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Was there anything that man didn’t think of? Even after a couple of days after their playground date, Jemma couldn’t stop smiling. When he said he was organizing a surprise for her, she was expecting champagne, a private booth in a low-lit, authentic Italian restaurant. A single red rose resting on the table’s linen. Jewelry, perhaps.
And she was sure something to that effect would be happening in the future. He was the romantic one in the relationship - there was absolutely no doubt about it. Like with their date to the playground. The day was beautiful, the playground was empty, they had wine on a lovely checkered blanket, and they ran around the establishment like children.
And she didn’t share this with him, but when he was pushing her on the swing, and she looked back at him, she saw everything. She’d seen his muscles flex before (they had been heavily training after all - not to mention they worked as agents where field experience was the norm). But to see his arms exert themselves to something so seemingly mundane - no evil aliens, no hellish planets - just a man pushing the woman he loved on an abandoned swing - was just so positively inviting and attractive, she had to look away.
And his eyes. Eyes that she had witnessed watching her and avoiding her and everything in between. His eyes lacked worry. They lacked weariness. There was only love and joy and silliness and peace. She wanted to gaze into those eyes for the rest of her life. And she would gaze into those eyes for the rest of her life. She was sure of it. She wouldn’t even entertain the idea of any other alternative.
Her fingers flew to her lips, and she smiled around them, thinking of the kiss on the swing set. The sun had begun to set, and there was no one after them, no talk of past loves, nothing threatening to separate them. Just them, kissing like giddy teenagers, and she was surprised she even managed to kiss him at all, her grin was so big.
“You’re doing it again.”
They were reclining on their sofa, Fitz stretched out with his head in her lap, her fingers combing through his short hair gently.
She paused her ministrations. “Doing what?”
“Beaming like the Chesire Cat. Your face is going to get stuck like that, you know.” Fitz’s grin rivaled her own, and she rolled her eyes, good-naturedly. “Thinking about anyone in particular?”
“I hate you, you know.”
Fitz chuckled, his eyes twinkling with a look so intense, her breath caught in her throat. “No. You love me.”
And Jemma’s smile was wider still. “Yeah. I do.” And she leaned down to kiss that ridiculous, maddening smile off his face. She didn’t know if that was possible though. For hers was to remain on her face permanently.