Chapter Text
The elevator doors closed behind them, leaving them truly alone for the first time in what felt like hours. Since their presentation earlier in the Stark Tower ballroom, Jemma and Fitz been peppered with non-stop questions about their Holotable and its extension, the Echo Chamber.
“Did you see that?” Fitz asked, pressing up alongside her, his fingers casually feathering hers. “They liked the names I chose.”
“That you chose?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow as she pressed the button for the ground floor. “If we’d gone with what you’d originally wanted they’d be named Touch Table and Electric Library. They’d have laughed us out of the building!”
“Those were good names. I just thought of better ones, is all!”
Jemma laughed amicably and curled her arm around his, letting her hand slide into his. “We did good though, didn’t we?”
He smiled easily and squeezed her hand. “We did.”
Their joint effort to improve and stabilize the femtosecond laser had resulted in the publication of their findings in a myriad of scientific journals. Soon, their collaboration had become the top news in the scientific community and various government organizations-- both public and secret-- were clamoring for a demonstration. Stark Industries had agreed to sponsor the event and hundreds of buyers had shown up, ready to offer them development bids.
“From what Hunter said, it seems like we’re really going to have quite the decision on our hands,” Fitz said.
“Good! You deserve it.”
He nudged her and tugged on her hand. “ We deserve it.”
She turned, pushed up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips. Fitz’s body shifted slightly and he released her hand in order to cup her jaw and further deepen the kiss.
She sighed contentedly when they parted. “You know, we met in this lift,” she whispered, revelling in the press of his body against hers.
Fitz let his fingers linger in her hair. “We did,” he agreed breathily. “And you drove me to distraction then as well.”
His hands started to slide down over her clothes and toward the small of her back as he leaned in and kissed her again. Jemma wondered selfishly if Stark’s elevators were under video surveillance. Just as she was about to suggest that Fitz channel his technical wizardry into cutting the feed, she was taken by surprise when he pulled away abruptly.
She pouted dramatically before giving him a quizzical look.
“Where’s the brooch?” he asked, tugging gently on the lapel of her blazer. “I rather like that brooch.”
Jemma grinned and hooked her arm at his waist and leaned into him. “You like it because you get lucky when it’s near.”
She could feel him smile against her hair. “That’s a good enough reason to like something.”
“Skye asked for it back. She met someone and thought she needed luck.”
“Oh? Really? Here?” He pulled away slightly to look at her more squarely. “It’s not Tony Stark, is it? Cause I don’t know if that’s--”
She shook her head, stopping him mid-sentence and Fitz relaxed back into her. “He works for the government, Antoine something-or-other. He was cute.” She could feel Fitz shift against her and she nudged him lightly in the side. “Oh, don’t be jealous. You’re cuter! I told her she didn’t need luck; he couldn’t tear his eyes from her. But she insisted that I owed her a favour.”
“Still?”
Jemma chuckled as the doors to the elevator slid open, revealing the ground floor. “You ripped her dress!”
Fitz relaxed his hold and Jemma stepped away from his embrace and exited the elevator car with Fitz at her side. “That’s not entirely my fault. You looked too good in it, what was I supposed to do?”
“Fine,” she relented, laughingly. “ We ripped the dress. In any case, I told her there was no such thing as luck.”
They pushed through the front doors of Stark Tower and exited onto the sidewalk. She reached her hand out and tugged at Fitz’s coat, stopping him. He turned toward her, eyes questioning.
“I think I live too close to Stark Tower,” she said slyly, a flirtatious grin on her lips as she recalled their first encounter.
He stepped closer and rested his hands comfortably on her hips. “Quite right,” he agreed with a devilish grin. “And unlike that night, I’m rather grateful for it.”
Fitz tilted his head toward her and Jemma pressed her palm against his chest, keeping him at a distance. “I thought you wanted to go back to the lab,” she teased, “see what offers had come in on the Holotable; begin working on the retrievers…” She tipped her chin, knowingly. “You had plans.”
“As is always the case with us,” he said, tugging her close, “plans change.”
“Plans change?”
He nodded. “I'd never dreamed I'd be publishing and presenting anything with Jemma Simmons; never fathomed it.”
“Oh?”
“And now I'm going to be dodging work in favour of walking her to her blessedly-nearby flat.”
“I suppose you think you’re invited?” she continued to tease.
“Hm?” He raised his eyebrows with a knowing smirk.
“You know that I only let respected authors like Leopold Fitz into my flat.”
“Oh, really?” His throaty brogue dipped to a lower register. “Well then I guess it's a good thing that I’m on such good terms with him.”
She snuggled against him, relishing in the warmth he provided from the cold. “You are, are you? What a coincidence!”
“There’s this thing my girlfriend has on occasion,” he shrugged dismissively as he combed an errant piece of Jemma’s hair behind her ear with his fingers. “It brings me luck that way.”
She opened her mouth to protest but before she could utter a word, Fitz’s mouth settled on hers and he kissed her soundly.
When they parted there was a noticeable, mischievous, sparkle in Jemma’s eyes.
“What?” he asked curiously.
She put her hand into her blazer pocket and pulled out the now familiar snowman brooch.
Fitz stepped back, surprise etched on his face. “How--? I thought you said you’d given it to Skye.” He narrowed his eyes. “Did you steal it from her?”
Jemma smiled and shook her head. “I said she’d asked for it. Not that I’d given it back.”
He stared at her, stunned into silence.
“Why would I give it back?” she continued, grinning more broadly. “I’ve been told that it’s lucky...”
He raised an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t believe in luck.”
“Well,” she began suggestively, narrowing the gap between them. “Sometimes all you need is enough empirical evidence in order for something to be proven true…”