Archive of Our Own

Fitz backs away from her, and she lets him. Her hands slide down his chest and fall to her sides, and he looks so betrayed that she can hardly stand it, but she has to.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry," she says, "I didn't mean to. I tried not to. But I . . ." She takes a breath to steady herself, and what man would chose a blubbering mess over his own fiancé? This is the wrong way to do it, and but it's too late to do it any other way. "Please, Fitz. Don't marry her."

And it's not just that she wants him for herself, though she does. It's that the tux has tails, it's that he won't have a kilt, it's that he's turning into someone else. She won't have him, yes, but it's more than that. Soon, no one will have him. He won't exist anymore.

So she stands there, sobbing despite her best efforts, hands clenched in shaking fists as she waits for him to process what she's done.

"Jemma," he finally whispers, "you have a boyfriend."

She gulps. "I know."

"I told you how I felt, and you left me."

"You know that's not why." 

"And," he stammers, "and when you came back, you told me there was nothing to talk about."

She shakes her head as the current of memories threatens to drown her, taking a big, gasping breath. "Maybe there is."

She dares to look up at him, and his head is tilted to the side as he takes another step backward, with the same wild eyes he had when they found out about Ward.

"You introduced me to her!" He chokes on the words, and she has to put a hand on her forehead to keep it from exploding. "You encouraged me to pursue her. All of this is because of you!"

"I know," she says, shaking everywhere now. "Fitz, I know I did it all wrong. I know I'm not being fair, but you have to listen to me! I love you. I love you the way you are, and I can't bear to see you change for her."

"And what," he shoots back, "I'm supposed to change for you? I'm just to throw everything away because you finally decided I was worth something?"

"No!" She's horrified at the thought. "No, of course not!"

His pain has turned to anger, and she doesn't know how to stop it. "Oh, really?" He folds his arms and glares at her. "What did you think? That no one else would want me?"

She squeezes her eyes shut. "No. Fitz, you know me better than anyone else. You know how hard it is for me to say these . . . things. Do you think I haven't spent the past three months trying to talk myself out of it?" She thought she was out of tears, but they just keep coming. "I told myself it was too late, that I didn't deserve to tell you. And maybe it is too late for us, but not for you. I was wrong, and I couldn't live with myself knowing that I pushed you into a bad marriage just because I was too afraid of how I feel about you. I love you, and I've loved you for a long time, and I'll love you if you marry her or if you run away with me, or if you decide you never want to speak to either of us again. I love you."

She might as well be standing naked in front of him, because there are no words left. She's trapped there, suddenly remembering that his cufflinks are in her hand and selfishly wondering if he can get married without him. She imagines a thousand ways to sabotage the wedding and knows this is the only one she'll try. It's his choice to make, and she's praying that he'll make the right one. 

"The wedding is in two hours," he finally says, sighing as he digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I think you should go."

She still has his cufflinks.

She's lying on her hotel bed, still in her bridesmaid's dress, and she's mesmerized by these two little gold things that belong to him. It's like they're the only solid part of this world, and she's floating in some kind of muffled chaos.

She has no idea what happened after she left his room and escaped to hers. She's just waiting for her phone to ring, for Daisy or Bobbi to tell her that there's some disaster she has to fix, and it's only a matter of time. She has no idea what she'll do when they call.

Because really, if she truly loves him, shouldn't she respect his wishes? She would have kept her mouth shut if it weren't for the scent of desperation that's been lingering on him for far too long. She wants him to have more than this. He deserves a wedding with little Robin as a flower girl and a DWARF as the ring bearer. He deserves anything and everything he wants, because he's a good man and a kind one, and the world would be a better place if everyone was a little more like him. She knows the look he should have when he first sees his bride walking down the aisle, the way he should smile when she vows to love him forever, the blissful way he should sway her across the dance floor when her head is on his shoulder. He should always feel like he is precious, because that's exactly what he is.

There's a soft knock on the door, and she didn't think he would come to get the cufflinks himself, but he has. She wants to hide under the covers and wait for him to leave, but she has to face what she's done. She opens the door and prepares to receive her punishment. 

He stands there, tie undone, hair disheveled.

"Will came to see me. Told me you broke up with him. Asked me if I knew why."

Her head is in her hands, and she's backing into the bed, because it's true, she's broken two hearts today, and she can't even say she regrets it. She just wishes she could have managed to do it with some grace.

"Hey."

His hand finds her shoulder as he guides her to sit on the bed instead of in front of it, and she feels the dip of the mattress when he sits down next to her. She doesn't cry this time, just looks at the hands in her lap.

"I told him why," she says.

Fitz shifts next to her. "I don't think he believed you."

"Well, that's ridiculous," she says. "He figured it out before anybody."

She expects a follow up question, but gets silence instead. She's not sure if he's looking at her with fondness or pity, and she doesn't want to know.

"I'm so stupid," she blurts out, "two PhDs and who knows how many patents, and I didn't know until my own boyfriend asked me why I can't shut up about you."

She's shaking her head and thinking it would better if he never met her, that he'd be better off without all the misery she brings into his life. She's belonged to him this whole time, every cell and fiber, and she acted like she didn't. She cheated on him with Will, cheated on Will with him, and they both deserve better. And now she's got this silence, this horrible, dreadful silence between her and the man she loves, and it's too much.

"What did you say to him?"

"Jemma."

She takes a breath. "What did you say to him, Fitz?"

He sighs, and she thinks she hears him scratch at his scruff. "I told him that if you didn't want to be with him, he should respect that. And that's the same thing I'm going to say to Callie."

She turns to him fast as a whip, and there he is, looking at the hands that reach out to capture hers. "You were right," he breathes, "I don't want to marry her." His eyes flick up to her, glowing with anxiety and importance. "Will you help me get out of here?"

She has no idea what to do. What does this mean for her? A thousand thoughts fly through her head at once, and she's not sure if she should kiss him or run away. In the end, she tightens her grip on him and decides she's his best friend before she's anything. As long as he doesn't get married today, she'll be happy.

"You tell her and your mother. I'll take care of the rest."

She can't let go of his gaze, and he holds it even as he nods. "Okay then," he says, and she thinks she imagines the way his thumb strokes her fingers. "I'll meet you outside the doors to the lobby, yeah?"

"Yeah."

She doesn't know why he leaves a kiss on her hairline, only that he leaves her. The moment he's out of sight, she's afraid that it's a dream, or that he'll change his mind, but she won't change hers. She stands up, peels off the gown she no longer needs, and finds the key to his room. It's ridiculous, really, that they gave her a key in the first place, but that was when she was supposed to pull everything together.

Now, she'll to take it apart.

It only takes her twenty minutes before she's exactly where she's supposed to be, sitting in the passenger seat with both of their suitcases in the trunk. He must have told his mum first, because she's already called Jemma and asked her to take care of her boy. Jemma is hanging up when Fitz bursts through the front doors and bolts for her. His tie and suit coat are gone, his shirt is untucked, and she reaches over to push his door open. He stops short before he reaches it.

"Lola?"

She holds out the keys as Fitz eyes the red convertible. "Coulson said it'd be alright. It's the getaway car, after all."

For one terrifying moment, she's afraid that this is it, this is the barrier he won't cross, but he snatches the keys out of her hand, and they're off. They drive through the rolling green hills in silence, since she can't think of anything to say, and he doesn't give any suggestions. Maybe in another world, they'd hear the soda cans clanking behind them as they brush off grains of rice. In this one, she wrings her hands and realizes they're empty when they're not holding his.

They stop only when the gas light comes on, and Fitz doesn't say a thing when he turns off the car and goes to fill up. She should have asked him where they're going, but she doesn't care. She ruined his life, and the least she can do is make sure he's not alone when he goes wherever he needs to be. She sneaks out of her seat and makes her way to the convenience store, hoping that some junk food will do something to bridge the chasm that formed between them. She comes back with an armful, and Fitz is done and waiting for her, looking at something he's holding in his hand.

"Here," he says, holding it out to her. She takes it and realizes it's her phone. 

Fitz squeezes his eyes like he's in pain. "Go ahead. Call him."

She looks down at the phone and back at him. "Call whom?"

"Will. Call Will." He lets out a sigh and deflates. "Tell him you made a mistake, and I'm taking you home."

Her world falls apart in an instant. "What?"

"It's okay, Jemma," he says, drawing air through his teeth, "I'm not going to marry anyone. You can go back to him now."

Did the ground collapse under her feet? She climbs into the car to steady herself as her purchases tumble out of her hands. Fitz leans forward to pick them up, but her head is still spinning.

"I don't want to," she finally says.

He looks up at her, two Kit Kats and a Nutter Butter in his hand. "Yes, you do."

"No I don't, Fitz."

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him sit up, shaking his bowed head. "Jemma, it's okay. No one would pick me when they could have Will."

"I did."

She said it without thinking, but it's true, isn't it? She hasn't missed Will for a moment, but she misses Fitz right now. Somehow, she misses the future they should have had together, with small, curly-headed children and a cottage. She misses the gray around his temples and the way she'll snuggle up to him after a hard day. Any other future seems empty and cold.

It takes her a moment to realize that he's gone, and she scrambles out of the car. He's walking out of the parking lot and into some kind of field, and he's a silhouette against the setting sun. It's breathtaking.

"You don't mean it," he says when she stands by his side. "You think you mean it, but you don't. You're just worried that you'll lose me. If you run off with me now, you'll regret it."

"I regret that I never kissed you."

That gets him to look over at her, but she can't make herself look back.

"I was such a coward, Fitz, pushing you away. It's just . . . I've never felt this strongly about anything, and there are so many variables. Our friendship is so comfortable, and if we deviate from that path, change would be-"

"Exponential."

"Yes," she breathes, "yes, exactly. It's terrifying."

She hugs herself as the sun dips lower, hoping he'll say something and knowing that he won't.

"I want to be brave," she says against the growing silence. "I love you, and I want you, and I'm tired of being such a coward about it."

True to her word, she dares to look at him. He seems to glow on the fading sunlight, so beautiful that she can barely breathe. She's so amazed by him that he takes her off guard when his eyes flick down to her lips, and he lunges forward to kiss her.

It's a rough kiss, like he's breaking and entering, like he thinks he'll get twenty-five to life. She can taste the desperation and adds in some of her own before it's over too soon, and he's looking at her with a silent question. She slides her hand up his neck, guides her lips back to his, and gives him her answer. This kiss is slow and simmering, and she uses it to tell him as much as she can, to show him more than she can say. When it's over, she leans her forehead against his as they breathe the same air, and she can't help but smile wider than she ever has before.

"So," Fitz says, taking her hands in his, "anything else you regret?"

Things come together more easily than she expected. Her parents jump on a plane, the license is obtained, and Mrs. Fitz takes the kilt out of her suitcase. The venue is somebody's friend's backyard, but when she walks down the aisle, he looks at her the way she's always wanted him to.

It seems only an instant later that they're on the dance floor, swaying to the music as she lays her head on his shoulder. Her hand slinks out of his to touch the gold cufflinks that are finally where they should be.

"Jemma," he says, and when her eyes find his, she's overwhelmed with the sheer bliss on his face. "I love you. I'm completely in love with you. Will you marry me?"

She answers him with a kiss.