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She found him hunched over his latest prototype in the lab, muttering to himself.
Her stomach clenched, quite contrary to her typical reaction to watching Fitz work. He had a brilliant mind, and although she knew they were a match in that regard, his ability to puzzle out machines amazed her. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a day where she could just admire him and his craft.
“Fitz.”
His name slipped past her lips, not much louder than a whisper. He turned, gave her a brief smile of acknowledgement, and turned back to the machine.
“Simmons, c’mere an’ tell me if ye see anythin’. I cannae for the lif’ o’ me figure out wha’s wrong—”
“Fitz.”
She tried again, putting more force behind his name, but he just kept on babbling.
“—I swear th’ calibration is se’ up properly, but everythin’ suggests a—”
“Leo!”
Not even his first name startles his concentration.
“—calibration issue. I’m nearly ready ta scrap th’ whole damn—”
“Leopold Alexander Fitz!”
That got him. He turns to her, white as a sheet and eyes panicked. She’s rarely called him by his full name, and only when she was truly irate. Her fists clench, and the plastic shaft pokes the meat of her palm uncomfortably. She’s frozen, eyes fixed on his face as he comes closer to her.
“Jem, wha’s wrong?” his voice has gone soft, and his touch is gentle where he grips her upper arms.
She fixes her eyes on the knot of his tie, unable to meet his concerned gaze. He rains soft kisses on her, from the crown of her head down to her left cheek.
“C’mon, Jemma, ye know tha’ ye can tell me anythin’. We’re FitzSimmons, for Chris’ sakes.”
That reminder, that they were FitzSimmons before, they’ve been FitzSimmons during and hopefully will be FitzSimmons after unfreezes her. Slowly, she raises her right arm between them and unfurls her palm. Time seems to stop as he takes in the plastic wand with two clear blue lines staring up at him.
“Fitz, I’m… I’m p-p-pregnant.”
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