Archive of Our Own

"Why are we here again?"

"We," Jemma explained, "are here to assess the security of the Damage Control facilities, since we don't have to pretend to not be affiliated with them anymore."

"No," said Fitz, rubbing at his eye; "that's why you're here. This is all part of your 'climbing up the ranks' bit. Why am I here?"

Jemma clasped her hand behind her back, strolling down the hallway as innocently as possible. "You are here to help."

"With what?"

"Things."

"Jemma."

She stopped walking, holding in a laugh when he almost bumped into her. "Well! I just . . . we haven't seen much of each other lately. I wanted you here."

Fitz frowned down at his tablet. "I thought that's why we were moving in together."

"Fitz." Jemma sighed, putting a hand on his shoulder to encourage him to look up at her. "Fitz, you're just saying that because it's so early."

Fitz looked up at her with wide eyes. "Yes," he said, nodding. "It is early. And I could be home, sleeping, instead of doing whatever this is."

"Yes," she said, letting her hand slide up his neck and into his hair, "but I'm barely getting into the lab these days. And I wanted to talk about—"

He eyed her curiously, looking her up and down. "You wanted to talk about what?"

"Well," she said, carding her fingers through his curls. "I was hoping we could continue our discussion on . . ." She smiled when his eyes closed, and he practically purred at her touch. "The bookshelves."

Fitz's eyes snapped wide open, deeply scandalized. "Oh, I see how it is. You drag me out of bed and take me halfway across the country, knowing this is the time I get my most restful sleep, all so I'd be exhausted enough to agree to your ridiculous system." 

Simmons retracted her hand, folding her arms so as to glare at him properly. "It's the Dewey Decimal System, Fitz. It's fairly standard." 

"Well," he said, flinging up a hand, "you may not have noticed, but our collection of books is not an actual library."

"Not an actual—!" She gaped at him, incredulous. "Between the two of us, we have over five hundred volumes!"

He cocked his head at her. "You counted them?"

"Of course I counted them," she said. "I had to figure out if they'd even fit in my bookcase."

"Your bookcase?" He stared at her, then nodded in satisfaction. "Good. I like yours better."

"I'm glad we agree."

Fitz offered a hum in response, looking up to where Sleepy was returning from its rounds. Jemma watched as he retrieved the DWARF, looked back at his scans, and sent Sleepy off in another direction. But when he buried his head in his tablet and kept walking, she cleared her throat. Fitz only stopped moving forward.

"There's a huge metal door up ahead," he said, pointing, "so thick none of the DWARFS can read what's on the other side."

"Fitz," she reproved, "the Dewey Decimal System is absolutely universal. We've been using it our whole lives!"

"Yeah," he allowed, walking forward, "but I have a better system."

Jemma rolled her eyes. "You just organize it alphabetically."

Fitz looks at his tablet, then up at the wall, then back at the tablet. "No, not really."

"So, you're bad at organizing it alphabetically."

"Jemma."

"Alphabetical is fine when it's only one subject!" Fitz continued to look at the wall, but she plowed on. "But we have my biology and chemistry books to consider now. I'm sure you don't want to open the wrong book by mistake and find yourself confronted with another cat liver—"

Fitz all but dropped his tablet, swinging around to face her. "That was one time," defended Fitz, "and it was absolutely disgusting."

"See?" She thought she heard something like a creak, but she focused on her task. "Why would you want to risk accidentally running across something you find unsightly?"

Fitz leveled his gaze at her, his expression underlined by another loud creak.

"I have multiple subjects, too. Which you know, seeing as you've borrowed some of my chemical engineering books."

"Yes," she said, "I have to admit, I am rather looking forward to easy access to those."

Fitz shrugged. "See? My system has it all in hand. Alphabetized, yes, but also taking into account subject, length, and stupidity of author."

"I don't even understand why you have Freud in there in the first place!"

And this time, out of the corner of her eye, Jemma thought she almost saw a red streak. But the disappearing distance between Fitz's face and hers proved too distracting her for to know for sure.

"Well," said Fitz, "we all need a laugh now and then." 

"Fitz."

"They're my books! I can organize them any way I like."

"Yes," she said, "but they're not your books anymore! They're our books! We need a system that works for both of us!"

Fitz only glared. "The Dewey Decimal System doesn't work for either of us."

"What?"

Fitz looked up at the ceiling, then shook his head, opening his mouth, then closing it, then opening it again. "Well, I mean, it's designed to keep the subjects separate, right?" He waited for her to nod, then continued, "but we've never been separate. And when we have, we—" He stopped, and they both knew it was better that he didn't finish. "I just, I don't see why your books and my books need to be separate at all when we both know we're better together."

She gaped at him, gobsmacked. "Fitz . . ." She couldn't help the smile that crept across her face, or the warmth that blossomed in her chest, and she had no mind to. "Is that what this is about? You want our books to be-"

"Mingled together, yeah," he finished. "So they're our books, and we don't have to feel like we're stepping on toes if we look at one we didn't buy ourselves." He looked at her with such heart-breaking sincerity that Jemma almost wanted to cry.  "I can handle a cat liver, Jemma. So long as it stays out of my lunch."

"Fitz," she said, stepping closer to him, "that has to be the most romantic—"

"Why is the door open?"

Jemma followed Fitz's gaze to see that the heavy, impenetrable door was indeed open wide. Behind it, she saw rows and rows of storage containers that no doubt housed alien artifacts. Something clicked in her mind, and she gasped.

"What's wrong?" 

She blinked, trying to recall everything exactly. "I saw a red streak, while we were talking. Something just swung from the door out towards . . ."

"You saw a red streak, and you didn't say anything?"

"Well! You were . . ."

"Jemma, one of the containers is open."

She stepped inside to room to see exactly what he described. "Do you think . . .?"

"He reprogrammed the locking mechanism," said Fitz, pointing up towards a mangled keypad. "And there's . . . what? Spider webs all over? I thought they regularly cleaned . . . wait." Fitz carded a hand through his hair, shaking his head in disbelief. "There's an asset near here. Tony Stark's watching him. Goes by the name Spider-boy, or something."

Jemma nodded, recalling the information as the adrenaline surged through her veins. "If it's him, that means we'll need to get Coulson to contact Maria Hill to contact Tony Stark, and Coulson's not even on base anymore."

Fitz groaned. "Don't remind me. He's the reason you have to get me up at the crack of dawn and drag me halfway across the—"

"The flight was an hour and a half."

"—just to talk to me." 

She took in a deep breath and let it out. "Well, I suppose we'll have to find Coulson, wherever he is. And figure out how to close the door."

"On it," said Fitz, guiding her out of the room as the door ground to a close behind them. He checked the door, then checked her, then frowned.

"They're not getting top safety marks, are they?"

Jemma shook her head. "They'll be lucky if they get to keep their jobs."

"Yeah," he said, looking from side to side, "well they obviously don't have their act together, like we do."

Jemma was already trying to dial Coulson, but frowned when the call went to voicemail. "Of course not. We have an organizational system that accounts for subject, length, and stupidity of author!" She dialed Mack this time, enjoying Fitz's smile. Was there anything more lovely than that smile?

"Fitz," she said.

"What?"

"I love you."

His smile widened, even as he looked down with pink in his cheeks. "Well, that's good," he said, "would be awkward if you moved in with me and couldn't stand the sight of me."

"Fitz."

"Jemma."

"Fitz."

"Alright, alright," he said; "I love you, too."

And it may have taken Jemma a few moments to realize that Mack had already picked up the phone, but she had more important things to pay attention to.