Archive of Our Own

He, of course, knows that it's her. He's known it for a good twenty-three minutes, when her car turned off the freeway and came up the winding road leading to him. It was just enough time for him to jump in the shower, clean off a good week's worth of grime, and stand just out of sight while he tried to decide what to do about it.

Bang, bang, bang!

They never thought to put a doorbell on this thing.

She's standing outside, but she's also standing right next to him, peering over his shoulder to get a glimpse of the airlock.

"You should talk to her," she says. Fitz shakes his head in sharp, violent motions.

"If I stay here, she . . . she . . ."

She puts a hand on his shoulder and gives him a warm smile.

"She's not going to leave, Fitz. She came all this way."

He squeezes his eyes shut. "Yes, she will. That's wh- . . . what she does."

"Oh, Fitz," she says softly, "you don't believe that."

Bang, bang, bang!

"Fitz?"

He can't breathe. He can't.

"Fitz, please."

He takes a jagged breath in and is terrified that she heard it, though that would be ridiculous.

"Fitz!"

Both of her are prodding him now; one pushing, the other pulling him until he stumbles in front of the airlock and sees her.

And now he really can't breathe.

"Hi, Fitz."

It takes him a second to realize that it's her voice—her actual, real voice, but there's still a pane of glass between them. He can almost imagine that the window in the door is just another television screen. In the end, though, there are fingers poking him in the ribs and a whisper telling him to say something, so he speaks.

"Simmons."

He just stares at her, massaging one hand with the other, and she stares back. She's got her hair the way he's seen her in the interviews, all short and wavy. He's never seen that top before.

"Is it really you?"

The question just falls out of his mouth, because he's not an expert on hypoxia, but he does know that one hallucination is his limit. The proximity alarms wouldn't detect someone he made up, but he could have imagined them, too. 

She smiles at him, and it's a painful smile. He didn't expect that.

"Of course it is. Who else would it be?"

He lets out a sigh and nods, because if he imagined her, she wouldn't be able to surprise him. And her being here, standing out there in the heat like she came to borrow a cup of flour, is something he never thought would happen in a million years.

She's not happy to see him though, as much as her smile pretends to. Her eyes fall down to what must be her wringing hands before they flick back up at him. "Fitz," she says, "would you let me in?"

His eyebrows shoot up. "In? In here?"

"Yes," she replies, "please."

PS: So you all had different functions in the biosphere?

DJ: Yeah, of course. I was software, Fitz was hardware, Simmons was plants, Coulson was the captain, and May was the first officer. 

PS: You forgot to mention your other teammate—Grant Ward.

DJ: As it turns out, Ward was just there to ruin everything.

"Oh," she says when she steps in the door, and he thinks that it's him she's so happy about until he realizes it's the air. Nine billion people on this planet, and he's the only one who doesn't breathe in dust.

She takes in a deep breath and sighs it out. "I'd forgotten," she says when she catches him staring. She looks to the right, to the left, then up. Not at him. "So," she says, "how have you been?"

He's been stuck in a 3.14 acre box in the middle of the desert because she left him there. 

His lip twitches a bit before he says, "F-fine."

She's surprised, and she smiles. Does she think it's progress? Or did she expect him to get worse, since he had no one to talk to? Well, he had no one, but he did plenty of talking.

"I've conferred with Dr. Garner, of course," she tells him casually, passing by him and skimming her hand along the walls of the hallway. "He says he's very impressed."

What she doesn't say is that she talked to Andrew because she, technically, is also his doctor, even though she's not a doctor at all. He wouldn't be surprised if this ended up being some sort of end-of-mission physical. He's wondered, after all these months, if he only had to stop eating to make her come.

But he would have to admit defeat to do that. 

PS: Do you regret it? All the money and time that you put into this failed experiment?

PC: It's not a failure. We learned a lot about our world, and we gathered a lot of data that the scientific community can use to try and make this world last a little longer. Besides, now we now some ways not to build a biosphere.

PS: If it wasn't a failure, then why did you leave before the time was up?

PC: Obviously, there were some variables that we weren't aware of.

PS: Grant Ward, you mean.

PC: Yeah. We learned pretty quickly that sealing yourself in a glass jar with a murderous psychopath is generally a bad idea. I wouldn't recommend it. 

"I-I saw you," he says. She's been inside the doors almost an hour, and he's just been watching her examine the place. Did she expect it to be dirty? No, the only thing he's given up on is himself.

They did, however, pass Ward's old room. She'd lifted her eyebrows at the things strewn all over, and they both knew she knew exactly how it happened.

Now, those same eyebrows ask him a silent question.

"On the telly," he explains, thankful he finally managed an unbroken sentence. "You and th-the team. Talking about the mission."

"Oh."

He watches every movement, just so he can discern what it must feel like for her to know that he knows. He expects some sort of pride, but it's all guilt.

"Fitz, it's not what you think," she says.

He balls his hand into a fist and is successful in not slamming it on the kitchen table. "How do you know what I think?"

She puts her hand to her temple. "Fitz."

"Because you left. Y-you told me you were going to see your mum and your dad, but the next thing I know, you're on every channel! Talking about how I failed!"

She puts up a hand to stop him, but she's not surprised by his anger. "That's not what happened."

"Oh," he says, "it's not?"

"No."

"'Well, w- what was it, then?"

She ducks her head. but not before he sees her lip quiver. "Damage control." He can see the wheels turning in her head, but she's not trying to get out of this like he thought. She's resigned. She's trying to figure a way through it. "You didn't fail, Fitz. We didn't fail. Ward failed us. That's why I came back—to finish what we started. You and I, Fitz! It started out with just us. It should finish that way."

It feels wrong to be so angry when she's crying, so he tries to hold it back. but he can't hold everything.

"I thought you started something else with that astronaut."

PS: You know, you're the only real scientist they had on that team. I see you're still active in the scientific community.

JS: That's not true.

PS: Then what's all this I'm hearing about you working with Project Distant Star Return?

JS: I am working with NASA to look at the possibility of relocating to other habitable planets. That part's correct. But I wasn't the only scientist on the mission.

PS: You're talking about Leo Fitz? The engineer?

JS: Fitz built Biosphere616 from the ground up. He asked for my input, of course, but he designed the place. We were both there when they poured the concrete. He's still there.

PS: I can't imagine what it must feel like to see your life's work go up in smoke like that.

JS: The designs for Biosphere616 were sound. The execution was flawless. We avoided a lot of the pitfalls of previous biosphere projects—we made sure the cement finished curing, so it wouldn't steal our oxygen. We grew enough crops to make sure we all had enough calories. 

PS: It's funny you should mention oxygen, since that's what ended up . . .

JS: Yes, we didn't account for the fact that a man we lived and worked with for so long was just biding his time until he could tamper with our oxygen supply, steal our research, and leave us for dead. Thanks for reminding me.

PS: But Fitz stayed behind, tried to save everything.

JS: The data he saved has proved crucial to our understanding of our changing environment. He's the only reason we have even a glimmer of hope for future survival. So tell me: how is that a failure?

PS: If it isn't a failure, why did you abandon it?

He can never stand still and think about the astronaut at the same time. She follows him as he walks through the habitats—the same ones they built together. He goes through their savanna into their rainforest, knowing she's only a short distance behind. He doesn't run, though. He wants to. They'd both end up here, anyway. Where else would he go?

He opens to door and is welcomed by the humidity of the rainforest air. He can already see Sneezy swinging through the vines while Doc looks at him with curiosity.

"I've almost solved it," he says when the door opens again. "I think I can save the jungles."

Truth is, he spends almost all of his time here, playing with Happy and Dopey and wishing he were a monkey himself. But they built this facility not only survive, but to figure out how to heal the planet, and he made sure he did both.

"Really?"

"Really."

He tries to ignore the doubt in her voice—he may only have a Ph.D., but he's picked up enough environmental science skills from being stuck in a lab with her all day. When she left, he had to be both of them.

"Fitz, that's amazing."

He turns to her, confused. "Amazing? You . . . you d-don't want to see my re-research?"

"Oh!" She puts her hands over her mouth like she said a bad word. "No, I'm dying to see it. It's just—that's not why I'm here."

"Why are you here?"

She avoids the question when he asks, and she's still avoiding it when he gives up and lets her follow him back to the kitchen. She avoids it while they make dinner with biosphere-grown ingredients, and she's still avoiding it when everything is cleaned up, washed, and put away.

But when he says good night to her, not even bothering to show her to her room, she grabs his hand before he can walk away.

"We started this together," she says, eyes firm. "We should finish it together."

He examines her from head to toe. "If it was about the project," he says, twisting out of her grasp. "You'd w- want to see my research."

DJ: Well, if you look at the dictionary definition of a cult, it's any group that has a charismatic leader. Fury is pretty charismatic, but I wouldn't say we worshiped him. I barley know the guy.

PS: That's right. Didn't you join the group last minute?

DJ: Yeah.

PS: And isn't it true that you have no formal education, and you were living in a van?

DJ: Look, none of that matters. Fury needed someone to help him with the software, and he found me. End of story, really.

PS: But you were just a kid living on the street. What kind of computer skills could you have had?

DJ: I can hack into your secure network right now. Wanna time me?

PS: No, thanks. So, if you weren't a cult, what were you?

DJ: A family.

He's almost asleep when there's a rap on his door, and for a second, he forgets that she's even here. He collects himself quickly, though, and grumbles his way to the door. When he opens it, there she is, backlit by the lights from the hallway, practically glowing. Is he sure this isn't a dream? But it couldn't be. She never cries in his dreams.

He silently curses himself. Two years she was gone, and he's right back to loving her even more than he used to. He let her in his home, and right now, he'll let her say whatever she wants to say. He's so weak for her.

"I need you to understand that I didn't leave because of what happened to you."

He should find some comeback, some cutting remark, but she already has red-rimmed eyes. How long has she been crying?

And why, why in name of all things, does he still ache to wrap his arms around her and tell her it'll be okay?

"Okay," he says.

Her upper lip quivers, and it's all he can do to stay still. "I left because I thought you'd be better off."

His heart sinks. "Better off? Alone?"

"Fitz, you were so unhappy."

Fitz remembers. He spent all those months trying not to fall in love with his best friend, telling himself that it was just the isolation. In the end, he wasn't strong enough to stop it, or to keep it to himself, or to keep her. Even when she came back to the biosphere with him, he knew it would only be a matter of time before she left again. How could she stay when she didn't feel the same way?

"And I know . . . Fitz, I know it wasn't easy for you. You were going through the healing process and I—I just made it worse. That's why I left. I couldn't bear to see you in so much pain, knowing I caused it."

She sounds sincere, but she also sounds . . . practiced. Has she been giving herself this speech in the mirror? For how long? And why . . . why do it at all? Why come all this way? His phone still works. Or is this all a ploy to get back into his good graces? Show up at the door, pretend to be more interested in him than in the research—all to eventually get back to the research. He'd say he didn't think she was like that, but then, he doesn't know her these days.

"But I've had a lot of time to think, and I've been keeping track of your progress, and Fitz, we never talked about what you said to me."

He raises an eyebrow. "Said to you?"

He's said a lot of things to her, most of them when she wasn't there, many when he was tired and lonely and so ashamed that he fell in love with his best friend and lost her because of it.

She nods, fresh tears in her eyes. "Just before you passed out."

"Oh."

They stand there, a stifling silence expanding between them as Fitz realizes this is why she came. All those months of hiding his feelings—then of trying to hide his mortification when his feelings weren't only rejected, but ignored—and she came back just to dig it all up again?

"Now? You want to talk about this now?"

Her face falls, and he's so confused that he doesn't know where to begin until he realizes that she thinks this is why he drove her away. She thinks she has to get past this part before they can be friends again. He looks around for him imaginary Jemma and realizes he hasn't seen her since the real one walked through the door. He's on his own.

Well, best to clear things up right away.

"There's nothing to discuss, Jemma."

He tries to say it with a smile, to let her know that his demons don't belong to her, but he can't look at her. It's hard for him to say it out loud, even though he's said it to himself a thousand times.

But, she surprises him again.

She takes his hand.

"Maybe there is."

He looks at her hand, then up at her. There is so much fear behind those tears. He wonders just what she's afraid of.

"Jemma," he says, swallowing, "you don't have to do this."

"Fitz," she says, with grim determination, "it took me all this time to gather up the courage to come here and  . . . to tell you that I . . ." She drops his hand and takes a step back. "Can't you just believe me?"

If he wasn't standing there, slack-jawed and staring, he'd have enough sense to break his heart for her. But his mind is blank, because there's no way she could possibly—and yet, she does. She's broadcasting it with every nervous tremor.

He has no idea what to say, or what to do, or even how to hold himself. This morning he thought he'd never see her again, and now? 

But then she breaks down into racking sobs, and his instinct takes over. He wraps her up in his arms and holds her together.

"I missed you," she stammers through her tears. "I missed you so much."

Fitz blinks away a few tears of his own.

"I missed you, too. Every day."

PS: I'm just going to go ahead and ask the million dollar question: why did you do it?

GW: Look, haven't I been through enough? You've heard all about my family; you know what my childhood was like. And now, thanks to Fury and his generous donations, I've been handed back to my abuser. Why do you keep acting like this is all my fault?

PS: You tried to kill five people.

GW: Yeah, well I didn't. They are all clearly alive and continuing to ruin my life. 

PS: You also nearly destroyed a research facility that some say is the only hope humanity has left. What do you have to say to that?

GW: Some people don't deserve to survive. That's what I have to say.

Jemma stirs when the program goes to commercial, shifting to find a more comfortable position against Fitz's shoulder. He lifts his head off of hers to study her. It's been three weeks, three weeks that transitioned from tentative awkwardness to sheer bliss, and he can barely believe it.

"He's awful," says Jemma.

It takes him a moment to understand that she's talking about Ward, and he immediately nods his head. "He's an idiot, too. I doubt that anyone believes him. He can't hurt anyone anymore."

"I know," she sighs, "I just wish . . . I wish he hadn't set us back so far. I think we could have really had an answer for this planet by now."

"Well, yeah," he says, "but, I mean, we have the rainforests. That's a big part of it. We'll sort the rest of it out."

She gives him a quick smile that turns into a worried frown. She returns her head to its rightful place on his shoulder. "I just want to help our friends," she says, "and our families. And everyone else."

He lays his head on top of hers. "I know." She twines her fingers with his, and he feels invincible. "We'll fix this, Jemma. Together."

When she doesn't say anything, he has to look at her to judge her response, which prompts her to look back at him. She's so beautiful, and she cares so much that he can hardly stand it. His eyes flicker down to her lips, and he's not sure if he moves first, or if she does. It's quite possible that they moved together. But he does know that he's kissing her and she's kissing him back, and that her hand squeezes his as she smiles against his lips.

He knows that it was worth it to built the biosphere just to have this one, perfect moment where he loves a wonderful girl, and she loves him back.

NYT: Well, today is the day: September 24th, 2116. I'll have to ask you the question the whole world is asking: do you have a solution for the survival of the human race?

LF: Well, yes and no.

JS: We have a part of a solution. A huge one. That's why we've decided to stay in Biosphere616 for another year. The research we're doing is going to take time, and we're going to do whatever it takes to find a solution.

NYT: Another year? With just you two in a glorified glass box? How do you know that you won't make the same mistakes the original team made?

LF: We've worked out a few bugs.

JS: And it helps that neither Fitz nor I are intent on the destruction of the human race.

LF: That's the key to it, really.

JS: Biosphere616 is still the best tool we have to combat this problem. In fact, I'm pleased to announce that under Nick Fury's direction, Phil Coulson will be building other biospheres to act as a companion to this one,

LF: But these biospheres will have more space devoted to agriculture, so they can accommodate more people.

JS: Our grandparents lived in a world that seems almost idyllic to us now—fresh food, clean water . . .

LF: Air that doesn't make you hack up a lung . . .

JS: We've been able to recreate that world in our biosphere, and we'd like to share it with as many people as possible.

NYT: Sounds like you two have an exciting future ahead of you.

LF: I think so.

JS: Yeah, I think we do.