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One
“It’s the perfect chance to get to know these people, Fitz, we’d be fools not to take this one up!” Simmons declared, a grin on her face and her hands confidently stuck on her hips.
Fitz skeptically looked down at the wedding invitation she had thrown onto his desk. The smiling faces of two of their older coworkers — Janette and Mark — looked back at him, Janette’s hand outstretched to show her outrageously large wedding ring. Lord only knows how she could lug it around. You’re Invited! script declared above the picture, Come celebrate the union of Mr. and Mrs. Quinn, June 26, 2005.
“Simmons, we barely know these people,” Fitz said hesitantly. He’d always been an introvert, more focused on his studies and his work than getting along with anyone. Even around Simmons, who somehow studied more than him, he felt like, comparatively, he had next to no social life. It was a miracle he and Simmons got on at all, much less that they had become best friends so quickly.
“They invited us. They wouldn’t do that if they didn’t want us to go,” Jemma argued, gesturing between the card and the two of them wildly.
Fitz sighed, knowing she was right. “I haven’t been to a wedding since I was… I reckon six or so years old. What do you even do at one?” His brow furrowed in concentration as he spoke.
“You have fun,” Simmons said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“But how, Simmons?” Fitz emphasized his word, making his confusion clear to her.
“Oh, you know. You drink a bit, you dance a bit, you make fun of people just out of earshot, you celebrate love.” Jemma sat down, putting her hand on her chin and smiling at Fitz.
“Okay, firstly, the drinking age here is twenty-one. We’re still much too young to drink, at least legally, and I wouldn’t want these poor people’s wedding getting interrupted by the authorities. Second, I’m a terrible dancer. You saw me when they tried to throw a dance at the Academy. Not even two left feet, it’s like I have two hooves. Third, we barely know them, how are we supposed to celebrate their love?”
“So no response to the ‘making fun of people’ bit?” Jemma chided.
“It’s a given, Simmons,” Fitz deadpanned, making her laugh.
“I think we should go, Fitz. You might not see the fun in it now, but I guarantee you won’t regret it later.”
As it turned out, they didn’t regret it later. Janette and Mark were quite sweet when Fitz and Simmons weren’t clashing with them over proper lab etiquette, there were plenty of people to make fun of, and the bartenders let go of the whole ID issue once they mentioned their multiple PhDs once or twice. Fitz certainly did have two left feet, as did Simmons, but by the time that dancing started in the night neither had enough snark left in them to fight it. Instead, they simply got out on the dance floor and went all out on the Cha-Cha Slide and September. They got back to their shared flat past one but stayed up until three or so simply talking on Simmons’ bed, sitting on top of the covers. They fell asleep right there, with Simmons’ head resting against Fitz’s shoulder.
Two
“Fitz, I need to tell you something and you are not allowed to say ‘I told you so,’” Jemma said, her voice wavering slightly. She was pressing her phone against her cheek as closely as possible, covering her other ear to push away the pounding music from the other room.
“Yeah, what is it?” Fitz asked. He sounded both worried and like he was a bit distracted — as if he was reading directions to some meal or flipping through TV channels as he talked.
“I need you to come to pick me up,” Jemma said, rushing out the words.
“Why, what’s wrong?” Fitz asked, and she could tell he had suddenly become much more focused on her. “I thought Joe was going to drive you home after the reception?”
“It’s Joe,” Jemma cut him off, trying her best to steady her voice as she did. “I, um… I caught him making out with one of the bridesmaids.” She cringed as she talked, and cringed more at the silence that followed. Fitz’s momentary silence really made her take in just how sad her surroundings were; she was standing in the hallway of this fancy venue, the bright pink and purple lights of the party spilled out around her, balloons and dragged out confetti lying lamely on the floor.
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Fitz said, snapping her back to the phone call. She suddenly realized that his silence — most of it, anyway — probably wasn’t him judging her taste or her sense, but finding out just how long it would take to get to the venue.
“Thank you, Fitz,” she said, smiling for the first time since she had walked into that women’s bathroom, to see Joe pressed up against that other woman.
“Of course, Jemma. What else was I gonna do?” He said sincerely, followed by a clear silence indicating that he had hung up. Jemma huffed, wrapping her arms tightly around herself and leaning back against the wall.
How could she have been so stupid? It wasn’t like there hadn’t been warning signs. Jemma had never thought of herself as the jealous type, but even she could pick it up. He was always staring just a bit too long at that waitress at the cafe they had been to a few times. Or trying to get Fitz to make degrading comments about women’s bodies when the three of them were in the same room. But she’d tried so hard to tell herself those were just flukes, things he’d heard or seen other men do and was copying like most twenty-somethings do when they’re not entirely sure who they are yet. But that didn’t seem to be the case.
Fitz never liked him much, anyway. Not that she would ever let him know it, his ego didn’t need inflating, but Jemma had always trusted Fitz’s taste. The TV shows he got her to watch were always entertaining. The books he loved she loved just as much. The movies he loved — minus the horror movies, thank you very much — were always good. The people he warned her to stay away from always ended up being trouble.
(Though Fitz always seemed to dislike her boyfriends just a bit more. Milton was too clingy. Charlie was too loud. Joe was too… not right for her, he had put it.)
After fourteen minutes and forty-seven seconds later — because yes, Jemma had counted — the doors swung open to reveal Fitz, a bit winded and not quite put together but there.
“Oh, Fitz,” Jemma had breathed, stepping forward to throw her arms around Fitz’s shoulders, burying her face in the crook of his neck.
“Are you okay?” Fitz asked, hugging her as tight as he could. His hand rubbed up and down her back in smoothing ovals.
Jemma nodded against him. “I’m fine, now that you’re here,” she said, barely loud enough for him to hear it.
Fitz pulled back, putting his hands on her shoulders and looking into her eyes. They were a bit bloodshot, she was sure, but he didn’t comment on it if he could tell.
“Let’s get you out of here, yeah?” Fitz said, turning them to walk towards the door.
“It’s a shame, really. I was looking forward to the party,” Jemma said, seeming just a bit too distant.
“It’s not that important, Simmons. There will be other wedding receptions, I’m sure. Much more fun ones, too.”
“No, I know. It’s just… Fitz, I just want to feel normal.” Her words make them stop in place, standing in the doorway of the venue. Fitz’s face scrunches up, and Jemma sighs before continuing. “Ever since I was little, I’ve always been on the fast track to life. With everything academically, I never got to really enjoy the experience of having a life. Until we went to the academy, I never dated anyone. And even when we were there, everyone besides you was so much older than me. And dreadfully boring.” Fitz chuckles, but she can tell he seems genuinely worried for her. “Ever since we graduated, I just feel like I’ve been tossed out into life without a life jacket. Like I was meant to learn all these life skills, learn my lessons, get burned during secondary school or during college, but I never got to. And every time I try it culminates in something like this. Where the guy I’m with clearly wants something I can’t give him. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret going to the Academy and I certainly don’t resent myself for being smart. I just wish I knew this one thing better, wouldn’t it make life easier?”
Jemma sighed, closing her eyes and rubbing her forehead.
“I get what you mean,” Fitz said quietly, pushing his hands into his pockets as he did.
Jemma took her head from her hands and looked up at him. “You do?” she asked tentatively.
“Of course.” Fitz shrugged. “I mean, I certainly have less experience than you with the whole dating-relationships-thing.” He waved his hand around as he awkwardly defined it. “Mostly because every time I actually try to explore that area I feel exactly the way you do. I don’t know how to flirt—”
Jemma stifled a laugh, cutting him off. She’d witnessed his terrible flirting skills before (and been on the receiving side, the one time he tried his best to “study” flirting with her as his test subject) so she knew exactly what he meant.
“I’ve never been in a real relationship with anyone, besides a night or two where I tried and horribly failed,” Fitz continued after a moment. “So I understand what you mean.”
They both smiled at each other as he finished, Jemma wrapping her arms around herself as they did.
“At least we have each other, right?” she proposed.
“Of course, Simmons. You’ll always have me,” Fitz reassured.
Three
“This was the worst idea I’ve ever had,” Fitz groaned, leaning his head against the brick wall of the cathedral. “It’s got to be.”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Fitz.” Simmons nudged him with her shoulder. “You’ve had plenty of terrible ideas in your life. This hardly breaks the top ten.”
“Thanks for that, Simmons. Really lifting my confidence,” Fitz said, his voice low and distracted as he closed his eyes.
“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. I mean this is nowhere near “nearly burning down the lab” levels of bad. Not even “staying up watching terrible- 80s movies the night before your dissertation was due” level of bad.”
Fitz opened one eye, caught between glaring at her and appreciating her support. “If any of my relatives pinches my cheek, we are flying back to America immediately.”
Simmons reaches up and pinches his cheek, beaming at him. “That’s the spirit!” She said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now.” She pushed herself off the bench they were sitting on and outstretched her hand to Fitz. “Are we gonna go make fun of your cousin’s vows or what?”
Fitz rolled his eyes, grabbing her hand and letting her help him up. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from us.” He took a moment to look her up and down. She was wearing a dark-blue dress, one that hugged her chest before becoming loose and flowy past the waist. Her hair was down — a change from the usual messy ponytail she had while working — and slightly curled, perfectly framing her face.
“You look great, Simmons,” he said after a moment, letting their hands drop between them.
“You think?” Simmons asked, looking down at her dress and pulling on the sides.
“Yes.” Fitz smiled at her. “And I really do appreciate you coming, you didn’t have to.”
“Please, as if I would ever let you face your family without me,” Simmons said with a faux-graveness in her voice.
“They’re not the absolute worst,” Fitz argued. He’d been complaining about them for the past month, it felt like he had to defend them at some point. “At least it’s not my dad’s side.”
Jemma froze at the rare mention of his father. “If it had been your father’s side I certainly wouldn’t have let you come here alone,” she said. Her voice was lower, more serious, but she tried her best to move forwards, as he didn’t seem too caught up on the point at the moment. “Besides, the lab would be dreadful without you. I’d rather be with you in hell than without you anywhere else.”
The way Simmons said that last bit made Fitz feel like his heart was stuck in his throat. He couldn’t totally understand why. But he knew, without a doubt, that he felt the same way.
“Now,” Simmons declared. “Shall we go?” She held out her arm so he could loop his arm through it.
“Of course,” Fitz said, intertwining their arms and leading her to the entrance of the cathedral. “I wouldn’t want us to land in a spot where we can’t see the bride and groom properly. How else are we supposed to make fun of his bald spot and rat tail combination.”
“Oh God, he didn’t cut it?” Simmons groaned with a chuckle. She had never met his cousin Daniel, but Fitz had spent the last few weeks catching her up on every member of his family. He covered the basics first. Who was who, who was related to who, and so on. Then he moved on to the much more entertaining bit, recounting decades of family drama and the worst qualities of everyone in his extended family. The terrible fashion choices, the terrible life choices, the specific topics to avoid unless you wanted the night to end in tears. He told her all of this under the pretense of preparing her — because if there’s one thing about Simmons, she will always be prepared — but it may have slipped into gossiping faster than he would have liked.
“No!” Fitz laughed. “What kind of person does something like that? These pictures are going to follow you around for the rest of your life, for God’s sake. Have some self-respect.”
Simmons laughed again as they sat down in their seats, about four rows from the front. “Well, I’m glad we can establish you have some standards.” She was silent for a moment as if she was contemplating something. “When you get married, you should keep your hair long, a bit longer than it is now. Not what Daniel has, or anything of the sort, but less… controlled.”
Fitz’s heart stopped a bit as she said when instead of if. He knew it was a typical step in someone’s life, one he’d probably take at some point. It was a bit irrational, but he couldn’t truly imagine himself ever having such a committed relationship. For the past eight years, since he was sixteen, his life had completely revolved around one person. It seemed completely unnatural that someone would ever mean more to him than Simmons did, especially not to the point of marriage. And it wasn’t like he wanted to marry Simmons, right?
“You think?” Fitz asked, picking at a seam on his pants to distract himself from his thoughts.
Jemma hummed in affirmation. “Not that your short hair is anything close to a rat tail level of bad, it’s just… You look a bit too professional with it short, especially when you’re wearing a suit.” She was clearly referring to about three years ago when he had accidentally gotten gum stuck in his hair and needed to cut off a large chunk. It had looked uneven and strange when it was long in one area, his curls bounding off his head, and short, his hair barely long enough to curl, in others — so he had gone for the shortest his hair had been since he was a baby. Simmons had said it made him look like a grown-up man, like someone ready to take on the world instead of a little kid, but Fitz had decided to grow it back out.
“I think it would be better if you grew it out for domestic life.”
Fitz nodded, taking in her words.
“Whoever you marry, they’re going to be a very lucky person,” Simmons said, elbowing him lightly in the side.
Fitz smiled at the compliment. “Right back at you, Simmons.”
Four
“Are you sure no one is going to ask who we are?” Fitz asked, pulling himself forward towards the front seat of the van, where Mack and Coulson were sitting.
“Turbo, we’ve been over this,” Mack said, clearly trying to hold back a sigh. Fitz felt a pang of guilt, not wanting to make himself seem like a burden to the rest of the team.
“Right, right,” Fitz mumbled, letting his back fall back against the car seat. “If someone close to the groom comes up, we tell them we’re close to the bride; if someone close to the bride comes up, we tell them we’re close to the groom,” he ran over the barebone logistics to himself.
It wasn’t that he was having a hard time understanding it — it was a fairly simple mission. Jemma and he would sneak into the wedding of two acclaimed scientists, who happened to have ties to old HYDRA operatives, eventually peel off and break into the back rooms of the venue, looking for information and documents. As long as the rest of the team did their jobs, the pair had an easy job. Sit around, enjoy the party for a while, and then avoid prying eyes and couples who had snuck off to fool around.
But something in Fitz’s brain had been recalling every single aspect of the occasion that could go terribly wrong. Since the day she had jumped out of the plane, what felt like a thousand years ago, he had lived in constant fear of losing her or of her being terribly injured. This mission was the first time either of them had been out in the field since Lincoln’s death, with the new director keeping them locked up and apart until he needed two scientists to go into the field, and all of Fitz’s terrible anxieties had only worsened over the past few months. He spared a glance at Jemma, who was looking out the window at the passing city and felt a lump form in his throat.
Just as he started to spiral — his brain creating all sorts of situations in which Jemma could be hurt, or worse — Coulson pulled the car to a stop, a few blocks away from where the venue was.
“Okay, you two,” Coulson started, turning back to them. “This is where you get out. Remember, act natural, don’t get too worked up, and message us when you need anything.” The group had strayed from any sophisticated spy-gear on this mission, knowing that a wedding full of geniuses and spies would probably not be the best place for them. Instead, they had opted to simply use their phones, to help Fitz and Jemma blend in more with their roles.
They both nodded, reaching for their seatbelts. “Yes, sir,” Jemma said as she did, reaching for the handle on the door.
“There’s no need to call me ‘sir’ anymore, Simmons. I’m not your boss.”
Jemma froze, furrowing her eyebrows at the reminder. “Yes, of course. Sorry, si— Coulson.” Even in the dark, Fitz could see Jemma’s cheeks turn pink after her slip-up.
“We got it, Coulson,” Fitz said, lightly nudging Jemma to indicate they should leave the car immediately, not wanting her to over-apologize and become even more embarrassed than she already was.
“I’m still having a hard time adjusting,” Jemma confessed once they were out of the car, scrunching up her nose and crossing her arms as she spoke.
“I know,” Fitz said, squeezing her bicep gently as a small gesture of reassurance. “So am I, with everything that’s changed since...” He trailed off, but the way Jemma stiffened slightly against him let him know that she knew exactly what he was referring to.
“But enough about that,” Fitz said, trying to make the conversation a bit less tense. Even if he was stressed, he knew Jemma was probably just as worried, if not more so, and there was no reason to get stuck in a feedback loop of stress. He let out a short, breathless laugh, and knew his attempt was already falling apart. “Do you have our ID cards?”
Jemma nodded, rummaging through her clutch for the two plastic cards. She handed him one and held up hers. His said James Wilson, hers said Anne Wilson. They were very simple cards — the only difference between his actual driver’s license and this was the name, and even that was just a combination of his middle name and mother’s maiden name. But even with all their time in SHIELD, neither was amazing at undercover work, and it felt best to keep things simple.
As they walked, Fitz knew that Jemma wasn’t relaxing. Her hands weren’t shaking, but she couldn’t stop fidgeting with her fake wedding ring and the hem of her dress. Her shoulders were high and tense.
“Jem,” Fitz grabbed her arm, stopping them in the middle of the sidewalk. They could see the start of the venue from here, the blue and purple lights spilling out from the open door. But the security guard was just out of earshot, so Fitz was still willing to talk about the mission in clear terms. “It’s going to be all right. This is not a high-stakes mission. If it was, we wouldn’t be here.”
Even to his own ears, he didn’t sound entirely convincing. But Jemma still cracked a smile. “We’d be here no matter what; I don’t think Coulson wants a repeat of the time he tried to talk about Cybertek with you in his ear.”
Fitz smiled at that. “That wasn’t our best work, in fairness. And I suppose we’re both… decent fighters now.”
“You definitely have more muscle than you did then,” Jemma pointed out.
“Thank you for noticing. And you’re a… marginally better liar.”
“My survival skills have improved,” Jemma said. “Not necessarily my lying.”
They were only a few meters from the security guard, so Fitz grabbed her hand and whispered, “Let’s try not to test that theory, yeah?” She laughed, short but something, as they handed over their IDs. For a moment, it seemed like everything would be okay.
When they were actually in the venue, Jemma nearly relaxed. As it turned out, it was easy to pretend to enjoy a party when all the real parts of a party are there. She wasn’t enjoying it, so to say, but it wasn’t the absolute nightmare she had assumed it was going to be.
Though, a part of her brain pointed out, this wasn’t the hard part of the mission. This was the blending in part; the real struggle and the real risk would come when Coulson gave them a signal. But she tried her best not to focus on that.
Fitz seemed to be having a harder job with that. They were sitting at an empty table — their tablemates, a middle-aged couple and their teenage daughter had gone out to dance and, in the case of the latter, go vape in the back alley — with two nearly untouched glasses of champagne and two nearly clean plates that had once held chocolate cake between them. Jemma could feel Fitz’s leg bouncing and she could see the way he was massaging his bad hand. Telltale signs that he was not coping well.
“Are you all right?” she asked. She knew the answer already. The way he grabbed her outstretched hand and squeezed it only reaffirmed what she knew he would say.
Fitz shook his head slightly. “I’m just… I’ll be fine, I’m just nervous,” he confessed, his breaths shallow. “Can you just distract me? Somehow?” He asked.
“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Jemma said, scooting her chair closer to his. “What do you want me to talk about?”
“Anything. Eigenvalues. The weather. Your great-aunt Diane. Anything.”
Jemma looked around, clearly searching for anything she could use to kick off her imagination. “Do you want me to talk about our covers? I put quite a lot of work into them. I know you weren’t very interested in our whole backstories when we were at the base, but I can tell you about them now if you’re okay with that.” Fitz nodded, prompting her to continue.
“They’re a bit similar to us if you think about it. Obviously, I changed quite a lot of identifying details, I’m not a total fool. But in the grand scheme of things, they’re similar. We met when we were twenty-two, both heading to grad school in America, going to get our Masters. We actually were studying at different universities in the same area, but we kept going to the same pub in the city and ended up bonding on one of the nights when neither of us had a friend with us. We immediately hit it off, there wasn’t any of that rivalry that we really had.”
“Rivalry?” Fitz asked his breath already a bit steadier.
“Of course, back at the Academy. Don’t you remember? You hated me back then, always avoiding me at any cost. It just made me work harder if I’m being honest. I was thinking ‘who’s this guy, to think he’s so much better than me?’ Great motivator, you are.”
“I never hated you, Jem.” Jemma looked up to him, from where their hands had been clasped on the table.
“You didn’t?”
“Not at all. I just was scared of being awkward and you hating me.”
“I could never hate you.”
“So nothing about me being awkward?”
“I’ve seen you flirt.”
“Please, I’m a much better flirter than you. You just jump to sexual innuendo in the workplace and call it a day.”
“I call it a day because it works on you. Also, you’re forgetting that we’ve been friends since we were sixteen. I’ve seen you fall flat on your face flirting more times than I could count.”
“Give me one example of—”
“The entire first two months of us knowing Daisy.”
Fitz sputtered then, a blush creeping up his cheeks at the mention of just how painfully awkward he used to be around their friend (because she is still their friend, right?). “Point taken,” he eventually conceded. Jemma smirked, simultaneously proud of herself for besting Fitz in yet another debate and being able to calm him down so quickly.
“Back to the sweet background on our identities, please,” Fitz said, burying his face in his drink. They weren’t strictly supposed to drink it, with the mission and all, but they both argued earlier in the night that a little bit certainly couldn't hurt.
“We’ve been best friends since that night in the bar, but we got together romantically fairly quickly. It only took us a year—”
“A year is a pretty long time, Jem.”
“It’s shorter than ten years, Fitz. Anyway, it only took us a year to get together, and we got engaged about three years after that.”
“What was it like?” Fitz asked, leaning his head against his hand.
“What?”
“Our engagement. What was it like?”
“I don’t have those kinds of details.” Jemma rolled her eyes at him, a fond smile on her face.
“Then what would you like to happen? To our covers, that is.”
Oh, Fitz knew exactly what he was doing to her. Jemma gaped at him for a moment before her mouth grew into a small smile. “You planned it out for months. Practiced it over and over again, scrapping it and running through it more times than you could count, any time you knew I was out of the apartment. It was very sweet, incredibly poetic. You’ve always been such a good writer, it’s a bit of a shame you went into the sciences.”
“I never would’ve met you if I did.”
“Point taken. You even had the exact time and place of the proposal timed out. But the day we went to the park — a secluded part of it, because you know I hate a scene — it started pouring buckets out of nowhere before you could get past your first line. We had to run back to our place, sopping wet and carrying all of the picnic supplies. As soon as we got to the door, huddled under the overhang of the entrance, you cracked some corny joke. I barely had time to laugh, I just blurted out ‘marry me, Fit… James,’” Jemma corrected herself, suddenly remembering her cover. “I had been thinking about it too, of course, but I hadn’t planned for anything that day. I guess I just took one look at you — after you had put so much effort into making this perfect day for me out of the blue, only for it to be ruined, and for you to still take your time to make me laugh — and knew I wanted to marry you.”
Fitz smiled at her. He was silent for a moment, only taking in her words and herself for as long as he could. “Sounds perfect,” he said finally.
It felt silly, to only be able to say that. Fitz racked his brain, trying to find anything that truly encapsulated just how much he wanted exactly that. A mundane, domestic life with picnics and proposals and growing old together. But he hesitated, part of his mind reminding him that they’d never talked about marriage before. Before he could formulate anything profound, or get past his hesitations, their phones vibrated against the soft white tablecloth.
Coulson: Go time
They both shot to their feet, hands still clasped in each other as they tried to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible.
Both pushed away their racing thoughts, their anxieties, and the proof lying six feet under that they weren’t invincible. They’d get to have this discussion later. Because God help them, all either of them wanted at that moment was to marry their best friend.
Five
“What’s going on over there?” Fitz asked, bringing Jemma’s attention away from the circuit board she was fiddling with.
She hummed, following his pointed finger to the conference room on the Zephyr. The lights in there had been turned back on — Jemma had guessed they were off for conservation of energy when she came on — and they could now see into the room, though the windows were much dustier than they had ever been back in their day. Two women were holding hands in front of a much older man, who seemed to be giving some kind of speech. The women were almost bouncing up and down, with something between anticipation and excitement. A few assorted people stood around them, and Jemma could just make out Coulson, May, and Daisy in the group.
“I’m not sure,” Jemma said, perking up from where she had been hunched over the wiring. They had both been sent to work on the wiring of the cockpit and had been mostly isolated from the rest of the team for the last few hours. Everyone had decided to go to their own corners of the ship after they had witnessed Robin’s death, and Jemma wasn’t expecting so many people to be seemingly enjoying themselves so quickly.
“Some kind of celebration?” Fitz posed, squinting so he could get a better look at what was going on.
Jemma hummed, looking between Fitz and the room. Just as she looked back, the two women kissed, and everyone in the room started clapping and cheering.
“Oh,” Jemma said, almost involuntarily. “I think those two just got married,” she added with a small smile.
“Oh,” Fitz echoed. “That’s quite nice for them.” He turned his attention back to his work, but Jemma could tell from the way he couldn’t quite get his hands to work properly and the way he was biting on his lower lip that something was still bothering him.
“What’s wrong?” Jemma asked, not wanting Fitz to bottle anything up.
He sighed, letting his work drop into his lap. They could still hear the lively chatter and laughter from the other room, making his small silence even louder. “Do you want to get married like that?” he finally asked, furrowing his brows as he did. “It’s okay if you do, of course. Anything that will make you happy is fine by me,” he quickly added.
“What, get married here? Now?” Fitz nodded. Jemma paused for a second, thinking it over. “No, I don’t think so,” she said. “I’m sure it’s still nice, and I’m sure those two are happy, but if we do have the option… I’d like to not get married on the barren surface of the Earth seventy-four years after the end of the world.”
Fitz nodded, letting out a dry laugh. “That’s what I’d thought you’d say.”
“Then why’d you ask?” There was no heat in Jemma’s question, she certainly wasn’t annoyed, simply curious.
“I don’t know. I think I’ve just been thinking about proposing for so long that now that we’re actually engaged I’m not sure what to do with myself. All that brainpower,” Fitz taped the side of his head for emphasis, “it’s already been used up.”
“Please, it’s not like you need to think very hard about it. I’d be happy with you anywhere,” Jemma said, taking one of his hands.
Fitz cocked his head to one side, smiling cheekily at her.
“But I am sick of this place,” Jemma conceded. Fitz nodded.
“Do you have anything in mind for the wedding?” Fitz asked as both of them got back to work.
Creases appeared on Jemma’s forehead as she thought it over. “Not particularly. It’s not like I’ve been obsessing over the aesthetics or the location or anything of that sort. Besides, we haven’t really had the time for that.”
“You must have some idea of what you’d like, Jem, even I do.”
“Really?”
“Of course! Nothing in-depth, but I have a vague picture.”
“Then you go,” Jemma said, gently hitting his knee.
Fitz huffed in faux-annoyance, before putting down his tools and closing his eyes, trying his best to look serious without laughing.
“When we get married,” Fitz already felt his grin split his face in two at the sheer fact that he got to say when and not if. “Our friends will be there, of course. The whole team, if they can slow down for long enough to listen to some vows. Your parents will be there, and my mum. There won’t be much of the whole riff-raff around weddings, it will be something simple. Sorry, I know how much you love elaborate plans, but we already have so much on our plates. And I’m not entirely sure when we’ll be getting our next SHIELD paycheck, with the whole illegal-organization-thing. But we’ll make it work. You’ll look magnificent — because when do you not. I’ll look presentable.”
“Oh, Fitz,” Jemma muttered, somewhere between fondness and annoyance.
“I think holding it outside would be nice. We spend so much of our time cooped up in labs, bases, or planes. It’d be nice to see the sun on a day like that.”
Fitz paused for a moment, fiddling with the wiring again. “Most importantly, we’d just be happy,” he said slowly. “That’s all I want, really. For both of us. To be happy and safe and together. For the rest of our lives, preferably, if you want that too.” He trailed off, his words becoming less definitive and more mumbled.
Jemma made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “I did propose to you, so I think it’s safe to assume that I want the same.”
Fitz groaned. “I was the one who proposed first— It doesn’t matter.”
Jemma chuckled. “I do have one edit though — in my dream wedding you do happen to be wearing a kilt.” It hadn’t really been in her dreams (okay, maybe once or twice, tops), but she knew just how much it would mess with her fiancé to say so.
Fitz groaned, exactly as she predicted he would. “No way in hell am I wearing a kilt. I don’t have the shins for it,” he reasoned.
“I think you’d look dashing,” Jemma said, rolling her eyes at him.
“If I’m wearing a kilt, we’re getting a divorce.”
“So you’ll still marry me, then? Even with one?”
“Do you really think I’ll pass up the chance to marry you? I’d marry you a thousand times over if I have to,” Fitz said, his tone teasing but the weight behind his words clear.
Jemma smiled, leaned over, and pressed a short, sweet kiss to his lips. When she pulled away, Fitz was smiling, and he looked more serene than he had since well before the Framework. It was almost peaceful, in that small moment. She was sure that in a minute some meteor would hit them or Deke would come in yelling about something stupid or Daisy would tell them to get a room, but at the moment none of that seemed to matter. It was just her and Fitz, and that was more than enough.
Plus One
It didn’t feel quite right to be this happy.
In theory, he shouldn’t be. The world was about to end. Elena had been terribly injured — she wasn’t even out of her hospital bed, for God’s sake. Coulson was dying. There was a constant voice in the back of Fitz’s head telling him that he wasn’t a good person, that he didn’t deserve any of this. There was nothing to be happy about, at least on the surface.
Except for the fact that he had just married the love of his life, and they were currently swaying in a barren room of the Lighthouse to some old slow song blasting from Daisy’s phone.
That was something to be happy about in Fitz’s book.
Jemma’s head was pushed into the crook of his neck, her breath tickling his skin and reminding him that this was real. One of her hands was intertwined with his, the other wrapped around his shoulder. Most of the other agents were in their own corners of the room — drinking and laughing, a noise Fitz hadn’t heard in a while. The drinks were terrible, as the selection of alcohol in the Lighthouse was scarce at best. The snacks weren’t much better either. But none of them seemed to mind. Everyone seemed grateful for this momentary respite from their chaotic lives.
“I’m sorry this wasn’t like we’d imagined,” Fitz said quietly, his mouth close to Jemma’s ear.
She shot her head up, her face scrunched up in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“What we had talked about on the Zephyr,” Fitz explained. “Back in 2091. I’m sorry it wasn’t like that.”
Jemma shook her head, smiling at him. “Don’t be silly, Fitz. I didn’t need anything in particular for our wedding. I just need you.”
Fitz beamed at her, leaning in to press a short kiss to her lips for what could be the hundredth time that afternoon. Fitz had lost count. Usually, they weren’t ones for PDA, a few reunions or extenuating circumstances notwithstanding. Today felt different, though. In Fitz’s eyes, they had earned a few public displays.
“You’re such a sap, Simmons,” Fitz said as he pulled away, nudging her nose with his.
Jemma’s mouth fell open in clearly staged annoyance. “So when you say stuff like that, it’s romantic, but when I do it I’m a sap?”
“Well, we do both know that I’m the romantic one if we had to choose.”
“Wrong. Wrong on both counts.”
“Both?”
Jemma detached her hand from his momentarily. “One, we are equally romantic.” She held up one of her fingers to make a point as Fitz shook his head with a small smile. “Two, our wedding was essentially what I had imagined the whole time.”
Fitz cocked his head as she grabbed his hand again, prompting her to elaborate.
“Well, for starters, you were there.”
“I think that was a given. Seeing as it’s our wedding.”
“You never know. Especially with our luck.”
“I promise you I am not an LMD.”
“I hope not, I have some plans for this evening that I would rather not do with a robot.”
Fitz blushed at that, trying his best to hide it from their friends as Jemma laughed. “Keep elaborating, please.”
“Our friends were here. Coulson officiated. We got to step out into the sunlight — fake sunlight, I guess, but it counts — for once in our lives. You looked dashing. I didn’t cry so hard I threw up. Essentially the only thing missing was our families.”
Fitz hummed at that last observation. “We can do it again. We can have another ceremony when all this ends and we get out and invite my Mum and your parents and anyone else in the entire world that you want.”
Jemma smiled. She didn’t take the time to ask what he meant by get out — it had been an unspoken agreement between them since at least the Framework that they had to leave sooner rather than later. They’d discuss it in full some other time, perhaps even later this same day, but it wasn’t the time nor place. “You mean it?”
“Remember when I said I’d marry you a thousand times over if I had to?” Jemma nodded. “I meant it,” he said softly, making her grin. Her cheeks actually hurt from smiling — she hadn’t experienced that in quite some time.
“Does that mean, in one of our thousand weddings, that you’ll wear a kilt?”
Fitz laughed. “Maybe during the thousandth wedding you can win me over.”
Jemma laughed too. She realized she had been right all those years ago: the person who married Fitz was a very lucky person. She supposed he had been right when he had said the same for her.
Of course, then they hadn’t expected any of this. But perhaps it was how it was all supposed to be. Perhaps their whole lives had been leading to this: slow dancing at the end of the world with matching rings on their fourth fingers.