Archive of Our Own

"We made it," she says, turning to him. "I can't believe we're actually going on holiday."

Fitz nods, and she's not quite sure if he's listening. His eyes are fixed on an elderly couple that sits down in the row behind them, and she sees the hand on their shared armrest clench and unclench into a fist. She takes it in hers, and smiles when his eyes flick over to her.

"Is someone going to sit by us, you think?"

She rolls her eyes first, then locks eyes with him as her amusement overspills into a smirk. Finally, she gets her well-earned flash of recognition.

"You bought the seat next to me," he says, shaking his head. "Of course you did."

"Of course I did," she agrees. She leans over to kiss him on the cheek. "I know how you are."

He tilts his head and smirks at her, and she doesn't care how many people are on this plane, she puts her free hand on his cheek to draw him into a proper kiss. This is like reading the first sentence in a good novel, like the first bite of a gourmet meal, and she savors it. For a full seven days, she'll be able to kiss him whenever she likes, and she intends to take every opportunity.

In the end, though, she has to pull her lips away from his because she's smiling too much. She rests her forehead against his and doesn't have to open her eyes to know that his smile is just as big. She does look at him though, because she can't resist.

"I'm still not used to seeing you like this," she says, giggling a bit when he opens an eye to squint at her.

"Like what?"

She sits back in her seat, taking one of his hands with her. "Oh, I don't know, peaceful. Happy."

Fitz shoots her a look, but they both know that he doesn't mean it. "I'm too Scottish to ever be happy."

"And yet," she says, tilting her head to study him properly, "you somehow manage to appear absolutely elated."

"Ah," he says, raising his pointer finger to the ceiling of the plane, "well, I am a secret agent, you know. You have to have a skill for things like that."

She scoffs at him, but before she can shoot him a playful remark, she's interrupted by large ding coming from over the intercom. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," says the flight attendant, "the captain has turned on the fasten seat belt sign." As the attendant drones on about tray tables being in their upright and locked position, Jemma scrambles to get her purse.

"Everything okay?"

She looks up at Fitz and blows an errant strand of hair out of her face. "They'll make us turn our cell phones off, and I wanted to check the news before we left."

Fitz's eyes widen as he reaches for his own phone. From the corner of her eye, she sees him downloading an audiobook. She smiles, because as SHIELD agents, they need to have unlimited data, but as agents going on already-expensive vacation, Coulson didn't let them spring for the in-flight wifi. They won't have access to the outside world until they get to their layover in Dubai.

Jemma scrolls through some news sites and sees that she has a lot to catch up on. How long has it been since she let herself think about anything besides saving Daisy and vacationing with Fitz?

And then . . .

"What?"

It's not until she sees Fitz's worried eyes that she realizes she gasped aloud. She tries to tell him, but a fog has come over her, and she's lost to power to do anything but hold up her phone. Fitz furrows his brow and takes it.

"Peggy Carter died?"

She doesn't know how it could happen so fast, but it's like a huge rock has been placed on her chest, and maybe she doesn't want to go be on this plane anymore. A life has been snuffed out, and she needs space, she needs air, or it will all close in on her. She takes off her seat belt and starts to get up when Fitz wraps his fingers around her wrist.

"Hey," he soothes, "it's okay."

It is not okay, and Fitz knows it. She can see that he's upset, too. But she sits down, mostly because leaving means going back to the base, and she doesn't want to do that, either. At least this is where Fitz is.

It's silly, because she's never met Peggy Carter or even come close, but here she sits, hiding in her boyfriend's shoulder as they prepare for takeoff.

"Is she alright?"

A little girl is peering over the seat in front of them, and she feels Fitz nod against her.

"She's fine," he says, then again to the passing flight attendant. He reaches over to re-fasten Jemma's seat belt and power down her phone. "She uh, she just heard about Peggy Carter."

"Who's Peggy Carter?"

The girl's question brings down a wall inside her, and now she's leaking tears. She tries to be as quiet as she can, but her self-control is already slipping out of her hands.

"She was, uh . . ." She feels him gently push the hair out of her face. "She was a hero. She fought with Captain America during World War II."

She also defeated Hydra and founded SHIELD, and Jemma almost tries to say as much before she realizes that "Hydra" and "SHIELD" are not considered politically-correct terms these days. It breaks Jemma's heart just a little more to know that Director Carter's last breath was in a world that doesn't understand the sacrifices she made for it. She clutches at Fitz's jacket as the wave of sorrow subsides, and when it's time to actually take off, she's under control again.

"I'm sorry," she says, sitting upright, but holding his hand. It seems to be enough to appease the glaring flight attendant.

"You have a right to be upset," he says, looking over at her over the rumble of the engines. "She was one of the most important people who ever lived. She's the reason we've been able to do everything we've done."

She loves him for that, and for the earnestness in his eyes when he says it. Fitz actually, truly, wholly believes it, and she finds it very calming. When they're safely up in air and there's no attendant in sight, she lays her head back on his shoulder and holds both of his hands in hers as they sit in silence. She doesn't think she imagines the tear that drips onto the top of her head; he's mourning, too.

"You know," he finally says, and she thinks she hears him sniffle, "you're a lot like her."

She watches the way her thumb rubs circles into his hand.

"She was smart, English, driven. Kind, too. Good." His head lifts off of hers, but she doesn't look at him. "Resourceful, loyal, dedicated. I wouldn't want to be Ward if she was around. She'd tear him limb from limb."

That makes her smile in spite of herself, though it comes out tight, and she just ends up burrowing deeper into him. She wishes they could do this somewhere else, in his room perhaps, where he could wrap them both in a blanket they could stay under until the outside world felt safe again. But if she can't have that, at least she can feel safe with him here.

"She would have survived on Maveth, for sure. Hive never would have made it out alive. He wouldn't try to; he'd be too scared of her. He'd just surrender."

The image of Hive cowering before none other than Peggy Carter widens her smile, before an unwelcome thought takes it away.

"What?"

She closes her eyes and wishes she never thought of it, that Fitz never sensed it, but she knows she has to say it out loud, or he'll never let it go.

"She lost him," she chokes out, "Steve Rogers. I don't want to have that in common."

But the tears come back anyway, because somewhere in the world there is a man who has been taken away from the woman he loves a second time, and this time, it's forever. If the cosmos is against anybody, it's against them, too.

"Well, yeah, but she didn't let that stop her. She moved on and found someone else, just like you did."

He says it kindly, almost with pride, but he might as well have stabbed her in the chest. She's so betrayed that her heart stops, and she jumps up from her position on his shoulder to look up at him.

"Excuse me?"

Fitz stares at her, brow furrowed, and opens his mouth one or twice before he clarifies. "She, uh, she got married after. You . . . didn't you know that? I thought—"

"No, Fitz—" She closes her eyes as her hand flies to her forehead, and a familiar ache returns. "I didn't . . ." Suddenly, it's so overwhelming that she can't breathe, and why is it like this? It's been months, she's been back for months, and she's with him now. They are, at this very moment, flying to a romantic getaway. Why is the anxiety drowning her?

"Hey, it's okay, Jemma. It's good. Healthy, even. You did the right thing, like you always do. Like Peggy did. It can't be that bad if she did it, can it?"

But no, there was nothing healthy about the way she threw a tantrum on that planet, the way she mourned the loss of her best friend in any world when she thought all hope was lost. The way she looked into Fitz's eyes under a pile of rubble, breathing her first breath of home and realizing that she'd given up too soon.

"I mean, uh," he continues, and she can hear how desperately he's trying to recover. "Well, she couldn't just go on in misery forever. Cap wouldn't have wanted that. If he really loved her, he would have wanted what's best for her."

And she knows what that looks like, because she's seen the way his eyes glistened after she told him what she did, after she asked him to get Will back. She saw his painful smile and heard the promise he never should have had to make, and it wasn't like that for them. Peggy would have never asked so much after she had caused him so much pain. And Fitz, Fitz would've—

"You never would have done it," she spits out. "You never would have found someone else, if you lost me."

She dares to look in his direction and finds him taken aback, eyes going from side to side in apparent bewilderment. 

"You told me yourself, Fitz. You said you couldn't live without me."

And, once again, she breaks her own heart, remembering how she kissed another man while Fitz risked life and limb to save her. She was stranded on a desert planet, and yet somehow, she still had it better off. And then she—

"Well," he says, as if it's a joke, "all men are weak. You taught me that. And it takes strength to move on. Courage, too."

"What?"

He blinks at her, like he expected her to smile. "Well, uh, you know, after Lorelai. She, she tapped into a weakness all men have. Though, really, I still think that there's got to be more to—"

"Fitz." 

She says it gently, painfully, but it's enough to stop him. He looks at her with concern, head tilting to one side, then the other, and it's when he moves to sit against the back of his seat, she catches the hurt in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he says, "I'll just—I'm sorry."

She feels it again, that chasm that she thought was gone for good, but now, it's growing. She reaches her hand out to him. He looks at it with skepticism.

"I'm not that strong, Fitz."

She hears his breath catch.

"Oh."

He says it and his whole face falls, like a sculpture dissolving into sand. She did it, and she's not sure how. 

"I thought—I mean, we—you said we couldn't waste time, and I—" he takes a jagged breath in and out. "I guess I just assumed. We never talked about—not directly. But I really thought—"

She's not sure what kind of current is sucking him under, but she calls his name to pull him out of it. He looks up at her, and she hasn't seen him look at her like that since he first accused her of giving up on him.

But she had, oh, she had, but losing faith isn't like losing love, and she would do anything—if she could go back in time and tell herself not to give in, she would. But he knows that, and has known it for a long time, so why it is upsetting him now?

"Daniel Sousa was a good guy, you know." He says it like she doesn't know, like Fitz has to protect him. "He supported Peggy when she didn't have anyone else. Maybe he was more patient than I was."

Something clicks in her head, and she slaps a hand over her mouth to cover her gasp. "Fitz."

"I mean, they say he was a quiet man. He probably waited, even after she said she was ready. Maybe he waited until she really was. I'm sorry, Jemma. It's, uh . . . it's my fault, really. But if—maybe I should . . ."

And when he unbuckles his seat belt and moves towards the empty seat beside him, she reaches out for him in a panic.

"Wait," she says, stilling him with a hand on his arm, "you see yourself as the Daniel Sousa in this scenario?"

Fitz sighs, but he doesn't sit back down. "He was an astronaut, Jemma. That's as close as you can get to Captain America without a serum."

She breathes a sigh of relief, but then it hits her. "Did you think I'm not over Will?"

"You're the one who said—"

"No, Fitz! That's not what I meant at all!"

He cocks his head at her. "Oh. So you're . . ."

Her poor, adorable, wonderful Fitz.

"Why would you think you're Sousa?"

He raises an eyebrow and lowers himself back into his proper place, right next to her. "Well," he started, "he was, uh, human for one."

"Fitz."

"And he was injured in the line of duty, like me. And he had a science background, did you know?"

Jemma narrows her eyes at him, trying to remember. In the end, she has to shake her head.

"Well, he didn't talk about it that much, so not a lot of people knew. He was private. And he . . . he liked a girl who was in love with a hero."

She closes her eyes and nods, because of course he's confused. Of course, this is how he sees things. It took her months to unravel it herself.

"Fitz, Will wasn't—if we weren't stranded on that planet together, if I didn't miss you so much, I never would have . . . he didn't see the world the way we do."

"What?" asks Fitz. "But he was—"

She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. "There was something Hive said to me in Bucharest. He said Will was doom, and he was, Fitz. He told me to give up, and I was so bereft, I listened. He told me I'd never see you again, and I believed him."

Fitz ducks his head. "He could have been right."

"No," she breathes. "No, never. You never would have stopped coming. I should have known—and he, he'd been there for fourteen years by himself, and I spent months prattling on about you. I don't really know if I blame him." His bad hand is shaking, and she takes it in hers. "But if there's a Steve Rogers in my life, it's you."

She looks up at him, and even now, long past the event horizon, there are some things she's still afraid to say to him. She hopes he sees them in her eyes. His gaze meets hers, and she sees him shift from disbelief to understanding. He blinks, like he just passed through the doorway between darkness and sunlight. 

"Really?" he breathes.

"Really."

He sits there for a while, and she let the gears turn in his head until everything slots into place. He might understand what she means, but he has to work out how it applies.

"I'm Captain America," he says.

"He's compassionate," she says, "and more loyal than anyone. And he stands up for what he believes in, even if no one else stands with him. He never gives up, even when all hope is lost." She cups his cheek with her hand, swiping a thumb over his stubble. "He's a hero. Someone you can believe in. And maybe I'm not as strong as Peggy after all, because I just don't see, see how . . . even if she thought she'd never see him again, even if she lost hope, it doesn't mean that she could . . ."

She trails off, because he means to much to her, more than she can say. They blink at each other a bit as the words roll around on her tongue.

"I think," she concludes, "that there really is only one Peggy Carter, after all." 

She stares into his eyes, waiting for him to say something, anything, but he leans forward to kiss her instead, and she tries to tell him that way. Only a hero could inspire a kiss such as this, and she loses herself in it, in him, becoming part of him for a brief moment of pure bliss. She has him, she has him, and she didn't let anything take him away this time. She never will. They'll spend tonight in Dubai and tomorrow by the sea, and she'll have as much time as she wants, as many kisses as she wants, and at some point they'll go home, but they'll never come back from this. If she can feel like this after all this time, she can feel this way forever.

He smiles at her when he breaks the kiss, and she matches it in spite of herself.

"What?"

He shrugs. "You always put your hands on my face when you kiss me."

She shakes her head at him.

"Jemma?"

"It's silly."

He catches her gaze, insisting. "Tell me."

"It's just . . ." She feels the blush in her cheeks already. "I just, I want it to be you, I guess. I want to be sure of it."

She expects him to tease her, but he leans back as if he's been deeply moved. She couldn't love him more if she tried. And instead of a witty remark, he offers his hand, and she returns to her very favorite place in the world: Fitz's shoulder. No matter what goes wrong, this has always been a safe place.

They sit in perfect, content silence until they hear the rattling of the beverage cart coming their way. She's almost forgotten that she's been on a plane, surrounded by strangers.

"Hey Stan," says a female voice behind them, "you can take out your earplugs. The nerds made up!" 

"Finally!"