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"Ugh, Fitz!"
She slammed the wooden spoon against the counter and turned to look for him. "Fitz! Where are you?"
She regretted the panic in her voice the moment she heard a crash from somewhere down the hall as he called her name. She closed her eyes and forced herself to take a breath in and out.
"Jemma," Fitz repeated, "are you alright?"
It was still strange, the way the world seemed to calm down the moment he entered the room. She tilted her head to the side, lifted her hands in a gesture of hopelessness, and was quickly enveloped in his embrace. She wrapped her arms around him and held him tight.
"I'm sorry," she said.
He tried to pull away, probably to look at her, but she wouldn't let him go.
"Sorry for what?"
"I didn't mean to worry you. I'm fine."
He traced circles into her back. "I beg to differ."
She closed her eyes and tried her best to bury herself in him. His weight was better than the world's, she decided, because he was strong, and steady. She tried to find peace in the rhythm of his heartbeats, but in the end, the anxiety still clawed at her.
"It's not going to work, Fitz."
She felt him sigh. "Of course it'll work."
"No," she countered, shaking her head against his chest, "no it won't. It's too complicated, and we've never done this before. What if it all goes wrong?"
"Are you talking about the turkey, or . . .?"
"Of course I'm talking about the turkey, Fitz."
He tried to pull away from her then, and this time she let him. His arms dragged over her back to land on her shoulders, and she avoided the gaze that usually came with it.
"Jemma, you've spent weeks planning this. It's going to be fine. And you're not doing it alone, okay?"
She looked up at him, still overwhelmed by the love in his eyes, but seeing the hint of worry behind them.
"Right," she said, more for his benefit than her own. "Of course. We're doing this together, aren't we?"
She loved his smile, the one that first appeared after the fourth time she kissed him, and there was a sparkle in his eyes that never failed to melt her heart.
"Well, you've spent all that time making that blasted spreadsheet, Simmons. No sense putting all your research to waste."
She rolled her eyes at him, but she couldn't help the smile that matched his as she stood on her toes to plant a light kiss on his lips.
"Right then," she said, "you lock Pesto in the bedroom, and I'll preheat the oven."
Her fingers made their way down his arms until they captured his left hand, and Jemma made a point of putting a thumb and a forefinger around his ring. They both looked at it for a while before he leaned in to kiss her forehead. When she looked up, he smirked at her.
"Sounds like a plan."
"Hey," said Daisy, "I'm not seeing my name card anywhere."
Hunter shrugged at her. "Maybe it's under one of your other aliases. Hard to keep track of them all."
Daisy folded her arms in a huff and glared at him. "Look, I know this isn't an actual British holiday, or whatever, but this is the first time FitzSimmons have invited us to their little love nest, and I won't let you mess it up."
It was then that Daisy swore she heard Hunter say, "God save the Queen" under his breath. She looked over at Coulson, who shrugged.
"Just ignore him."
"I usually do."
"You're over here," announced May.
"Why aren't Bobbi and I sitting together?" grumbled Hunter.
It was then that Mack and Bobbi entered the room, arguing about something she couldn't quite hear, and Daisy decided that it was time to get some air. Or, at least, see what Simmons was up to. Their house was exactly the kind of place that she'd imagined for FitzSimmons, though the decor seemed to be more Simmons than Fitz. The hallway was lined with pictures of the couple in various stages of their relationship, interspersed with rather ornate diagrams of molecules.
It was weird being in a house again after getting used to the glass doors and brick walls of a base. But she smiled as she passed a picture that she'd taken, way back when she barely knew them. Somehow it made sense for them to be here in Perthshire, seemed right somehow, which was why she was so surprised to hear sobbing on the other side of the door.
"It's okay, Jemma," she felt, rather than heard Fitz say. (These powers had their uses, after all.) "Our strategy worked. Everything's ready on time, just like we planned. They're waiting for us."
"I know, I'm sorry it's just—"
"Don't be sorry. You're just nervous."
"Aren't you?"
Daisy felt a rustling that must have been Fitz embracing Simmons.
"Of course I'm nervous," mumbled Fitz.
"Good. Let's just stay here then, for a minute at least."
Daisy could sense the way that Simmons leaned against Fitz's shoulder, but as she tried to enhance her eavesdropping (vibration dropping?), she sensed something else entirely. Daisy gasped as her jaw dropped, and she stood staring at the door for a stupid second before she turned on her heel and raced back to the dining room.
Fitz was, by all accounts, an absolute wreck. But so far, he had miraculously managed to fool everyone into believing he had some idea of what was going on, and worse, that he had control of it all. Well, he supposed that years of cavorting with spies had to come in useful eventually.
But even Pesto was on edge today, partly due to the anxiety radiating from their matriarch, but also because of the sheer commotion that so many people brought to the house. In the end, though, Fitz decided that bringing the dog out to meet the gang would be worth the risk of an accident if it meant that Jemma could have a few quiet moments to herself. So he hoisted the little mutt (even as he thought it, he could hear Jemma reminding him that Pesto was purebred) into his arms and as he went to face his audience, it occurred to him that doggie diapers probably wouldn't be that hard to make in the lab.
"Happy Thanksgiving!"
His announcement was drowned out by the cooing of Daisy, Bobbi, and surprisingly, Lincoln, as they crowded around him to get a glance at the puppy. Daisy patted the dark, curly hair on Pesto's head and grinned.
"He could fit in the palm of my hand last time I saw him."
Fitz raised an eyebrow. "Not quite."
He was about to go into an explanation of just how big Pesto was when they left the base as opposed to his exact measurements now, but something in Daisy's eyes made Fitz's heart stop.
She knew.
She knew, somehow.
He panicked for a full three seconds before his brain nearly overloaded, and he elected to merely pretend that whatever was happening was not, in fact happening at all.
Luckily, it was just at that moment that May came up to ask Fitz about Pesto's diet and exercise regimen, which allowed Fitz the delicious privilege of going into a rather intricate tirade that was actually interesting to someone. It was just as Fitz started talking about the varying schools of thought on grooming that he heard a noise coming from the hallway. Jemma must be ready. He quickly handed the dog to Daisy, asked everyone to please be seated, and escaped into the kitchen.
"Okay, are you ready? What are my orders?"
Jemma crossed her arms and rolled her eyes in such an affectionate way that he almost scooped her up and kissed her right there.
"Wash your hands," she ordered, "then help me carry everything out."
"Aye, aye," he said, trying perhaps too hard to lighten the mood with an awkward salute, earning him an "Ugh, Fitz!" and a shove as she brushed past him with an arm full of yams.
There she goes, thought Fitz, the unequivocal love of my life.
It took a few trips, but soon the table was set, and the guests were practically salivating over the food as Pesto nipped at his heels. Fitz looked around and was stunned with the realization that they'd done it.
Somehow they'd created an American feast fit for a mostly-American pseudo-army.
And now, of course, was the hardest part of all.
Fitz looked to Jemma and found her staring back at him, and they each silently begged the other to speak first before Jemma sighed and turned to address the room.
"I'd like to thank you all for coming today. It's not very often that you can say you've had Mockingbird and Quake over for supper."
Daisy and Bobbi traded knowing glances while Fitz's heart started to hammer in his chest.
"Now, I'm sure Hunter has reminded you that Thanksgiving is strictly an American holiday," Jemma continued amongst groans from the table, "and it probably seems a little odd that we insisted on celebrating it here, but um . . ."
He heard her take a gulp of air, and decided it was time to jump in.
"But we lived in the U.S. long enough to grow fond of a day that is dedicated exclusively to eating. And besides," he said, drawing an arm around Jemma's waist, "we missed you."
Just as Daisy gave an "Aww," he felt Jemma's hand snake around his torso and feel for his hand, which he gladly gave her. When she started playing with his wedding ring, he felt a calm wash over them. They were in this together, he reminded himself, and together, they could do anything.
"The truth is that, uh," said Jemma, "well, we know that it was a surprise to some of you when we left, and um, well, we wanted to thank you for all you've done for us."
Fitz pulled her tighter against him. "Yeah, you've all been . . . it means a lot to us, what you've done. You're our family."
Now, if that wasn't a cue, then nothing ever could be, and Fitz felt Jemma take a deep breath.
"And that's," she continued, "well, now we'd like to, um, to tell you the reason we left. Fitz and I, we, well I guess it's just me, really—"
"You're preggo!" announced Daisy.
The room went dead silent just as Jemma gaped at the former hacker in shock.
"No," she said, "I am pregnant, but I certainly am not—"
The silence turned into a roar as both Hunter and Mack leapt to their feet. Next to Hunter, Coulson and May exchanged knowing smiles as Daisy nudged a bewildered Lincoln. Bobbi simply sat at the corner of the table with her arms folded, smirking at them.
"I could feel the heartbeat," Daisy bragged. "It's adorable. You guys are going to have the most adorable super genius, and I am so excited!"
By this time, Mack had clapped a stunned Fitz on the back, and Jemma was still scrambling for words.
"How far along?" asked May.
"Fifteen weeks," Jemma said, "we, uh, we wanted to wait until—"
"Boy or girl?" asked Daisy.
Fitz crossed his arms. "Don't you know?"
Daisy stuck her tongue out at him.
"Oh, well it's got to be a boy," said Hunter, "I mean, just look at our Fitz here. He's brimming with testosterone."
"It's a little early to tell," Jemma explained as Bobbi shook her head, "but we have an ultrasound scheduled for next week."
Coulson gave one of his signature smiles as he said, "I guess we'll have to come back, then."
At that, the room erupted into gasps and questions, and eventually Fitz had to almost push Jemma into her chair and shove the dish full of mashed potatoes in Hunter's face before people started eating. When the conversation turned into a pleasant lull, Fitz turned to her to find she turned to him at the same moment, mirroring the half-smile he gave her.
It was strange to think of all the time they'd spent preparing for this event, and how it ended so suddenly. But soon the food was eaten, thanks were given, and they were once again a team as they all worked to clean up. Mack and Lincoln took care of the dishes while Daisy and Bobbi wrapped up leftovers, Hunter and Coulson put the furniture back in place, May prepared for departure, and Fitz watched with pride while Jemma directed everything.
"So, Simmons," said Daisy as they were preparing to go, "I'm not sure how you can really call yourself English anymore. You've got your Scottish house, your Scottish husband, your little Scottish terrier . . ."
"You got him for us!" argued Jemma.
"And now, you're going to have a wee little Scottish lad." Daisy smiled, clearly pleased with herself, "Or lassie, I guess."
"You have no idea how we actually talk," said Fitz.
"Well, I guess I'll have to practice, since—"
"No!" Fitz and Simmons said in unison.
"We did it," she marveled, lying back on the leather couch with Fitz. She reached over to lace her fingers with his and twirled his wedding band around with her thumb as Pesto dozed at their feet.
"Of course we did," he said, "I can't believe you were so worried."
She gave him a playful scoff, and then rearranged herself to snuggle closer to him, though her hand never left his.
"Don't tell me that you weren't at least half as worried as I was."
She felt him shrug. "Maybe a quarter?"
That earned him an eyeroll, though she knew he couldn't see it, but then he didn't respond, and the room fell into an uncomfortable silence.
"Fitz?"
"Hmm?"
She breathed a sigh of relief, though she wasn't sure why relief seemed so necessary.
"Fitz, what are you thinking about?"
His hand found its way to her hair. "You, of course. And the baby. We're going to be parents, Jemma."
"I know."
"We chose to be parents. We planned on it."
She closed her eyes. "I know, Fitz."
"Well, now they, know too. That we ditched them for a fetus."
"Fitz."
He chuckled underneath her, and it was certainly unfair how hard it was to stay cross at him. But when he stopped, she simply stared at the ceiling and waited for the question he was bound to ask.
"That's it, isn't it? That's what you were so worried about. That they wouldn't understand."
She took in a deep breath.
"They're SHIELD agents. They've already chosen a solitary life. We did too, if you recall. And now that we're together and here, it feels like we've-"
"Cheated?"
She closed her eyes. "Yes."
"Well, Jemma, there's only one explanation."
"Oh?"
"It must be the curse."
She groaned and made to leave the couch, but he tugged her back into place.
"Well," he said, "what other explanation do you have when you have everything you want, and you feel bad about it? We shouldn't feel bad, Jemma."
"I know, but—"
"You deserve it after what you've been through."
She smiled at that. "What we've been through, you mean."
He didn't answer, and she knew that he was thinking of the same things she was, of the many things that came between them, and of their choice to leave everything behind to be together. And in the end, here they were, in a cottage just like the one she always dreamed of, living a life better than either of them could have imagined.
Still, it pained her to think of a time when it seemed this future would be nothing more than a dream,
She looked down at her hands, still intertwined with his, and felt again that deep fear that continued to nip at her, illogical as it was.
"Tell me again, Fitz." She lifted his left hand up to show him. "Please."
"Well," Fitz answered, "I engineered our wedding bands with a highly advanced tracking system. When activated, the signal is strong enough to be located anywhere on the Earth, even underground, and so if the signal's not there . . ."
"Then we're not on the planet."
She felt him take a breath in and out. "Yeah, exactly. We'll always be able to find each other."
"And that," she said, pulling his hand to her mouth and kissing each finger in turn, "is what I'm most thankful for."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
And it seemed to Jemma that even Pesto sniffed in agreement as she snuggled in her husband's arms to look out the window into their own piece of Scottish wilderness, where the first few snowflakes were beginning to fall.