute ease compared to her own current wash of self-loathing. When he looked over at her again, she cringed at the question she was about to have to ask. “Did we – we didn’t, um....” Unable to bring herself to say the words, she half-heartedly poked one finger between the circled forefinger and thumb of her other hand. “... Did we?”

The aghast look on his face made her feel better immediately. “What?! No! I –” he said, interrupting himself with a wry laugh. “I mean, personally, I prefer that the person I’m having sex with to be actually conscious....”

“Oh God,” she groaned. “I was unconscious? Would you mind, um, refreshing my memory? Just a bit?”

“We got back here,” Fitz said, watching her take gentle sips from her mug, “which was almost a miracle, by the way, considering your complete lack of self-preservation.”

“Lack of...?”

“You kept trying to wander in front of cars.” 

“Well, why wouldn’t I,” Jemma deadpanned, spooning more sugar into her tea.

“And then you decided that clothes were overrated, but when I refused to take any of mine off you settled for taking off your bra under your shirt – which I’m still really impressed by.” 

“Really?” He nodded and she wrinkled her nose. “I’ve been doing it since I was a girl, it’s just an old habit.”

“Still,” he insisted, clearing his throat. “Well done on that front. Very... nice. And then you fell asleep on my lap.”

Jemma groaned and rubbed her temple with one hand. “That must have been really attractive. Why did you stay?”

“Because you asked me to.” His voice was soft, a gentle smile playing around his lips, and she inhaled.

“Oh. Oh, I did, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” he replied, smile turning mischievous as he took a long sip from his own cup. “You looked quite sweet as you slept, actually –” 

“Oh God –”

“Drool running down my trousers leg....” 

“I do not drool,” she exclaimed, hand flying up to her mouth as if to make sure she wasn’t drooling right now.

“I did warn you not to try the Goldschläger.” Fitz grinned at her again, and Jemma covered her face with her hands and let out a quiet whine. The clock on the mantelpiece let out a ding of ungodly shrillness and she ducked her head further down, wondering how upset Skye would be if she threw the thing out the window.

What she did remember from the night before was very possibly the best first date she’d ever had, and considering her behavior it might well also be their last. Fitz was truly brilliant, funny, and sweet, on top of being as handsome as she’d already known he was, with his enchanting blue eyes and rather symmetrical facial features. Of course, he had yet to go sprinting away from her as fast as he could manage, which she supposed was a good sign.

A low beep caught her attention, and she turned to see Fitz’s phone sitting on the other side of her place setting. “May,” she read out as she handed him the phone, and then cringed. “I – er, sorry. For looking.”

His brows creased as he took the phone, and he exhaled. “I better take this.” Giving her a thin smile, he grabbed his coat and stepped onto the porch, pulling the front door closed behind him. 

While he was gone, she held her mug up to her nose and breathed deeply, hoping that the warmth would help her return to her normal, chipper self as much as the caffeine. Her mind wandered to their date again, and a smile briefly ticked up her lips before she shook her head at herself. Getting attached to someone who lived in Perthshire while she lived in New York was incredibly foolish, she told herself. Last night had been fun, but starting something with Fitz made no sense. Their lives were worlds apart, even if they were nearly neighbors for the next few weeks. Unsettlingly, telling herself all this didn’t at all lessen her desire to continue spending time with him. As much as she had once thought that being alone for the month would help her recover from the past few months at work, it seemed that it only allowed her more time to dwell on the event that had made working at SHIELD much harder.

Four months ago, the Rising Tide (thereafter labeled a terrorist group) had set off a bomb in the lobby of SHIELD’s New York headquarters, killing eleven agents and changing the organization forever. Five of them were scientists, four in her department, and one of the working theories was that they had been the target. The agency had become even more insular, and Jemma had begun working twice as long hours to help develop safeguards against anything like that happening again. Her grief and work ethics had slowly worn her down, to the point that when she’d been insulted by the new, misogynistic co-worker, she’d snapped. With a couple days of clarity, she now realized that perhaps her decision to drop everything had been rash, but at least she knew why – and she was so close to being ready to present her toxin-based defense concept to the board of directors that her time away wouldn’t hurt. If they approved the project’s development, then not only might she help save people, but she might also be on the path to a second Nobel prize.

The door lock clicked, interrupting her musings, and Fitz shuffled into the hallway, rubbing his hands. “I think we should go to lunch.”

Her eyebrows arched; that sounded almost like an order. “Oh? And why would you think that?”

“You slept through breakfast, and I’m hungry,” he said, giving her a sheepish smile. “And I’ve got something I wanna show you after.”

Jemma gnawed at her bottom lip, eyeing the way nerves edged into his expression the longer she delayed answering. “Where are we going for lunch, then? Not Birnam, surely.”

A small, relieved puff of air escaped his throat, and he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Someplace else. Someplace... nice.”

------

Although lunch had been lovely, the weather was becoming increasingly not. Clouds rolled in during their post-meal drive, and as Fitz led Jemma up a hilly field, large, wet flakes began to fall.

“Ridiculous,” he grumbled, nearly slipping and only righting himself with her help. “Snowing twice in November in bloody Perthshire. If anyone wanted proof that climate change is real, that’s it.”

Gripping his gloved hand tightly in her own, Jemma bumped his shoulder. “But it makes everything so picturesque, Fitz!”

A tree with wide, leafy branches loomed above them as the ground evened out, and he tugged her behind him under its shelter. “Maybe,” he acceded, pulling her around. 

“Oh,” she whispered. “Fitz...!”

The land sloped down before them, winter-brown fields just beginning to be covered yet again by a layer of snow. Beyond this field, she could make out houses, another small village or two, a winding stream, and even a small, medieval tower. It was breathtaking in its peacefulness, the world seemingly still except for the two of them.

“Now,” Fitz said, leaning over so that his lips brushed against her ear and his warm breath skated teasingly over her skin. “If you squint, and look all the way over there –” He paused, pointing to their right and waiting until her gaze followed his direction. “You see that house?” 

“Yeah.”

“That’s where JK Rowling lives.”

Jemma let out a peal of laughter, reaching around to grab his arm and pull it more firmly around her back. “Oh dear, really?”

“Yeah.” Accommodating how she’d moved him, he wrapped that hand more firmly around her waist, and she leaned back against him. “Apparently she’s really nice. But, y’know, I haven’t ever actually met her. A local farmer told me about it, and since I know you love the books –”

“But not the movies.”

“But not the movies,” he repeated, grinning as she returned to admiring the scenery. “I thought you might like seeing it. From a completely acceptable, not-at-all creepy distance.” 

“It is sort of cool,” she admitted, curling one hand around his wrist. For a long while, they stood together in silence, watching as snow drifted to the ground just beyond the branches overhead. With Fitz pressed along her back, Jemma felt warm and content, and had no desire to move at all despite the chilled air. 

Eventually, he shivered, and she thought she heard his teeth chatter slightly. “I don’t wanna go,” he said reluctantly, letting go of her waist. “But I’m freezing.” 

Jemma, however, had come up with a far better plan to warm up, although she hoped that she wasn’t reading his interest in her incorrectly. He’d been the perfect gentleman all day, but that also meant that she was never quite certain where he stood concerning the two of them. Turning around, she stretched up to brush their noses together, keeping eye contact as she slid her hands along the front of his jacket. To her relief, he didn’t pull away. Instead, his breath hitched, eyes widening as he avidly watched her movement. His mouth had opened in surprise, and she took advantage of that to brush their lips together, her tongue darting out to tease against his briefly before she pulled away. As she moved back, Fitz followed her, fitting their lips firmly together as his arms encircled her waist. She let out a pleased hum, curving her arms up over his back and shoulders.

This was the first time they’d kissed while he was sober, and Jemma was thrilled by the reverence she felt in every press of his lips, as if he couldn’t get enough of the taste of her and yet didn’t want to risk chasing her away. Shifting in his arms, she reached up to stroke her gloved fingers along his cheek, and in turn his fingers dug a little deeper into the thick material of her jacket. The caress of his lips against hers deepened, both of them drinking each other in, pushing the very limit of how long they could each go without taking a breath. When finally Jemma had to drop back, breathing heavily and transfixed by the appealing flush of his lips, Fitz didn’t let her get far, holding her close and leaning their foreheads together.

“Warmer now?” Her eyes searched his, lips quirking into a smile as he chuckled. 

“Uh, yeah, that’s – one way to do it.”

“If you think I’m doing anything else in the middle of a snowstorm, you’re mad.”

Laughing again, he pulled his arms even tighter around her waist. He let out a sigh, breath feathering against her lips and nose brushing against hers. “I’m... Christ, Jemma, I... really like you. Really. But... my life’s sorta – complicated right now, and I....”

Not wanting to hear the rest of his explanation, she stretched up to fit their mouths together again, reveling in the groan he made as he kissed her ardently back. Ignoring the small voice at the back of her head that wondered what she was doing when she was leaving in four weeks, Jemma parted from him to meet his gaze. “Luckily, I’m an internationally lauded scientist. I excel at solving complicated problems.”

The tension in his shoulders melted away at her words, and when Fitz kissed her this time it felt like something had given way inside him. He kissed her over and over again, gently and then heatedly, and she found herself getting lost in his touch and the safety of his arms. The next time they paused for breath, Jemma tucked her head into his neck, panting slightly over his jacket. 

“This is not how I expected my holiday to go,” she joked, and his laugh reverberated through her. “But I’m really not complaining.”

A few seconds passed, and then he shifted a little. “I think I’m losing the feeling in my toes.”

Jemma huffed, rolled her eyes, and reached for his hand as she started back towards the car. “I suppose you can complain enough for the both of us, then –”

“I’m sorry, but, y’know, I like my toes –”

“Since you are Scottish –”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“You know,” she mused, pointedly changing the subject, “I’ve never dated a Scot before.”

His good-natured grumbling halted when he stumbled a little, glancing down at her with wide, eager eyes, a few flakes of caught snow drifting out of his curls. “Dated...?” 

Raising an eyebrow, she tugged him after her, sliding a little on the snowy earth. “You didn’t think I just went around kissing any man like that, did you?”

“If you did,” he muttered, threading their fingers more securely together, “lucky men.”

Unable to help herself, she stopped their progress to kiss him again, reveling in the feeling of his hands on her shoulders and the languid, addictive way he slid his lips against hers. She’d never been in a relationship where she simply couldn’t get enough of someone like this, and they’d only known each other for two days. Jemma’s feelings about Fitz were completely illogical, and she knew this, but as he kissed her in a snow-drenched, Scottish field she couldn’t bring herself to care.

------

Even though Jemma was willing to temporarily compartmentalize the side of herself that was worried about getting attached to someone who lived on a completely different continent, she was too sensible to ignore it completely. Later that evening, when Fitz had her pressed up against the cottage front door to say goodnight without any words at all, she had to force herself to make him pause. She suggested somewhat hesitantly that they not take it much farther physically, at the risk of making things even more complicated between them. To her mind, having sex would just make leaving in three weeks that much more difficult, although explaining that out loud made her cheeks flush. To her surprise, he’d readily agreed, and she wondered if he remembered her confession about not being good at sex. His careful awareness of and respect for her boundaries perversely only made her want him that much more, but she intended to follow through with her decision.

Aside from having to keep her libido in check, Jemma couldn’t remember when she’d had a better two weeks. Fitz had work to do most mornings and middays, so she happily used that time to do some of the non-SHIELD related (and not lab-reliant) work she’d brought. Before she had been hired to work with SHIELD on a contracted basis, she’d been in the process of finishing a comprehensive text on toxins and non-traditional uses to which they could be applied. Developing a dendrotoxin-based security system for SHIELD, to help prevent attacks by groups such as the Rising Tide, had meant that her manuscript had been put on hold for some time, and now was the perfect opportunity to work on it. The cottage was peaceful and infinitely conducive to uninterrupted focus.

Whenever Fitz knocked on her door, however, she found herself eagerly putting aside her life’s work to spend time with him. They typically spent a lot of time discussing scientific topics anyway, so it wasn’t as if she was slacking off completely. At least, that’s what she told herself whenever she dropped her red pen and grabbed for her winter coat.

------

“It’s not much of a story, really,” Fitz said, stuffing Jemma’s hand into his coat pocket along with his own. She made a grateful hum and leaned against his arm, trying to soak up as much of his warmth as possible. When they’d set out for the village that afternoon, she’d stupidly forgotten her gloves – thanks to the day’s deceptive sunshine – and her own pockets simply weren’t as warm as his. “Skye found me when I was at loose ends, told me we were related. I had a test done, course –” 

“Of course,” Jemma said solemnly, maneuvering them both to the edge of the encroaching crowd.

The Birnam Christmas Festival had overtaken the town’s mix of paved and cobblestone streets today, red ribbons adorning the streetlights and fresh garlands hanging from roofs. Stalls with crafts and performers crisscrossed through the crowds, and everyone they passed wore a bright smile.

“And she said that she thought she knew how to find our dad,” he continued. “Didn’t pan out in the end, but our lease on these cottages last for another year, so here I am.”

She hummed, briefly distracted by a stall of intricately woven wreaths. “How interesting. I mean, you really seem nothing alike.”

Fitz chuckled and dodged a trio of rambunctious children. “Yeah, we’re really not.” Another stall caught her eye, and he pulled up beside her, brows drawing together in thought. “I dunno, sometimes, though – it feels like she’s always been my sister, y’know? Cannot imagine my life without her, now.”

“That’s adorable,” Jemma cooed, grinning when he ducked his head in embarrassment. “I’ve always wanted a brother or sister, someone who’d be beside you the whole time. It’s only ever been just me, though.” 

Her voice quieted a bit as she spoke, and she felt Fitz’s eyes on her, studying her intently as he was wont to do. Sometimes she got the sense that he was able to read her effortlessly, as if their brains worked on a wavelength foreign to the rest of the world. The feeling was both unnerving and addictive, and she wondered if she could get used to someone having such an intimate understanding of her thoughts. 

“I know the feeling,” he murmured, surprising her by leaning down to brush his lips against her cheek. Then he pulled her back into the ebbing crowd without further prodding, and she had the brief thought that it wasn’t just her anymore – she had Fitz.

“Oooooh, stop!” Tugging his hand, Jemma hopped up to a stall they’d almost passed. In addition to a variety of holiday treats and chocolates, they had a large, tree-shaped display of candy canes. “I love these,” she said, reaching into her purse for her wallet. “Do you want one?”

Fitz scrunched his face up and stuck his tongue out between his teeth. “Nah, don’t like peppermint.”

“What?” She stared at him, jaw dropping open. “You eat everything in sight –” 

“Do not –”

“But you don’t like peppermint?”

“Reminds me of toothpaste,” he muttered, peering at a chocolate-covered gingerbread cookie. “‘Sides, I’m still full after eating the world’s best sandwich.” 

The grin he gave her had her cheeks warming up, and she ducked her head to select her candy cane. A few days back, she’d made him one of her favorite staples – buffalo mozzarella with prosciutto and homemade pesto aioli – and now he couldn’t get enough of it. Even though he only liked a hint of it on the sandwich, she’d had to make a whole jar of the aioli to be sure she had some in the cottage at all times. She didn’t mind, though, because he always became even more adorably affectionate than usual right afterwards, and she had no intention of turning away his kisses.

Once she’d purchased her treat, she curved her arm into his and they continued together along the street, chatting about holiday traditions and stopping every so often to look at stalls. As she unwrapped her candy cane, Jemma slowed down at a pair of street musicians. A man and woman sang while the man strummed a guitar, the melody cheerful as it wound through the multi-generational crowd. Giving Fitz a smile, she leaned against a lamppost to watch, keeping his arm tucked into hers. Her hands were finally warm enough that she didn’t mind holding the candy cane, able to enjoy the treat she hadn’t indulged in for years. 

After a couple minutes passed and the crowd applauded the musicians into their next number, Jemma realized that her date wasn’t paying a whit of attention to the performance. In her peripheral vision, she caught Fitz staring in her direction, and as she tilted her head up she realized that his eyes were fixed on where she was sliding the candy cane between her lips. When he caught her movement, he blinked and his ears instantly turned bright pink.

“Er, s-sorry, just – nothing. S’fine.” 

Raising an eyebrow, she licked peppermint off her lips and observed how he got pinker the longer she watched him. She wasn’t obtuse; she knew exactly what he was thinking about right now, although a little thrill shot through her at wondering just what was in his head. As much as that idea wasn’t unappealing, it would certainly break her rules. But then again, the wide fixation of his eyes had been rather fascinating. Over the past couple of weeks, he’d been so good at breaking away before either of them could succumb to temptation that she was almost relieved to see him behave more like what she would expect of other men. A small part of her had worried that his willingness to wait had been because he wasn’t wholly attracted to her.

So she angled her body better against the lamppost and gently turned him towards her, smirking subtly at the confusion she read in his furrowed brow. Opening her mouth when he met her gaze, she slowly slid the candy cane along the center of her tongue, closing her lips near the end, and making a just-barely obscene hum. Fitz’s eyes bulged and then darted around to the people nearby, checking to see if anyone was paying attention to them. 

Jemma rolled her eyes and gave him a droll look when he returned to her, and he swallowed thickly. After another moment of holding the candy still within her mouth, she began to slide the candy cane back and forth between her lips. His pupils dilated as he avidly followed the movement, breath growing increasingly shallow. Losing all semblance of subtlety, she began to lave her tongue up and down the length of the candy, curling it over the tip on every pass. Fortunately they were at the back of a large crowd, or she would never have dared to tease him so overtly.

“Christ,” he whispered hoarsely, snugging one arm tighter around her and pulling off his other glove.

Looking up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, Jemma was torn between being more than a little turned on by the heat behind his gaze and being amused by how easy it apparently was to rile him up. It hadn’t been her intention when she’d seen the holiday treat at the stall, but his reaction was more than worth the handful of pence it had cost. Fitz inhaled slowly, lifting his bared hand to glide the pad of his thumb along her bottom lip below the candy cane. A slight shiver ran down her spine, and when she licked along the no-longer-striped candy she made sure to graze her tongue against his thumb.

At that, something between a strangled whine and a growl escaped his throat, and then he was pulling the hand holding the candy cane away to capture her lips with his. The kiss edged on wild, his tongue sliding against hers as he pulled her into him by the waist, nearly bending her backwards. Jemma gasped when he pulled away just as suddenly, leaning his forehead against her temple.

“Sorry, sorry,” he breathed, fingers clenching slightly against the chilled skin of her neck. “I just – I know we’re in public, I’m sorry....”

“We both still have all our clothes intact,” she teased, nuzzling up at him. “I hardly think we’re going to be arrested for one kiss.”

Fitz chuckled, taking in slow breaths but keeping her held close. “That all it was?”

The crowd began to disperse around them while the musicians packed up, and Jemma tugged him back in the direction from which they’d come. “Maybe it’s time to go back to one of our places.” 

Pulling his jacket down in front, he quickly shook his head. “No, no, it’s fine, we’ve got your rules –”

“Guidelines,” she interrupted, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth in a smile as he stared at her, slack-jawed. “And I thought you hated peppermint.”

He dropped his head back, letting out a small cloud of breath into the wintry air. “Dunno. Think that may have gotten me to reconsider my priorities concerning candy canes.” 

“My work here is done, then,” Jemma teased, enchanted by the way his eyes lit up when they found hers again. 

A few seconds passed, and he entwined their fingers. “Maybe, uh, we should go to yours,” he said, sliding his gaze over to meet hers. “Closer.”

Jemma laughed, leaning her head briefly against his shoulder as they wove in the opposite direction of the festival-going crowd. The important thing, she argued with the sensible voice in the back of her head, was that she kept in mind the fact that she wasn’t allowed to feel anything remotely serious about Fitz. Her time in Perthshire was more than halfway over, after all, and then they would probably never see each other again. 

A sharp pang cropped up at the thought, and she forced it to the back of her mind.

------

By Jemma’s third week with Fitz, she’d taken to asking his advice on all manner of (non-classified) science-related things. Not to say that she couldn’t work out the problems on her own, but she found the way he reached conclusions absolutely fascinating. Where it made sense to her to approach an answer only from one way, his mind often made leaps and bounds in completely different directions. Hearing his answers enthralled her almost as much as his touch – and collaborating with him on low-level scientific conundrums didn’t break any of her own guidelines. Especially not the one where she wasn’t supposed to get attached to him.

As she puttered around the cottage one afternoon, she was struck by the realization that she had never actually been to his house. He always showed up at the cottage or they met elsewhere, and any night times that they spent together were on her sofa. This niggled at her, particularly because while she had begun to share so much of her work with him he was still infinitely cagey about his own. Sometimes he’d bring up his ideas, but he always avoided questions about his current projects or past work, and considering that they’d known each other for almost a month by this point it was beginning to worry her. Rather than let herself stew, she packed up a cooler with his favorite sandwich and a bottle of wine, and made herself look as presentable as possible before heading out into the dry, chilly air.

The walk was brisk and pleasant, and her stomach swooped pleasantly at the mere idea of seeing Fitz so soon. He’d been busy for the past day or so, and although her time alone had been productive it was also far less enjoyable. Knowing he’d be thrilled to see both her and the sandwich just made an atypical giddiness spread through her chest, and she could barely keep herself from bouncing as she pushed open his gate. His cottage was smaller than the one that belonged to his half-sister and didn’t have any of the homey touches on the outside, such as the little pine Christmas wreath that Skye had hung on the door prior to her departure and Jemma’s arrival. Noting that the blinds were drawn on all the windows, Jemma frowned as she rapped sharply on the plain wooden door.

No answer. Inside, she could hear the faint whirr of machinery and muffled muttering, so she knew he was at home. When she didn’t get a response to her second and third knocks, she tried the door’s handle and slipped inside when it unlatched.

Her mouth dropped open at the sight before her. The whole interior had been gutted and replaced with a variety of expensive scientific equipment. Much of it seemed like an engineer’s workshop, but there were also a few large monitors spread across the tables, some of them running an elaborate code and others scanning grainy security video feeds. She dropped the cooler by her feet, forgetting to close the door behind her as a table strewn with papers drew her eye.

Scattered over the surface were detailed sketches of the bomb that the Rising Tide had set off at SHIELD, schematics of the headquarters’ security system, and various news clippings about the attack. Most damning of all was a list of the eleven people who had died in the attack, taped to the wall like some sort of sick trophy. Jemma stumbled back, breath catching in her throat. It wasn’t possible that the man she’d met all the way across the world had been at the center of an attack that took the lives of people she knew and for whom she cared, it just wasn’t.

“Jemma?!”

She turned to see Fitz at the other side of the room, standing behind a table that she suddenly realized was piled with the parts necessary to make the very same bomb. “It was you,” she breathed, voice hitching as she willed herself to stay standing. “You’re with the Rising Tide.”

“What?! No,” he said, reaching forward but halting when she scrambled away from him. “I mean, yeah, I’m with the Rising Tide, but it’s not –”

“You killed those people,” she said, pointing a shaking hand at the wall as bile rose at the back of her throat. “Oh, God, you’re here for me –”

“No, Jemma, you don’t understand –” 

“I understand perfectly, Fitz,” she bit out, reaching for the door. “You spent all this time gaining my trust just to, I don’t know, learn about SHIELD, about how to kill more people next time –”

“No –” 

“And I thought we were....” She trailed off, staring brokenly at the panic reflected on his face. “We had science. It was... sacred, ugh, God, I was so foolish.” Wrenching the door open, she broke his gaze, her whole body trembling with fear, adrenaline, and disappointment. “Don’t you dare follow me.”

With that, she slammed the door in Fitz’s face, taking a bitter sort of pleasure in the stricken expression he wore as she did. Needing to get as far away from him as possible, Jemma sprinted back to her house. Not allowing herself any time to feel the ache spreading through her chest, she immediately began throwing her belongings into her suitcase. Perhaps he and Skye didn’t know each other at all – she’d never confirmed with the other woman that this was, in fact, the Fitz who was her brother. All of his behavior had simply lead to her assumptions, and she felt painfully naïve for allowing herself to be fooled so thoroughly. He could have just been lying to get close to her; maybe he’d followed her all the way to Scotland from America.

No matter what the truth was, she knew she needed to get out of here and back to SHIELD as quickly as possible.

Chapter Text

With most of her belongings tossed into bags, Jemma reached for her phone to notify the agency that there had been a potential break in the hunt for the bombing suspect. Before the call connected, however, a few sharp knocks sounded at her door.

“Jemma, it’s me. Please let me in. I need to explain what you saw.” 

Her eyes teared up at hearing Fitz’s voice, and she let out a frustrated sigh, scrubbing at her forehead. Obviously she had failed at keeping herself from getting attached to him – or, at least, to the person that he’d pretended to be.

“Why should I let you anywhere near me?” 

“I’m not a danger to you, I promise,” he said, lowering his voice. “I would never hurt you. Or anyone else. I’m not a killer.” She watched his silhouette move closer to the door, disappear below the mottled glass, and then back away. “Look, I brought you some things to help explain. I’ll stay a few feet away, on the grass, when you open the door, hands up. It’s not what it looked like, Jemma, it’s not.” 

Exhaling harshly, she gave herself a few seconds to figure out the best way to handle the situation. Her instinct was to believe Fitz and let him in, but she knew she had to do the opposite of what she felt right now because she clearly wasn’t rational when it came to him. Dialing quickly on her phone, Jemma was relieved that the time difference between Scotland and New York meant that it was still SHIELD’s working hours.

“Triplett,” said the familiar deep voice on the other end of the line, and a small amount of weight lifted from her shoulders.

“Trip, it’s Jemma –”

“Hey, girl,” he interrupted, and she could imagine the wide grin that split his face. “How’s your vacay?” 

Jemma sighed, wishing she were just calling to gush about how much she’d been enjoying herself. “Actually, I need your help.”

His voice became serious immediately, much more like he was when she periodically ran into him at SHIELD. “What’s wrong?”

Worried that Fitz would disappear if she left him out there for too long, she gave Trip a quick run-down of what had happened that afternoon, and then a brief, hopefully objective summary of her personal estimation of Fitz’s character. (Her voice only failed her once, and for that she was infinitely grateful.) 

A few seconds later, she steeled herself and then swung the front door open. On the lawn stood Fitz, head bowed as he leaned dejectedly against the stone wall. When he heard the door, though, he snapped his head up, the expression on his face fading between relieved and apprehensive. 

“I swear,” he said, raising his hands as promised and taking a couple hesitant steps towards her, “I would never do anything to hurt you. Please believe me.” 

Pursing her lips, Jemma crouched down to retrieve the box of items he’d left on the stoop. Inside lay a thin laptop and a thumb-drive, as well as a small collection of papers and what seemed to be identification documents. She tapped her fingers against the edge of the box, trying to decide the probability that he’d rigged the electronics with an explosive.

“Come in,” she said at last, stepping aside to let him pass. If he’d rigged the box to blow up, then at least he would likely be caught in the blast. In contrast to her dark reasoning, his shoulders sunk in relief and he bounded eagerly up the front steps.

“I have a lot to –”

“In the kitchen.” Her voice was curt and she didn’t let herself meet his eyes, afraid of testing her own fortitude.

“Right,” he muttered, and she could just barely see him shake his head in her peripheral vision. 

Following after him, she locked the door and strode over to slide the box onto the kitchen table, careful not to obscure the camera of her own mobile, propped up using a recipe book stand. On the screen was Trip, who was using his phone to video chat while he pulled up files on his own computer. Fitz stood in the entryway to the kitchen, twisting one thumb into the palm of the other hand and frowning at the screen.

“This is my friend Trip,” Jemma explained, gripping the back of one of the chairs to steady her own nerves. “He’s my insurance policy –” 

“If you hurt her,” Trip interrupted, eyes trained on his computer, “I know a mercenary based in the UK who can be after you in two hours." 

With a nervous chuckle, Fitz raised his hands in submission. “Honestly, that won’t be necessary.”

“Good.” Trip looked up at his phone then, studying the two of them through the screen.

“Trip was recently assigned to the team that’s working on the Rising Tide attack, so –”

“You’re with SHIELD?” Fitz’s voice was oddly panicked, eyes widening as he backed away from the table. “Are you at SHIELD, right now, on their servers?”

Giving Jemma a brief glance, Trip frowned. “I’m at SHIELD, but this call’s on my cell....” He trailed off as Fitz let out a disproportionately huge sigh and leaned against the archway.

“Oh, thank Christ.”

Now completely befuddled by his behavior, Jemma slid into one of the chairs and gestured that Fitz do the same. “Explain everything.” 

“Yeah, course,” he said, quickly dumping his jacket on the floor and reaching for the items in the box. “First, I brought these to prove that I’m not lying about who I am.”

The picture on the passport he held open for her caught her eye, and she lifted it from him, ignoring how he scooted closer to her. In it, he looked like a completely different person and years younger, even though the passport issue date wasn’t that long ago. His facial hair was shaven, and he wore a neatly pressed tie, shirt, and cardigan, all in much brighter colors than the only shirts she’d ever seen him wear – and she was certain he’d never worn a tie, not even when they went out to eat.

“Skye had me grow it when we got here,” he said, scratching at his scruff and quirking his lips up as she glanced over at him. “Thought it might make me harder to spot, least until she could wipe everything.” Jemma raised an eyebrow at that, and he winced, flipping open the laptop. “Right, yeah, sorry – explaining.”

As he spoke, he brought up relevant documents from the thumb-drive, using them to underscore his story. “I used to work for SHIELD, in their DC office. Worked mostly on nonlethal weaponry, which I’ve told you about, but I also made a few things that’d help agents in the field. One thing I invented was called the Mouse Hole –”

“I’ve used that before,” Trip said, nodding in Jemma’s direction. “Damned useful.”

“Well, it was,” Fitz said bitterly, drawing up what looked like a bastardized version of the original schematics he’d just shown them. “Someone figured out a way to apply a similar principle to a dispersal mechanism, creating –” 

“Oh my God,” Jemma murmured, leaning back in her chair.

“The Rising Tide bomb,” Trip spoke over her and then swore under his breath. One of the biggest mysteries of the attack was the appearance of the corpses, which made them seem to be almost melted. It was nothing like any bomb that Jemma had seen before, which was why SHIELD was having such trouble identifying the culprits, and why her defense system had taken her so long to develop.

“Yeah.” Fitz paused, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Nasty business, that thing, and I only ever saw pictures. Whoever did it, though, chose that weapon on purpose, ‘cause they’ve been trying to frame me for the attack ever since. I have no idea why. I’d be dead or in prison now if it weren’t for Skye.” Meeting Jemma’s gaze, he gave her a wry smile. “She’s, uh, not actually my half sister. I mean, I’ve never actually met my dad – neither of us have, which is why she came up with it. She’s just a friend who figured out what was happening after the attack and came straight to me. The Rising Tide – they’re not like that. It’s about freedom of information, not killing people. But it’s not a real organization, y’know, with levels or anything, so she’s been having trouble figuring out what happened. Someone on the inside went bad, you see, and....” He paused, glancing over at Trip. “I think someone inside SHIELD is helping ‘em. That’s why you can’t put any of this on SHIELD’s servers – they’d be able to find me. It’s a miracle they haven’t so far, and because Skye’s really bloody good with computers. They, ah....” His gaze clouded and he had to clear his throat before he spoke again. “They did go after someone who tried to help us at the beginning. Either of you know Eric Koenig?”

Jemma shook her head. “Knew his brother, Billy,” Trip offered, brows furrowing, “he told me what happened. Eric was killed in a robbery....” 

Fitz began shaking his head before Trip stopped speaking. “He was trying to poke around for information about the investigation – I dunno how Skye knew him, think he owed her a favor or something – and he got careless. Left some info on a server, but by the time Skye figured out what he’d done it was too late. They strangled him in his apartment to send me a message.”

Turning back to Jemma, he reached one hand towards her and then thought better of it, curling his fingers into a fist. “We went into hiding here right after, and I’ve been working on proving my innocence ever since. It’s hard, because we have no resources in the middle of the blasted countryside, and I don’t want to put anyone else in danger by asking for their help.” With a sharp exhale, he flicked at the side of the computer. “Skye’s already given up enough to protect me. She went to New York to chase down a lead, but....” He held out his hands and gave a hopeless shrug. “I dunno if I’ll ever be able to go back to that life. Whoever set that bomb has it out for me, and I just don’t know why.”

Giving into herself, Jemma reached out to curl her hand around his on the table. Fitz raised his eyes to her, the irises a melancholic blue in the setting sun. “Do you believe me? Please say you believe me.”

“Jemma,” Trip said, pushing away from his desk and standing to pace, and she forced herself to break Fitz’s gaze. The room on the pixelated video screen was small and bland, very SHIELD-standard, but at least it meant that he had a door and four walls with which to have private conversations. “Can I talk to you...?” Trip tilted his head out of frame, indicating that she should step away, and she let go of Fitz to pick up the phone.

Switching from video to audio, she took a few steps into the hallway, far enough that she could lower her voice but not so far that she couldn’t see into the kitchen. As she spoke on the phone she kept an eye on Fitz, whose tense posture and nervous table tapping seemed to suggest that he had a fragile hold on his self-control.

“What do you think?”

“They were looking into him before I got assigned to the investigation,” Trip said. “But I actually redirected it myself a couple weeks back – none of the evidence pointing towards Fitz added up, and I couldn’t find a single damned motive for him to do it. Coworkers seemed to think he was a grouch, but harmless.”

“Skye’s been in New York for three weeks,” Jemma pointed out quietly, watching as Fitz picked up his passport and stared pensively at the picture. “Do you think she could have altered...?”

“Maybe. But I’d read all of the files before then, when I first joined the division, so if she changed something in our system I’d have noticed.”

“Have you two met, by the way?”

Trip let out a wry chuckle. “Yeah, you could say that. I can check in on her later, see what she’s been doing.”

“What about Fitz?” Jemma knew that she should be more concerned about the woman living in her apartment with access to all of her worldly possessions, but her mind was focused on the man sitting at the kitchen table. 

There was a pause, and she thought she heard venetian blinds being pushed aside. “You’ve known him for three weeks,” he said. “And I trust your judgment. What d’you think?”

The answer came to her instantly, but she took a long moment to think it through before replying. She’d been so shaken to learn that Fitz had been hiding something so huge all this time that she almost didn’t want to trust her own judgment, despite Trip’s faith in her. But Fitz’s story and the evidence presented seemed to make sense, and knowing that Trip had effectively written him off as a suspect on his own made her feel more secure about listening to the quiet and insistent voice in her head.

“I believe him,” Jemma said, intentionally loud enough that Fitz could hear. His head whipped around so he could meet her gaze, and his whole posture practically melted in relief. She held up one hand to keep him from approaching and he froze halfway out of his chair, raising his hands and sitting back down. 

“Okay. I’ll dig into this on my own –” 

“Be careful, Trip,” she warned. “Remember what Fitz said –” 

“I can take care of myself,” he said firmly. “Maybe I’ll take a few days off work just to make sure. Stay safe out there, Jemma – I’ve texted you Hunter’s number if you need help faster than I can get to you.”

“Thank you.” Pressing her lips together in a faint smile he couldn’t see, she ended the call, wondering what on earth she’d just gotten herself caught up in.

The second that she lowered the phone, Fitz was striding towards her. “You mean that?” 

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I do. Believe you.”

A low noise of relief burst out of his throat, and he froze centimeters away from having his arms around her, expression morphing from relief to hesitance. “I... can I do this? Hug you?”

She nodded, quirking her lips into a half smile. “Yes, of course –” Her own “oof” interrupted her, as Fitz wrapped her so tightly in his arms that she was lifted almost off the floor, tiptoes searching for purchase.

“Thank you, thank you,” he muttered into her hair. “I never wanted any of this.” Letting her down so he could look at her, he curled his hands around both of hers. “I never wanted to lie to you, Jemma, I swear. I wanted to tell you so many times, but I... you’re in danger, now that you know. I didn’t want that.” His eyes dropped and then lifted again hesitantly, as if he had to force himself to keep going. “You weren’t part of the plan. I’m not – lying doesn’t exactly come naturally to me, I dunno if you’ve noticed. I didn’t know what to do when I....” He swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut. “When I fell for you.”

Her heart was pounding so loudly that Jemma could barely think, let alone figure out what she wanted to say in response. She knew she was angry – furious, even, and sick to her stomach about how much he’d been able to keep hidden without her suspecting much at all – but she also knew that she’d never felt this way about anyone before. That she never wanted to be without him.

Needing a few minutes alone to gather her thoughts, she exhaled, resting one hand against his chest. “The cooler I left at your house. Did you bring it with you?” 

Caught off-guard, Fitz blinked and stared at her open-mouthed for a few seconds before he processed her question. “Oh, no, I – just left it. When I came after you.”

“Go get it please,” she whispered, extracting herself from his grasp.

His confusion and hurt was written on his face plain as day, but he just nodded, scratching briefly at the corner of one eyebrow. “Yeah – yeah, course.”

“And come back quick as you can,” she added before he got to the door, and his expression lightened ever so slightly.

“Promise.” Fitz stepped towards the kitchen table – on which still lay the computer and thumb-drive – then halted himself with his hands a few centimeters away. “I’m gonna leave this with you, okay? If you – if you don’t believe how I feel about you. Let me show you.” With that, he strode rapidly to the door and shut it behind himself with a bang. His footsteps crunched in the dry ground as he ran through the yard to the gate, and she caught his silhouette speeding down the road in the sunset.

Silence washed over the room in seconds with him gone, and her pulse continued to race with nervous energy. Needing something, anything, to do while she waited, Jemma grabbed wood from the pile beside the front door and set about making a fire. When the first flame flickered into life, she abruptly realized what Fitz had meant before he left. By leaving the thumb-drive with her – his only tie to his old life and whatever evidence he had to free himself – he was quite literally putting his life in her hands.

A quiet sob shuddered out of her throat, and she leaned back on her heels, covering her face with her hands. Even though they’d only known each other for three weeks, she had absolutely no doubt that she would do everything within her power to protect him, that the thumb-drive was safe in her hands. Despite her many self-assurances that she wouldn’t get attached to Fitz, Jemma had gone far past that. A part of her ridiculed the foolish, romantic notion – for God’s sake, she knew that people couldn’t possibly form this kind of intense attachment after only three weeks of knowing each other.

Every logical excuse or explanation flitted through her head as she sat curled in on herself in front of the cottage’s fire, but nothing could reason away the irrational certainty that she would do nearly anything to stay by Fitz’s side. And yet she would have to leave in at least a week, and, considering the uncertainty of his situation, their parting might be forever. She felt like she’d spent her whole life waiting for someone who fit by her side just like he did, and the idea of having to leave him in less than seven days made something in her chest ache.

The door creaked open and she stumbled ungracefully to her feet, swiping tears from her cheeks. Fitz peered into the sitting room, cheeks pink from the cold and worry immediately changing to distress when he saw that she’d been crying. 

“In the refrigerator, please,” she said, speaking before he could get a word out.

After glancing at the cooler in his hand, he gave her another concerned look and then did as she instructed, stepping into the kitchen. Jemma took a deep breath and tried to steady herself as she closed the blinds against the now night-black sky, though the hour itself was not late. The refrigerator door made its familiar sealing noise, and she turned to see Fitz fidgeting in the archway. 

“What else did you lie about?” Her voice was quiet with the realization that she was about to break the last of her rules about Fitz.

“Nothing,” he replied instantly, stepping forward and holding his hands out. “Oh, I...” he trailed off, shoulders deflating. “I mean, it wasn’t exactly a lie, but – the night we met? I said I was out celebrating my four-month anniversary of being out here?” Apprehensive, she nodded, curling her hands into fists at her side. “That wasn’t actually – it was the four-month anniversary of the attack. Of when all those people died. I just... I couldn’t stop thinking about them.” His voice cracked, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “So I went to the pub to distract myself.” Meeting her gaze, he gave her a broken smile. “Had a drink for each of them.”

“Oh, Fitz,” she breathed, pained by the thought of him at the pub by himself, and took a few steps towards him.

“It’s my fault they’re dead,” he choked out, and she raised her hand to his cheek. “Not on purpose, but it’s my machine... something that was supposed to help people get to safety. And someone warped it...” Fitz inhaled, leaning his face into her touch. “Couldn’t tell you that back then, obviously. But that was it – I swear, everything between us, everything I told you about myself or, um, the way I feel... about you. All of that is real.” Her vision became watery as she stared up at him, and he finally met her gaze again. “Can you forgive me, Jemma? I’m so sorry –” 

He never got the rest of his apology out because she stopped his words by throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him. His arms wrapped around her immediately, their lips moving together inelegantly, passionately, desperately.

“I already did,” she murmured at last, breaking away. “I’ve never – I don’t know what to say....”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he breathed, brushing loose hair behind her ear and letting a relieved sigh feather over her lips. “I’m just –”

“I can’t imagine my life without you.” She sucked in a shaky breath, the words stopping Fitz cold. Abruptly terrified of his reaction, she dropped her gaze, smoothing her thumb alongside his neck. When his lips found hers again, she gratefully leaned into the kiss, taking heart from the gentleness of his touch. Nothing else needed to be said for the moment, and as she let herself get lost in him she finally knew exactly what she wanted. For tonight, anyway – the difficulties of her departure and his situation could be delayed for at least that long. 

Breaking away for air, Jemma’s lips quirked into a breathless smile at the dazedness hovering about Fitz’s expression. “Do you have a condom?”

He blinked, eyes quickly focusing on her face and brows furrowing. “What?” 

“You heard me,” she murmured, curving one arm more securely around his shoulders. While he tried to catch up, she leaned in and slid their lips together, easily parting his and sweeping her tongue inside. 

“But,” he choked out, a shudder running through him as she set about working up a mark on his neck, “your – the rules....” 

“Guidelines.” Shifting back onto her feet, she let a flash of sadness break across her gaze. “I’m leaving in only a week.”

“I know,” he replied, voice subdued. “And this....” He waved one finger between them, his other arm tightening around her waist, “doesn’t make that more complicated?”

“Oh, Fitz.” Jemma sighed and stretched up to press their foreheads together. “Things are already complicated.” 

“Understatement of the century.”

A few moments of contemplative silence passed between them, until Jemma leaned forward to nip lightly at his bottom lip. “You didn’t answer.” 

“No, I don’t have a condom,” he huffed, a flush creeping into his cheeks. “What’d I possibly need one for on the go in Birnam?” 

Rolling her eyes, Jemma chuckled. She was actually a little touched that it hadn’t even occurred to him to have one in his wallet at the odd chance she’d change her mind, but mostly what she felt was a small vein of disappointment that she’d have to wait a little longer. 

“Oh – Skye!” He cleared his throat, fingers tracing idly against her spine as she looked up. “She, uh – wouldn’t surprise me if she had some. Was seeing this guy a month or back, Miles-someone.”

“I’ll go look,” she said, giving him a slow, lingering kiss before hurrying off to the master bathroom. (If it could even be called that – the room had a claw-footed bath and no shower, and was barely large enough to turn around in.)

After poking around a bit in the cabinet, Jemma indeed unearthed a small condom box, thankfully still containing two square packets. Once she’d allowed herself a few seconds of vanity, she took a quiet moment at the sink, staring at herself in the mirror. The day had been a rollercoaster of ups and downs, but hopefully from here on out she could let go of the secrets and just allow herself to be with Fitz. Normally, she made decisions based on logic appropriate for any respective situation, but she knew that logic was the last thing on her mind right now. Inhaling deeply, Jemma strode back into the hallway and went about quietly turning off or dimming all the lights.

As she stepped into the living room, Fitz turned to watch her slowly twist the wall switch until the roaring fire was the only light in the room. The orange glow flickered over him, and she noted that he’d shed his jacket, shoes, and socks. He had been pacing when she’d entered, however, and his hair looked messier than before, as if he’d worried at it while she was gone.

“Found them,” she whispered, words barely audible over the crackling flames. 

His eyes flitted to where she held up the foil packets, and he exhaled, dropping his gaze to the carpet. “Are you sure about this?” Hurt flashed across her face as she wondered, briefly, if he wasn’t interested, but he read her reaction and stepped quickly forward. “Lemme be clear,” he said, holding his hands towards her, “I’m – I’d really like to be with you in that way, Jemma. Really. But I just – if you’re doing this ‘cause you feel bad –”

“I’m not –” 

“Or ‘cause you think I’ll, I dunno, slip and reveal something nefarious –” 

“Fitz!”

“I just wanted to check,” he said quietly, eyes shimmering and open as they met hers. “I don’t have anything else to give you, Jemma. It’s just me. That’s all I have right now.”

Something at once wonderfully warm and achingly sad spread through her chest, and she dropped the condoms onto the coffee table.

“Good thing that’s all I want,” she murmured, striding forward to wrap her arms around his shoulders. The tension melted out of him at her touch, and he leaned down to meet her lips once again. Their hands searched each other slowly, having both explored the other’s body to some degree during nights prior but always with certain boundaries keeping them in check. 

Her fingers plucked hesitantly at the zipper to his jeans and then drew away, searching out the buttons to her own blouse as she met his gaze. At one time, Jemma hadn’t been shy about sex, but she was hyperaware of her own behavior now, her ex’s words circling in her head, terrified that this would be how she’d chase Fitz away at last. He didn’t notice her shyness, however, his own fingers nimbly undoing the fasteners to his trousers and then shirt as he avidly watched her do the same. There was something oddly enchanting, Jemma thought, in watching Fitz undress in the stark orange light of the hearth fire. His eyes were dark and shone in turns as the flames danced up into the chimney, his gaze fixed on her body as she shed the last of her outer clothes, both of them standing before each other at last clad only in underwear. 

They stepped into each other’s space simultaneously, his hands coming up to cradle her head and her own clutching at his back, their lips meeting fiercely in the middle. Although no actual ending was in the offing, it felt briefly like they were rushing towards something inevitable and final. But as Fitz worked his mouth heatedly over hers, Jemma melted against him, grounded by the thought that the point of tonight was being with each other wholly, truthfully – nothing more or less than that.

He let out a sharp huff as she backed him onto the couch and then straddled his lap, wanting to be so close that she could feel his heartbeat against her chest. As their lips and tongues slid together, she struggled with turning what she felt into something translatable, words or actions or even quantifiable thoughts. Simply put, Fitz’s arms felt like they’d been made for her, and she wanted to pour herself into that kind of safety.

When his hands slid down the bare skin of her back, skimming over the clasp of her bra, she expected him to pull her closer in, expected him to keep them moving towards the inevitable press and grind of two bodies into and against each other. Instead, Fitz surprised her again by simply tracing the lines of her body, making her lightheaded with fervent kisses as his free hand curved down underneath her arse. Light fingerstrokes over her folds surprised her into a shivery gasp, her skin already sensitive beneath her knickers, and his fingers faltered.

“This okay?” His voice was low and breathless against her lips, and she bit back a moan, his fingers still pressing against her and stilling as he waited for a response.

Fitz’s actions were a constant mystery to her, because sometimes he seemed so confident that it made her want to bicker until she’d taken him down a peg, but other times he was like this: seemingly hyperaware of his own actions, deferring to her lead. As much as she did like taking the lead (and intended to again shortly), she very much wanted to encourage the confident version of him that she knew was in there somewhere. So instead of giving him an answer, she scooted back off his lap and the couch. Alarm briefly flitted across his face, until he watched her push her knickers down to her ankles and his expression went slack with awe. Jemma smirked, kicking off the somewhat damp strip of cloth, and straddled him once again, feeling his chest expand and contract against her thanks to his now-ragged breathing.

“Okay then,” he said hoarsely, splaying his fingers over her back as she leaned in to meet his mouth with hers once again. 

Another few, altogether-too-long seconds passed until Fitz deliberately slid one hand between her thighs, his long, strong fingers slicking easily through her arousal. An embarrassing whimper escaped her throat and she flushed, hiding her face against his temple and feeling the telltale vibration of a small laugh in his chest. His free hand curled around her back and her awkwardness faded, her awareness narrowing to the teasing press of his fingers around her entrance and back up through her folds. Something about this position made her feel more cared for than it had any right to, the hand pressed against her back steadying her as much as he was holding her to him.

Remembering something else that her ex had said, she fought the instinct to rock her hips against his fingers, wanting only for him to keep touching her, just like this. His mouth explored the skin of her neck as she fought to take in air, shivers breaking out across her body. One hand threaded into his curls and the other curved tightly around his neck, the rest of her focus narrowing to where he was winding her up so tightly, so quickly. In a way, there was little finesse to his touch – she adored that he didn’t seem to be using “moves” on her, but instead was learning her body for its own. Just as she had that thought, his fingers made a calculated circle over her clit, shocking a moan out of her. Apparently liking the noise he’d wrung from her, he repeated the stroke again and again, turning her into a trembling mass of nerve-endings fixated on where he touched her – and on keeping herself from moving.

“I can feel you holding back, Jemma,” he murmured, nuzzling at the side of her face. The hand that had been cradling her back slid down to cup her arse, fingers digging in as he pushed forward, trying to encourage her to move. “C’mon, I know you wanna....” 

Unable to resist both his fingers circling that sensitive nub and the strong, sure press of his other hand, she let her hips rock forward. The ensuing added pressure and friction sent a wave of pleasure through her and she moaned against his neck, settling into a rhythm of sinuous thrusts. If he wanted her to move, then she was more than happy to oblige. He groaned his approval, muttering indistinct but affectionate words into her hair. Shuddering at the build of her arousal, Jemma had a brief out-of-body moment where she imagined the picture they must make: Her working herself against his talented hands with her legs spread wide over his lap, the fire sending light and shadows dancing over their skin. 

Feeling overwarm, she used one hand to unsnap the clasp of her bra and tossed it quickly away, loathe to disrupt the rhythm that they’d set up together. At long last, she returned her lips to his, wanting to feel their connection in every way possible. But he froze against her, even the hand he’d been using to encourage her hips’ movement stuttering against her skin.

“What’s wrong?” she breathed, panic that she’d done something wrong settling sharp and cold into her stomach. Pulling back, she searched his face for a clue... and then grinned as she saw his eyes dip instantly to her now bare breasts. “I’m sorry,” she teased, watching his tongue flick out to wet his lips, “am I distracting you?”

“Yeah,” he muttered gruffly, sliding one hand to rest just beneath her breast. “That’s what you’re doing.”

Before she could think up another way to make fun of him for being so obviously enamored of her breasts, he cupped the rounded flesh and arced his thumb over her nipple, causing it to tighten further. An eager sigh fell from her lips and she decided that she could tease him another time, rather too pleased with his new fixation to follow that train of thought. The wet warmth of his mouth shortly descended on her other breast and she moaned, threading one hand into his hair as his fingers returned to stoking her arousal. When he slid one finger inside her, she whimpered, hips bucking forward to encourage him to press deeper, to stroke faster, delighting in the friction and acutely aware that it wasn’t enough. Writhing against his hand was a dizzying sort of pleasure, especially with the way he was toying with her breasts, but there was something else that she wanted them to experience together. 

He let out a distinct whine when she disentangled their limbs and stood, her breath catching at the expression on his face. For someone who had spent most of the past three weeks keeping things hidden, his every emotion was written so plainly across his face now that she wondered how he’d even managed to hide anything. His undisguised affection and lust just made her want him in every way a person can want another, and she wished she knew how to tell him that she felt the same. Instead, she returned her focus to the activity at hand, wetting her lips with her tongue. 

“Pants,” she said, pointing to his tented boxers and then twisting around to retrieve a condom from the other end of the coffee table. They’d shown each other earlier how they felt – him by leaving her the thumb-drive, and her by keeping his trust – and now they could be together in one of the most open and intimate ways humanly possible.

A shuffle of cloth sounded behind her, but when she turned she was surprised by the distinct hunch of his shoulders, almost as if he was curling over himself to hide his nudity. The realization that he was just as nervous as she made a softer warmth spread through Jemma’s chest, and she opted not to hide the desire in her expression as her gaze landed on what he had to offer. She drew her lip between her teeth, inhaling ever so slightly, and took great satisfaction in the near-immediate straightening of his shoulders. 

“So that’s what you’ve been hiding from me all this time,” she teased, voice intentionally breathy, and pressed the foil packet into his palm. “How unfair.” 

Fitz let out a surprised laugh, eyes darting away from hers briefly before returning. “Didn’t, ah, want to tempt you. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” she murmured, curling herself around his side while he opened the packet and fumbled with the condom. When she tugged gently at his earlobe with her teeth, he jumped slightly and let out a slow breath.

“You’re not helping.” There was no real bite to his words, and she grinned, nuzzling at his cheek as he finished. 

“Not trying to.”

Fitz chuckled again, giving his head a brief shake of amusement as he made to twist himself over her. “You’re just a troublemaker, you are.” Instead of letting him, however, Jemma pushed back, once again straddling his lap.

“Okay?” 

“Christ,” he groaned, twitching as her hand wrapped around his cock, “so fucking okay.”

Keeping her eyes trained on his, Jemma brushed their noses together and took a moment to remind herself exactly who she was with tonight. She was here with Fitz, the smartest person she’d ever met and the sweetest boyfriend she’d ever known, the person she hadn’t even known she’d always wanted to find.

A breathless smile ticked up the corners of her mouth, and then she sunk down onto him, steadying herself by reaching up to grip his shoulders. The stretch of him sliding into her was perfect, her every nerve alight as she settled him as deep inside as possible, widening the spread of her thighs to press herself flush against him. They moaned, clutching each other in the throes of that first rush of togetherness, arousal and heat twining through them both. After giving herself a few seconds to revel in the feeling of his cock grinding against the most wonderful, sensitive places inside herself, Jemma began to move.

As her hips rocked in quick, deep thrusts, his hands returned to her arse, encouraging the strength of her strokes and helping to press himself further in. The sight of him beneath her was dizzying, his expression flashing between acute arousal and awe at nearly every one of her thrusts, his lips flushed even in the stark lighting of the firelit room. Their bodies fit together so naturally that Jemma rued her decision to wait to experience this for so long, one hand sliding up his chest as she worked herself against him, breasts bouncing and sweat beading on her skin. Having control of their pace just turned her on more, feeling the way his fingers stuttered against her as she figured out the speed he liked. When he had to bite hard into his bottom lip to keep from crying out in pleasure, she almost grinned, but was too distracted by the build of her own climax.

Finally losing her filter at the feeling of her orgasm’s crest, Jemma dropped her head back and moaned his name, her face twisting in pleasure each time he bottomed out inside her. Fitz swore under his breath, bringing her gaze back to his face, and she could feel him planting his feet on the floor to give himself better leverage. At her next downward stroke he met her in the middle with a firm thrust, and she let out a shocked cry, her vision beginning to blur at the edges as she neared the precipice. It seemed like no time had passed since he’d been rubbing his fingers against her, the rush coursing through her veins. 

Stretching forward to clutch at the back of the couch, Jemma undulated her hips as fast as she could, biting hard into her bottom lip and whimpering at how her release was just out of her reach. Then Fitz moved one hand so that he could stimulate her clit with quick, hard circles, and the feeling broke through her all at once, a hitched moan falling from her lips. Her walls tightened rapidly around him as she rocked forward again and again, reveling in the awe on his face as she drew out the feeling. 

He groaned, returning his hand to her arse and helping her to sustain the rhythm, arching his back to thrust himself deep inside. She was dizzy with sensation, her body automatically working to match his movements as she floated through the last of her own orgasm. Panting hard, Jemma rode Fitz into his own climax, his fingers digging into her skin as he came apart inside her. A loud shout was wrenched from his chest and he bucked up one last time, holding them flush together and giving himself over to the endorphins coursing through his body. His mouth pressed against her neck, lips parted and breath heaving against her skin, and a shiver washed through her at the heat of him still inside her.

Unable to hold herself up anymore, she collapsed forward against him, lungs straining to get enough air. Fading into a post-coital daze, Fitz lowered them both against the back of the couch, his arms curling around her as if afraid that she would leave. The idea of moving anywhere at all almost made Jemma want to laugh, her limbs incapable of much else other than holding him close. 

A few minutes passed with Fitz gently petting her back and the sweat cooling on her skin, and she wanted to be able to fully relax without worrying about leaning too heavily on him. So Jemma separated their hips, letting out a small breath at the sudden, aching emptiness inside herself, and curled over his lap, tucking herself in along his side on the couch and encouraging him to keep his arms wrapped tightly around her. 

Although he was still breathing heavily, he hadn’t said anything in quite a while, and nerves began to creep into the back of her mind. Obviously he’d come, but what if it wasn’t... good? What if her ex had been right? In truth, the man had been a resounding idiot, and the relationship hadn’t lasted long, but – this was Fitz. Above anyone else in the world the idea of disappointing him made her stomach curdle.

When she tilted her head up to search out his gaze, though, his expression sent her heartbeat pattering away. Jemma had never been looked at with such reverence before, his eyes holding a depthless, azure warmth, and a smile crept onto her face. With her fear melting away at the very sight of him, she stretched up to fit their mouths together, curving one hand along his jaw and eliciting a contented hum.

“Thank you,” he murmured, tucking loose hair behind her ear. 

Her nose wrinkled, and she leaned back to give him an incredulous look. “Seriously?”

He choked, eyes widening as he rushed to explain. “Not for – I mean, that was – actually, I probably should be... oh, hell.” Leaning her head on his arm, she raised an eyebrow, tapping her fingers against his chest until he wrapped his hand around hers. “I meant for before,” he said, expression earnest as he met her gaze. “For giving me a chance to explain. To tell you the truth. I can’t....” Fitz exhaled, squeezing her fingers. “I cannot thank you enough.”

Giving him a little half smile, she tangled their fingers more securely together. She knew what he meant, of course – any woman in her right mind would have thrown him out and simply fed him to SHIELD. But she supposed she hadn’t been in her “right mind” since having met him three weeks ago, when her first instinct was to kiss him, despite having never spoken to him before (and the fact that he’d smelled like a distillery).

Jemma felt the last of her resolve not to love Fitz begin to splinter, the reserve boundaries that she’d stored up for their parting already crumbling.

“What else was I going to do?”

As he kissed her in response, gentle and sweet, she thought she’d never get used to the naked affection with which he watched her. His thumb brushed against her cheek, his other hand pressed firmly to her bare back, and she let him support her weight, thrilled to forget the rest of the world for a while, here with Fitz in a countryside cottage.

Chapter Text

As they cuddled on the couch, each keeping the other held close while they kissed through the aftermath, a low grumble – emanating from the vicinity of Fitz’s stomach – interrupted the peaceful silence. Jemma burst into giggles against his lips, leaning back to see a faint blush blooming on his cheeks.

“Sorta skipped lunch,” he mumbled, letting out a quiet whine when she began to disentangle herself from him. 

“You can’t eat if we don’t move,” she pointed out, tugging on his hands. Once he was standing, however, he cupped the back of her head with one hand and swooped in for a gentle, lingering kiss. She let out a minute hum of protest at first, but, well – she only had so much willpower, after all. 

Another few minutes passed before his stomach growled again, and he released a distinct noise of frustration as she drew away again. “Y’know, we could just ignore that....” 

Jemma made a low whistle, grabbing for the throw blanket and wrapping it around herself like a toga. “You’d choose kissing over food? Not sure I’d have expected that,” she teased, happily admiring the curve of his bare bum as he traipsed to the bathroom to clean up. “I must have done something right.”

He made a small snort as he passed her, flicking on the hallway light as he went. “‘Something right,’ sure. All I can say,” he replied, voice muffled slightly, “is that your ex was a bloody madman.”

“What?” Her voice was more breathless than she meant, not having expected him to remember her deeply embarrassing first date confession, and he peered around the doorway.

“You said that he’d... that an ex said you weren’t good at, y’know – sex, right?” She nodded, pulling the blanket tighter in against her chest. “Yeah, so, he’s obviously barmy.” Fitz padded back around her into the living room, quickly retrieving his boxers. “They should probably give you a Nobel for that instead.” 

Jemma chuckled, eyes tracking the fire’s shadows against his skin as he crouched down to pull on his underwear. “Clearly you haven’t seen my newest extensive analyses of toxins.”

“Good point,” he replied, giving her a sage nod and stepping over to wrap his arms around her waist. “Probably also nearly as sexy. S’long as they don’t involve dissections.”

Her nose wrinkled as he leaned in for a kiss. “It’s science, Fitz,” she said against his lips, unable to stop herself. “I almost always have to dissect something.” 

He shuddered and let out an exaggerated sigh. “Maybe just don’t tell me about them, then.” 

“Deal,” she replied with a grin, and stretched up on her tiptoes to kiss him thoroughly. The need for air was really becoming quite overrated in her professional point of view. Eventually, she tried to extricate herself from his grasp, but he let out another petulant little whine and tightened his grip.

“Are you sure we can’t just keep kissing? Or, I dunno, at least go back to not wearing things?” His hands fumbled at her waist, clearly trying to find the break in the blanket. 

“It’s cold in here,” she admonished, smoothing one hand up the flat of his chest. 

“But I like... seeing... y’know,” he muttered.

“My breasts?” She laughed at the too-casual shrug he gave.

“And other things.” One hand curved down over her bum and a little shiver of heat worked through her. “Work of art, this is.”

“Yours isn’t so bad, either.” Nipping lightly at his full lower lip, she broke away at last, shuffling underneath the long blanket’s hems towards the kitchen. 

“Really?”

When she glanced back at him, he’d twisted briefly around as if to attempt to ascertain her compliment’s accuracy and she rolled her eyes. “It’s particularly well-formed, yes. Now do you want food or not?” 

He sighed, eyes tracking forlornly over her blanket-covered figure. “Food, please.” 

“I thought so,” she said, perhaps a little more smugly than was necessary. “We can go back to naked kissing later.”

“Promise?” His eyes were bright as he took the two wrapped sandwiches she handed him, and she smirked. Having gotten her nerves about their first time out of the way – and reassured by his eager reception – she had a number of ideas about how to torment him.

“Promise,” she said, and then bent over to retrieve plates from a lower cabinet, giving him what she knew was a particularly fetching view of her bum (even through the blanket). The thick swallow she heard behind her suggested that he thoroughly agreed. 

Later, after they’d eaten and then gotten distracted by two (possibly three) heated scientific debates, Jemma caught Fitz staring at her thoughtfully.

“What?” 

“Oh, no, I –” He broke off on a chuckle, reaching out to tangle his fingers with hers. “Just thinking that the cosmos must like me. Throwing you into my life when I was drunk enough to make a move. I, uh,” he said, clearing his throat, “wouldn’t’ve dared otherwise.” 

Wrinkling her nose, she couldn’t help but disagree with him – just a little. “The cosmos doesn’t want anything –” 

“How’d,” he said, scooting his chair closer, “I know you were gonna say that?”

They moved towards each other at once, mouths sliding together in sync, and a thrill zipped through Jemma’s chest. It was so easy to be with Fitz – even the scientific bickering was exciting in its own way – that she almost couldn’t remember what it had ever been like to want anyone else. Trying to get closer, she slung her legs across his lap, letting her grip on the throw blanket loosen. As her hand threaded into his hair, she could feel one of his arms curl under her legs and the other wrap around her back underneath the blanket, pulling her in, and she hummed against his lips.

“Any interest in seeing my bedroom?” She arched an eyebrow, and it took only seconds for him to catch her real meaning, his eyes lighting up in response.

“Hell yes,” he breathed, capturing her mouth again. With a low huff, he lifted her into his arms, the blanket finally slipping off her once and for all. Jemma might have considered teasing him some more if the idea of being carried to her bed didn’t send heat twining through her. As it was, all she could do was hold on and work her lips against his neck, taking supreme pleasure in the way his sure, steady hands pressed against her skin. (Even if he did stumble once or twice on the way over.)

Fitz made love to Jemma in the white lace and wrought-iron bed, slowly and with touches so tender that even his breath felt like a brand upon her skin. His whispers and wonderment made her just as lightheaded as the arousal his hands stroked into life, the unassuming nature of his seduction making it all the more precious. When he moved in her, they became one breath, one heartbeat, one name, and she tried to memorize every moment before it flitted past, holding tightly to him as if he might disappear at any second. If she had only one week to be with Fitz in this way, then she was damned sure she’d remember everything about it before their time ran out.

------

Jemma had been awake for about an hour before Fitz stirred, watching the dawn light as it slipped over his features. All the angles of his face were thrown in sharp relief, as if he were a photograph or the inspiration for a painting. The idea of telling him something so ridiculous made her giggle, chin pressed against his shoulder, and it was that noise that tipped him into consciousness. His eyes blinked slowly open, a nearly translucent blue in the morning light, and he squinted up at her. 

“You’re far too pretty for it to be so early,” he muttered, and then let out a jaw-cracking yawn.

Wrinkling her nose, she pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. “I think you meant it the other way around,” she whispered, tucking her head beneath his chin. “But I’ll take the compliment anyway.” His grumbles vibrated beneath her ear, and she grinned.

“So,” he said eventually, turning so they were lying face to face. “Last night happened.” She hummed, shimmying closer in and sliding one hand up his chest. “D’you, ah, think it might... happen... again?” He’d carefully attempted to school his features into nonchalance, eyes having dropped between them, but there was no mistaking the hopeful note to his tone.

“Oh yes,” she said, allowing a slight purr into her voice, “I’m quite certain it’ll happen again.” Fitz’s eyes lit up as they met hers, and she darted out her tongue to wet her lips. “And again... and again....”

Something between a sigh and a groan rumbled out of his throat, but when he cupped her head to bring her forward for a kiss, she pushed back against his chest. He turned a confused puppy sort of expression on her, and she had to bite down on her tongue to stop from laughing. 

“What?” 

“I just – I haven’t brushed my teeth.” Internally, she cursed her earlier decision to not do so when she’d snuck out of bed to use the toilet. Fitz wouldn’t be awake for hours, she’d assured herself, assuming she’d have loads of time before she needed to worry about morning breath. More the fool she. 

The size of the eye-roll he gave her then was nearly epic, but she continued to resist his further attempts to make contact with her lips. “Aw, c’mon, I don’t care –”

“But I care,” she said, a slight whine to her voice. “I don’t want you to, I don’t know, think I taste like morning breath.” 

“I’m fairly certain that you taste like rainbows and sunshine at any time of the day,” he deadpanned.

“How do you know what rainbows and sunshine taste like?”

“Oh, for god’s sake,” he groaned, flopping over onto his back. “Is this what waking up with you is always gonna be like?” 

“Probably,” she said, peering over to gauge whether or not he was actually annoyed.

Fitz was already grinning back at her, and he tugged her in against his side. “Excellent,” he said, yawning again. “Always wanted a good morning bicker.” Relaxing at the soothing press of his body beneath hers, she tutted against his shoulder. Her fingers traced nonsensical patterns along his chest, leaving goosebumps in their wake, and a low sigh escaped him. “Can’t stay for much longer, anyway. Got to meet someone for supplies midday, but it’s a long drive.” 

The details of the disaster that was Fitz’s professional life came tumbling back into her head, and she leaned up on one elbow. “Supplies – for your lab? For what? What are you doing in there?” 

A fond smile played around his lips, he watched her for a moment before answering. “Well, two things. I’m trying to reverse-engineer the bomb – told you that yesterday. Also been trying to trace some of the chemicals found in the explosion, figure out if they’re from the bomb or something else, but I keep hitting dead ends. Chemicals aren’t my strength, y’know, but I’m trying.” He gave her a wan smile, tucking loose hair behind her ear. “Today, I’m picking up a couple of parts for the Mouse Bomb – that’s what I’ve been calling it.”

“That’s a terrible name.”

“It’s a terrible thing,” he answered quietly, and she stretched up to nuzzle against his cheek.

“Of course it is,” she murmured, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to –” 

“But I am. So, shhh.” She could feel rather than see him rolling his eyes, but he snugged her closer in nonetheless. “You know,” she began, suspecting what his response would be and bracing herself for it. “I’m quite good with chemicals –”

“No –”

“Won a little award for my work with them, actually –” 

“Jemma, it’s not –” 

“You might have heard of it, it’s called the Nobel –”

“Stop,” he said sharply, angling her chin up to meet his gaze. “It’s too dangerous for you to help me, Jemma –” 

“You’re just being stubborn,” she snapped, a little more waspishly than she’d intended. “I’m the perfect person to help –” 

“They’ll kill you.” His voice was low and stopped her words short as effectively as if he’d been shouting. “They won’t hesitate for a second – whoever they are, they’ll strangle or shoot you the second they find out.” 

“But –” 

“They already killed Skye’s friend!” He exhaled shakily, pressing their foreheads together. “I can’t risk them doing that to you, too. I....” Letting out a noise of frustration, he dropped onto his back, although he kept their hands held tightly together. “That’s why I left that first morning, even though your pancakes smelled bloody amazing. Skye said if I kept away from you, you’d be fine, that we weren’t putting anyone else in danger. She’d made sure that your record at SHIELD was squeaky clean.” A tinge of self-loathing crept into his voice then, and his fingers squeezed hers. “But I just – I wanted to see you again, you were so... and when else was I gonna have the chance to talk to someone like you? And I’d been reading all of your work, hoping I might find something.... So I sorta thought if I kept you away from the lab, and just kept everything separate, it’d be fine. I figured we’d get on, maybe hang out a couple times, and that’d be it.”

“I’m glad that wasn’t it,” she whispered, gaze dropping to his bare shoulder. The idea of not knowing Fitz as she did now was simply unimaginable – her life beforehand seemed somehow lacking in color by comparison.

His hand wrapped around her upper arm with a strength and speed that surprised her, his eyes boring into hers. “I am too, I’m so glad, Jemma. But you’re in danger every second you’re with me – I don’t even know if plausible deniability will work for you anymore, but it’s all we’ve got, so please... please don’t ask me to put you in more danger.”

Pursing her lips, Jemma lay pressed against him in silence for a few moments. “I don’t like it.”

He let out a low laugh, smoothing his hand down her bare back. “I know you don’t.”

“You don’t get to decide whether I’m in danger or not.”

His next exhale was shaky, eyes slipping closed. “I know. And it’s my fault in the first place.”

“Oh, Fitz,” she exclaimed, shaking her head. “It’s not your fault! I just – it’s so stupid! We could help each other! I’ve been working on a defense system to neutralize bombs just like that, what I wouldn’t give for your expertise... and of course, I might be the only person in the world who could help you figure out the chemicals you need to understand the bomb or find the perpetrators.”

“I know –”

“I know you do. It’s....”

“An impossible situation.”

“Few things are actually impossible,” she chirped, parroting her mother. “Most of the time they’re just improbable.”

His gaze was dumbstruck, full of awe and an affection so deep Jemma was reminded starkly of the way her parents looked at each other. But when he surged up, clearly intent on capturing her lips once again, she ducked to the side and his mouth collided with her jaw. 

“Oh, c’mon, Jemma –!” 

“Morning breath,” she reminded him, peppering small kisses along his jaw as an apology. “I can get up to brush –”

“Don’t you dare,” he grumbled, pushing her over onto her back and settling in to work his lips over her collarbone. Sighing happily, Jemma let her eyes slip shut, thinking about how she could get used to waking up to things like this. (The debate about her safety she could do without.)

“You know,” he murmured against her skin, “I’ve got an idea....”

“I suspect I know what it is.” Her voice was light, teasing, and her lips quirked up when he shifted around to remove the sheet that had been separating them and fling it over his own shoulders.

Fitz hummed, glancing up just before sliding one hand down to seek out the sensitive skin at the apex of her thighs. The shocked “oh” that fell from her lips sent him smirking, and Jemma tried not to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how receptive she was to his touch. 

“The best part,” he breathed, nuzzling just below her chin, “is that there’s no –” he paused to nip gently at her skin, “worry about... morning breath." 

A chuckle escaped her throat, but before she could point out that sex did not simply nullify the effect – or whatever he’d been implying – he began to trail his lips down between her breasts and over her stomach. Oh. That’s what he meant.

Well, Jemma thought, eyelids fluttering and jaw dropping open on a gasp as his tongue made contact, she certainly wouldn’t say no to the substitution.

------

Jemma watched as Fitz shrugged on his jacket in the hallway, his hair darkened with shower water, and tugged her cotton robe tighter around her waist. After yesterday had been so volatile between them, the last thing she wanted was for him to leave, let alone to go somewhere probably dangerous. 

Grabbing his hand once he’d buttoned his coat all the way up, she let her jaw work silently for a few moments, trying to figure out the right thing to say.

“You’ll be careful,” she murmured at last, peering up at him.

With a warm smile, Fitz cupped her jaw in one hand and smoothed his thumb along her skin. “Yeah,” he answered, nuzzling in for a kiss. “Got something to come back to.”

Oh, how she wished he’d stay, curling her fingers around the buttons of his shirt and stretching up on her tiptoes to better meet his lips. But as he separated from her, turning around with an adoring smile before he closed the front door behind himself, she was reminded again of apparent futility of their relationship out here. The holiday had been just as magical as she’d hoped, and even helped her to forget the multitude of reasons that she’d needed the break. Fitz’s departure today, however, threw the short time she had left in the cottage into sharp relief.

------

Although Jemma did her best to concentrate on her work, more than once during the day she found herself staring at the same sentence for far too long, tapping the end of her red pen against the page. Her thoughts had gotten stuck on being faintly annoyed with how she’d let herself become so attached to anyone, let alone romantically, or simply wondering what Fitz was doing now. She actually shuddered when she realized she’d been thinking the latter – what was wrong with her? Jemma Simmons was an independent young woman who didn’t need anyone... though she did rather like him. A lot. Possibly more than she liked anyone else in the whole world.

Finally, she decided that a brisk walk might help clear her thoughts, so she took off through the fields across from the cottage. Devoid of cultivated plant life this time of year, the grounds were gently sloped, the light green-brown grass crunching under the heels of her boots. Air puffed out of her mouth on every breath, and she did very well for at least five whole minutes with not missing Fitz. Until she remembered kissing him beneath a tree in a snowy field rather like this one, that is, and she rolled her eyes at herself. Her inner voice was becoming an absolute sap.

As she kicked a rock out of the way, the loud trill of her mobile made her jump. Biting down on the tips of her glove, she pulled it off and quickly swiped to answer the call, shoving the top edge of the phone (and the ends of her fingers) underneath the edge of her purple beanie.

“Hello?”

“Hey Simmons –”

“Oh, Skye!” Tucking the glove into her pocket, Jemma tried to remember if Fitz had said whether or not his friend knew that he’d told her everything. “How are you?” 

“Good, good, I just wanted to check in, make sure we’re still on for switching....” The bubbly voice on the other end of the line trailed off. “Actually, I’ve got a call on the other line, could you hang on for a sec?”

“No problem,” she chirped, trying to analyze Skye’s voice without much success. Trip had said that he’d check on her yesterday, but maybe he did so without revealing what he knew – that would make sense, in retrospect, for him to keep things quiet until he’d done more research on his own. 

“Hey, sorry, it’s my brother, and –”

“Oh, you mean Fitz,” Jemma said. Apparently Skye didn’t know that she knew. (And what a sentence that was, she thought wryly. Her life was becoming more and more like a sitcom by the minute.)

“Yeah,” Skye said, “he said you’d met. I haven’t talked to him in a while, so –”

“Yes, we did meet.” She couldn’t help laugh drily at perhaps the rather loose usage of the word. “Um, how is he?”

“Uh, he’s fine,” Skye answered, a tinge of confusion entering her voice. “Hold on again?”

“Sure.” As she waited for the other woman to return to the line, Jemma strolled to the drystone wall that lined the field and leaned against it.

When Skye got back on the phone, her voice was bemused. “Fitz wants to know how you are.” 

“You can tell him that I’m doing well,” Jemma said, a smile creeping across her face, “and thinking about stopping by the village for food later. What’s he been up to, did he say?” The last was something of a risk, but she thought it was vague enough without tipping Skye – or anyone listening in – off to the worry behind her question. Simply knowing that Fitz was on the phone right now made Jemma feel better, anyway. For the moment, at least, he was safe. 

“I’m not sure,” Skye said, tone now distinctly wry. “Want me to ask?”

“If you’re there anyway.” Jemma realized she’d twisted her expression into a hideous fake smile and dropped it, shaking her head at herself. It was a damned good thing she didn’t need to be lying to anyone’s face.

“Great, gimme a sec.” When Skye finished speaking, this time a loud beep followed her voice. “Holy shit, Fitz, I can’t believe you’re banging the biochemist chick!”

Gloved hand flying up to cover her mouth, Jemma let out a squeak. “He told you that?!”

“Oh my God!”

“Oh my God –”

“I’m reallyreallyreally sorry,” Skye said in a rush, her voice practically screaming discomfort and the cringe she surely wore all the way across the Atlantic. “I thought I was talking to Fitz – duh, I mean, obviously – shit I’m so sorry, just hold on a second.” Jemma nodded, despite the fact that no one could see her, and then was greeted by another aggravatingly loud beep. “Fitz, I cannot believe you’re banging the biochemist chick, because she’s hot and way out of your league, but what the fuck are you thinking?!”

Jemma sunk down to the cracked dirt at the base of the wall and dropped her head onto her knees. “Still me.” 

Skye swore loudly, and Jemma thought she heard the sound of something head-like thudding onto a table. “I must’ve lost him. Dr. Simmons, I’m so – so sorry, seriously, just – shitballs. Can I call you back?” Her voice was low and almost miserably mumbled, and Jemma sighed. She supposed that at least they were both mortified enough to fill the space between the two continents.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” she said, wincing at the distinct squeak to her words as she ended the call.

After sitting on the icy-cold ground in an awkwardness-induced stupor for a few minutes, Jemma began to lose the feeling in her fingers and decided to head back to the cottage. Skye never called back, and she tried to be levelheaded and not worry about why that was. The odds were that she was just uncomfortable, and not that something had happened to Fitz.

The rest of the day passed in fits and starts of work, with her checking her mobile all too often to see if Fitz had sent any texts. Before he’d left, he hadn’t given her a definitive time that he’d return – any time between then and tomorrow was the best guess that he’d had. Trying to tell herself that she was being ridiculous was no good. For all she knew, the black market technology-selling goons had kidnapped him and he was getting tortured at this very second. Being kept in the dark was driving her absolutely batty. 

So when a knock startled her out of a rare moment of concentration and she heard his voice through the door, a huge weight lifted instantly off of her shoulders.

“Hey, it’s me! Can you open the door, hand’s’re...” he trailed off as she swung the door open, a smile brightening his face. His eyes widened in surprise just before she flung her arms around his neck, pressing her lips ardently against his. “Mmmph–!”

It took Fitz a few seconds to move, the desperation of her embrace catching him off-guard, and when he finally circled her waist with his arms something fell behind her. The shattering of glass caused them both to freeze, and she pulled away to blink up at him.

“Uh... let’s hope that’s the paté and not the wine.”

A chortle caught in her throat, and she released him, twisting around to collect the grocery bag he’d dropped. “Paté,” she said with a smile, quickly stepping back with the bag to let him through and locking the door after.

“Wasn’t sure what you’d feel like,” he said, dumping the bags in the entryway and unbuttoning his coat. “Couldn’t call ‘cause my mobile died, blasted thing, so I had to guess –” 

“I don’t care,” Jemma breathed, grabbing him by the collar and again kissing him soundly. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

“Christ, me too,” he mumbled against her lips, following her blindly as she walked slowly backwards.

“Food later, sex now.” 

A groan rumbled out of his chest. Bending his knees enough to lift her up by her bum and waiting for her to wrap her legs securely around his waist, he carried her to the bedroom for a second time. As she continued to kiss Fitz, Jemma decided that it was definitely her favorite way to be seduced.

All the worries that had plagued her during the day disappeared. For the moment, they were together, and that was all that mattered.

------

Some undetermined amount of time later, Jemma lay sprawled belly-down on the lace quilt as she tried to get her breath back, naked, overwarm, and all her limbs feeling distinctly rubbery. She wasn’t quite sure she’d ever had an orgasm like that before (two, to be specific, although the same sentiment applied to both), and she did think she might have passed out briefly in the aftermath of sex that mind-bendingly excellent. The mattress dipped next to her, signaling Fitz’s return from the bathroom, and she let out a brief moan to demonstrate her continued stunned state. 

“Are you alright?”

Forcing her eyes open, she turned her head enough to blink up at him from the foot of the bed. His hair was a complete disaster – thanks to her handiwork – and from where he leaned against the railing, he was staring down at her with a concerned frown. 

“Why,” she slurred, swallowing into a lazy smile, “would you ever think I wasn’t?” 

“You, um, haven’t moved in a while,” he answered, scooting over closer to her and pressing his nude form against hers. 

“You try being shagged six ways to Sunday and then moving,” she retorted and then hummed, letting her eyes slip shut again at the feeling of his fingers tracing up and down her spine.

There was a long pause, interrupted only by the rustling of fabric as he settled himself more solidly against her. “Is, um, ‘six ways to Sunday’ a good thing?”

“Oh, Fitz,” she laughed, wriggling one hand up to tangle their fingers together. “Yes, it’s a bloody excellent thing.”

“Right, good.” His nose brushed against her ear and then cheekbone, and she grinned, realizing that he was angling for a kiss. More than happy to oblige, she shifted around so that she was lying on her back, fingers trailing up to curl gently around his neck. Fitz smiled, leaning down to slant her mouth open and covering her body with his – which was good, she mused, because she was starting to get cold. The warmth of his hands radiated through her where they pressed against her shoulders and cupped her jaw.

After a few minutes, he leaned up on one elbow and brushed away bits of hair that were stuck to her face. That way he had of looking at her, that special, adoring half-smile, always made her feel shy, as if he was seeing straight past her skin to the mind beneath. Instead of resisting the urge to hide, she gave in with something between a giggle and a groan, tucking her head beneath his chin.

“I can’t believe I have to leave in six days.”

Fitz pulled her back with him onto the mattress, tangling their legs together. “I wish you could stay.”

“Me, too,” she muttered, words muffled against his skin. “When will I see you again?”

“I dunno. Depends on if Skye found what she was looking for in New York, and if I can trace those chemicals, and....” He let the words fade away, both of them knowing that there were half a dozen other “ifs” keeping him here. 

“Are you sure I can’t he–” 

“Not until they’ve been caught.”

After debating whether or not arguing with him was worth it, Jemma let out an indignant huff and then sighed. “We have the worst timing.” 

“I know,” he murmured, breath feathering the hair at her temple, “it’s like we’re cursed, or... or something.” 

She groaned, swatting her hand against his chest. “You and your superstitions,” she teased. “You’re supposed to be a scientist.”

“I am a scientist,” he grumbled. “But I wait my whole life to find you, and you like me back, and then you have to leave. It’s crap.” She was smiling before he finished speaking, and he stared down at her, puzzled. “What?”

“Your whole life?”

“Oh.” Fitz cleared his throat, glanced away and then back again. “Uh, yeah. Feels like it.”

“Me, too,” she whispered back, stretching up to brush their noses together. His smile was all breathless awe and excitement and Jemma was pretty sure she’d never-ever tire of him looking at her like that.

Another flash of sadness passed over his face, and he pulled her in against his chest, burying his face in her hair. “Come back to me,” Fitz whispered, voice unsteady. 

“As soon as I can.” As she pressed her face against his skin, breathing him in, Jemma hoped above all else that she wouldn’t have to – that one day, he’d be free.

Chapter Text

The six days passed so quickly Jemma almost considered agreeing with Fitz’s varying superstitions about their poor luck. He spent very little time at his house and lab, despite her insistence that she wanted him to continue to do his work. Instead, he spent most of his time by her side, occasionally unsubtly probing her with questions about the chemical components with which he’d been having problems. A part of her was faintly impressed with the ambling directions his questioning took as he attempted to keep her as unaware of his work as possible – he really was quite clever. Of course, so was she, and they both knew precisely what he was doing, which suited Jemma well enough. She couldn’t stop herself from resenting not being allowed to truly help, but since she was preoccupied with her own job the closer her departure date came, it was just as well.

In addition to their respective work during that last week, they spent as much time together as possible, staying virtually glued to each other’s sides (and various other body parts) the whole time. Fitz’s touches became almost familiar, and she learned that he liked it when she played with his hair, and a hundred other things she couldn’t stop herself from cataloguing. The idea of being separated from him indefinitely was slowly – or not so slowly – eating her from the inside out.

The hired car arrived after dark on Christmas Eve, headlights bouncing dismally into view along the muddy road and sending Jemma into a tizzy to collect all of her things. Although Fitz had offered to drive her to Glasgow, she’d already paid for the car with a round-trip fare and demurred. Besides, the idea of a long drive during which they’d inevitably devolve into strained silence filled her with dread. 

They’d spent the afternoon curled up on the couch, with her lying against his chest and his arms encircling her stomach, and talked and talked and talked. And kissed sometimes, too, although each one felt more bittersweet than the last.

No longer pristine, as it had been for the previous four weeks, the cottage’s living room was an upended mess, as Jemma had allowed him to convince her to spend a few more minutes cuddling on the couch rather than cleaning. (He’d insisted that he’d tidy up for Skye, and, even though she was fairly sure he was lying, she couldn’t bring herself to refuse.) The fire burned brightly in the hearth, although its flickering light was now making her feel anxious rather than calm.

As she checked for her passport for the third time, Fitz stopped her with both hands on her shoulders. “Hey, c’mon, you’re gonna be late –”

“I know,” she said, trying to fight the bizarre sense of panic welling in her chest. “I know, but I – I just keep seeing these terrible scenarios in my head, where those people can’t be caught, where I never see you again, where –” 

“What if –” His eyes were wide as they met hers, and his jaw worked silently. A few moments passed between them, and his fingers tightened against the wool of her cardigan. “I have – I’ve got a different scenario. I’m in love with you.”

Her mind went blank, eyes filling with tears as she processed what he’d said. With every fiber of her being, she wished it were that simple.

“That’s not actually a scenario,” she mumbled, cringing even as the words left her mouth.

Fitz frowned, dropping his hands. “Is that really your reaction?” 

“No,” she said miserably, jumping at the loud honk from the car outside. “No, I just – Fitz, I –”

“‘Cause if that’s your first reaction, then maybe –” 

“Fitz,” she let out in a soft cry, reaching out to grasp his hand, “it’s killing me that I have to leave you.” She wanted to say something, anything else, but now was the worst time in the world for her to determine or declare what she felt for Fitz. It seemed foolish to pretend otherwise. 

“I know,” he sighed, pulling her in and allowing her to tuck her head beneath his chin, “I know.”

“I’m really going to miss you.” Her voice was low and miserable, a sob just barely kept in check.

“Yeah. Me, too.” 

His lips brushed down from her forehead to her cheek to her lips, and as she tried to pour all she felt into that kiss, Jemma had the dim realization that they were standing mere inches from where they’d first kissed the night that she’d arrived. How different everything seemed now. 

As he pulled away to reach for her suitcase, his brows drew adorably together. “I meant that I’d miss you, not –”

“I know,” she said, letting out a brief laugh and squeezing his wrist.

When they stepped through the front door, the driver was already halfway up the walk, and he brusquely took her two enormous roller bags before returning to the car. Jemma halted at the edge of the stoop, studying Fitz’s face and searching for the right way to say goodbye. If there even was one.

“Go on then,” he said, and the brave smile he gave her almost hurt more than the desperate expression he’d worn in the hallway. “Go be brilliant, Jemma Simmons. You don’t need me for that.”

No, she thought, allowing her fingers to slip from his at last. But I want you.

“I’ll call you,” she replied at last, walking backwards down the cobblestone path. She paused, blinking up at where thick flakes of snow had just begun to fall, before meeting his gaze again. “Actually, I’ll probably text you – I hate traveling, the waiting’s always boring as sin. And the planes –”

“Never have movies you wanna see –”

“In a hundred channels,” she finished, both of them letting out a low chuckle. The driver held the door open for her, and she turned back again. Fitz stood under the stoop, arms crossed against the chill and a small halo of light from the hall silhouetting his curls. “Goodbye, Fitz.” 

“Bye, Jemma,” he said, raising one hand in a half-wave.

Knowing she couldn’t linger any longer, she twisted quickly into her seat, shut the door, and clicked her seatbelt into place. As the driver coaxed the car forward on the increasingly slippery road, Jemma couldn’t shake the feeling that she was leaving the truest home she’d ever known.

------

More than inconvenient weather or life-changing decisions, Jemma Simmons really hated being wrong.

Snow whirled outside the windows of the hired car, headlights wavering as the wheels tried to gain traction. Eyeing the driver from the backseat, she hunkered down in her jacket, heart pounding and not because of the storm that might make her miss her flight from Glasgow to London. If she missed that flight, she would surely miss her connection to New York and therefore the meeting that could determine the future of her entire career.

Strangely, however, the pull she felt was not to the city she had called home for the past half a decade, but to the quaint little village she’d just left. Jemma swiped angrily at a tear that rolled down her cheek. A month ago, she’d promised herself that she wouldn’t get attached to anything while on this whirlwind escape from her real life. But now she couldn’t get the vacation out of her head, and she hated how much she wanted to escape again, hated how her familiar old life didn’t feel like it was enough for her anymore. For the first time ever, she hadn’t been alone. 

Hadn’t been, of course, until she’d left Perthshire half an hour ago. 

She had been telling herself for days that sticking to her plans to return and complete her proposal was the right decision, but now she found that she’d never felt less sure. Her feelings were stupid, she tried convincing herself. One person couldn’t change her life so completely. Never wanting to be without someone just didn’t make any sense after only knowing Fitz for a month. Just because she loved him, that didn’t mean her world had to revolve around him.

Jemma blinked, another couple of tears slithering down her cheeks, and stared hard at the dark leather back of the driver’s seat. Just because she loved him.... Did she? Was that really the particular brand of warmth she felt bloom in her chest every time she thought of him? Everything she’d ever thought about relationships and emotions told her that she shouldn’t know that so definitively after such a short period of time. Love at first sight, at first kiss, at first snark didn’t exist.

But what if, said a quiet voice at the back of her mind, it’s okay that I’m not sure? What if “maybe” is enough?

The expression on Fitz’s face when he’d made his confession in the brightly-lit hallway of the cottage floated into her head, and she realized that along with a sort of open hopefulness there had also been a distinct layer of fear. He’d been terrified to confess what he was feeling – just as she was terrified to admit that what she felt for him was love. Had that really been what she’d felt growing all along?

If so, was it an all-consuming, permanent, flawless kind of love? It was too early for her to know. But what Jemma did know was that she’d never find out if she flew halfway across the world without him. 

She groaned, covered her face with her hands, and bent over her knees, the seatbelt whizzing forward at her sharp movement. Going back to Fitz now would make her feel good in the short term, but what about her work? The meeting scheduled for the day after Christmas was potentially the second most important of her entire career up until this point. Her team had been diligently working during her absence, collaborating with her remotely as they carefully followed her advice and design, but they were simply not qualified to present the proposal without her.

Then again, she knew now that her design was almost certainly lacking an engineer’s perspective. As she’d talked with Fitz over the past month – about anything other than her classified work – the conclusion that she’d reached during her own research had begun to seem woefully lacking in a few key areas. If she could make the argument to SHIELD that her defense system would be improved by additional consulting, perhaps they would agree to push back the proposal’s presentation. 

A dozen other problems flitted through her head – including the fact that Fitz was still considered persona non grata, Trip’s suspicion of his innocence notwithstanding – but a hesitant smile worked its way onto her face nonetheless. If she went back now, she could tell Fitz how she felt. She could wipe away the uncertainty and despair that she’d seen on his face, and she could start collecting data on the love she felt for him. Was it soft or rash or fast? Was it thoughtful or passionate? Was it the forever kind?

Most of all, if she went back to Fitz now, he wouldn’t be alone on Christmas. That had been what pained her most as she watched him through the car’s rear window, hunching his shoulders against the cold and turning to go back inside the cottage. He’d spent the past five months beating himself up for a terrorist attack that wasn’t his fault, isolating himself from family and most friends just to keep them safe. Fitz didn’t deserve to spend the holiday alone, too. 

“Turn around,” Jemma found herself saying, adrenaline thrumming through her veins. She’d never been more certain of anything as she was that she had to get back to him as soon as possible. “Turn the car around.” 

“Are you insane?” The driver flicked his eyes up to look at her in the rearview mirror, auburn eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“I’ll pay you the full fare, and extra – just turn around!” 

“Look outside, miss! It’s a bloody blizzard out there, I can’t just –”

With a loud honk, the driver laid on the brakes and Jemma jerked forward, only prevented from slamming into the seat by the tight grip of the safety belt. As he swore, she stared past him through the windshield at the colorful lights reflected beyond. Through the snowstorm she hadn’t truly noticed developing – too preoccupied had she been with thoughts of Fitz – were a bevvy of police vehicles, stopping traffic on both sides of the narrow road.

Her heart thudded in her chest, a number of terrifying new “what-ifs” zipping through her head, and she thought wildly that she’d walk back to him now if she had to. Going back to what she’d left had never seemed more important.

“We’re never getting around this,” the driver muttered, slapping his hand impatiently against the wheel.

“When you can,” Jemma insisted, leaning forward in her seat, “just turn around.” 

“But –”

“I don’t care what it costs. I need to get back to Perthshire. I need to go home.”

------

It took the police so long to clear the accident and then for the driver to navigate the increasingly perilous roads that it was nearly midnight by the time the car pulled up outside Rosehill’s familiar wooden gate. The delay, of course, completely ruined the timing of Jemma’s one attempt at a grand romantic gesture. Judging by the closed blinds and lack of light inside the cottage, Fitz had long since closed up and returned to his own house. After pressing a healthy tip into the driver’s hand in addition to his exorbitant fare, she unearthed the spare key from a deserted flowerpot and unlocked the front door. Once she had unloaded her belongings, she would decide whether or not she should go wake Fitz up.

As she dragged her bags into the hallway, though, she was surprised to see the reflection of flames flickering over the whitewashed walls. Pulse speeding up, Jemma stepped into view of the living room. To her surprise, the room was neater than it had been when she’d arrived a month prior; he’d kept his promise to tidy up after all. 

Fitz was on the couch’s end closest to the fire, and although he had likely been slouched on it seconds before, now he was staring at her as if he’d seen a ghost. An empty beer bottle slid from his fingers to thud dully on the carpet, rolling away before clanking against a table leg. 

“J-Jemma,” he breathed, lurching up out of his seat.

The small clock on the mantelpiece let out its familiar, shrill little ding, and she couldn’t help the nervous laugh that skittered out of her throat. “Home in time for Christmas,” she said, voice quiet and hands trembling as she watched him stride over to her.

His hands came up to cup her jaw, steady and warm against her chilled skin. With a tight clench of her heart, she realized that his cheeks were blotchy and his eyes red-rimmed – he’d been crying in her absence.

“What are... wait. Home?” He switched thoughts mid-sentence, brain catching hold of her joke as he seemingly attempted to memorize her face. The way his thumbs brushed so gently against her skin made her want to melt into him, and she allowed one hand to curl around his wrist, leaning into his touch.

“If you’ll have me.”

Fitz inhaled, eyes lighting up even as his brows furrowed in thought. “But – what about – your job, and your....”

“I don’t know, Fitz,” she whispered, blinking back the joyful tears that threatened. “I don’t. I don’t know the mathematics of this, of us, but I – I know....” Jemma exhaled, pushing past her irrational fear for the sake of the man who stood before her now. “I know that I’m in love with you.”

A disbelieving laugh escaped his throat, fingers flexing against her skin, and he surged forward to meet her lips with his, pressing in again and again until she was breathless and smiling against him.

“Are you sure?” He searched her face, one hand sliding to the back of her head as he brushed their noses together. Fitz’s expression was lighter than she’d ever seen it, nearly ecstatic, lapis irises shining in the firelight, and warmth spread through her at the knowledge that she alone was responsible for making him so happy. “You’ve got your career, and – and it’s not safe here with me, you could –”

“Don’t argue with me,” she retorted, smiling against his lips, and he wrapped his arms so tightly around her that she was lifted onto her tiptoes.

“I’d give up the world for you, Jemma Simmons,” he said at last, kissing her in the middle of his own sentence. “But I honestly dunno if I can promise not to argue.” 

She giggled, tracing her thumb along his flushed bottom lip. “Just for now, then. Just for tonight.” 

“Now that,” he murmured, brushing his lips softly against hers, “I think I can do.” 

At last, the knot of tension that had been lodged in Jemma’s belly for days dissipated, and she let out another small laugh, scratching at the hairline on his nape. Figuring how they’d work things out was beyond her as of yet, but she knew now that they’d work through it all side by side. He would fight to stay with her just as much as she would fight for him. As far as Jemma was concerned, Fitz holding her and knowing that he’d never let her go felt like the perfect start to the Christmas they both deserved.

------

After celebrating into the wee hours of Christmas morning, both Jemma and Fitz lounged in bed far past when either normally would. She awoke to him murmuring sweetly into her ear, which was in itself unusual because he almost always slept later than she did. The snow was piled outside but his hands were warm beneath the covers, holding her tightly as she faded into consciousness.

“Happy Christmas,” he whispered, pressing butterfly kisses along her neck. “I love you.”

“I love you back.” Her voice was thick with sleep, but a smile stretched across her face anyway. Oh, how Jemma enjoyed being able to say that to him now; it was a distinct kind of freedom, to love and know she was loved in return.

At some point, she knew she would have to get up and follow up on the quick emails she’d sent her boss and team about postponing the meeting, but the bed was far more enticing. Although they spent a long, sleepy time cuddling, naked limbs entwined upon the bed, eventually Fitz had other ideas. Ever since she’d returned the night before he’d seemingly been unable to stop touching her, as if she’d disappear if he did. One hand began to work between her thighs, teasingly and then more insistently, and she shivered, parting her legs for him. If that’s how he wanted to spend their first Christmas morning together (of hopefully many more), she certainly wasn’t going to argue.

The doorbell rang shrilly through the cottage, and they both turned to stare at each other. Fitz shook his head at her silent question, and she sighed as he removed his hand.

“We’ll finish this later,” he murmured, hot breath skating over her skin before he placed a kiss to her shoulder.

Jemma had her robe on before Fitz could locate his boxers – which had somehow ended up hanging from the chandelier in the hall – and she peered at the figure waiting on the other side of the door. She couldn’t see a face through the small square of mottled glass, but the figure was dark, still, and sent a chill up her spine. After all this time, what if she had somehow led the people Fitz was hiding from straight to him? 

“Fitz,” she whispered, waving him over as he pulled on an undershirt. “Do you....”

He squinted at the front door, then padded into the living room to peek through the curtains. A large woosh of air left his lungs, and he turned to her with a disbelieving smile. “Thank Christ.”

Before she could even properly frown, he bounded around her to yank open the front door. “Agent May! What a bloody relief.”

On the front stoop stood an East Asian woman with straight black hair, aviator sunglasses, and a leather jacket that couldn’t possibly be warm enough in this climate. A manila envelope was tucked primly beneath one arm.

“Agent Fitz,” she said, striding past him into the hallway and smoothly removing the glasses.

“Well, I’m not actually an agent right n–”

“All is well, I assume?” The woman looked Jemma up and down, expression one of curiosity more than judgment, although Jemma snugged her robe tighter around herself anyway.

“Yeah, yeah,” Fitz said, padding forward to stand by Jemma. “No one knows I’m here. Safe place, wilds of Scotland.” May raised an eyebrow, tilted her head in Jemma’s direction, and Fitz winced. “Ah, yeah, sorry, this is Jemma Si–” 

“I know who she is,” May interrupted, “but she might like to know who I am.”

“Right.” Turning to Jemma, he exhaled. “This is Agent Melinda May. She’s with SHIELD, but she, um....”

“I work outside of the system.” 

“Yeah, that. She helped me ‘n Skye get out of America after Koenig... y’know.”

“I’ve been running my own investigation, outside of SHIELD’s normal protocols,” May said, tucking the sunglasses into an inside pocket of her jacket. With what was almost a smile, she handed Fitz the envelope. “Congratulations, Agent Fitz. You’ve been reinstated.” 

Jemma stepped forward, reaching out instinctively. “What, truly?”

With an odd sort of jerk, Fitz snatched the folder from May’s hand and ripped it open, striding past her into the kitchen to read its contents.

“Agent John Garrett is being held by the London SHIELD headquarters for questioning –”

“That bastard?” Fitz sunk into one of the kitchen chairs, eyes glued to the papers in his hand. “All I did was report some shoddy chain of custody records for the weapons division, it had nothing –”

“Seems Garrett had bigger plans for SHIELD,” May explained. “We found evidence of him collaborating with someone inside the Rising Tide, a protégé of his. You were a convenient scapegoat to throw us off his trail. I’ve been on the hunt for a mole for a long time.” 

A bark of laughter escaped Fitz’s throat, and he glanced up, papers trembling ever-so-slightly in his hands. “Figures,” he rasped out. “Always was too fond of the Mouse Hole – he kept asking how it worked. No one ever cares how my devices work.” 

“So Fitz is really free?” May turned towards Jemma, who was trying to sublimate the urge to jump foolishly around in excitement. “He can go home?”

“In a manner of speaking.” When May glanced over at Fitz this time, a distinct expression of mirth hovered around her eyes. “SHIELD expects you at its New York office as soon as the holidays are over. You’ve been transferred there indefinitely. We still need to understand that bomb, and Director Fury wants you to consult on a defense project currently being headed by one of the world’s foremost chemists, a recent Nobel laureate.”

“Oh, Fitz,” Jemma breathed, feeling almost lightheaded from all the good news being piled upon them at once. 

“Agent May.” He looked up from the papers to stare at her, stunned. “How can I possibly....”

Breaking eye contact, May glanced down at the thin silver watch on her wrist. “You might want to stay here for the next two hours. I’m needed at your house to oversee the collection of the dangerous and classified research you were most definitely not doing out here.” When he shot up, looking panicked, she raised one hand to head him off. “The research that SHIELD is ‘not’ in the process of collecting will be ready for you at your new lab in New York in a week’s time. If you’ll excuse me –”

Before the other woman could reach the front door, Jemma darted forward and grabbed her wrist. “Thank you,” she said, unsure how else to convey to this complete stranger just how much she owed her. How much they both owed her. “Thank you so much.”

A strange expression passed over May’s face and she nodded, glancing back at Fitz with a small quirk of her lips. “I’ll be back in a couple hours. And – Merry Christmas.” Then she slipped nearly silently out the door, even the hinges not making their usual squeaks. 

The sound of papers fluttering to the floor caught Jemma’s attention, but before she could fully turn around Fitz had swept her into his arms. “I can go home,” he muttered into her hair, fresh tears wetting his cheeks. “Oh thank God, I can go home.” 

“It’s over,” she breathed, laughing in disbelieving joy. Her heart was racing as if she’d just done a mile sprint, and everything felt faintly unreal.

They clung to each other in the hallway of Rosehill Cottage on Christmas morning, both unable to believe their luck. A part of Jemma wanted to brag to Fitz about how wrong he’d been, that clearly they weren’t cursed, but instead she just squeezed her arms tighter around him. There would be enough time for teasing later. Right now she just wanted to enjoy holding him in her arms and knowing that this time, she definitely didn’t have to let go.

------

March 8th

Jemma rounded the archway into the cottage’s kitchen, kitten heels clicking neatly on the wooden floor and her royal purple skirt swishing around her ankles. Even though she was holding his favorite bottle of wine, having just retrieved it from the living room, Fitz only had eyes for her. He was already seated at the table, one hand looped around the back of her chair as he awaited her return. 

“Alright, Simmons,” Skye said, sliding into her seat at the table and tugging Trip into the one next to her. “Let’s get this party started!” 

Rolling her eyes, Jemma handed the bottle off to Fitz in exchange for a brief kiss.

“Have I said yet that you look beautiful?” 

A blush faded into her cheeks at his open appraisal, wondering if she’d ever truly get used to the way he watched her. “Twice,” she teased, laughing at the grumble he made as he reached for the corkscrew. “Just think of it like you’re building up credit.”

Fitz hummed, removing the cork with a swift pull and pop. “That sounds promising.”

Letting out an indistinct noise of disgust, Skye held up her glass to be filled. “Could you not flirt with my baby half-brother while I’m in the room, please?” 

“He’s not actually your brother –” Jemma started, at the same time that Fitz spoke.

“I’m older than you are.”

Trip glanced between Skye and Fitz, sharing an amused look with Jemma. “They do know that they’re not actually related, right?” 

“Feels like we are, sometimes,” Fitz muttered, shooting Skye a wry grin. She stuck her tongue out in response and he ignored her, continuing to pour the rest of the wine.

Two months had passed since the Christmas morning that had changed everything. Jemma and Fitz had spent most of it working around the clock in New York, first on finally reverse-engineering the Mouse Bomb and then on improving Jemma’s original designs for the defense system. With being called upon to supervise the implementation of the system in every SHIELD office around the globe, they were running themselves ragged. But since the work required them to be around each other virtually twenty-four hours a day, neither seemed to mind. 

After having just completed the upgrade at the SHIELD facility in London, they’d traveled up to Perthshire to help Skye bid farewell to the cottage. The four of them planned on spending the next day packing up her few belongings for her return to Los Angeles, although Jemma suspected that she might not stay there for long. Trip kept unsubtly reminding Skye about all the things she’d liked about living in New York, and even she had mentioned that having different seasons had been a welcome change.

Fitz had happily adjusted to living in New York, and, much to Jemma’s delight, he seemed content to continue living with her. She’d offered him a room at her flat when he’d first arrived, to allow them to spend more time working rather than house hunting. They’d finished the project and neither one ever mentioned him leaving; besides, there was plenty of space in the flat for him. He rarely even used his own room.

Overall, things were going so well that Jemma couldn’t believe it sometimes. Where her flat overlooking Central Park had once felt preternaturally silent and detached, now it felt warm and bright all the time, thanks to Fitz’s presence. It wasn’t quite as precious as the cottage, but as it had Fitz it was more than satisfactory. The idea of ever having lived happily there without him felt unnatural to her, even after such a short time. 

Tonight, though, she had an agenda other than simply celebrating with her friends – as long as she could steel her nerves to bring it up.

Once everyone had a full glass, Skye tapped a knife against hers, the sound ringing through the cozy downstairs. “A toast, a toast,” she said, grinning and looking around at each of them in turn. 

Fitz cleared his throat and stood, clumsily pushing back his chair. “I’m, ah, not great with speeches,” he said, tugging at the collar of his button-down. “But I just wanted to say that you were all there for me when I didn’t have anyone else – well,” he paused, frowning. “Except for Trip. I mean, you were dead helpful, but I’d never actually met you –”

“I get it, buddy,” Trip chuckled, waving him on. “Keep going.”

“Skye,” Fitz said, “I’d probably be dead if it weren’t for you –” 

“Way to keep it cheerful, Fitz,” she deadpanned, but her smile was warm nonetheless.

“Thank you for finding me,” he finished, raising his glass in her direction. Then he turned to his left and met Jemma’s gaze, the smile he reserved just for her spreading across his face. “Jemma.” Unable to help herself, she reached over and took his free hand, angling herself more fully towards him. “I cannot imagine my life without you,” he said simply, eyes roving over her face.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Skye said, grinning as she interrupted the moment. 

Rolling his eyes, Fitz looked across the table to her. “What?” 

“Seriously? You think it was an accident that the person I swapped homes with was a hot biochemist who had a thing for Scotland?”

Jemma’s cheeks warmed as Fitz groaned, and Trip unsubtly nudged his girlfriend under the table. “Hey, you’re cramping the man’s style.”

“Yeah,” Fitz said, his ears now bright red, “I’ve lost my place, now.” 

“Here, let me.” Jemma stood up, bumping her shoulder affectionately against Fitz’s as she held her glass in front of her. “To old friends,” she said, looking at Trip, “to new friends –” she tipped her glass towards Skye “– and to best friends,” she finished, giving Fitz a warm smile.

Everyone cheered and here-here’d, and glasses clinked around the table. As they returned to their seats, Fitz leaned over to Jemma, nose wrinkling a little. “We’re a bit more than that, though, yeah?” 

“You could say that,” she teased back, leaning over to press her lips softly against his. He hummed, sneaking one more kiss before pulling away and settling into his seat. “Before we eat....” The others paused with their hands over the steaming dishes, and Fitz’s unselfconscious pout made her chuckle. “I just – I have one more thing I’d like to tell you all.” Taking in a small breath, Jemma smoothed her hands over the satin of her skirt to settle the strange nerves in the pit of her stomach. “I learned before I returned to New York in January that the owner intended to put this cottage up for sale once your lease was up, and after a little bit of thinking, and consulting with my financial advisor....” She turned to see Fitz staring at her, mouth wide open, clearly having guessed where the rest of her sentence was going. “I bought it.”

“Damn, girl,” Trip said, reaching immediately for the bread rolls. “You really do have a thing for Scotland, huh?”

“It’s the kilts,” Skye murmured, eyes glazing over a bit. “Something about the plaid....” 

“Seriously?”

“It’s a girl thing, don’t question it.”

As the other two tucked in to the food, Jemma angled herself more fully towards Fitz, who was still staring at her with a vaguely dumbstruck expression on his face. “I wanted it to be a surprise,” she said quietly, searching his eyes for any clue as to how he felt about her somewhat impulsive purchase. Although they’d both been implying that their relationship was serious for some time now, this was more overt and it made her nerves tingle. “It doesn’t – it doesn’t have to mean anything, if you don’t want it to, but we were so happy here, and I couldn’t stand the idea of someone else ever having it after that, and I thought maybe we could come here during holidays, and your mum’s only an hour away, but if you don’t want to ever come back and be reminded of that horrible time I would completely –”

His lips crashed into hers so hard that she was knocked back a little, and she let out a small whine of pain. “Sorry,” he breathed, leaning their foreheads together and curling his fingers into her hair. “Sorrysorry, but I just – that’s brilliant, Jemma, it is. I’d love to come back out here with you. Holidays, whenever.”

Sucking her slightly bruised bottom lip into her mouth, she smiled shyly up at him. “You don’t think it’s... rash?”

“Maybe a little,” he laughed, earning him a light shove. “But I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.”

“Good,” Jemma said. With another kiss – an intentionally gentle one this time – she turned back to her very empty plate, although she was distracted by the wry amusement on Skye’s face. 

“I feel like we’re competing for most sickeningly cute couple,” she said, tapping her fingers against the table, “and losing to the two biggest nerds in the universe.” 

“To be fair,” Trip replied, mouth full of steak, “they’re pretty damn adorable.”

“And excuse me,” Jemma retorted, unable to help her indignation, “who are you calling nerds? Didn’t you tell me that Trip seduced you by promising to show you his grandfather’s old equipment?” 

“Equipment,” Fitz repeated, nodding. “Good move.” 

Trip shrugged. “Wasn’t a move. I just like tech.”

Jemma made a noise of triumph and gestured grandly across the table. “See?”

Reaching for the green bean platter, Skye stuck her nose in the air. “What can I say – he’s got nice equipment.”

Fitz and Jemma groaned, both professing that they really didn’t want to know, and Trip rolled his eyes. They devolved into chatter about Jemma’s plans for the house while she was living in New York, all of them taking second helpings that they would inevitably regret later. (Except for Fitz, whose stomach knew no such limits.) As she talked about hiring a property manager, she caught Fitz’s eye again, enamored of the way he kept smiling at her in between large bites of food. 

During a lull, she reached over to twist their fingers together and he lifted their hands up to press a soft kiss against the back of hers. Knowing that Fitz was happy about her purchase settled the last vestiges of any nerves Jemma felt; it seemed right that they would keep the home where they’d fallen in love.

Although they had to leave Rosehill Cottage soon to get back to work, it would be waiting for them to return whenever they were ready.

------

The End