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Fitz wakes with a start when he hears a crash in his kitchen. He sits up, rubbing the bleariness from his eyes. The crash is quickly followed by the sharp shattering of glass on tile. He quickly climbs out of bed and rushes to the kitchen. Before he even turns on the light, he hears a familiar voice sniffling and whining near the sink.
“Simmons?” he whispers as he turns on the light. “What’re you doing here?”
Jemma looks up at him from where she’s sprawled on the floor, surrounded by broken glass and a puddle of water. “I’m here to see you.” Though she hiccups the words through tears, she still manages to sound condescending, as though it’s supposed to be obvious.
Fitz glances at the time glowing on the microwave. “At 3:30 in the morning?”
Jemma nods, tears still streaming down her face. Fitz squats next to her. “What happened? Are you hurt?” He takes her hands to inspect them for lacerations, worried that she’s been cut by the glass.
Jemma shakes her head, then pulls one hand away to swipe at her tears. “I wanted water and I dropped your glass.” Her breath smells strongly of alcohol and the dark makeup smudged under her eyes makes her look rather raccoon-like.
Fitz reaches forward to smooth her tangled hair. “Hey,” he says soothingly, “it’s okay. It’s just a cup. Just sit tight while I clean it up. Not a big deal.”
As Fitz sweeps the shattered glass into a dustpan, Jemma slumps backwards against the lower cabinet and tilts her head back, thumping it lightly against the wood. “Oh, Fitz,” she sniffles. “I did something awful tonight.”
Fits nods knowingly. “I can tell.” Jemma usually doesn’t get weepy unless she’s passed her limit. “You shouldn’t let Weber goad you into drinking every concoction she invents.”
Jemma shakes her head. “It’s not that.” She pauses. “Well, it is, but it’s even more awful than that.”
Fitz stands to dump the glass shards in the waste bin. “Did you drunk-text Milton again?”
Jemma groans. “No!” She frowns. “At least, I don’t think so.” She pats her pockets. “Where’s my phone?” She tries to lift herself to check her back pockets, but promptly drops back to the floor.
Fitz sits next to her. “I’ll call it later so we can find it,” he assures her “But first, tell me what’s gotten you so upset.”
Jemma’s lower lip trembles. “Fitz, I...I…” She takes a deep breath, preparing herself. “I stepped on a bug!” she wails, covering her face with her hands, her hiccuping sobs returning full-force.
Fitz pats her back, his face scrunched in confusion. “Is that it?”
Jemma turns and clutches his forearms. “You don’t understand, Fitz,” she cries. “It’s...it’s dead.”
Fitz inspects her face, hoping to find some sort of clue as to why this was so upsetting for her. “It’s okay, Simmons. I mean, you deal with all sorts of dead critters all the time. Remember the cat last week?”
Jemma shakes her head vehemently. “But this is different!” She leans in, lowering her voice, her eyes searching his wildly, begging him to understand. “I’m a murderer.”
Fitz can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from his throat. Jemma sits back and crosses her arms over her chest, offended. “It’s not funny!” she protests.
“Simmons,” Fitz chokes out, trying his best to suppress his laughter. “It’s just a bug.”
Jemma’s eyes widen. “It’s NOT just a bug!” she cries angrily. “It was alive and it was going somewhere, and all of a sudden, my giant foot came out of the sky and squished it! And all I could think is that it could have been a Fitz bug!”
Fitz presses his lips tightly together, hoping the action would keep his laughter contained. He gestures with his hand for her to continue.
Jemma grabs his hand and turns to face him again, black-tinted tears streaming down her cheeks. “It could’ve been a Fitz bug on its way to see a Simmons bug,” she says desperately. “And now the Simmons bug will never see him again!” Her voice veers higher and whinier as she continues. “And all I can think is how the Simmons bug is going to be so sad!” Jemma reaches above her to grab a tea towel from the counter and buries her face into it. “She’s going to be so, so sad,” she moans into the towel. “So sad.”
Fitz shakes his head and pulls Jemma in for a hug. “There, there,” he soothes, still unable to stop himself from grinning. “You’re a biologist, Simmons. You know there are no Fitz bugs and Simmons bugs.”
Jemma pulls back from him. “But what if we’re like the bugs?” she whispers. “What if one day you’re walking around and a giant foot comes out of nowhere and squishes you!”
Fitz rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridicu-”
“I would be devastated,” Jemma sobs, clutching at his shirt. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you!”
Fitz squeezes her upper arms affectionately. “I’m right here, Simmons. I’m not going to get squished - I promise.”
“But what if you do?” Jemma asks tearfully. “What if you get squished and I never get the chance to make love to you?”
Fitz somehow manages to choke on air, coughing and spluttering, “I...you want to what? I...I don’t understand.”
Jemma pauses, considering. “Making love is like sex, but with feelings,” Jemma explains patiently. “I’ve never had sex with anyone I was in love with before, but it’s supposed to quite wonderful.”
“And you have those?” Fitz squeaks. “Feelings?”
Jemma nods.
”For me?” Fitz wonders if he really is a Fitz bug, because that would seem far more likely than Jemma Simmons, his best friend who also happens to be the most brilliant and beautiful person he’s ever met, implying that she’s in love with him. He’s dreaming. He’s definitely dreaming. He pinches his arm. He frowns and rubs the sting with his hand.
Jemma fondly rolls her eyes. “Ugh, Fitz. This isn’t a dream.” She frowns. “Or is it? What if I’m dreaming?” she wonders. She reaches over and pinches Fitz in the same spot.
“Ow!” Fitz yelps. “You’re supposed to pinch yourself!”
Jemma’s eyebrows draw together in confusion. “But that would hurt.”
It’s Fitz’s turn to roll his eyes. “That’s the point, Jemma.”
Jemma’s face brightens. “I know!” she exclaims. Without warning, she lunges forward and sloppily smashes her lips against Fitz’s, their teeth clacking clumsily together. Fitz’s eyes widen, but before he can respond, Jemma pulls back. “Definitely not a dream,” Jemma declares. “You’re a much better kisser in my dreams.”
Fitz frowns. “I’m a perfectly adequate kisser!” he protests. “You just didn’t give me a chance to actually kiss you back!” Before he can think better of it, he pulls Jemma towards him and catches her lips with his. This time, with him taking the lead, it’s a lot less clumsy. This time, they both get lost in it, making up for every longing look exchanged while studying in the library, every hesitant goodbye after Fitz walked Jemma to her door, every early morning when they woke up with their legs entwined after falling asleep during a long night of studying or a movie marathon.
It’s not until Jemma climbs into his lap, straddling him, that Fitz remembers that Jemma is actually very inebriated and pulls away. “We shouldn’t do this right now,” he gasps.
Jemma pouts. “But we were supposed to make love!”
“You’re drunk,” Fitz reminds her gently.
Jemma presses her lips tightly together, a determined glint in her eyes. Fitz knows that look all too well. He braces himself.
“I’ll make love to you!” Jemma warbles off-key.
Fitz squeezes his eyes shut. “Oh no.”
“Like you want me to!”
“Jemma, it’s not consensual if you’re singing 90’s R&B!”
“And I’ll hold you tight! Baby, all through the night!”
Fitz shifts Jemma off his lap. “How about this?” he suggests. “You can take my bed tonight, sleep it off. And if you still want to - or even remember this - in the morning, we can revisit the...the…” Fitz waves his hand between them. “You know.”
Jemma nods knowingly. “The sex,” she supplies for him.
Fitz can feel his cheeks burning. “Yes. That.”
“Okay,” Jemma agrees. She holds out her arms, clenching and unclenching her hands a couple of times. “Help me up.”
An hour later, Fitz shifts uncomfortably against the sofa cushions, listening to Jemma’s snores, which are loud enough to be heard from his bedroom. He finds her violent snoring rather adorable, and he tries to rack his brain for anything at all that he finds less than extraordinary about Jemma. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he finds that he can’t, and he knows that if Jemma doesn’t remember anything about tonight in the morning, his heart is going to be as squished as Jemma’s poor murdered Fitz bug.
-------------------
Fitz wakes up the next morning to something vibrating under his butt. Jemma walks into the living room from his bathroom wearing one of his old t-shirts and a pair of his plaid boxers, her hair damp and face freshly-scrubbed.
“I hear my phone!” she announces. She wanders around the living room, trying to follow the sound.
“I think it’s in the couch,” Fitz says groggily, as the vibrating stops.
Jemma grabs Fitz’s phone from his coffee table and re-dials her number. It starts vibrating again, but before Fitz can get off the couch, Jemma’s kneeling next to him and reaching her arm in between the cushions under his butt.
“What are you - wait - Jemma!” Fitz sputters, scrambling to move against the arm of the couch, leaving the blanket on the other end.
“Got it!” Jemma exclaims, holding up her phone in triumph and grinning at Fitz. She glances down and presses her lips tightly together. “Fitz...” she gestures towards his lap. “I think Nagini-”
Fitz looks down and hurriedly grabs a throw pillow to cover his lap.
Jemma rolls her eyes. “There’s no need to be embarrassed - it’s a perfectly natural -”
“Simmons…” Fitz groans, frustrated.
”- biological response -”
“Please don’t-”
“ - in the morning -”
“I really don’t need a biology lecture,” Fitz complains as loudly as he can without veering into shouting.
Jemma’s mouth clamps shut. “Sorry.” She looks down at her hands, and noticing that she’s still holding both of their phones, places both of them on the coffee table. I...um…” she points towards his laundry machine, which is already whirring and rattling. “I’m doing a load, if you don’t mind. My clothes were smelling a bit...unfortunate.”
Fitz smiles, relieved for the change of subject. “No problem. Breakfast?”
Jemma smiles back at him. “Yes, please.”
After searching through his bare refrigerator and cupboards, Fitz turns to Jemma apologetically. “How about I go to the coffee shop at the corner and get us some scones,” he suggests.
“That sounds perfect,” Jemma agrees, beaming. “I’ll stay and make us some tea.”
Fitz quickly changes into jeans and a sweater and finds Jemma waiting for him right outside his bedroom door. She thrusts his phone out at him. “Don’t forget this.”
Fitz pockets it, even though the coffee shop is only two doors down. “Thanks.”
As Fitz stands in line and picks out his scones, he can’t help but feel a crushing sense of disappointment that Jemma hadn’t mentioned anything about the previous night. He supposes it’s miraculous enough that she’s actually functioning this morning - it’s a bit unreasonable for him to expect her to remember any actions she might have taken or words she might have said in her state of drunken delirium.
As he exits the coffee shop, Fitz realizes that he can hear ”I’ll make love to you!” blaring from somewhere closeby. He rolls his eyes. That song seems determined to torture him.
”Like you want me to!”
It takes him a few steps down the sidewalk to realize that the song is quite literally following him - it’s coming out of his pocket.
“And I’ll hold you tight!”
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and does a double-take when he sees the name on the screen.
”Baby, all through the-”
“Simmons?” he asks, holding the phone up to his ear. “I’m almost back with the scones - I’ll be there in two minutes.”
“Hi Fitz!” Jemma responds cheerfully. “I have some bad news.”
Fitz frowns. “You do?”
“Yup! I was looking through your nightstand just now -”
“Why were you snooping through-”
“- and it turns out that all your condoms are expired.”
Fitz’s mouth snaps shut. He stops short and looks wildly around him, looking for hidden cameras or some other proof that this is some kind of elaborate prank.
“So could you go to that drugstore across the street before you come home?”
Fitz clears his throat. “Just to clarify - you want me to -”
“Buy more condoms? Yes.”
Fitz must have been silent for too long as he struggled to find something to say, because Jemma reminds him patiently, “You did say we could revisit the possibility of sex in the morning.”
Fitz nods slowly, before remembering that she can’t see him. “I did.” He steps to the side, leaning against the window of a Chinese restaurant to let other pedestrians pass by unimpeded. “This is true.”
“And I’m very much sober now,” Jemma assures him.
Fitz rubs the back of his neck, a bit nervous. “That’s...that’s good. Very good.”
“And you love me.” Even though it’s a statement, he can still hear the questioning hesitance in her voice.
“I do,” Fitz agrees, not even caring how she found out, only caring that she knows and that it hasn’t scared her off.
Jemma exhales heavily, as though she had been holding her breath while waiting for his response. When she speaks, he can hear the smile in her voice. “And I love you.”
Fitz can’t keep his dopey grin from spreading across his face. “Yeah?” The words sound so much more wonderful when she’s sober.
“Yeah.”
They’re both silent for a moment, Fitz unwilling to hang up, perfectly content to listen to her breathing on the other end of the line. It’s not until he sees a bug scurrying into a sidewalk crack that he has the wherewithal to actually move
“Hey, Jemma?”
“Yes, Fitz?”
Fitz pushes himself off from against the wall and starts walking again, this time towards the crosswalk. “I know I said I’d be home in two minutes, but we better make it ten. I have one more stop to make.”
Jemma somehow manages to sound brisk and effervescent and matter-of-fact and flirtatious and bossy and shy and maddeningly sexy all at once. “Excellent. Well, do try and hurry. I have a very busy morning planned for us.”