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“I’m Jemma Simmons, biochemist.”
The words gush out before she can second-guess herself, and then she waits- hand extended towards him, and blood pounding in her ears. The way he’s looking at her, sitting in his chair, is enough to pluck at her heartstrings and make her legs feel weak, but she holds her ground, and wills her outstretched hand not to tremble.
Fitz looks down for a split second but then pulls himself out of the chair and grasps her hand in his.
“Leopold Fitz. Engineering.”
They shake hands, and Jemma wonders if he feels the same spark that she does when their hands touch.
(Of course he does.)
Jemma can’t help but widen her smile when they bump fists, an exchange that brings back memories of late-night projects at the Academy, designing new inventions, squabbling over names-
And although Fitz is now asking her about the specs on the new model of Coulson’s hand and pointing to the computer screen, she isn’t paying attention.
She’s too busy drinking in his features, getting drunk off the memories that begin to flow through her mind. She remembers the panic in his eyes as an alien virus rushed through her blood stream and the wind billowed through her hair. She remembers his voice trembling, urging her to take the breath, as she felt her own leave her. She remembers his hand gripping hers, the storm howling and thrashing their bodies as she held on with all the strength in her being.
She remembers his lips, pressing against hers as she pressed back and everything around them faded away.
She feels as if she’s going to burst- that all the love she’s felt for him throughout the years has suddenly ignited and she is on fire.
“Jemma?”
She is brought back to the present when Fitz says her name, looking at her puzzled and confused. She is anything but.
She lunges forward and kisses him, the fire within her reaching its pinnacle as he stumbles back from her sheer force. She brings her hands to his face and deepens the kiss, and when he overcomes his shock and kisses back she feels that not only is she on fire but he is on fire and the whole world must be on fire.
They pull away, gasping for air before they fuse together again, unable to be apart from each other any longer.
Fitz finally pauses, resting his forehead against hers. She feels her heart constrict in her chest as she waits for him to speak.
“What happened to starting over?” his voice rings with exasperation, and he’s breathing heavily. But Jemma knows him, and she can see the beginnings of a grin developing on his face, and she can hear the faint purr of amusement in his lilting accent.
She smiles, her thoughts about the cursing cosmos fading away and she basks in the sound of their gasps of air merging together.
She whispers, placing years and years of love and friendship and Fitz into one little, quiet sentence:
“Shut up and kiss me.”
He does.