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Since she was a little girl, Jemma Simmons had been making lists. Sometimes, it was a scratch of words scribbling a catalogue of specimens, and other times it was simply a long list of to-dos. Usually these lists were handwritten, carefully scribed in a neat and orderly flow of ink on paper—an easy sentiment reminding Jemma that she was in control and never at a pause for something to chase after.
Recently, with so little time to do anything other than work, the lists became shorter; the clippings of reminders maintained their presence only in the privacy of her mind. Before her days on the planet, when the conversations between her and Fitz were less like oil and water, Jemma used to start her days early, a pen ready to go, items for her list already rapidly forming, her hand needing time to catch up with her thoughts.
These days, she still wakes early, though it’s more due to the nightmares that keep her up long into the early hours of the morning followed by the yearning for a glimpse of the bursting colors of the morning sunrise. Her lists come and go, sometimes more like a whispered afterthought, one word reminders like ‘eat’ or ‘sleep’. It’s been harder to uphold the lists; sometimes just the idea of creating a to-do list becomes a bit overwhelming
But, there was one list that had remained with her longer than any other, one that would permanently be seared into her heart – though it had taken her brain some time to catch up. It wasn’t a to-do list, per se, but a reminder. A simple set of notes she already knew, but things that occasionally needed to be revisited. Sometimes the wording changed, and sometimes it wasn’t even a string of words, but rather a feeling, a blooming warmth that cradled her heart.
I love Fitz.
The first time she created this list, she had just returned to her tiny dorm, the lights off, the room leaving an icy emptiness down her spine. Everything about her life in America was still so new, so filled with unmarked lists, that the horribly lonesome room combined with her terrible day left her collapsing to her knees, her breathes coming out in a slew of unsteady gasps. Reaching blindly for her phone that was shoved somewhere deep in the depths of her bag, she dug until she produced the small item, the number she needed popping up at the top of her contacts list. By the time the other voice on the end of the line had sputtered out a quiet greeting, Jemma had managed to gain some control on her breathing, though the tears were still flowing freely. Hardly any words were spoken between the two before there was a nervous knocking on her door, the face greeting her a mask of calm concealing concern.
Thinking back on it now, it was amazing how in tune they had always been with one another. That night, so many years ago when they were still nothing but mere seedlings in a forest of old towering trees, it amazed her that even then they hadn’t needed any words to know how to act. Before he came, Jemma felt the control slipping, her perfectly ordered world crumbling right beneath her feet. But, as soon as his arms, those warm and protective arms, wrapped around her shaking body, she felt it—that tiny little list suddenly popping up, effortlessly scrawling its way into her soul.
Sure she wasn’t sure what type of love it was, but she was certain that she loved him.
---
If you were to ask her when she knew that the love she was feeling for Fitz had changed from the giddy school girl, he’s just my best friend, kind of love, to the one she felt for him now, she wouldn’t be able to tell you. Maybe it had been there all along, just waiting for her to catch up. Whatever the case, Jemma knew in her heart of hearts that she didn’t just love her best friend, she was also in love with him.
But so many things had happened to them, so many horrible and untimely events striving to wedge a deeper gap between the two of them. Maybe, she sometimes toyed, the bloody cosmos were out to get the two of them. Perhaps they were just destined to continually pass by one another, always so close to what could be, only to be separated a moment later.
It was something she thought about often these days, her mind drifting in-between testing samples of inhuman blood and the awkward silence that still loomed between them. They hadn’t really talked, communication something they undeniably did not excel at. But they were better, if only just a little—so minuscule a change that if you didn’t pay close enough attention, the moments, a touching of skin held just a second longer than needed or looks that held all the secrets of their universe-- would be over before you know it.
Nevertheless, life moved on around them. The world still needed to be saved and they, as loyal S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, needed to help in any way that they could. Despite the stroppy limbo they constantly danced in, they jutted their chins up high and strapped on their hardened exteriors determined to work side by side.
Nearly three months after the incidents from Maveth had gone down, the team, Fitz and Simmons included, were struggling to hold their grasps on the changing world. People with inhuman abilities were no longer just that of some far off Afterlife world, they were right here, right now. Just when they had managed to get ahold of one inhuman, another one seemed to pop right back up. And for every one they were able to help, Hydra was right there to snatch another up for their own evil doings.
It was constant and it was tiring. Missions never seemed to end and it was always a nerve-wracking guessing game of what’s going to happen next.
Autumn had always been Jemma’s favorite. There was just something in the air that made her feel safe, made her slow down and take a look around. She found comfort in the mismatched leaves—if nature, science, allowed for their changes in color, then maybe it was okay for her to accept her own transformation. It was in one of these beautiful fall days that she found herself itching to be outside taking in the smells and beauty of the world.
Alas, she was stuck in a small van, Fitz and her keeping visuals of the other agents currently inside the abandoned building they were hoping held a particular inhuman. They had been there for hours, Jemma’s back stiffening up from being bent over the computer for so long. She was tired, hungry, and frustrated. Despite their small improvements, Fitz and her had barely spoken a word the entire mission. Aside from a few polite remarks here and there, it had been silent and lonely.
It would have been the perfect time to talk, not much was happening on the screens they were looking over. But, just like so many other times when the opportunity presented itself for them to let it all out, her heart beat too loudly and her mouth clammed up.
How could she ever tell him what she was thinking? He hated her, and how could she fault him for that? Not only had she given up hope on him, but to twist the knife just a little further into the wound, she’d gone and mucked things up by adding Will into the picture. But now, she though, Will was no longer in the picture. She had taken the time she needed to grieve for him, allowed herself plenty of time to move on from the pain of losing someone who had helped her survive that long period on the hellish planet. The short list of Will-related items, as far as Jemma was concerned, had all been neatly checked off.
Still, here they were, the hours slowly ticking by with not a single meaningful word spoken between the two. Ready to explode, Jemma jumped when a loud knock came from the outside of the van. Quickly followed by a greeting from Daisy, Fitz hauled open the door to let the rest of the team in only to be informed that Coulson had everything he needed and the team was, by some small miracle, free to do whatever they wanted for the rest of the day.
The others quickly dispersed, all muttering something or other about what they were going to do. Figuring she would go and wander the small town they had stumbled upon, Jemma began gathering several items for her purse, mentally checking off all of the essentials. She was all set, ready to head out and explore, when she felt her hand hesitate at the side of the door. Closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath, Jemma turned around and looked towards Fitz.
“Come with me?”
So, maybe this wasn’t the big conversation she had been hoping for, and maybe this wasn’t going to fix everything, but it was something. Slowly opening her eyes, Jemma carefully made her way up Fitz’s face until she was eye to eye with him. In a whisper so quiet he nearly missed it, Jemma raised her eyes, nervously waiting for his response. It was just as quiet and just as nerve-filled, but soon the two were headed out for a day of exploration.
They walked in an easy silence, a safe distance still lingering between the two. There were a handful of people walking about the quiet town, a slight breeze blowing the wisps of her hair about. The crunching of leaves between their feet made her smile, another reminder of her favorite time of year. They were lazily wandering the streets of the small town, each looking for somewhere to eat, when she suddenly stopped in her tracks.
When Jemma was a little girl, one of the very first lists she ever made was one for her life plan. She was eight at the time, her superior knowledge over her peers already distancing her from any chance of a normal childhood. It was one day after a particularly cruel round of taunting had been thrown her way by the sniveling older children, when she sat down and pulled out a crisp sheet of paper and her favorite pen. At the top of the page she carefully wrote out in a straight row of neat caps, JEMMA SIMMONS’ LIFE PLAN. She thought for a moment before steadily writing out the few things that came to her eight-year-old mind:
- Become a doctor
- Find a cure for cancer
- Travel
- Make friends
As far as little Jemma was concerned, these were the only things she would need to live out a successful and happy life. She had considered adding things like getting married and having children, but the more she thought about it, the more she thought better of it. How was she supposed to fulfill items 1-3, the more important ones on the list, if she were to get married and have a flock of little people constantly nagging her? So, in all her infinite knowledge and wisdom, eight-year-old Jemma was content on keeping the list short and sweet.
Despite several changes to The Plan, Jemma still felt it had been a rather spot-on list. She had become a doctor, twice over in fact, the Chitari Virus was no cancer, but she had found a cure and saved lives, she traveled all the time, and she had made a plethora of close friends. As far as the other things she had considered adding all those years ago, she wasn’t sure. She never had time to think about marriage, and was definitely in no position for it at the moment. Even if she were to get married, she though, it would be a small, private, quick, no fuss event.
But still, as the wind buzzed around her, the leaves whistling a quiet tune, and the people pushed past her and Fitz—he had nearly run into her when she stopped so suddenly—she couldn’t help but let out a small gasp at the sight before her.
She had heard of it before, of course she had, but she never really thought it existed. Usually when Daisy forced her to watch those terrible shows, the women crying and falling into the arms of their support group had led her to roll her eyes and impatiently poke around on her phone until the episode was over and the channel had been changed.
Standing in front of the tiny store, however, she suddenly understood it all. She was experiencing that moment she had mocked so many people for. All the times she questioned why someone would waist their tears over the moment, why they would even waste the time getting there in the first place, suddenly became crystal clear. Here she was, Jemma Simmons, a woman who was recovering from a series of horrific events, with a best friend (but more than that to her) who was barely looking at her, let alone speaking to her, standing in front of the window experiencing the moment of finding The Dress.
It wasn’t anything special, rather plain, actually, but everything Jemma never knew she wanted. She hadn’t realized how long she had been staring before a quick three raps from inside the store broke her from her trance. A tiny woman who reminded her a lot of Fitz’s mum, smiled at her and gestured for the two of them to come inside. She was ready to shake her head ‘no’ when she heard him whisper under his breath, “it’s a beautiful dress.”
And at that, and for other reasons she was slow to admit, she decided to venture into the store, her hand, with a mind of its own, reaching out for Fitz’s warm one. If he was surprised, he didn’t say anything.
Aside from the tiny woman who had waved them in, Jemma and Fitz were the only two others in the store. The room itself was tiny, tiny but welcoming like Fitz’s hug that one day so many moons ago. There was soft music playing overhead, the lights shining brightly so that those trying on the dresses could clearly see if it was the one.
They were quickly greeted by the elderly woman, “Fran,” she told them to call her. Some small talk was passed between the three, and they learned that the store had been in her family for generations, the tiny town allowing for the tradition of producing hand-made dresses to continue on.
Small talk aside, she ushered Jemma and Fitz to look around. Jemma should have said something then, put a stop to the nonsense, but it was like the room had cast a spell on her and she was content to live in the trance for just a moment longer. That and the light pressure she felt from Fitz’s hand on her lower back had her meandering around the store before coming to her dress. She was just going to look at it, she told herself, when Fitz, who had been silent nearly the entire time, cleared his throat and clearly spoke out a “you should try it on.”
With the help of Fran, she carefully carried the dress to one of the two fitting rooms and closed the door behind her. Turning to put the dress on the hook, she suddenly realized how foolish this all was, how utterly stupid it was. She wasn’t some princess who could just strap on a dress and have everything magically be better; she wasn’t even getting married! She was an agent part of a crumbling organization, a broken shell of a human who was just barely passing by. She had plenty of friends but felt so alone, the sickly feeling in the pit of her stomach never seeming to leave.
The tears welled in her eyes and she could feel herself starting to fall when she heard his voice on the other side of the door. “You don’t have to do this, you know that, right?” And after a hesitant pause, “do want me to come in?”
It was like that time back in the dorms, the first time she ever realized that she loved Fitz. He gently pushed open the door and met her watery eyes with his clear blue ones. No words were spoken, their mental connection rusty but still in working condition. It was cramped, their bodies smashing together tightly, allowing them to seamlessly meld into one.
Slowly breaking apart, just enough to rest their foreheads onto one another’s, their eyes rose to meet, their gazes telling the story of:
I’m sorry.
For everything.
Me too.
I forgive you.
I know.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Jemma realized that the music had stopped and the only noise remaining was the mix of their quiet breaths. Suddenly, the air that had been buzzing between their close faces ceased to exist as they jumped off the cliff and met somewhere in middle. This kiss was subtly different than the others they had shared. It was a conglomerate of words unspoken and feelings being exposed for the first time—this time, though, it wasn’t so much a bundle of pent up pain and sorrow, it was restorative and blissful. It was like the smell of rain or a fresh blanket of fallen snow. It was like the autumn leaves outside, so many different colors, all of them beautiful and precious at every stage.
It had taken them some time to remove themselves from the tangle of Fitz and Simmons they had created, but eventually Fitz retrieved himself from the small space and allowed Jemma to gather her thoughts. If Fran had seen anything, she chose not to speak on it. Instead, she simply wandered over to the room and asked if Jemma would like any help.
At first Jemma was going to tell her no, she had changed her mind and wasn’t going to be trying on the dress. But like everything since the kiss, there seemed to be something in the air telling her to just go with it. So, it was for that reason she found herself letting the kind woman help her into the dress she might never need, the fabric resting smoothly over her porcelain skin.
To the surprise of Jemma, though not to Fran, the dress was a perfect fit, no adjustments needed. When she stepped out of the dressing area and into the blue-eyed gaze of Fitz, she felt it once again, that aha moment of finding The Dress, the bubbly feeling popping its way throughout her body. She twirled around, laughing lightly at the how truly wonderful she felt. Fitz, for his part, simply smiled and bathed in the small moment of bliss.
---
Some time later, after the two left the store, one black bag containing the white garment tucked carefully under her arms, Jemma allowed herself the time to look around and take in the view. Things between the two of them were far from resolved, but they had finally gotten a little bit of themselves back. Maybe it wasn’t exactly like it used to be, it probably never would be, but maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing? She was still rough around the edges and so was he. The world around them was still tilting on an axis of uncertainty, but at least they had each other and at least she was finally starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel.
Despite everything, she was still uncertain if getting married and having children would ever make it onto the Life Plan list. But, with plenty of time and a list that could be altered whenever she chose, she decided to let it go for the movement. Besides, there was that one list that remained tucked away in the corners of her heart, embedded in every fiber of her being. It was there with her forever, the carefully constructed string of words never needing to be checked off, always buzzing with an anticipation that made her smile:
I love Fitz.