Work Text:
The briefing book spilled its contents as Fitz jerkily pushed it back across the table; images of Stark tower and an ostentatious invitation peered out from beneath the file folder. Coulson and May regarded him evenly across the table- Coulson with his ever-present mysterious smile, hinting at the corner of his mouth and eyes, and May as inscrutable as ever. Beside him, Jemma sat ramrod straight in her chair, hands clasped neatly before her. The tension in her practically thrummed through him and he clasped his own hands before they could show his own anxiety. “Why?” he finally asked.
“The answer to that is two-fold,” Coulson answered readily. “When Agent Romanoff dumped all of SHIELD’s secrets on the Internet in order to take down Pierce and Project Insight, it had the unfortunate consequence of eliminating any method of communication. As far as the world knows, SHIELD no longer exists. So for now, we operate from the shadows with what we can. Sometimes that means going back to more old fashioned methods of communicating.” From an envelope, Coulson extracted a small computer chip, no larger than a compact mirror. “For the time being,” Coulson continued, “we don't know which of our communications networks are still available and secure. Your objective is simply to pass on this information, subtly please, to Tony Stark. His annual Christmas party provides a good in.”
Fitz wrestled with the words he wanted to say, the shape of each feeling awkward and uncomfortable in his mouth. His tongue felt clumsy and his jaw was clenched tightly. As if on cue, Jemma asked what he had been thinking.
“Why us, sir?”
Coulson crossed his arms, smiling faintly. “As I said, the objective of is mission is two-fold. Before joining us, the two of you were the darlings of the Academy. Star students, local celebrities, child geniuses. Your brains have benefited all of man-kind and right now, with everything that's happened, we could use a little reminder to the world that not all of SHIELD was Hydra in disguise.”
Fitz shifted uncomfortably, hands clenched white.
“Yes, but why us, sir?” Jemma repeated.
May regarded her evenly, speaking up. “Both of you have been cleared for duty, Simmons. This mission is high priority but low risk.”
“Yes but-”
“I'm dead,” Coulson interjected frankly. “As far as SHIELD or the Avengers know, I was killed long ago. I would make quite a splash showing up at a Christmas party. May isn't exactly the warm fuzzy face of the program. Skye is an unknown, Bobbi isn't available, and none of our other agents have the public reputation that you two do.”
Beside him, Jemma swallowed and nodded. Fitz nodded tersely.
“Go to the party. Mingle and charm. Remind people of the good face of SHIELD, even if the world thinks it's a posthumous one. Pass on the information to Tony Stark.”
Fitz extended a hand across the table and closed it around the chip, the corners digging uncomfortably into his skin. Beside him, Jemma murmured, “Will do, sir.”
In the semi-darkness of the men’s locker room, Fitz grudgingly set about the task of changing. Despite improvements in his rehab, small things like buttons still took time and he preferred to change alone, away from the evaluating gaze of others.
A soft knock rapped from the door. “Fitz?” Jemma called hesitantly, peering into the locker room.
Jaw clenching, Fitz straightened from his locker. “Yeah.”
Jemma took a hesitant step forward and the light of the room fell across her, stunning Fitz for a moment. Shimmering, effervescent light seemed to flicker and swim around her in currents of gold. The dress hung and breathed as if it swept up in currents unseen in the dim locker room. In combination with the molten copper of her eyes and the burnished bronze waves of her hair, it was almost too much. Almost. In her hand she clasped a golden mask with delicate rays that would span out to frame half her face like warm sunbeams. Without thinking, his face twisted wryly and he gestured towards her. “Bit redundant inn’it?”
“What?” Jemma held the mask now between both hands, looking even more uncertain and blushing faintly.
“Nothing,” Fitz stammered darkly, turning back to his locker and looking pointedly away from her.
“Please don't do that…” Jemma pleaded in a soft tone. Fitz resisted the urge to look back to her, fighting the eternal compulsion. Instead, he focused on gaining enough steadiness in his fingers to begin to unbutton his shirt.
“Don’t do wha?”
“Please don't shut me out. I need to know if you're doing alright on this mission tonight and I don't know that you’ll tell me if something is off. This is your first mission back in the field and I need you to be careful…”
“I won't be careful, Jemma. I'll get the job done.”
“You don't need to do that with me,” she countered quietly. “Pretending nothing happened? You're doing so much better now and-”
He cut her off with a curt gesture and a bitter interruption. “Yes. It happened. Thank you, tha’ wasn't clear to me before.” In the following silence, Fitz closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with a hiss. He could practically feel the tension and hurt rolling off of her shoulders in waves. It had been the same in every terse and limited interaction since her return. His feelings of rejection encouraged his short temper and hostility and her presence only tended to escalate matters. She was visibly uncomfortable witnessing his struggle and rehabilitation. She emphatically encouraged each small step of progress as if it promised her that eventually he would be better and her imagined debt to him annulled. Feeling suddenly bone-weary and remorseful, he muttered quietly into his locker. “’M sorry, Jemma.” When she was still silent, he risked a glance around his locker door in her direction. She was staring resolutely at the floor, hands clenching the mask before her.
“I was thinking and-” she stuttered to a stop, her hands fluttering anxiously in front of her. “It's just that we never really spoke about what you said to me at the bottom of the ocean.”
Fitz’s normally shaky hands froze on the hem of his shirt. He stared resolutely into his locker. “This? Now? You want to talk about this now?” He heard the swish of Jemma’s gown as she shifted apprehensively.
“No, we don't… it means a lot to me that we are friends again…”
Fitz heard and felt the hardness of that word as surely as it fell from her tongue. Friends. They hadn't been friends as they had once been since emerging from that water all those months ago. Her discomfort with the ramifications of his choice had been apparent.
“…and maybe when we get back we could finally just talk about it,” she finished quietly.
Feeling heavy and wooden, Fitz returned to the struggle of removing his shirt down to the undershirt beneath. “There's nothing to discuss, Jemma.” He reached for the dark navy suit that Jemma had delivered earlier that afternoon. As he unbuttoned the dark dress shirt from the hanger, Jemma's sudden hand on his made him freeze. Startled, he looked up into her open and shockingly raw expression.
Not removing her hand, she murmured gently, “Maybe there is.”
It was a solid three heartbeats before Fitz could find his voice. “Wha’?”
A tremulous smile crept across Jemma’s face and her wide golden eyes were rimmed with gathering tears. Her hand’s grip on his tightened and she whispered, “I never had the chance to respond. I'd like that now.”
He stared at her in silence, counting the heartbeats in his throat as her hand clenched his own.
“Do you remember when we first met?” she asked with a soft, sad smile. “You were so quiet and pasty. So incredibly smart. Handsome.” Her voice trailed off and she murmured thoughtfully, “Quite a strange feeling, isn't it? Never wanting to be without someone.” She smiled in equal parts pain and memory. “You must've been so annoyed, me following you around all the time.”
Though he had intended to keep silent, he couldn't help when the words bubbled from his chest and he grasped her hand back in return. “No, never.”
Her eyes flickered back up to meet his gaze. “In that pod you told me I was more than your best friend and you gave me your last breath and I couldn't speak past the panic in my throat at losing you and all I'm asking is can you say it again?”
In his memory he could still feel the pressure in his ears from the pod’s underwater resting place, the stale air tinged with the scent of blood, the splintering pain in his broken arm, the soft gasps of Jemma’s sobs as she covered his face in kisses. He looked into her bright eyes and solemnly stated, “You're more than my best friend, Jemma.”
Tears threatened to spill from her eyes as she offered back a watery smile. “And you're more than that to me. I knew it from the moment you stepped into that chemistry lab and the times we thought we hated each other. Through every day in our lab and through every crisis we have faced. Together. I have known it since then and nothing will change it. Not Hydra or SHIELD. I have known all this time. I'm sorry it took so long for me to catch up.”
Fitz let out his breath in one great gust, feeling his hands tremble in Jemma’s grasp.
“And-” Jemma interjected in a rush before he could begin to respond. “I'm sorry I've been such shit since the bottom of the ocean. I couldn't stand to see you struggle and know that it was my fault and that you were worse in my company.”
“It wasn't your fault,” Fitz finally interjected. “It was my gift, f-for you.”
Jemma nodded, staring at their fingers, intertwined in a woven pattern of rough callouses and smooth skin.
After a moment Fitz broke the settling silence with a snort, causing Jemma to look up in alarm.
“What?”
A slow soft smile stretched across his face and he said wryly, “We've just made a right mess of things haven't we. We've had all this time, side by side, never knowing.”
Jemma smiled ironically in return. “If only we had been honest with each other from the start.”
“We can change tha’ now.”
She squeezed his hands. “Not starting over, but maybe… starting again?”
He nodded and the smile that burst across her face indeed put her costume to shame. He couldn't help but to smile in return, his thumb brushing soft circles across the back of her hand.
“Alright then,” she chirped. “Well, tonight seems an excellent place to start.”
Fitz half-heartedly groaned, reluctantly dropping her hand and reaching again for the suit. “Remind me again why I have to wear this rubbish?”
She swatted at him and held out the dress shirt for him to slip his arms into. “Bobbi helped me pick things out from the SHIELD closets but I didn't have the widest selection of masquerade attire,” she intoned dryly. She absent-mindedly began buttoning up the dress shirt, drawing a self conscious blush from Fitz. When she glanced up and saw his embarrassment however, she froze. “What?”
“I can do tha’, Jemma. I'm getting a lot better at buttons.”
“Oh!” Jemma dropped her hands instantly and it was her turn to blush. “I wasn't meaning to imply that I didn't think you could…”
Fitz smiled, softly. “You don't have to apologize.” He slowly began to fasten the buttons himself. “You can, however, help me with this.”
She grinned at the white tie he held out to her. “You can't tie a tie?”
“I'm complete rubbish at it.”
Her hands delicately tied a perfect Windsor knot, just snug enough but not so tight as to make him anxious. She took a small step backwards, the golden folds of her dress swishing between them. He felt as if he could have drowned in the smile she gave him.
In true Stark Industries fashion, the atrium of the tower was decorated fitting for a royal reception. Gold and silver drapes bedecked each wall. Gold tipped icicles hung from golden trees and branches just out of reach. The cold winter light was dappled in cool silver and warm bronze, shimmering on every surface. Sweeping gowns and delicate masks adorned the women in attendance, contrasted from the metallic shine of the surroundings by the dark suits of the men. From the ceiling high above, delicate flakes of snow fell and vanished just above the heads of the guests.
Like a magnet pulled to true north, Fitz’s eyes found Jemma’s face, feeling dizzy in the smile he saw there. She held up one long graceful arm, smile widening when the façade of snow vanished just before it would kiss her skin. “Oh that is clever,” she complimented merrily. “Holographic snow. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised.” She glanced back to Fitz and caught his stare, a faint blush blooming around the edges of her mask. He looked away, shuffling his feet and pretending to look elsewhere. She laughed, a sound he always equated to the chime of a bell or a quick arpeggio along a string. “Fitz,” she chided gently. Her long delicate fingers wove into his rough ones as she slipped her hand into his. “It's alright.” She wrapped her other hand around his first one and he ducked his head self consciously, knowing she likely felt the tremors in that, his bad hand. She waited until he looked back into her radiant face, positively glowing in the mask and festive light. He had been right earlier- the mask was redundant. She always shone like sun. She caught his eyes with hers and smiled softly. “We’re going to be honest with each other now.”
Fitz nodded once and offered a small half smile. “Than I will say tha’ you look amazing.” He would have liked a more profound compliment: a testament to the molten copper of her eyes and the liquid gold of her hair, a symphony to the ways her fingers danced across her face as she brushed bangs out of her eyes or skipped quickly over keys in the lab, an entire scientific paper on the effects of her hand in his. But the brevity of the statement worked for now; Jemma blushed even deeper and ducked her head, squeezing his hand for a beat and causing his heart to stammer.
“Thank you, Fitz,” she murmured. She turned flush towards him and pointlessly adjusted his tie with a self-satisfied smile. “You look rather dashing yourself.”
The glance of her fingers against the skin at his throat made the words stumble and catch through his mouth, but for once he didn't mind the stutter. “I –I would – would hope so. You picked it.”
Jemma grinned and brushed his shoulders, as if to smooth nonexistent wrinkles. “True.”
Fitz chuckled roughly and pulled her hand through his arm, refusing to lose the contact, the physical link that bridged the distance that had separated them for so long. “Aren't we supposed to be mingling?”
Underneath the mask, Jemma wrinkled her nose, edges of crinkles peeking out with her bright eyes. “I suppose.” She scanned the crowd of metallics and jewel tones and reflections. “Oh!” She pointed. “There are some of the Avengers. I want to talk to Captain Rogers and ask him about Agent Carter.”
Fitz paled. “You want to talk to…to them??”
Jemma tssked, taking his hand and starting to lead him across the floor filled with mingling scientists and military minds. “Really Fitz, they are normal humans just like us.”
“Tha’ is completely not true.”
“Okay, like Skye than. Not bad, just different. And Skye is just as human as the rest of us beneath her powers.”
Fitz offered a skeptical sidelong glance in Jemma's direction. “Skye was never entirely normal.”
Jemma laughed. “Fair enough.” She smiled and offered a cursory nod at a passing dignitary he thought he recognized from his time at the Academy. “All I'm saying is that for all their superheroic lives, they are still largely like you and me.”
Fitz studied the small cluster of people they were approaching from across the open atrium with a frank eye. It was true that there were human aspects of the interactions in the humor and laughs exchanged, hands clapped on shoulders, glasses sipped and clinked. Larger personalities like Tony Stark tended to draw the attention of those nearby like satellites pulled into orbit. Some slipped in and out of crowds as easily as silk through the fingers; glances always were left lingering after where Agent Romanoff had been standing only moments before. Still others hesitated on the fringes or leaned in quiet conversation against the nearby bar. Over short tumblers of scotch, the protectors of peace in their time shot the shit.
Jemma tightened her grip on his arm and leaned close enough to murmur into his ear with a soft laugh. “Look, Fitz. Look at what they are wearing.”
Frowning, Fitz scanned from well televised face to latest magazine cover feature and then broke into a short laugh. “No masks.”
“Exactly. I guess they get enough of that in their day jobs.”
Fitz smile faded somewhat as he noted with a hint of unease the sudden delineation between those famous faces without masks and the unfamiliar figures with obscured faces further on. If they were trying to make a statement about the openness of their identities to the public in the light of the recent publicizing of SHIELD data, it was having limited affect. Aside from the usual smattering of vaguely recognizable friends of America’s heroes, there was a distinct separation between groups, as if two separate but largely similar parties were happening in the same space.
As they drew within the circle of former SHIELD agents and superheroes clustered loosely around the bar, Fitz pulled his mask from his face and slipped it into his pocket, suddenly feeling out of place. Jemma habitually brushed nonexistent bangs from her face but otherwise gave no indication of nervousness. “Work first, you think?” she asked. Fitz nodded mutely.
Tony Stark had a loose arm draped around an elegant Pepper Potts whose cream gown practically glowed next to Tony’s black suit. She alone of this crowd wore a slight gold mask: her one compromise to the duality of parties she was attending. Both looked up in interest as Fitz and Jemma approached; Pepper extended a hand and a warm smile. “I'm so glad you both could make it.”
“We were honored by the invitation,” Jemma responded with enthusiasm, surrendering her hand from Fitz’s arm in order to grasp Pepper’s.
“Ms. Simmons,” Tony intoned. “Always a pleasure. And Mr. Fitz! I don't believe we've been introduced before. Your work with SHIELD and Ms. Simmons has been a gift to mankind and I am tremendously glad that you didn't drown in a box in the ocean.”
Fitz numbly felt his jaw unhinge and stuttered quickly, “Me too, sir.”
Pepper offered a soft smile and amended, “We were all relieved to hear of your progressing recovery.”
His face flushed in embarrassment but Jemma quickly retook his hand and responded for him. “It's been quite the process. We are all quite proud of him.”
“I’m sure you are,” Tony said with a half smile, eyeing their clasped hands. “Have you brought those schematics I asked for?”
“Oh, yes, hang on.” Fitz fumbled in his pocket for a moment before producing the small computer chip and handing it to Tony who whisked it away in a flash.
“Perfect. Also, you should know, accident or no, if you ever decide you’re tired of small potatoes and want to come tinker with the big toys, there's a spot for you here at Stark Industries.”
Fitz spluttered for a moment but, thankfully, Tony and Pepper had the grace to pretend not to notice. “A spot here?”
“I'd have to okay it with the boss first.” Tony turned to Pepper who was regarding him with an amused smile. “Boss?”
Pepper shook her head at Tony with a soft laugh and looked back at Fitz. “Indeed. There will always be a position for you here should you want it.” She looked to Jemma. “For both of you.”
Jemma practically danced beside him and spoke at the same moment he did. “That is an incredible offer thank you-”
“I'd be honored but I'm not-“
“-truly. Working here is every scientist’s dream-”
“-fully recovered so my work isn't to its normal standard-”
Tony cut them off with a raised hand and a bemused expression to Pepper. “I have a feeling I just had an awful preview of the future.”
They both blushed, but the feeling was mollified slightly when Jemma squeezed his hand with hers.
A more somber expression settled heavily over Tony’s face and his tone lowered as he addressed Fitz. “Seriously though. Your accident does not diminish your worth to us. I fell through a hole in space to the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. But for a big guy with a serious anger problem, I'm a decorative bit of street art. We’re all a little messed up and broken here. But our fifty percent is still stronger than most people's hundred. So we keep working.”
Fitz swallowed thickly and nodded, unable to find a proper response.
Tony offered his hand to shake firmly and repeated, “If there comes a day where this is the right place for you, there will always be a lab bench with your name on it.” He offered a ghost of his former smile and, with one final clap of Fitz’s shoulder and a nod at Jemma, turned to the approaching James Rhodes with an outstretched hand.
Pepper lingered a moment longer. “Should you ever want to take us up on those offers, feel free to call my office and someone will put through the paperwork immediately.” She smiled and gestured at the bar and surrounding party. “Please enjoy yourselves. You are both welcome here and you have earned some celebrating.”
Jemma nodded, stunned somewhat speechless beside him as Pepper turned away. As Pepper’s cream gown disappeared into the throngs of partygoers, Jemma turned to him with wide eyes. “Positions at Stark industries…”
“You could ever leave SHIELD?” Fitz asked, curious as the thought had never before been one they had considered or discussed.
“I don't know…” She still looked shocked, but he could see her thoughts processing rapidly behind her golden eyes. “I- I guess I had never really thought of my life past SHIELD. Of us, partners, side by side in the lab, day in and day out. I suppose it's silly to never have considered anything else, as if we'd do that forever…”
Fitz nodded, considering. “Well part of tha’ doesn't have to change. No matter whether it's with SHIELD or Stark Industries or bloody NASA, you and I will always be side by side in a lab.”
Jemma's smile in response was luminous, full of giddy possibility and hope. She ducked forward quickly and kissed him, a press of her lips against his like a jumping spark. Fitz stared, dumbfounded and shocked for a moment, taking in the soft tremor in both of their hands and the rosy blush on her cheeks. Flustered, Jemma whispered something about using the ladies’ room and quickly ducked away before Fitz could move to keep her there.
Shaking his head quickly as if to rouse himself, Fitz meandered in the direction of the bar and leaned against the cool stone surface, heart racing and mind reeling. Beside him, someone chuckled.
“I've seen that look before. Hell, I've even worn that look.”
Fitz glanced to his right and had to refrain from standing straighter at the sight of Captain America, filling a navy suit with his substantial frame and nursing a glass of scotch. “Sir?” he inquired uncertainly.
“You’re not military, Agent. It’s just Steve.”
“Fitz.” He accepted the extended hand with a firm shake.
“Fitz…” Steve considered thoughtfully. “Agent Simmons’s partner?”
Still feeling numb from the brush of her lips against his, Fitz only nodded.
“I’ve heard a lot about the two of you. Academy prodigies. Best friends through firefights and the betrayal of teammates. I heard you offered your life to give Simmons the best chance to survive.”
“Turns out it didn’t cost my life. Just …” he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “A lot else.” Fitz paused with a frown. “How did you-“
Steve chuckled and sipped at his glass. “Romanoff worked with Simmons when she was infiltrating Hydra. That’s a risky business, by the way. Your girl’s got a lot of courage.”
A bitter grimace worked its way across his face before Fitz could stop it. “I don’t think she’s ever been ‘my girl’.”
Steve shared rueful half-smile and reached behind the bar to grasp another tumbler. As he poured he said, “From the looks of things, I might say differently. Like I said, I’ve heard a lot about the two of you.” He offered the glass of amber liquid to Fitz. “From the expert on waiting too long? Don’t. She deserves a chance to be happy. You both do.”
Fitz accepted the glass with a nod and took a quiet sip.
“Steve!”
Both turned towards the approaching Agent Romanoff, weaving expertly through the crowd and towing a far less graceful Clint Barton behind her. Even in heels, she barely managed eye level with Steve’s stance of leaning casually against the bar.
Steve nodded at Clint and turned to Romanoff with a fond, if not wry, smile. “Natasha. I didn’t expect to see you here tonight. I thought you said it would take a while to discover a new cover.”
Natasha smirked back, linking her arm through Clint’s. “I don’t need a cover for this party, turns out.” She peered into the glass in his hand. “And I thought you didn’t drink scotch.”
“Just because it doesn’t affect me doesn’t mean I can’t learn to appreciate the taste.”
Clint interjected. “I offered you a glass once and you spat it back out.”
“A slow appreciation than.”
She held out a hand towards Steve. “Come on. Prove to me that you can dance. Barton doesn’t believe it.”
“I can dance just fine, Hawk.”
“Don’t look at me, Cap. I never doubted you.”
Natasha tilted her head and narrowed her eyes with a smile. “Then what are you waiting for?”
Though Agent Romanoff must have missed it, Fitz caught the suddenly raw, painful glint in Steve’s eye as he turned back toward the bar. “The right partner.”
“Well, his loss is my gain,” Clint grinned at Natasha. “You’re stuck with my dancing abilities.”
Natasha looked up at Clint with a long-suffering sigh, though Fitz could clearly see that it was layered with affection and amusement. She offered a small smile back to Steve and Fitz and allowed Clint to pull her away from the bar.
There was a soft sort of silence between the two men for a few moments. Fitz took another sip and then quietly spoke. “The right partner…Agent Carter, sir?”
Steve stared into his glass with a stony expression and clenched jaw as he took a sip and sighed heavily. “Like I said. From the expert on waiting too long, don’t.” He locked eyes with someone behind Fitz and stood up, offering his hand again to shake. “Thanks for the conversation, Fitz. I’m certain I’ll see you around.”
A slight hand on his shoulder and the faintest breath of a citrusy perfume told him Jemma had returned. Steve offered her a respectful nod and wished her a pleasant evening, taking his glass and turning into the crowd. Jemma swept around Fitz to take Steve’s place against the bar, staring at the retreating figure of Captain America with wide eyes. “You were talking to him?”
Fitz smiled and took a sip from his glass. “You were the one who told me they are just like us.”
“Still! I was gone for five minutes!”
Fitz’s eyes lingered thoughtfully on Steve’s retreating figure, only barely processing Jemma’s words, Steve’s advice ringing in his ears. “Jemma,” he interrupted, “would you walk with me?” Jemma’s words died on her lips and she nodded mutely, slipping her hand into his arm as he turned from the crowd. He gently guided her along the edges of the atrium to a shallow enclave, shielded from the worst of the babble of the crowd and the path of dancers.
As they slowed to a stop, Fitz pulled Jemma around to face him somewhat urgently. A flicker of alarm danced across Jemma’s bright face. “Fitz,” she whispered quickly, “What’s wrong?”
“I love you, Jemma.” The words rushed out of him as he stared into the fever bright of her eyes. “And I’m not waiting another moment to tell you and risk waiting for the rest of my life.” His breath caught in his chest. “Our job is cursed, Jemma. We save the world but we lose each other. And I’m not going to risk a single moment more without telling you tha’ you are the most radiant thing I’ve ever seen and tha’ you put the universe to shame. Tha’ your laugh is a symphony and your smile is a beacon and I could give this all up right now in order to be by your side.”
In the following silence, Jemma slowly reached up and pulled the golden mask off of her face. The power of her wide eyes knocked his unsteady breath from him. A few loose copper curls had fallen loose and hung like summer flowers against her cheeks. She stared up into his face with an unreadable expression, seemingly lost for words.
“Please say something…” he whispered.
One small and delicate hand reached up and, feather soft, brushed his face. She pressed her palm into his cheek and he closed his eyes, knowing she felt the tremors but not caring. “Jemma…” he murmured, barely more than a breath of wind in the chaotic room. He felt her draw near and his eyes flickered open again to her face, eyes burning brightly into his. As their breaths lingered together in their shared space, he finally leaned forward and closed the distance between them. Her lips were warm and velvet soft and as he pulled her close, he felt the dance of her fingers on the back of his neck. He breathed in the perfume of her, the citrus of her shampoo and the taste of nutmeg on her lips, feeling heady and intoxicated. She tucked into the spaces of his arms like a congruent puzzle piece. In such a way she had always fit into his life, filling in the spaces where he lacked and rounding out the places where he was rough, broken edges and unpolished cracks.
She pulled him closer and he felt the tingle on the back of his neck as she wove her fingers through his hair. They kissed in slow but steady patterns, as if it were the dance they had been doing this whole time, circling and coming closer to touch for just a moment before their orbits pulled them apart. At that thought, he wrapped his arms around her completely to hold him close. The embellishments of her dress pressed into the skin of his palms, but all he could feel was the dizzying heat of her lips and his.
After a moment, he pulled away and rested his forehead against hers, refusing to release their embrace completely. The radiant smile that stretched her face was the brightest she had ever offered him and he felt a smile echo back from his own face. He closed his eyes, taking a deep and shaky breath. It felt like the first time he had breathed since the pod, as if the water had still been crushing him all this time. He felt whole again. He pressed a kiss to Jemma’s forehead and murmured against her hair, “I love you, Jemma.”
With her arms wrapped around his neck, she whispered into his ear, “I love you too, Fitz.”
Fitz pulled back to stare into her eyes with a bright smile and trailed his hands down her arms to squeeze her hands. “Together?”
“Always.”
From across the room, Fitz found Steve who had turned and locked eyes with him, raising his glass in a slow, serious salute.