Archive of Our Own

It wasn't until he was in the corridor that he heard the pounding, which came with enough force to shake dust from the rafters. Fitz broke into a sprint, heading toward the general direction of the noise, and found himself in the hangar.

"Oh good," said Coulson, "you're here."

Fitz was about to ask what he meant when another boom! came, and he realized that someone was trying to break through the hangar door. He looked around to find May, Mack, and Skye, all covering their ears and staring at him.

"We need you to talk to them," Coulson said between attacks. When Fitz raised his eyebrows in question, Coulson shook his head. "It's the British Royal Army." 

Fitz gasped, and was frozen to the spot for a moment until May nudged him towards the comm. He practically fell into it, and May had to nudge him again before he pushed the call button.

"Um, sir?" he croaked. The pounding stopped.

"LEOPOLD FITZ," came the voice through the speaker, "WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER?"

The hangar door opened and there he was, clad in full uniform with no less than ten soldiers at his side. Fitz found himself instinctively raising his hands in surrender until Skye pulled them down.

"Two months," Major General Simmons growled, "two months without a phone call." He strode towards Fitz until he towered over him. "She calls us every week, Fitz. Every week. Did you think we wouldn't notice when she stopped?"

Fitz tried to find something to say, but found that his mouth had gone completely dry.

"Did you really think," General Simmons continued, "that I wouldn't use every resource I had at my disposal to find her?"

That sparked a thought, and soon Fitz was stumbling over the words, "M-me too."

General Simmons leveled a challenging stare. "Excuse me, Mr. Fitz?"

"Uh, Agent Fitz," he corrected automatically, before wincing, "or, uh, or Dr. Fitz, sir, but uh, of course you can . . . you can call me whatever you—"

"General Simmons," Coulson interjected, and Fitz let out a sigh of relief. He took a step back to give the director room to move in and shake the general's hand.

"Agent Simmons speaks very highly of you, general," continued Coulson, "and we were very honored to serve with her."

"Were?" The general looked from Coulson to Fitz. "Were?"

"She's not dead!"

Fitz was as surprised as everyone else at his scream, but then wasn't that what he'd been saying this whole time?

"She's uh," he continued, this time in a whisper, "she's missing. But I'm gonna find her."

General Simmons folded his arms and narrowed his gaze.

"You'd better."

"I didn't know she was, uh, was calling you," Fitz explained as he ushered the general down the hallway. "It's against protocol, and you know how she is about rules."

"You know how devoted she is to her family," the general shot back.

"Yeah," Fitz relented with a sigh, "yeah, I do."

His heart stopped every time he saw the caution tape that blocked him from the Kree rock, and this time was no exception. "She's in there, somewhere," he breathed.

"In there? In that rock?"

The general seemed wholly unconvinced until Fitz pulled up the surveillance footage, and even then, he insisted on watching it half a dozen times. 

"Jemma," the general said, ghosting his fingers over the screen, "my poor girl." When he turned to Fitz, his eyes were red-rimmed and shining. For a few, silent seconds, she was mourned by the two men who loved her most.

The general made an attempt at pulling himself together with a sniffle that somehow warmed Fitz's heart. 

"Well," he said to Fitz, "you're a genius, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"As smart as my Jemma?"

Fitz nodded. "Almost, sir."

"Well then," General Simmons said, clasping his hands together, "if I'm reading things right, SHIELD has given up on finding her."

"They're running low on resources, sir."

"But you haven't."

Fitz swallowed at the lump in his throat. "Never, sir."

He wasn't sure what it was that flickered over the general's face, but Fitz found it very encouraging. "Well, then," he said, "It turns out that the Royal Army Medical Corps has a great deal of resources." Fitz couldn't help but smile as the general clapped him on the shoulder. "We are faithful in adversity, aren't we?"

Fitz gave a solemn nod. "Yes, sir, we are."

"Good," answered the general. "Now, tell me exactly what you need."

It wasn't long until Fitz found himself in the center of a small corps of soldiers, each working as tirelessly as he did. General Simmons kept them in line, and after a small period of adjustment, he actually listened to what Fitz had to say. Oddly enough, working with one Simmons was not much different from working with another, and soon Fitz fell in an easy routine of holding his own.

"I started as a field medic, you know," the general said one day, causing Fitz to cock his head at him. "I continued my education as I rose up in the ranks, of course. Have you ever performed a surgery while under enemy fire, Fitz?"

Fitz shook his head. "Not my specialty, sir. But uh, I've seen . . . I've seen Simmons do it. Not under fire, really, but when things were . . . bad."

The general gave a hum in response. "Maybe I shouldn't have been so hard on her. I insisted on teaching her everything I knew, even when she begged me to let her work on her experiments."

"She used that training," Fitz argued, "and she was proud to do it. She saved lives."

"Well," the general sighed, "then it seems like she deserves a little life-saving herself, don't you think?"

Fitz couldn't help but agree.

Their team consisted of three engineers, two medics, a surgeon, and a geologist, but it was Skye who made a surprising breakthrough.

"It's the vibrations," she whispered to Fitz, careful to keep the soldiers out of earshot, "I'm getting better at sensing them. If I show you the frequency, do you think you can shatter the rock without shattering Simmons?"

"Do you think you can?"

"Not with them watching!"

Skye had a point, and it had been more work than expected to keep their guests away from sensitive information. Fitz put a hand on her shoulder. "You give me the frequency, and I'll do the rest."

"So, that Skye girl," the general said over his morning tea, "you and she aren't . . ." He said the rest with the raise of his eyebrows, and Fitz almost choked on his English breakfast.

"Ahem, uh, no sir. Nothing like that."

Fitz tried to avoid the general's knowing glance.

"But you two come down here at night, when you think I'm in bed."

Fitz almost inhaled his next sip. "What? Oh. Well. I, uh, she has some ideas—for Simmons! For saving Simmons that is." He almost facepalmed, remembering at the last minute that he was holding a mug.

"I see," said the general, "and Skye is also a PhD?"

"Oh! No, she's an, uh, an out-of-the-box thinker."

"And what's her job title, exactly?"

Fitz paused. "Hactivist."

"Right," the general replied, and Fitz avoided eye contact like he would the plague. "So, how long have you and Jemma been dating?"

Fitz took in a deep breath, and was it just him, or were the walls collapsing in? And why was it so hard to get air in his lungs?

"Well, I, uh, we haven't, technically."

The general narrowed his gaze. "Technically."

"Yes, you know Simmons and I are friends—best friends, of course—and we've certainly never . . . she's my best friend, sir."

Was he hallucinating, or did General Simmons chuckle? "Stop it, Fitz. I know you're in love with her. What I want to know is if she's in love with you."

Fitz opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. He tried to decide if it was wise to answer before ultimately coming to the conclusion that if the general wanted information, he had extremely unpleasant ways to get it. Better to get it over with now.

"Well, you see, she, uh, she said maybe she is."

The general raised an eyebrow. "Maybe," he repeated. "My daughter thinks she may be in love with you."

Fitz could only nod in response.

"Well," the general continued, "that doesn't sound like her at all, now does it?"

Fitz gulped. "No, sir."

"Hmm. Well, Fitz," said the general, "I suppose now's a good a time as any to ask you if you wouldn't mind popping the question before you've been dating a full year? Mrs. Simmons and I have a bet going, you see. She'll have to let me buy myself a sports car."

There was no air left in the room; Fitz was sure of it. In the end, he simply nodded with a desperate vigor.

"Good. Only if it feels right, of course, but it has to be before the anniversary of your first date." This time, he could feel the general's eyes on him as he nodded again. "Well, I have a feeling that I should wish you luck, then."

Fitz smiled appreciatively, suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling that he'd need all the luck he could get.

"Okay, are we ready?"

Fitz, the other two engineers, the two medics, the geologist, and Coulson all nodded as they put noise protection headphones over their ears. After a second, the general did the same, and held up a finger as Fitz waited for the command.

One, two, three.

Fitz pressed the button, and though he couldn't hear it, he could feel the air reverberating against the sound. The rock started to shift, then shake, and then Fitz gaped in awe as it shattered, and there she was. Jemma emerged like a butterfly escaping a chrysalis, but Fitz had only a sliver of time to admire her beauty as the medics caught her and put her on the gurney. He turned off the machine and removed his headphones.

"She's breathing," a medic called, and Fitz found that he could, too. "She's . . . she's actually breathing."

Perhaps it was the relief, or the exhaustion, but the floor seemed to go out from under him as the world went black.

"Hey, Fitz."

Fitz blinked, wondering what the gray fuzz was before he realized he was looking at the ceiling. It took him a second to turn his head towards the familiar voice.

"Jemma."

She was in a hospital bed, too, and he quickly realized that they both had an IV in the same arm.

"You must have been excited," Jemma teased. Fitz felt the corners of his mouth quirk up.

"Of course I was," he admitted, "you came back."

"That I did," she affirmed, adding a smile of her own, "and you did too, it seems."

He felt a blush creep up the back of his neck, and for a few moments, he simply stared at her, eyes roaming over every inch, too grateful for her mere presence to even speak.

Jemma appeared to do the same, and his heart ached at the sight of it. Eventually, though, she turned to look over her shoulder, then returned to him with a conspiratorial glare.

"Did my dad really try to invade the Playground?"

Fitz smiled as he nodded. "He almost broke the hangar door down." He tried to chuckle, but his throat was dry enough that it sounded like good-natured choking. Jemma gave him a grin that warmed him to his toes. "He, um, he really loves you."

Jemma's eyes fluttered downward, and Fitz thought he saw her cheeks pink. "This may be the painkillers talking," she said, still avoiding his gaze, "but I know for a fact that he's not the only one. Who loves someone, I mean."

"Oh?" He flushed, just as embarrassed as she was. "So, you're sure about it, then."

"Yes," she answered. "Very sure."

Fitz opened his mouth to speak when the general burst into the room, racing to Jemma's bed and enveloping her in what appeared to be a very gentle bear hug. Fitz's heart swelled as he took in their reunion, only slightly jealous that General Simmons was allowed to comb his fingers through Jemma's hair. After they chatted for a bit, Jemma told him she was getting tired, and he gave her a kiss on the forehead.

"Don't worry, darling, I'll leave you be. Don't want to prevent you to from healing." He shot a pointed look at Fitz. "Soon you'll be strong as a jaguar. I'm sure of it."

Fitz had to smile at that, and as the general left the room and Simmons rolled on her side to gaze longingly into his eyes, Fitz thought that if things went his way, the general might get exactly what he wanted.