Chapter Text
Packing List, Beach, English, Summer
Swimsuit, sunblock, hat, sunglasses, towel, tote bag, sundress, sandals, umbrella, jellyfish paste, Aloe Vera gel, antiseptic, bandages, gauze, surgical needle and stitches, and anti-venom packs. Oh, and the shortbread biscuits.
Jemma smiled to herself as she read over her list, along with the post-it note tacked on to the end of it, and found that she was completely prepared. (Demented filing system my hat, Leo.) She wondered if Fitz remembered to pack, poor man can barely keep track of both his shoes, better take some extra sunscreen.
As Jemma headed to her bathroom for the back-up sunscreen, the obnoxious, whistling tea kettle stirred her out of her thoughts, making her race back to the kitchen to pour her morning cuppa before it woke her neighbors. Why people slept in so late she'd never know, but always one to abide by the rules, she thought it better to keep quiet during the hours of 11 PM to 7 AM. Besides, doing the right thing and letting the apparently extremely tired tenants sleep in made her feel nice.
Jemma practically skipped out of her apartment building, smiling brightly at the prospect of today's adventure: feeling the sand beneath her toes, the sunshine warming her always too cold hands and arms, the gentle lullaby of rising tides creeping up the shore line, the salty breezes curling her usually straight hair in myriad ways, the cool ocean water enveloping her in a way that could only be described as ethereal.
Then of course, there was the scientific fascination of the seashore, and how much it reminded her of how life began on Earth. So many flora and fauna had taken up residence in the oceans for eons, the delicate kelp forests and coral reefs and the micro-communities that nurture them, and the creatures that maintain the perfect balance between the immense and the minuscule--including her favorite creature of all, Hippocampus kuda, the Seahorse.
Her daydream occupied her zealous mind as her feet carried her the block away to Fitz's apartment.
Fitz had wanted to stay in the dorms, even after graduation, but Jemma thought it was time they got a taste of independence. After all, what good are two PhD’s and a job at a top secret research facility if one can't even keep house? Although, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt about the decision.
Honestly, she didn't know how either of them managed to fend on their own. He was so small, and quiet, and pasty when she met him; he'd grown a lot in the past three years, and not just physically. If it was even possible, she believed him to be more brilliant now than when they first met; on a cold, September morning, a few days before her birthday, right outside of the lecture hall that would soon be hosting Professor Vaughn.
“Did you know, that if you watched something cross the event horizon of a black hole, even though it's traveling at the speed of light, it would appear to slow down?” A vivid memory of the young, handsome Scotsman brought a blushing smile to her face, because now that young man was her best friend in the world.
But, that's that, I suppose.
She pushed the gold-plated bar on the rotating door of the apartment building, the bottom of her lavender sundress lightly swishing in the breeze it created, and made her way across the lobby in her familiar diagonal path to the lifts.
The elevator doors opened with a ding as she stepped out onto the fifth floor, checking the numbers as she passed, stopping in front of the one to which she had a key, apartment 587.
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"There, isn't that a beauty"
Fitz grinned as he proudly looked over his new creation. Six hours in the middle of the night, thank God it was worth it.
Imagine the look on Jemma's face, "Oh Fitz, you're brilliant!"
You're too kind, I'm only a man.
A light knock on his door broke Fitz from his self-admiration.
"Morning Fitz!" Jemma called brightly.
Wait, Jemma?! Why is she here this early? She usually waits until the sun is up... Oh shite! The beach! No, no no no she's gonna murder me if she knows I forgot! Okay, think, what to get for the beach, um...
Fitz tapped the floor with his foot and pinched the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut, towel, trunks, sunscreen.
Fitz scrambled to check the items off his mental list, shoving a bottle of leaking sunscreen into his balled up beach towel, and shucking off his pajamas. As he struggled to wrangle his swim trunks off the top shelf, (why he'd ever decided to put them up there was beyond him), Jemma knocked more persistently, "Fitz? Are you alright?"
Just then, the bottom drawer handle, the one he had been using as a ladder, broke off and a poor, naked Fitz crashed to the floor.
"Fitz?! Don't worry I'm coming in."
Fitz, briefly forgetting his nudity, simply lay on his back and groaned in response to the heated throb in the back of his head. He was going to have a lump tomorrow. With a jingle of keys, a slammed door, and several hurried footsteps, Jemma was standing over him. The image of her worried face crouching above him was the last thing he saw before blacking out.
When Fitz's eyes opened his face immediately turned red, God, what a dream, stark naked with Jemma staring right down at me. As Fitz moved to get up, a folded towel fell from his forehead, no, no this is not good, looking down he saw that a slightly larger towel was covering his "hardware" and part of his upper thighs, oh fuck, that means she's seen my... Before Fitz could finish his thought, however, Jemma walked out of his en suite, she moved so delicately towards him it appeared as though she was walking on air.
She was a vision: her hair falling in perfect waves over her shoulders, her sundress lifting her breasts in such a way that could be considered dangerous for a man wearing only a towel, the way her dress gathered at the waist and swished every time she stepped forward, and the brilliant smile she always wore--apparently even when staring down at her almost naked best friend.
"Ah, glad to see you're awake. So you have a mild concussion but you shouldn't have any lasting side effects." Jemma said briskly, her eyebrows twisting up into an expression of puzzled amusement, "How exactly did this happen anyway?"
"I was trying to, um..."
Fitz choked on his words. Yes, I forgot about the beach trip you've been reminding me of all week and when I heard you at the door I panicked. I tried to get into my trunks as quickly as possible. Note to self: use a bloody stool, you short, idiotic man.
"Do you mind if I put my trunks on first?" Fitz said, his embarrassment and desperation almost palpable.
"Oh, yes, of course."
Jemma looked down awkwardly and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she scurried out to his living room. Fitz thought her manner was slightly off, but was still too ashamed to think anymore of it as he fetched his trunks from the top shelf, this time with a stool, idiot, scrambled into them and pulled a t-shirt over his head before hesitantly walking out of his bedroom.
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Jemma always liked Fitz's quaint apartment, the way it looked so lived in, so comfortable. The way the books on his bookshelf were arranged haphazardly, some standing up, others lying down, some with dust covers as bookmarks, others with four bookmarks sticking out at odd angles. The matter of the sock tucked under one of the couch cushions, how it got there neither of them knew, and she especially loved how the dawning sunlight filtered through his bedroom window. While he was passed out, she watched as the pastel rainbow of early morning began to ease twilight into day.
"So," she heard a voice from behind her. Jemma turned around to see Fitz leaning against the door frame with one hand while the other massaged the tense muscles in the back of his neck, his face reflecting his uneasiness.
"So?" Jemma encouraged him to continue.
"I'm uh, I'm sorry you had to see that," Fitz motioned over his shoulder with his thumb, "You know, back there."
"Oh," Jemma forced her face to relax and put on her best calming, 'everything's fine' smile, "You have nothing to worry about."
Jemma realized her mistake when Fitz's eyes widened three sizes, "I mean, wait, no, I mean, I'm a biologist! Not much frightens me. No! I, um-"
Jemma searched the room as if she might find the words she was looking for in some corner, but was unable to. She looked desperately at Fitz, hoping he could read her mind, but he simply pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, "Let's just forget about the whole thing, yeah?"
"Yes! Good. Done." Jemma said a bit too quickly for her liking, or Fitz's for that matter, as he slightly winced when he heard her.
"Would you like a shortbread biscuit?" Jemma chirped out an octave higher than intended, squeaking halfway through, "I made them myself."
"That would be great." Fitz nodded, slightly smiling. "Oh! And I have something for you as well," Fitz said as his smile turned into a grin and he walked over to his bureau, opened the desk and took something out of one of the small drawers.
He held the object behind his back, "I wanted to wrap this up and hide it in the lab somewhere, but I don't think I can wait, so, um," Fitz audibly gulped. "Hold out your hands and close your eyes." Even with her eyes closed, Jemma could hear his excitement when he said, "Okay, you can open your eyes now."
Jemma looked down to find a small silver rose with a ruby in its center, each petal defined and perfectly crafted. The petite ruby reflected in the hazy glow of dawn and the elegant silver chain making it appear as if it was floating in midair.
"Oh Fitz," Jemma looked up at him with tears in her eyes to see him chewing on his lower lip in anticipation, "Do you like it?" He asked, gently raising his brows in question.
"Fitz it's perfect," Jemma reached up and hugged his neck tightly.
A little surprised at first, Fitz wrapped his arms around her upper back and slightly nuzzled his head against hers. Jemma pulled back briefly to plant a kiss on his jawline before hugging him tightly again and whispering close to his ear, "Thank you Fitz."
He squeezed her once before they let go and whispered back, "You're welcome Jemma," and wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb.
They stared at each other for a moment, and as she leaned into his hand and gazed up at his mesmerizing cerulean eyes, she saw something different behind them, but should couldn't quite figure out what it was.
After not nearly long enough, Fitz blinked and broke the spell. They both straightened up and headed towards the kitchen, where Jemma reached into her tote bag and pulled out the container of perfectly stacked biscuits. She opened it and offered one to Fitz, who gladly accepted.
Jemma smiled at him and twisted her fingers nervously as he took a bite, "Well? What do you think?" She looked up trying to meet his gaze.
Fitz furrowed his brows and stared down at the other half of biscuit in his hand as he swallowed, "These are delicious!" He met her eyes, "They taste just like my mum's!"
Jemma smiled a bit sheepishly and looked down as she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, "Well, that may be because I asked her for the recipe," she looked up at him and squinted a silent apology.
"And she gave it to you?" Fitz's brows practically leaped off his forehead in amusement, "Huh," he shook his head, chuckling, "Mum won't even trust me with her recipes." Jemma giggled along with him for a moment before trying one of them herself and humming her assent.
She packed up the biscuits and handed Fitz her tote bag. He grabbed his sunscreen soaked towel wad off his bed and headed out of the apartment as she locked the door behind them.
When they stepped into the mirror-plated lift, Fitz abruptly set the tote bag down to shake his arm out. "What the hell have you got in there, Jemma? It weighs a bloody ton." Fitz stared down at the bag incredulously, then at his arm, and Jemma followed his gaze to the small, pasty bicep peaking out from under the sleeve of his t-shirt.
She never noticed the shape of his arms before, how they gently curved at the crease of his elbow, or the unobtrusive vein that ran the length of his forearm, the pulse point between the tendons on the underside of his wrist, and then his hands. God, his hands. So strong yet slender, with light calluses gracing his fingertips, though his palms were soft. For a moment she let herself imagine what his hands would feel like, wrapped around her waist, tangled in her hair, loosening the sailor's knot of tension that had settled between her shoulder blades.
"What's the matter? Have I got something on my arm?" Fitz met her eyes with a slightly worried look, then lifted his arm to examine it, glancing at the elevator’s mirrors for the spots he couldn't see.
"What? Oh, no, nothing on your arm, I was--" Jemma searched desperately for her words before plastering on one of her most innocent smiles and coming up with what she thought was a rather clever lie. "I was just thinking about how glad I am that I thought to pack an extra sunscreen is all. Yep, don't want you turning into a human tomato now do we?" She giggled rather sickeningly, and drew in a sharp breath as she heard her own vocal chords’ betrayal.
"Jemma," Fitz said patronizingly as he placed his hands on his hips, wrinkling and stretching his t-shirt in a way that Jemma was sure would leave marks later. "You're a terrible liar." He chuckled the last part and stared her down expectantly.
To her absolute relief, at that moment the lift's doors opened with a ding. Jemma grabbed Fitz's wrist to look at his watch. "Oh, is that the time? Well, we best be off then, hadn't we?" She practically handed him back his own wrist and pushed it against his chest with a wide grin that hadn't seemed to make it up to her eyes. She turned on her heel and strode across the lobby just quickly enough that Fitz trailed behind her.
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When Fitz caught up to her, she was pulling on the handle to the passenger's door of his car. Fitz leaned his hand and the top of his head on the car while he panted for breath. He held up a finger to Jemma before rummaging through his back pockets in search of his rather elusive keys, and upon finding them, tossed them across the car’s roof to her open palms.
She unlocked her door before throwing the keys back to where Fitz stood at the boot and got in. After heaving the tote bag, which weighed a bloody ton, and the dripping beach towel that was sure to garner some dirty looks on the beach, into the car, he closed the boot and gave it two pats on the roof for good measure. He climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition, to which the car responded with a resounding sputter.
"What the... Come on," he turned the key again and the car sputtered and thumped and rattled before finally whirring to life. "That's a girl." Fitz proudly stroked the steering wheel before shifting into reverse and turning his head to watch out the back window as he guided the dilapidated red Renault out of the parking space.
"Fitz," Jemma eyed him dubiously.
"What?" Fitz glanced at her in the passenger seat before gluing his eyes to the road again. He wasn't a very experienced driver, save for the practically automatic route he drove to Sci-Ops nearly every day. So, it was very difficult for him to drive when she sat there like that, with her brown hair glowing cherrywood in the morning light, all her features silhouetted against a cloudless sky, and then--the most distracting of all was the way her eyes, her beautiful hazelnut eyes, shone like galaxies; there was so much to be held in them, so much still to discover, yet so much already catalogued and committed to memory. It is said that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and though Fitz never thought himself a religious man, he saw something otherworldly behind her eyes, something almost as ethereal as her, something too precious to be spoiled by the world.
Fitz shook his head to clear himself of his frankly nonsensical thoughts and realized that Jemma had been speaking to him, "Sorry, what?"
"I said, do you think we'll even make it to the beach in this thing?" Jemma repeated, slightly annoyed.
"I think the old lass still has a few kilometers left in her." Fitz said, glancing at Jemma to send a smirk, before patting the steering wheel and leaning in to pretend like she couldn't hear him when he said, "She didn't mean it lass, you'll make it just fine." Still wearing a playful smirk, Fitz looked to see Jemma rolling her eyes and trying to hide her illuminating smile.
And with that, they slipped into their comfortable fashion of conversation, which typically included science bickering, shop talk, and running through equations that would make any first year university student run away screaming in terror. That is, until the poor old banger puttered and slowed to a stop, steaming from the bonnet with a cloud of black smoke billowing behind it.
"No!" Fitz stared disbelievingly at the rapidly spinning temperature gauge, and then at the oil gauge, whose needle was just hanging down uselessly. He turned the key in the ignition and pumped the accelerator pedal to no avail, not even a putter or a cloud of smoke.
"I thought you said, 'The old lass still has a few kilometers left in her!'" Jemma said smugly, trying to imitate his accent and instead sounding like an 85 year old cockney who'd had a pipe lit since the age of 12. Fitz narrowed his eyes at her but found that hers were just as narrow, and not wanting to get into another one of her infamous staring competitions, he stepped out of the car and slammed the door.
After tinkering under the bonnet for a few moments, he removed the offending component and plodded over to Jemma's open window dejectedly. "It's the carburetor. I can't fix it, it'll have to go to the garage."
"Fitz, you're the smartest person I know, you have a PhD in engineering, and you've built things that people three times your age and experience couldn't even think of!" Jemma said, "Isn't there something you could do?" Her brow creased as she looked up at him hopefully.
He stared back at her, losing all train of thought as her eyes pleaded with his. He blinked and looked down at the carburetor while he rotated it in his hands, "There's nothing to be done, Jemma. It's so gummed up that I'd need solvent, tools, and at least two hours to get it clean," He listed the items off on his fingers, "And that's if the old bugger will even still work!" He threw his hands up in exasperation and set the busted component back in the engine before clambering into his seat and holding his grease covered hand out, into which Jemma placed a wet wipe.
"Language, Fitz." she chided. Fitz muttered an apology, but didn't refrain from adding "Sodding car," under his breath.
"Well then, the last sign said that it's only 4 kilometers to the beach, so I suppose we'll just have to walk." Jemma said with a mixture of excitement and annoyance.
Fitz groaned and shuffled his sandaled feet back to the boot to retrieve their gear, before traipsing behind her on the shoulder of the road.