Archive of Our Own

Working in a flower shop has its perks.

Jemma gets to live her life surrounded by the sweet smell of peonies and sunshine from the large, south-facing windows. She gets the chance to learn about every type of flower, putting her childhood interest in botany to good use. The shop was small and didn’t require many workers, giving Jemma plenty of quiet time to be alone with her thoughts.

And it doesn’t hurt that some of her patrons are incredibly cute.

The doorbell gave off a soft chime as someone pushed the door open, bringing Jemma’s attention from a succulent she was watering to the entrance. There stood a man, a few inches taller than her and about her age. He had a small amount of stubble decorating his cheeks, and a short layer of curls stood up from his scalp. He was fidgeting with his hands, pulling gently on the edges of his cardigan. The late-afternoon sun cast a bright array of golden light across him, framing him as if he had a halo. He brought his gaze to her, smiling sheepishly when they made eye contact.

So, in short, he was one of those incredibly cute patrons.

Quickly, the man’s expression shifted from bashful to concerned, awkwardly pointing at Jemma. “Are you supposed to be watering it that much?” He asked.

A Scotsman, Jemma thought, interesting, before bringing her attention back down to the succulent, whose pot was now overflowing with the amount of water it required in a month.

“Oh, shit,” Jemma mumbled, coming back to her senses as she finally lifted the watering can away from the plant, rushing to clean up some of the water now falling onto the floor.

“Here, I’ll help,” she heard the man say as he came closer to her, reaching across the counter to grab a rag to soak up some water. Their hands brushed slightly as they both clamored to clean up the mess, bringing a small, involuntary smile to Jemma’s face.

“Can you save that?” The man asked, gesturing to the plant in her hands.

Jemma sighed, taking in the damage as the man rang out the rag back into a watering can. “I’ll figure something out.” She shook her head, putting the plant back behind the front desk. “I’m sorry, I’m not usually such a mess.”

“It’s okay.” The man smiled. “I’m sorry if I was distracting you.”

Jemma laughed breathlessly, ducking her head to conceal the way her face was becoming a bright red. She’d barely known this man for two minutes, how was it he was having this much of an effect on her? She didn’t even know his —

“I’m Fitz, by the way,” he said, wiping his damp hand on his cardigan before reaching over the counter to shake her hand.

“I’m Jemma.” She met his hand halfway, giving it a soft shake. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“Now, is there anything I can do for you, Fitz?”

“I was wondering what would be the best flowers to get your girlfriend after a big fight.”

Jemma froze for a second, not quite sure how to react. It was silly, really. He had done nothing to lead her on besides being good-looking, but part of her was disappointed Fitz already had a girlfriend.

As soon as she caught herself, Jemma put back on her best forced-customer-service-smile and cleared her throat. “What kind of fight was it?”

“Oh, just a silly thing,” Fitz said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ophelia, my girlfriend, and I haven’t always had… the most stable relationship. But, uh, we make it work.” Fitz tried to say his words casually, but Jemma thought he sounded almost ashamed. “I just wanted to get some flowers to make her feel better. To smooth things out.”

Jemma nodded, reaching down to her notebook she kept behind the counter. Over the years, she had taken meticulous notes of exactly what each flower she sells symbolizes, how to take care of them, and on what occasion they fit best. Preparation is key, is what her mother and father had always taught her, and she was not keen on forgetting it.

“You’ll want lilies, those stand for humility, healing, devotion. A light pink would be nice, don’t you think?”

She looked up at Fitz, who was gazing at her as if she was a genius for reading off her sheet of paper. He came to his senses after a beat, nodding just a bit too hard.

“Okay.” Jemma flipped over a few pages, skimming them for anything that would help Fitz out. “Tulips could work too. My notes say they stand for beginnings and forgiveness.”

“Sounds perfect,” Fitz said softly.

Jemma nodded, a wide grin on her face, and got to work, pacing around the store to grab the flowers and some filler. She returned to the desk, wrapping the tulips, lilies, and some filler greenery in soft, white wrapping paper.

She handed the small arrangement to Fitz, who let out a soft whistle at the flowers. “Thank you, they look beautiful,” he said, smiling right at her. “How much do I owe?”

“Twenty pounds.” Fitz reached for his wallet, carefully balancing the flowers while reaching for the bills.

“Thank you, again,” Fitz said as he moved towards the door.

“Of course, it was my pleasure.” Jemma smiled. “It was nice to meet you!”

“It was nice to meet you too, Jemma,” Fitz paused, looking between the flowers and her. “See you around.”

And with that, he was gone.

That was probably one of the worst parts of Jemma’s job: the cute patrons — the cute, taken patrons — are very unlikely to come back around. For all she knew, she’d never see Fitz again, and she’d move on from her life.

The phone rang, its sharp shrill breaking through the silent shop. Jemma sighed, knowing on the other end would probably be some bride-to-be or widower wallowing in guilt, and reluctantly picked up the phone.

“Simmons’ Flowers, how may I help?”

Just under two weeks later, Jemma was stuck in the back of the shop when the bell let out its soft ring to alert her of a customer.

“I’ll be right with you!” Jemma called, pushing herself off the floor where she had been de-thorning a new batch of roses. She turned around to see Fitz standing in the doorway, bashfully smiling at her.

“Fitz, hi,” Jemma said breathlessly.

“Hi, Jemma,” Fitz said. “How’ve you been? Were you able to save that succulent”

His questions took Jemma by surprise. She hadn’t been used to her customers being interested in her as a person or remembering their interactions. Most of the time, even regular customers brushed her off when she tried to initiate small talk or get to know them better. It seemed as if all of them only thought of her as the woman who knew a bit too much about flowers. All of them, except Fitz.

“Oh, yes!” Jemma said, perking up and becoming more animated. At the reminder that she had been able to save that drowning plant. “It took a while, but I saved its poor soul. Even sold it the next day!” Fitz laughed at her enthusiasm, but Jemma could tell he didn’t mean to be condescending. “And outside of my amazing abilities to bring succulents back from the brink, I have been doing well, thank you.”

“I’m glad, Jemma,” Fitz said, and Jemma thought she had never heard someone sound so genuine in their kindness.

“What can I do for you today?” She asked, ripping off her gloves and leading the two out of the back room.

“One of my colleges just had her first kid a couple of months ago, and today’s her first day of work. I wanted to get her something to brighten up her day, and you were the first thing that came to mind. Your flowers, that is,” Fitz stumbled over the last bit, getting the words out in a hurry.

Jemma nodded, “Do you have any specific flowers in mind?”

“Not exactly, but I trust you.”

Jemma beamed at him. “Of course, I’ll see what I can do for you.”

As they approached the extensive selection of bright flowers, Jemma quickly got to work on selecting the perfect combinations for Fitz.

“So what do you do? For work, that is.” Jemma asked, picking up a few pieces of alstroemeria and waxflower.

“I’m a mechanical engineer,” Fitz supplied, following her around the room.

“Really?” Jemma asked. It was strange, her interest in Fitz. Most of the time, she tried her best to keep up conversations to keep the atmosphere pleasant or to make someone smile. With Fitz, however, she felt like she could hear his entire life story and never once get tired.

“Yeah,” Fitz said with a light laugh. “I work at an office in the city. I’m the lead engineer, it’s a pretty nice post.” Jemma could tell Fitz was attempting to both be modest and brag, a line he was not treading very well. It was endearing, truthfully.

“I always wanted to go into STEM,” Jemma confessed, pausing her work on the collection of flowers.

“Really? Floristry wasn’t the dream?” Fitz asked, furrowing his brows.

“Oh, God, not at all. I majored in biology and chemistry in school. I was quite good at it too, I graduated early, top of my class.” Jemma smiled as she spoke, fondly remembering her days in the sciences.

“What changed?”

“My Mum used to run this shop,” Jemma said, her voice becoming quieter and her smile faltering. “It was her pride and joy, but she had to step away because of some health problems. I knew that she’d be devastated if the shop went out of business or was taken over by some faceless corporation, so I stepped in and took it over. My Mum’s okay now, but she still can’t work, and I’ve quite taken to floristry, so I kept with it.”

“That’s very admirable of you,” Fitz said. He was looking at her in the same indescribable way she had caught during his last visit, and it almost floored her. Only now did she notice just how blue his eyes were. It took her back to when she was just a small child, flipping through her father’s books on astronomy.

The Fetus Nebula, that’s what his eyes reminded her of, her mind finally pieced together. A small, bright blue planetary nebula in the constellation Cygnus.

Jemma cleared her throat, trying to distract herself from Fitz’s gaze. “Well, it’s also a little too late to start over, so I guess I’m more stuck with it than picking up some admirable cause.”

“It’s not too late!” Fitz said, taken aback. “How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-nine,” Jemma clarified.

“That’s not old at all, you’re not stuck in anything yet. You should pursue and work at what makes you happy, not something you settle for. Whether that’s putting together bouquets or creating new monster fish with those biochemistry degrees, if it makes you happy, go for it.”

Jemma laughed, “You have a very loose understanding of what biochemists do, Fitz. But thank you.” She smiled up at him. “That was very profound. Very poetic. You should have pursued a career of motivational speeches.”

Fitz groaned, “Now you’re just making fun of me. That should be the one thing that you don’t pursue.”

“Even if it makes me happy?” Jemma teased.

“Even if it makes you happy. My ramblings should be off-limits, Jem.”

Jemma tried to hide her slight blush at the nickname. She’d never been one for nicknames, always thinking her name was simple enough and fit her well enough to be perfectly acceptable. But something about the way Fitz said it made her think that stance may need some adjusting. “I’ll make you a deal,” Jemma said, wrapping up his bouquet. “I get to make fun of you within this store. Outside is off-limits, but my store has my rules.”

Fitz shook his head. “Fine, Jemma, if you want to play dirty.” Fitz reached for his pocket, tearing off a piece of paper from a pocket-sized notebook. He snatched a pen off of her desk, scrawling a few lines onto the paper before pushing it, face-down, towards her.

“What’s this?” Jemma asked, handing him the bouquet.

“It’s my number. If you can make fun of me while I’m here, I might as well give me other opportunities to hold my own.”

Jemma smiled at the paper before pocketing it for later. “Have a nice day,” she called as Fitz made his way towards the door.

“You too, Jemma,” Fitz replied, a look of pure joy on his face.

“When did people start giving flowers as gifts, do you think?” Fitz asked one day as he strolled through the shop. He had taken to visiting often, even when he didn’t have a a logical reason.

Jemma looked up from the cash register where she had been neatly rearranging the bills. “I don’t remember exactly,” she started, her brows furrowed in concentration, “but I think it’s always been a part of societies around the world. People see a beautiful thing in nature, it reminds them of someone they care deeply for, they pluck it out of the ground and give it to their beloved. Flower shops, however, I believe are a more modern invention.”

“Lucky for you,” Fitz remarked, putting his hands in his pockets and leaning his backside against a table.

“I don’t know, it's a bit of a shame. I think there’s something more romantic about someone going out into the fields or happening across flowers that remind them of their partner. Rather than going to the supermarket and buying a pre-made bouquet.”

“Has anyone ever gotten you flowers?” Fitz asked after a moment.

“Nope,” Jemma said nonchalantly. “Anyone I’ve dated since I started working here has just assumed that I spend too much time around flowers anyway, so I must not want them as a gift. But it’s not like I’ve actually dated many people since I’ve started working here, so it hasn’t been much of an issue.”

“Really?” Fitz asked in disbelief.

“Yes, really.” Jemma rolled her eyes at him. “It’s not like I’m a hermit, Fitz, I’ve had relationships. They just never seem to last very long.” She turned her back to him, focusing her attention on a bouquet someone had called in an order for.

“I can’t imagine why,” Fitz said, not a single drop of sarcasm in his voice, making Jemma freeze.

What exactly did he mean by that? Had Fitz imagined dating her? A thousand thoughts clouded Jemma’s mind, and just as fast as they had appeared, one single thought pushed them all away.

Fitz has a girlfriend.

A girlfriend he loves. A girlfriend he is committed to. A girlfriend who isn’t Jemma Simmons.

Jemma shook her head, going back to adjusting with the bouquet. It was just a comment from a friend; she told herself, nothing special.

The phone started ringing, and Jemma jumped at the opportunity to push her feelings aside for a moment. She had work to do.

As she took the phone call — her tenth that day, a fair amount of people were getting the jump on their Valentine’s Day orders — she saw Fitz out of the corner of her eye, awkwardly shuffling around the store and trying his best to look very interested in every flower.

As she hung up, Fitz cleared his throat, in a transparent attempt to rid the room of the tense fog that had descended between the two. “Do you want some help with that?” He asked, and when she turned around, she could see him smiling at her.

“With wrapping the flowers?” Jemma asked, furrowing her brows.

“Yeah, I mean, it was your third order in the half-hour I’ve been here, you’re clearly swamped. I could help you out with some stuff around the shop.”

“I appreciate the offer, but—”

“I don’t have work today. And Ophelia’s out of town until the sixteenth, so I don’t need to plan any big Valentine’s surprises. It won’t be a big deal, Jemma.”

“You sure?” Jemma asked, coming closer to him. “I don’t want to take advantage of your time.”

“And I don’t want to be the ass who stands around while you work all day,” Fitz said, putting his hands on Jemma’s shoulders, an act Jemma tried her best not to overthink. “Let me help you.”

Jemma beamed at him, before pointing out a few simple tasks he could do around the store just to make her day move a bit smoother. As she made and wrapped bouquets, engaging with the few other customers who came in, she couldn’t help but steal a few glances at Fitz, watering plants or sweeping the floors or petals. Every time she looked over at him, he was already looking at her, showing his gentle smile and twinkling eyes. Jemma could get quite used to him being around, she thought.

Jemma sighed, looking out at the scene in front of her. One of the pipes had burst in the back room, and as she stared at the quickly growing puddle in front of her, one person immediately came to mind.

Fitz would know how to solve this, wouldn’t he?

Part of her reminded her that he was a mechanical engineer, not a full-time mechanic or a plumber. She could just as easily call that sweet American man who was a mechanic and a plumber that lived a few towns over.

But the other part of her had already clicked on his contact and was waiting for him to pick up his damn phone already.

She heard a faint click and immediately jumped into action. “Hey, Fitz,” she started, pulling on her boots and wading into the puddle, trying to get closer to the burst pipe. “I know it’s kind of late, and I’m sorry if I’m intruding anything, I just need your help with something—”

“Who is this?” A sharp voice asked over the phone. Jemma pulled her hand away from her ear on instinct, expecting Fitz’s lower, Scottish voice instead of this woman’s harsh, American tone.

“Uh, this is Jemma Simmons, I’m a friend of Fitz’s. Do I have the wrong number?”

“No, this is Leopold’s phone.” Leopold. So that was Fitz’s first name. Something about it didn’t seem to fit him quite right. It felt too sharp for the gentle man she had come to know. “I’m Ophelia, his girlfriend. He couldn’t come to the phone right now.”

“Is he okay?” Jemma asked, trying not to let her anxiety get the best of her when she asked.

“Yes, he’s fine. He’s just in the shower.” Her voice sounded distracted, and Jemma could just picture her flipping through a magazine as she spoke. “What did you want to tell him?”

“Oh, I run Simmons’ flowers and a pipe burst in my back room. I was wondering if he had any advice or if he could come and work on it. I won’t keep you, but if you could ask him to text me next time he has a chance that would be very kind of you.”

“Sure, I’ll get on it.”

“Thank you, it was nice to finally meet you—“ A sudden click cut Jemma off, alerting her to the fact that Ophelia had just hung up the phone before even saying goodbye.

Jemma hadn’t expected Ophelia to sound so… stern. Fitz didn’t speak of her much, but when he did, he always lent her such praise and spoke of her with such fondness in his voice. The two didn’t seem to go together, as if he had been describing coal as sugar.

Jemma sighed, pushing herself away from the pipe and out of the puddle. She was rubbing her forehead, debating her options, when her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Fitz: I’ll be right over. For now, turn off the main. See you soon!

Fifteen minutes later, as Fitz walked in the door, Jemma greeted him with a teasing: “Hello, Leopold,” She immediately regretted her words when he cringed and groaned as he heard the name, putting his toolbox down on her desk.

“I’ve always hated that name, you know. There is a reason I go by Fitz.” He wasn’t truly angry, she can tell, more put off than anything else.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jemma apologized. “It’s what Ophelia called you over the phone, so I assumed you liked it.”

Fitz shrugged. “Well, she is my girlfriend, it seems weird to have her call me by my last name.”

“I dunno, it seems like it makes you more uncomfortable to hear your first name, so you might as well not go by it.”

Fitz seemed to contemplate her words for a second, before sighing and grabbing his box once again. “Onto matters of much higher importance, mind showing me where that burst pipe is?”

“Right, of course,” Jemma muttered, leading him to the back room. She had attempted to clear some of the mess with towels and the mop but had made little progress. The puddle had spread to cover the entire floor of the back room and had reached about an inch deep before she had finally turned off the main. Jemma thanked the powers that be for the stairs leading up to the doorway that was protecting the rest of the store.

Fitz let out a sharp, low breath. “I can fix this.” He said, though Jemma could tell it was in more of an attempt to reassure himself rather than her.

“Are you sure?” Jemma asked. She felt a bit guilty, tearing Fitz away from his life and his girlfriend just to fix her problems. “I know a plumber, he lives a good half-hour away but if you’re having any trouble, I could—”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Fitz said, wading into the puddle. “I used to fix things all the time when I was little, just around the house or for some neighbors. It was good practice for going into engineering, I’m just not sure how useful I’ll be now that I’m out of practice.”

“Are you sure you don’t need professional help?” Jemma checked once again.

“I’m sure, Jemma,” Fitz reassured her, looking at her fondly. “But I may need your help with all of this.”

“Oh, of course,” Jemma said, joining him by the exposed pipe as quickly as she could.

She crouched down next to him, following his gentle instructions.

“You could’ve probably done this yourself, you know,” Fitz said with a chuckle.

“I’m sorry,” Jemma rushed out, “I didn’t mean to bother you, I just—”

“No, Jemma, that’s not what I meant,” Fitz starts, catching her hand in his and squeezing gently. “I’m saying, you’re one of the smartest, most capable people I’ve ever known. I’m sure if you put your mind to it — or just read a wikiHow article — you’d be able to get anything done. Especially just a silly pipe.” He smiles at her, finally dropping her hand. “But I am glad you called, I like spending time with you.”

“You do?” Jemma asked, slightly taken aback.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” Fitz said, taking a wrench to the pipe.

“I don’t know, I mean… Weren’t you with Ophelia when I called?”

“Yeah, why?” Fitz asked, not quite understanding her insinuation.

“Wouldn’t you like to spend more time with your girlfriend than me?” Jemma laughed as she asked the question. “Didn’t you tell me she travels to the states a lot for work? Surely you’d want to spend time with her.”

“Well, that’s not really… I do like Ophelia, it’s just different around you.” Fitz started, furrowing his brow as he talked and worked. “When I’m with her, I feel like I need to be a bit more cautious. Need to make sure I don’t say the wrong thing. Sometimes I’ll just say the stupidest stuff with her. With you, everything is just… effortless. If that makes any sense.” Fitz shrugged as if it doesn’t mean much.

“Oh,” Jemma said, not knowing what else to say. She bit her lip, trying to combat the involuntary smile that had appeared on her face.

Fitz opened his mouth, clearly about to say something, when suddenly the two were drenched with water. The two both shrieked, stumbling away from the onslaught of water now pouring directly at them from the pipe. Jemma got to her feet quicker, grabbing Fitz’s hand and pulling him off the tile.

“You did turn off the main before I got here?” Fitz asked as she pulled him to his feet.

“Of course, I wouldn’t lie to you,” Jemma said.

“I know you wouldn't, it's just…” Fitz cut himself as he laid his eyes on Jemma and wiped some water off of his face. They were both drenched in the water, panting as they tried to catch their breaths. The two lapsed into near silence for a moment, doing nothing but staring at each other. Studying each other, almost. Jemma felt like she was noticing a thousand things about him all at once. The way small droplets of water stuck to his curls. The way his drenched shirt stuck to his chest. If Jemma wasn’t going completely mad, she could swear she saw his pupils dilate.

Fitz cleared his throat as if he was trying to distract himself from Jemma. “I think you’re going to need to call that mechanic,” Fitz said, his voice low.

“Stay,” Jemma blurted out before she could fully think it through. “While I wait for him to get here. Stay with me?” She asked tentatively, tightening her grip on his hand.

“Where else would I go?”

And stay, he did. The two of them worked in harmony over the next forty minutes, orbiting each other as if they had practiced it for decades. They cleared out her back room as the water level rose; joined forces to stop as much water from leaving the pipe as possible; found as many paper towels, rags, and washcloths as they could to stop the water from getting to the rest of the shop; and patiently waited for the mechanic to arrive.

The two spared only two small washcloths and used them to pat themselves down in an attempt to dry themselves off.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t have been of more help,” Fitz said, his voice ever so strained as he dried off his neck. God, this man was going to be the death of Jemma.

“Of course you were a help, Fitz,” Jemma gently chastised him. “It’s not your fault that the plumbing in a building this old doesn’t work perfectly.”

“No, I know, I just want to do whatever I can,” Fitz said, pulling on the rag in his hands.

“For every one or… for me?” Jemma asked quietly, not quite sure if she should ask the question.

“Uh, both, I suppose.” Fitz shrugged. “I want to help anyone I can,” he clarified, “but especially you.”

Jemma nodded, a smile creeping across her face. Just as she was about to ask why he felt that way, a soft clunk from a car door closing pulled their attention to the window of the store.

“I think that might be my cue,” Fitz said, pointing to the car outside, with the text Mackenzie Mechanics splayed across the side in bright red text. “Unless you… want me to stay?” Fitz asked hesitatingly.

Immediately Jemma’s heart went to yes, please. Not because she needed him there, but because some inane part of her hated to see him go, to know that he was going home to Ophelia. “Your girlfriend’s probably waiting for you,” Jemma said. “And it’s late, you should be getting home.”

“Right, of course. Very logical, Jemma,” Fitz said, rubbing his hand over his face as if he felt silly for even asking.

“You’ll come back soon, though, right?” Jemma said as they walked towards the door.

“Of course.” Fitz dropped his washcloth on the counter. “How could I stay away?”

“Hey, Jem,” Fitz said as he entered her store, a small collection of books tucked under his arms and a takeaway container holding two teas in his hands.

“Hey, Fitz,” Jemma replied, glancing up from a collection of paperwork. It was still early, just a few minutes past the opening. Fitz had taken to popping in most mornings before work, bringing her a morning drink, and spending as long as they could catching up before they truly started their days. “What are you doing here, I thought you didn’t have work today?”

“Oh, I don’t.” Fitz shrugged as he handed her a cup of tea. “I just have a small favor to ask you.”

“Sure, what is it?” Jemma asked, taking a sip of her tea and humming slightly as the herbal taste hit her tongue. It was the perfect temperature, as always. She’d only told him her order once, but he’d never gotten it wrong in the dozens of times he had ordered for her.

“I’m up for a big promotion at work, and I wanted to practice for it.” He pointed to the books he was carrying. “I’ve always been good at studying, so I figured if I read up a bit on what the position requires and practice an interview, then I might be better prepared.”

“You’ve come to the right place,” Jemma beamed. “I excel at preparation. What exactly do you need from me?”

Fitz chuckled at her. “I was wondering if you could help me with the interview part, or just let me study at your shop. I wouldn’t have bothered you, but it’s always so peaceful here. There’s construction going on near my place, and the English prick who runs the coffee shop won’t let me in since we had an argument over football.”

“You’re surrounded by English pricks, Fitz. You live in England.”

“Yes, but not all of those English pricks choose to support Liverpool,” Fitz said, narrowing his eyes at her.

“You a Man U man?” Jemma asked, smiling at him.

“Of course, I’m not a fool,” Fitz said, only slightly kidding.

Jemma laughed, shaking her head at the man. “Of course I’ll help you out, Fitz, follow me.” Jemma lifted herself off the stool and led Fitz over to the door on the side of the shop. “This is my office,” Jemma said as she opened the door. The room was fairly empty, a small room with not much more than a desk, file cabinet, an old leather couch, and two end tables.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you” Fitz repeatedly said as he dropped his books on the end table closest to the door. “I owe you so—”

“Fitz,” Jemma cut him off, “stop. Being stressed about this won’t help you with anything. And, I don’t mind that you’re here. I’m happy to help you out, any way I can. You’re my friend.”

Fitz ducked his head, but Jemma could see him smiling from where she stood. “But still, thank you.”

“I can’t help you with the interview right now, but maybe when I take a break around noon I can?”

“That would be perfect,” Fitz said, beaming at her.

When she came back during her break, he was not in fact ready to practice the interview. Instead, he had fallen asleep on her couch, an open book pressed against his chest and an open pen dangling in his hand. He looked quite peaceful, really.

Jemma smiled, chuckling quietly at the man. He deserved the rest, she thought, as she tiptoed her way over to him. As slowly and as gently as she could, she lifted the book off his chest, marked his page, and placed it on the end table. She shrugged off her cardigan, placing it over his body as a make-shift blanket. She slowly pried the pen out of his hands. Instead of closing it, Jemma made her way over to his desk, scribbling a note on a large post-it:

Rest as long as you need. If you still want to practice, I’ll make time for you. Regardless, I know you’ll do well. You’re a bit of a genius, in my eyes at least.

Jem♡

As lightly as possible, Jemma stuck the note on Fitz’s forehead. He shifted a bit in his sleep, making Jemma jump away, but settled back down, mumbling something unintelligible. His breath made the note flutter every second or two.

“Sweet dreams, Fitz,” Jemma whispered as she walked away, softly closing the door.

Hours later, Fitz made his way out of the office, wrapped in Jemma’s cardigan. Jemma kept her promise, spending nearly an hour with him, throwing questions at him while they both tidied up the store — Fitz had insisted he help around the store to repay her for her kindness.

Fitz left just as the sky started to dim, the town slowing down for the evening.

“Thank you, again,” Fitz said, for possibly the thousandth time that day, as he made his way out of the store.

“It wasn’t a problem, Fitz,” Jemma assured, also for possibly the thousandth time that day. “I know you’ll do well.”

Instead of giving some self-deprecating comment, Jemma’s predicted response, Fitz instead smiled and said, “You know what? I think I will. Thanks to you.”

“Knock it out of the park, Fitz,” Jemma said, patting him on the back as he went through the doorway.

As the doorbell creaked, Jemma wrapped her cardigan around herself more tightly. He had awkwardly shrugged it off at some point, stumbling over some reason she should take it back as they worked. She noticed it smelled distinctly like him, and at that moment she mentally noted it as possibly the best piece of clothing she owns.

The next time Fitz comes into her shop, it’s almost closing time. The sun is setting, illuminating the sky into a fantastic array of purples, pinks, and dark blues. He bursts through the door, a clearly cheap bottle of champagne in one hand, a pair of cheap plastic cups in the other, and wearing an infectious grin.

“Hi, Fitz,” she laughed, pausing her rearrangement of a few flowers. The roses were getting old and needed a bit more sunlight than the lilies. “You alright?”

“Oh, yes, I’m alright. I’m much more than alright. I got the promotion.” Fitz said, barely able to hold in his obvious excitement.

“You’re the head engineer?”

“I’m the head engineer!” Fitz said through a child-like giggle as Jemma ran over to him, enveloping him in a tight hug.

“Oh, I’m so proud of you, Fitz,” she said, her voice muffled by his jacket.

Fitz hummed pleasantly. “Thank you, Jem.”

He tucked his head into the crook of her neck, and the two swaying as they embraced. Jemma realized after a moment that they had likely been hugging a bit too long, but kept holding on regardless, as Fitz didn’t seem to mind.

After a few moments more they pulled away, the two still beaming at each other.

“What are you doing here of all places?” Jemma asked. “I mean, shouldn’t you be with your friends, your girlfriend?”

“You are my friend, Jemma,” Fitz chuckled. “But if you must know, Ophelia is out of town until later tonight and most of my other friends don’t live very close, so you seemed like the most reasonable person to celebrate with.” He tentatively raised up the champagne and cups. “If you want to celebrate, that is.”

“Of course I want to celebrate, Fitz.” Jemma smiled. “Just give me a second to finish up here. We can head to the back room to celebrate.”

“Ah, I can return to my favorite couch in the world. It gave me the best sleep in years,” Fitz teased as he made his way to the back door.

Jemma laughed, moving to finish up her work. By the time she had flipped the sign on the door from “Open, come on it!” to “Closed, try again at 8am-6pm Tuesday-Saturday!” the sky had already turned to a dark blue. Jemma smiled up at the rising moon and the twinkling stars before turning back to join Fitz.

Fitz had already set himself up on the couch, using a side table to pour out two small servings of the alcohol.

“For the lady,” Fitz said with faux seriousness, handing her a cup.

“Thank you, good sir,” Jemma replied with the same tone, before breaking off into a small giggle.

The next few hours flew by, the two exchanging stories and jokes until the bottle was nearly empty. They had drifted closer together during that time, with Jemma now sitting with her back against the arm of the couch, her legs laid out over Fitz’s lap. Fitz’s hand was lightly resting on Jemma’s shin, a small show of intimacy Jemma couldn’t help but smile at.

“Do you ever feel like you’re missing out on something in life?” Fitz asked, unprompted.

“What do you mean?” Jemma took a small sip of the remnants of her drink.

“I mean, sometimes it feels like I’m just never going to have the same experiences as everyone else. I see my friends or my relatives or just… random strangers and I feel like they’re so much more put together. They understand where they’re going in life and they just seem so content. Like everything in their life fell into place exactly when it needed to.” Jemma saw Fitz’s eyes get a bit watery, and she had to restrain herself from cupping his cheek as he spoke. “And then I look at me, and it just feels like I’ll never get that. I have my dream job, I’m safe and healthy, I have people who support me and who I love being around… But it feels like something is missing,” Fitz finished, shaking his head.

“I don’t think anyone really has it figured out. Everyone’s just trying to make it through the days, trying to find things that make them happy and people that they love. I guess you just have to find as much of that as you can. As many little things in life that make it worth living, as many people that you care about. You know what I mean?”

Fitz nodded, putting on a small smile. “Yeah, I think so.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you are fantastic,” Jemma said, bringing her hand to rest on his. “You’re one of the smartest, kindest, and most open people I’ve ever met. That’s why I… That’s why I’m incredibly glad I got to know you. I know we haven’t known each other for that long, in the grand scheme of things, but I think you’re one of those people to me. Someone I…” Jemma cut herself off, not daring to say the word on the tip of her tongue.

Fitz’s smile faltered, and Jemma thought she had made a terrible mistake. She should’ve chosen her words better, should’ve just backed off, should’ve just said nothing.

That was until she caught that Fitz’s eyes kept bouncing between her lips and her eyes as if he was contemplating something. After a moment, she noticed he had leaned closer to her, and she instinctively leaned in as well.

For a second, a thousand thoughts seemed to fill Jemma’s mind. Was she just reading him wrong? Was this allowed? Did Fitz even think of her that way, or was his judgment clouded by a mixture of the emotional rollercoaster of the last few hours and a few drinks? What about Ophelia?

But all of those thoughts left her mind as Fitz’s lips touched hers. The soft touch of his hesitant lips clashed with the slight scratchiness of his stubble, a sensation Jemma suddenly realized she loved. They soon picked up speed, Fitz’s lips becoming a bit more urgent against hers, and Jemma’s hand coming to rest against the back of his neck, cradling his head against hers.

The two moved closer to each other, Fitz’s hand coming to rest on her waist before they were interrupted. Fitz’s phone went off, a sharp chime coming from his pocket.

Jemma jumped away, suddenly being snapped back to reality. The two detached from each other, hands coming back into laps and Jemma shifting her body to sit up properly instead of laid out over him.

Fitz jumped up as he read off his phone screen. “Bloody hell,” he mumbled. “Um, it’s Ophelia. Her train is probably going to get to the station soon, I should go and… pick her up.” Fitz said, stumbling over his words.

He looked up at her as if he was at a loss for words.

“I’m sorry,” He said, a mix of sincere and urgent. “I’m really, really sorry, Jemma. I should… I should go.”

Jemma opened her mouth to say something but was at a loss for words before Fitz hurried out of the room, fumbling with his phone. She heard the front door close; the bell alerting her to the fact that she was alone. Alone, surrounded by a pair of plastic cups, an empty champagne bottle, and the knowledge of exactly what it felt like to kiss Fitz. She knew that last one was going to haunt her for weeks.

On the sixteenth day since the night that filled Jemma’s every waking hour, (and non-waking, if she was being honest. Though her dreams tended to involve… other situations between the two.) Fitz walked through the door of the shop.

Jemma looked up from her book — the last few days had seen her diving back into her childhood Agatha Christie obsession, just to take her mind off things — and her jaw dropped open. After a moment, when she had registered that he truly was there, and not some figment of her imagination, she snapped closed both her jaw and book, jumping up out of her stool behind the register.

“Hi,” Fitz said, his voice wavering.

“Hi.” Jemma pulled at her own fingers, trying not to seem nervous. “I tried calling you.”

“I know,” Fitz said, looking remorseful.

“You didn’t pick up.”

“I know. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t know what to say.”

Jemma nodded. “Me neither, truthfully. But it would’ve been nice to hear from you.”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear from me at all.”

“I always want to hear from you,” Jemma said, for no other reason than it was true. She could talk to Fitz for a thousand years and never once get bored. “Where’ve you been?” Her voice wavered.

“I was up in Scotland for a while. My Mum lives up outside of Glasgow, I was just checking in with her.” Fitz said, gesturing vaguely and pulling at the strap on his canvas bag.

“Oh. Did you have a nice time?” Christ, Jemma couldn’t remember the last time small talk had been this excruciating. Things had become so easy between the two of them over the past few months. Part of her was afraid that at the end of the day, they’d be back to square one. That any conversation she’d have with him would be professional, stilted.

“Yeah, I did,” Fitz said, a soft smile coming over his face. “I had a lot of time to think about everything, while I was there. My Mum always gives the best advice.”

“What was she giving you advice on?” Jemma asked hesitantly, though she knew the answer already.

“Oh, you know…” Fitz trailed off, staring at the floor. After a moment, he spoke up once again, “I broke up with Ophelia.” His voice was louder than usual, as if he had to build up confidence just to say those words.

“Really?” Jemma asked, trying to hide the sudden rush of joy she was feeling. It was selfish, wasn’t it? To get joy from someone else’s relationship falling apart?

“Yeah.” Fitz nodded. “My Mum’s never been a big fan of her. And I guess this time when she pointed out the things she didn’t like I had… a new perspective, you could say.”

Jemma tried her best to hide her smile, nodding her head as he spoke. “So, what are you doing here?”

“I actually brought something back for you,” Fitz said, reaching into the bag over his shoulder.

“You did?” Jemma asked, perking up a bit.

Fitz nodded, before bringing out a small bouquet. It was a simple arrangement, really, nothing fancy or professional about it, but it took Jemma’s breath away.

“I, um… I know it’s not the best you’ve ever seen. I mean, you’ve probably made things a thousand times better than this. But I made this for you. I went on a hike this morning, just before I left Scotland, to clear my head. And I kept seeing these beautiful, radiant flowers. And I guess they just… made me think me of you.”

Fitz extended the flowers out to her, and she happily took them from him, turning the collection over in her hands. Wrapped in white tissue paper, she found carefully arranged heather and Scottish bluebells, mixed in with strands of baby’s breath.

“It’s beautiful, Fitz,” Jemma said softly.

“You think so?” Fitz asked, bashfully smiling at her.

“Absolutely.”

“Do you remember what I said a month or two back?” Fitz asked after a moment. “About pursuing what makes you happy instead of sticking with what you could settle for?”

Jemma nodded.

“I’ve realized recently that there have been some aspects of my life — my love life, especially — where I’ve settled for whatever felt comfortable, whatever was closest, instead of going for what I know is best for me. You, Jemma Simmons, make me incredibly, stupendously, terrifyingly happy.” Jemma could see a blush creeping up Fitz’s cheeks. “And I know it might be complicated, with everything that happened, and you don’t need to say yes, but it would make me incredibly honored if you let me be your first boyfriend who ever gave you flowers.” Fitz was clearly suppressing a smile, biting down on his lip as his eyes lit up.

Jemma laughed, dropping her head into her free hand. “Oh, you sweet, daft man,” she muttered.

Jemma took a step forward, placing her hand on his cheek and leaning in close. “It would be my honor,” She whispered, before pushing herself up onto her toes and once again letting her lips touch his.

It was sweeter than the last time, less urgent. Jemma could feel Fitz smiling as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to his chest. She ran her free hand to the back of his head, playing with the small curls at the base of his neck.

They finally pulled away after a moment, both giggling lightly as they rested their foreheads against each other’s.

“For the record,” Jemma said, “you make me incredibly, stupendously happy as well.”