Archive of Our Own

"Fitz, we're here! Why aren't you excited?"

He was about to explain that it was too early to be excited about anything when he saw the twinkle in Jemma's eyes. Even as he let out a groan, he felt his lips curl into a smile that matched hers. 

Before he knew it, she had coaxed him out of the vehicle and onto the sidewalk, and when her hand was in his, he barely noticed the cold. 

He did, however, notice the silhouette in the window of the house they were approaching. Fitz gulped and stopped walking, causing Jemma to jerk to a stop as well.

"Fitz?"

She looked him up and down, and he tried desperately to avoid her eyes before he saw the knowing smile on her face.

"Fitz," she admonished, "there's nothing to be nervous about. My parents adore you."

Fitz took a breath, in and out, and shook his head.

"That was when I was your friend, Jemma, now I'm . . ."

"They know what you are," she said with a grin, leaning in kiss him lightly. "I think they knew before we did."

"Yes, but . . ." He pinched his eyes shut. "Jemma, I've never met a girl's parents before."

He was ready for her counterargument, but when he opened his eyes, he found her staring back at him with such affection that it left him breathless.

"Well then," she said after a pause, "I guess it's a new adventure for the both of us. But we'll be alright, won't we? We have each other."

Fitz looked down at their joined hands and tightened his grip.

"Yeah," he said."

"Good," she replied. "We have less than sixteen hours at home, and I don't intend to waste another minute standing out here." She turned towards the house and tugged his hand forward. "Shall we?"

Fitz simply nodded, trying to hold back a smile and failing. Soon, they were at the door, which opened just as Jemma lifted her fist to knock.

"Jemma, my dear girl," greeted Major General Simmons as he swept her into a hug. "I see you've kept out of alien rocks lately."

"Dad," she scolded, but Fitz saw the pink in her cheeks as she looked back at him.

"I can vouch for her, sir."

The general folded his arms and regarded each of them.

"Alright," he finally said, "I suppose I'm obligated to believe you, seeing as we're already pretending that it's Christmas today. Now, your mother is still sleeping. Do you want to run into our bedroom and scare her half to death, like you used to?"

"Dad. You know we couldn't get here on Christmas."

The general grinned ear to ear, and Fitz thought that, just for a moment, he looked like a clean-shaven Kris Kringle.

"Alright, alright. We'll make her breakfast and bring it to her. I've already got the kettle on. But!" He shook a finger at both Fitz and Jemma. "Santa has already been here, and there will be no peaking at the presents. You are to be blindfolded and escorted to the kitchen, is that clear?"

Fitz nodded and answered with a, "Yes, sir," at the same moment he heard Jemma say, "Ugh, Dad."

It wasn't until later, when everyone had changed into matching pajamas and Jemma was just about to get to Fitz's gift, that Fitz saw a gleam in the general's eye.

And when Mrs. Simmons rolled her eyes at her husband, Fitz, to his grave misfortune, understood what was going on.

"Fitz," said the general, "are you sure you don't want another Porsche"—he paused when Mrs. Simmons elbowed him in the ribs—"of pancakes?"

Fitz froze in place, looking immediately at the small wrapped box that did, in fact, look like it housed an engagement ring. It wasn't until Jemma gave him a worried, "Fitz?" that he regained the ability to breathe.

"Oh, nothing." He cleared his throat. "I mean it's nothing." He shook his head to emphasize his meaning. The general actually groaned, while Mrs. Simmons, a woman of few words and the smallest ego Fitz had ever seen, looked surprisingly smug.

Fitz thought it was the strangest Christmas he'd ever had until he realized that it was actually December 31st.

Jemma seemed to think it strange as well, shifting her gaze from Fitz to her father, then to her mother. In the end, she raised an eyebrow and asked, "Fitz, this present . . . there's nothing wrong with it, is there? Nothing's going to pop out at me or—"

"No, of course not!" Fitz jolted forward to place his hand on her knee. When her eyes darted to his hand and returned to him, they seemed wholly unconvinced.

Fitz sighed. "Jemma, I promise that it's not a prank. Or um, anything else. Just a present."

He caressed her knee with his thumb as her eyes searched his, and after a moment, she seemed satisfied with his answer.

"Alright," she said as she began to unwrap the gift, "I suppose I trust you."

Fitz almost took offense before he saw her small smile, and any indignation melted into contentment. It was unfair, he thought, how easily one quirk of the corner of her mouth could undo him.

Jemma opened the gift carefully, and Fitz was on the edge of his seat when she finally revealed the small wooden chest.

"Oh, Fitz! Stars!"

Jemma held up a deep blue locket that glittered with a painstakingly accurate representation of the night sky. Jemma's eyes twinkled when they locked on his.

"Did you make this?"

He ducked to hide his blush.

"Turn it over."

Jemma slapped a hand over her mouth as she gasped at the compass on the other side.

"It works," he explained. He was about to go into detail when she slid her hand across the back of his neck and guided his lips to meet hers.

"Thank you."

Something far in the back of his mind told him that there was something that he was supposed to say, or possibly do, but instead he simply stared at her until she smirked at him and placed another kiss on his forehead.

"Dad, you have to see this."

Fitz swallowed as Jemma scrambled over to her father, ending up practically in his lap as she showed him the locket.

"Look, you can make out the constellations," she gushed, and it was then that he realized that Jemma Simmons, Agent of SHIELD, had just kissed him in front of her parents. He hazarded a glance over to Jemma's mother, whose expression was unreadable.

"Very detailed work," said the general, who gave Fitz an appreciative nod. "It's the night sky in autumn, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Any reason you picked autumn, Fitz?"

Fitz blinked as three pairs of eyes were suddenly trained on him, and he felt his mouth go dry.

"Um, well, I . . ."

"Fitz knows how much I love that time of year," interjected Jemma, who returned to her seat next to him. She opened and closed the locket before meeting his gaze. "Thank you, Fitz."

Once again, Fitz found himself in danger of blushing. "You're welcome, Jemma. Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, Fitz," she replied, producing a present of her own. "It's not as perfect as yours, but I hope you like it."

Fitz tried to assure her he would as he unwrapped his gift to find a bottle of cologne.

"It's my own recipe," Jemma explained, "I call it Essence of Fitz."

Fitz spritzed a bit of the concoction onto his wrist and took in a whiff, taking in the quite lovely (but masculine) aroma that seemed vaguely reminiscent of old textbooks and solder.

"That sounds like it's more of a gift for Jemma than for you, Fitz," the general teased, earning a long-suffering sigh from his wife.

"No," Fitz countered, "I really do like it, Jemma. I've never had cologne before. Thank you."

He found enough courage to kiss her on the cheek, and received a smile for his efforts.

"It really is amazing that you two can just whip these things up," said the general. "I bet that all the people you mustang out with look like rubes in comparison."

Fitz was pretty sure that he and Mrs. Simmons groaned in unison.

Later, when Fitz was helping tidy things up in the kitchen, he felt a hand on his shoulder and found a pair of kind eyes looking back at him.

"I'm sorry about David," Mrs. Simmons said, "he can get carried away."

There was something about the softness in her voice and the warmth of her presence that always made Fitz anxious to make her comfortable.

"Oh! Well, uh, that's no . . . no problem," assured Fitz. "We, uh, we get on quite well, I think."

Mrs. Simmons smiled as she put a stack of dishes away.

"I think so, too."

"Good," said Fitz, reminding himself to breathe and stay calm, "but, uh, do you think he'd . . . do you think he'd be terribly upset if I stopped him from getting his sports car?"

She turned to cross her arms and lean against the counter. "Oh, of course not. He just wants you to be happy. And besides, I have a feeling that he wants me to get a puppy, anyway."

Fitz almost dropped the plate he was handling. "A puppy?"

Mrs. Simmons cocked her head at him. "Didn't he tell you? The terms of our bet were very simple: if you get engaged before the anniversary of your first date, he gets a sports car. If you get engaged after that, I get a puppy. He's allergic, but it would be nice to have company while David and Jemma are out saving the world."

Fitz felt his heart sink as he imagined the thousands of lonely nights the poor woman must have endured over all these years. And what of the poor, defenseless creature that would be denied such a loving home? A home that, if all went as planned, he would visit on a regular basis?

"Don't worry, Fitz," she soothed. "This really isn't any of our business, anyway. Do what you feel is right. We'll support you."

Fitz stared at the woman for a moment, struck with her timeless beauty and the sudden realization that this was what Jemma might look like one day. She took after her father in lot of ways, but she'd definitely inherited more than her mother's kindness.

"I should, uh, I should see what Jemma's up to," he finally said.

Mrs. Simmons nodded. "She's probably with her father in the lab. But I think now might be a good time for a walk, don't you?"

Fitz couldn't help but agree.

"And I had no idea that he was even interested in cancer research," gushed Jemma, "and yet, there he is in his lab, tinkering away in his free time." She squeezed Fitz's hand as they rounded a corner. "I'm so proud of him, Fitz."

"You should be."

Jemma let go of his hand in favor of slipping her arm through his and getting even closer as they walked.

"Some of his ideas show real promise. I want to work with him. Remotely, of course."

"Of course. I'll help if I can."

"Well, I'm sure I can find a use for you," she teased, leaning in to place a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

Something about Jemma's proximity and the conversation with her mother made Fitz very aware of a weight in his pocket, which was ridiculous, because there definitely was not an engagement ring anywhere on his person. Still, the the thought of it proved incredibly distracting, and soon their conversation fell into a very thoughtful silence as they continued on their stroll.

Fitz always marveled at the snow falling, and there seemed to be something even more special about the snow that fell at home, though he technically wasn't home at all. Technically, he was a good four hundred kilometers away from it.

But then, what was four hundred kilometers when Jemma's arm was in his? 

They came upon a bench that overlooked a small river, and he didn't have to ask Jemma if she wanted to rest; they merely sat down in unison.

"Fitz," she said, nuzzling against his shoulder, "what are you thinking?"

Fitz took a breath in and out, and something about the snow and Jemma and England and Christmas made him blurt it all out.

"Jemma, do you think it's better for your mum to get a dog, or for your dad to get a sports car?"

"Excuse me?"

She turned to him in confusion, and he should have said something, but instead, he kissed her.

She kissed him back, bringing her fingers along his jaw. When they broke the kiss, she looked up at him with worry.

"Fitz, is something wrong?"

When he heard the fear in her voice, he could see it reflected in her eyes, and he put a gloved hand over hers to assure her.

"Of course not. What could be wrong?"

She sighed. "You've been acting strange all day."

"It's been a strange day."

"But it's been a good day, hasn't it? Don't you like it here?"

Fitz put his free hand on her cheek. "I love it here. It's just, your dad . . . he makes me nervous. So do you, by the way."

She smiled at that, and he suddenly realized why her mother's smug smile from earlier seemed so familiar. But then she buried her head in the crook of his neck and said, "You don't have to be nervous. You know how I feel about us."

His heart was beating so fast that he was sure she could hear it.

"Well, yes, but we never talked about . . . the future."

He felt her take a shuttering breath.

"What about it?"

"Jemma."

"Okay, okay. Well," she said, sitting up to look at him, "the future is us, isn't it? Together?"

Fitz grinned from ear to ear. "I'd like that."

Her hand returned to his jaw line, and she watched as her fingers smoothed out his stubble. 

"Good," she said, "I'm glad we got that . . . sorted."

And this time, he wasn't sure if he kissed her, or if she kissed him, or if they somehow managed to kiss each other at the same time. But he did know that there was magic in her lips, and it was worth all the hardships they'd gone through to get to this moment. He buried his hands in her hair and was content to kiss her forever when she pulled away with an, "Oh!"

Fitz raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Jemma rolled her eyes. "I almost forgot." She pulled away from him to search through her pockets until she found a small, white envelope, which she pressed into his hand. "This is your real present."

Fitz looked at the envelope, then at her.

"You already gave me a real present."

Jemma shook her head. "I knew that you were bound to get me something amazing, so I didn't want to overshadow it in front of my parents. I wanted it to be your moment." 

There was an earnestness in her eyes that made Fitz fall in love with her all over again, and of course he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her; hadn't he always known that?

"Jemma, I really do like the cologne."

"Thank you, but you'll like this better. Trust me."

Fitz let out a sigh. "Okay."

He opened the envelope and found two tickets inside. When he read what they were for, he almost screamed.

"Vakona Forest Lodge?" 

"It's in Madagascar."

"I know where it is, Jemma. They have a private reserve where you can feed bananas to wild lemurs!" He stared at the tickets for a moment in disbelief, then looked up to see Jemma's unadulterated glee.

"The trip isn't for a few months, but everything is taken care of. Coulson will give us leave, May will give us a lift, and absolutely no one else knows about it. We don't have to tell anyone if you don't want to. It's just us and the lemurs."

"Jemma, I . . ."

"You don't have to say anything, Fitz. Really. I just wanted to—hmmphh."

Fitz simply had to kiss her then, kiss her deeply, because it's the only way he could stop himself from proposing to her on the spot. And while there was a part of him that thought it wouldn't be so bad to give in, he knew that she would want an heirloom ring and a clear head, and he might be able to acquire both in the next twenty-four hours. They were going to Scotland for New Year's, after all.

So he contented himself with kissing her senseless in the chilly English air, relishing the way she made promises with the kisses she gave in return, wondering how he'd managed to go this long without asking her to be his for the rest of their lives.

Especially considering how well a trip to Madagascar would work for a honeymoon.

The general yawned as he watched the cab drive away.

"Well," he said, "that was, without a doubt, the best pretend Christmas we've ever had."

His wife hummed in agreement as she planted a kiss on his cheek.

"It's good to see them together," she added.

"Oh, you should have seen them at the base, Carol. The look in that boy's eyes when he realized I was going to help him find our Jemma . . . I can't describe it." He let out a sigh, then turned to face her. "I shouldn't have told him about the bet."

Oh," she said with a nonchalant wave, "I'm sure they'll do whatever they feel is right. They usually do."

"Well, yes, but I made it more complicated for them, didn't I?"

Mrs. Simmons gave him a shrug and a smile.

"I wouldn't terrier self up about it."