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Simmons’ POV of “Five Times Fitz Would Have, and One Time He Did.” I couldn’t resist posting this before the mid-season finale.
Enjoy!
-K
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She thought him cute, in a quirky way, the moment she laid eyes on him.
She did her best to guard her facial expressions when Leo Fitz introduced himself, wary of giving any indication that she already knew who he was. Of course she had already gone through the online materials and had identified each of her fellow applicants; it was simply in her nature. She knew that Leo Fitz was not only the only other applicant with qualifications that could rival her own, but he was also the only other applicant in their year from the UK.
She’d been dying to meet him, but hadn’t been able to find a way to approach him.
Luckily he had taken the initiative, bringing over two bottles of Newcastle for them to share before launching into a story about how he nearly burned down his dorm at MIT with his personal experiments at all of 16. Their conversation was easy, and all but eliminated any of her remaining homesickness.
The fact that said relief came with a pair of bright blue eyes and sandy blonde curls didn’t hurt anything, either.
So, when he offered to walk her home, Simmons turned up the charm, touching him lightly on the arm and giving a demure chuckle at his jokes as they made their way back to her quarters. When it came time to say goodnight, she invited him in for tea and waited with baited breath for him to take her up on the offer.
When he merely bid her goodnight and said he hoped to see her in their organic chemistry lecture the next day, she was hopelessly perplexed.
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If she was honest with herself, Simmons would admit that she had only moved in with Fitz after their early graduation because she was hoping for a bit of a romantic comedy as a result.
In her fantasy, he would become so entirely enamored of her that he would cease flirting with every female specialist that happened through their lab. She figured her being there for him constantly and cooking every once in a while couldn’t hurt matters either.
But when he persisted in ignoring her feminine attributes, she saw no reason not to accept dates from the men who did pay attention to her. So, when other researchers, specialists, professors, and even a few of her older students, came calling, she gladly accepted and allowed herself to be wined and dined. Without fail, each date would wind down on the loveseat in the common room of the flat she shared with Fitz.
She allowed these men to kiss her and coax soft moans from her throat while Fitz sat on the other side of the wall. Wishing he would hear it and would fly into a jealous rage was childish, she knew, but she just couldn’t bring herself to stop her behavior.
Until she moaned his name while kissing a man whose name was most definitely not “Leo.”
She put herself on a dating hiatus then and there.
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She wanted to hate the women Leo brought home.
She wanted to think of them as bimbos or slags or shallow. But they were all highly-qualified S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, and she was forced to admit her jealousy.
She felt her heart break a little with each new girl he brought around, but did her best to keep up her chipper attitude. She had dated. Fitz could date to his heart’s content. He wasn’t romantically tied to her in any way, shape or form.
At least that’s what she told herself while she cried into her pillow as quietly as she could and wished he’d pull his head out of his arse.
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She wasn’t sure what had gotten into her, but she suddenly had a wild streak that couldn’t be tamed.
Well, wild for her. It wasn’t as if she had been doing lines of cocaine off of a male stripper’s abs or had been arrested or jaywalked or anything of that sort. No, tying one on at the pub down the street and getting a tattoo was where Jemma Simmons drew the line.
She told herself that the tattoo had been to commemorate their acceptance onto Coulson’s team. A noticeable reaction when she stripped in front of Fitz would merely be icing on the cake.
He didn’t disappoint her when it came to that at least.
Fitz, who was talkative while sober and a downright motor mouth with the liberal application of liquor, was struck dumb after she had taken off her shirt. Before then he had been full of protests about the cleanliness of the shop and why-would-she-get-a-tattoo-anyway type questions. But as soon as her shirt had come off, he was nearly mute; he could barely carry on their conversation past monosyllabic grunts. The only thing that remained steady was the feeling of his eyes boring into her.
She was so pleased with the result that two hours later, once her tattoo was completed, she asked him to come closer and take a look.
Her heart has sped up with each of his approaching footsteps, and she hadn’t been able to breathe when she felt the heat that was radiating from his body hit her bare back. But her undoing was when he reverently whispered, “It’s beautiful, Jem,” and his warm breath washed across her shoulder and neck. She felt her nipples tighten in response and wished he would kiss her, take her, or do anything that would force them to acknowledge the looming attraction.
Instead, she heard his retreating footsteps and she grasped for anything to keep him there in the moment.
“You should get one yourself, Fitz. This is a big event in our lives. Commemorate it.”
When he made an excuse and promised that he’d be waiting for her at the pub, disappointment gnawed at her stomach.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Her stomach roiled at the thought of Fitz being on a mission without support or a way to get home.
He had been ready to jump out of a plane for her, and he had strived to keep a brave face when he was asked to go on his mission to Ossetia.
All she had been able to do was send him off with a sandwich in lieu of a declaration of love.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
He looked inordinately pleased with himself, sitting on the sofa furthest from where Skye and Ward had nodded off.
Simmons considered that “nodded off” was too kind of a euphemism. They had been pissed and had passed out. Fitz was pleased with the result, since he had been in charge of making the punch this year, as he had been for every year they threw their annual Christmas party.
“Here’s to being the only two super-secret agents on the Bus who can hold their liquor!” Fitz toasted her as he finished his scotch. The warmth of her affection for him washed over her as she walked to him and took his glass. She offered him another dram of his Christmas gift from her, a bottle of Glenfiddich 15, but he merely shook his head and patted the seat next to him.
She knew what would happen if she took that seat. They’d talk and they’d joke and then they, too, would succumb to the effects of alcohol. She was tired of it playing out the same way each time. She wanted to goad him into action.
So she shook her head in response and insisted that she’d rather dance.
Fitz, in an obliging mood, rose to meet her where she stood next to the audio controls. She only realized how drunk she was when an involuntary giggle escaped her lips as “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” began. But Fitz chuckled as well and took her into his arms, pressing her firmly to him from chest to hip, before beginning to sway to the music.
She swooned at his scent, a mix of clean soap and the light, peppery cologne that he wore on special occasions. She pressed her face into his chest in an attempt to get closer. Her desire threatened to overwhelm her to the point of tears. She wanted this man, this silly, loyal, lovely man, who had been with her for nearly six years, but she was terrified that he did not view her the same way. When he stopped moving her to the gentle rhythm, she feared it was because he could sense the change that had come over her, so it was with apprehension that she met his eyes.
The naked desire she saw there, along with fear, stopped her heart.
“Leo, what’s wrong?” she queried, desperate to ease any discomfort he was feeling.
Her heart jump started when he licked his lips and muttered, “Nothing’s wrong.” She could have lived forever in that moment, wired on the anticipation of what he would do next.
Then, suddenly, his mouth was on hers, one hand wound through her hair and the other grasping her lower back. Simmons was shocked at first, unsure how to respond now that he had finally bothered to kiss her, but the feel of his hands on her and the desperation behind his kiss pulled an eager moan from her throat. Fitz, bright boy that he was, took that as his cue to press forward and swiped his tongue across her lower lip. She opened to him, and was quickly enveloped by the scotch-and-peppermint taste that was Leo Fitz.
She clutched at him, not caring in the moment if she was being too rough. She just wanted more, and was thrilled when she realized he was trying to maneuver them toward the bunk area. They came to an involuntary stop as they crashed into the bulkhead, and their lips jolted apart.
Fitz looked so afraid, as if he were expecting her father, or worse, Coulson, to walk in and demand to know what they were doing. She found herself giggling before she could stop, and barely managed to huff out, “Look at us, Leo, snogging like teenagers against the wall.”
His look of worry instantly melted to one of relief as he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again. This kiss was full of promises, the kind that meant a sleepless night and a deep ache between her thighs in the morning. She arched her hips against him to find him hard and wanting, and it caused Simmons to shiver in anticipation. It took all her will power to detach her lips from his and work her mouth to his ear to whisper, “Perhaps we should finish this elsewhere.”
Snogging against the wall was one thing; allowing her partner to shag her against the wall while two of their coworkers slept across the room was another entirely.
She made a mental note to revisit the idea in the future, though, ideally when the specialists were all off ship for a good long while.
She drifted toward her bunk, trusting that he’d follow.
As always, when it counted, Fitz never disappointed her.
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Fin
Thoughts? Comments? Concerns? Please, do share them. :D