Archive of Our Own

Fitz tears his eyes away from Ace and follows orders. It's terrible, awful that Mike has to sacrifice himself to save his son, but Fitz tells himself that he and Jemma have saved Mike before, and they'll do it again. With her odorless scent and his tracking device, there's no way that Raina will take Mike away from them.

They'll find him.

They will.

Fitz swallows and tries to focus on the task, rather than the fact that Jemma is right there, sitting right next to him in this cramped van, because really, it doesn't mean anything. 

They're partners, like they've always been. Lab partners.

Watching Mike embrace his son shouldn't make his own arms ache. He shouldn't be bombarded with the awareness of everything around her.

He shouldn't be remembering how he kissed her.

Because it had all been in the heat of the moment, hadn't it? People did all kinds of stupid things in tense situations. And the spark that he felt when their lips met was an actual spark, because she actually transmitted the Chitauri virus to him on contact, and he can't even blame her for it. He was the one that was stupid enough to attack her with his mouth, after all.

And really, he'd only done that because she'd said he was scared. 

So, here they are, two best friends who just happened to have kissed once or twice when they thought one of them was going to die. Maybe they'll do it again if they find themselves in the same situation.

But probably not, if Jemma's habit of drooling over Mike is any indication.

"What happened?" asks Ward over the comm. "They took Coulson!"

Skye is out of the van before Ward can tell May that they need back up. Fitz turns and finds Jemma looking at him.

"I have a shot," says Ward.

"Do not engage," commands May; "they'll kill Coulson. Stand down; I'll contact HQ."

Before he knows it, May is out of the van, too. He's about to hop out himself when Jemma's hand takes his. And there she is, looking back at him again.

He waits for her to say something, but she just stares at him like there's something he's supposed to know, and he's sure that he doesn't have a clue. Her fingers interlock with his, and her thumb rubs against his skin in a way that must hold some significance. There are questions he should be asking, because he didn't see what happened and maybe she did, but she is holding his hand and looking at him, and he was wrong before, he's not her friend; he's her prisoner. 

He swallows as he remembers watching her collect samples of alien debris in England, and the way she looked at him when he went off to Odessa, and the way they danced around each other when he came back. He's been lying to himself; he's been falling for her this whole time, and he's a coward if he can't admit it.  

But maybe, if he's lucky, she'll admit it first.

She looks down at their hands and purses her lips, and they're such nice lips. He feels it an injustice that they should be so tense. She sighs, and she looks up at him, looks right up at him like he's the answer to something, though he can't say what. He just watches her and tries not to pounce on her again. 

Her eyes flick over to the door behind him. She frowns.

"Shouldn't we—"

"Yes!"

For some reason, he had to shout it, and he practically lunges for the handle, pushing the door open. He looks back to her, and she nods, and he's about to get out when she puts her hand on his thighs and starts crawling over him. 

Fitz finds himself utterly helpless.

Coulson is in danger, yes, but Jemma Simmons is crawling over him, though he can't say why. He gets a whiff of the scent from her hair and curses Newton and Edison, though he has a feeling that Einstein might understand.

She gets out of the van and turns to look at him, as if every inch of his skin isn't supposed to be on fire, and he fumbles for the seat belt. 

It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair.

He's her prisoner, and there's no hope of escape.