Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jemma stares at Fitz's outstretched hand. Is that what she thinks it is?

He clears his throat. "Remember how you said you just needed some time off to figure things out for your album? I thought maybe you could hide away in a flat that isn't yours so you're free of most distractions." He reaches up with his free hand, scratching at the nape of his neck. She can see the blush reddening from the collar of his shirt. "And it just so happens that I need time to write my next book."

She chew her lower lip in thought. It's a flawed plan, sure--she doesn't know exactly when or where inspiration will strike her, but she does need to get away, but not anywhere far. She needs to be close enough so that Kara, Daisy, and Lincoln can drop by. She raises an eyebrow in his direction even as she places her hand over his, the metal of the key warmed from its time in his pocket. "Did you really rent a flat just for me?" The grin on his face is answer enough. "And are you planning on joining?"

He shrugs, though she can see the nervous energy in the way his foot taps against the floor. "Kill two birds with one stone?"

She grins back.

-----

The flat isn't empty, but it might as well be. There are a few cushions and blankets piled in a corner, as well as something large covered in layers of fabric and sheeting. Fitz told her a few days ago that it was minimally furnished, but she turns toward him with an eyebrow raised. "When you said furnished, I was expecting a couch, at least." She gestures toward the mattress on the floor of the front room, still in its plastic wrapping. "Not even a frame?"

She neglects to comment on the fact that there's only the one mattress. It's queen-sized, sure, but the sight of it makes her heart flutter. He doesn't say anything about it either, instead just shrugging as he drops his bag by the island in the kitchen. "It's not a long-term solution, so I thought we could forgo some of the basics."

He was always good with words when they hid all the right meanings.

The door snaps shut behind them, delayed, making her jump and break eye contact as she places her own bag carefully on top of the island. She has a few days' worth of clothing, but there is a washing machine and dryer tucked into a closet in the hallway and whatever she didn't pack can be bought or borrowed. Her violin case is still clutched in her other hand, so she puts it down gently, bending down so she can lay it flat on its back before she walks around the place.

Fitz hovers in the kitchen while she explores--Jemma reminds herself that he's seen it all already and asking him for a tour sounds silly when there is nothing of note. She wanders into the hallway leading toward the back of the flat, noting that this place is likely bigger than any flat that she has ever seen, though she should expect that. He is a bestselling author and can afford more than the closet of a place she shares with Daisy, and it looks even larger when it's so empty, the walls painted a nondescript white. If this wasn't a temporary dwelling, she might feel tempted to cover the walls in haphazard artwork. There are three rooms in the back, one with a large walk-in closet and a bathroom.

She hardly notices the small smile that has taken residence on her face as she runs her hand against the wall of the hallway, returning to the front room.

It turns out that the kitchen is more well-stocked than she would have guessed, or at least has a kettle, mugs, and tea. Fitz is leaning against the island with his mug clutched in his hand, a second one on the counter, steam still rising gently. Jemma reaches her hand toward it--

"--wait." Her hand drops as she spins toward the large covered object. She skids toward it, her socked feet sliding against the wood flooring. She runs her hands over the top of it, her suspicions all but confirmed. Peeling back layers of fabric and sheeting, she feels her heartbeat racing until she finally reveals what is underneath.

Her breath hitches in her throat and Fitz turns to see her discovery. "You need a piano to write music, Jem. I know that much, at least."

"Fitz." She ghosts her hands over the closed fallboard, her mouth open in wonder. "This is a Steinway." She looks up, eyes shining. "Thank you."

He shrugs one shoulder, but his gaze is directed toward the counter and she can see a blush colouring his cheeks. "Don't mention it."

She may be willing to ignore the mattress, but she certainly does not plan on ignoring the piano. "Fitz, this looks brand new, and new Steinways cost at least $50,000. I can't--how--Fitz!"

Fitz has the good sense to look embarrassed, at least. "I didn't buy it, per se. I convinced the seller to let me lease it for a month and then I can decide if I want to keep it. But I figured you needed something better than the ancient upright you have."

Her brain won't stop shouting, so Jemma crosses the room and kisses him on the cheek. "You're the best."

It takes another trip to the car to fetch all of their belongings for the next two weeks and a trip to the grocery store, but when they settle in as best as they can, two former childhood best friends now living out of overnight bags and backpacks in an empty flat, Jemma thinks she can take the tearful memories and turn them into something better.

-----

Sleeping arrangements become less of an issue than Fitz anticipated. He thinks she might put up a fight with him when she sees the single mattress, and he was willing to offer to buy a sleeping bag so she could take the mattress, but the first night, Jemma curls up on the mattress, waits about three seconds, and tells him to lie down before she throws a pillow at him.

It reminds him so vividly of sleepovers when they were children, throwing pillows at each other and building forts out of blankets, that his breath catches in his chest before he lies down, leaving several inches between them, but feeling much less awkward than he did showing up at her place a few weeks ago.

When he wakes up, he is alone on the mattress, but he hears Jemma humming in the kitchen, some tune he doesn't recognise but that hardly surprises him. He sits up, the blanket he haphazardly took off of the pile last night falling from his shoulders as he rubs at his eyes. "You're a morning person," he manages to say just before he yawns. It shouldn't be a surprise, really.

She laughs. "I was always the first one awake at sleepovers, wasn't I?" The kettle whistles sharply then and she turns to take it off the stove. Fitz catches sight of her pyjamas, mismatched and almost childish in pattern and it makes him smile despite his exhaustion and the temptation of grouchiness.

Before he can get up to join her, she is standing at the foot of the mattress, holding out his mug of tea with one hand, her own clutched in the other. There is a brief moment where he imagines this being his reality, day in and day out, but that thought is quickly dashed away by a jaw-popping yawn. "Cheers," he says, his jaw locking back into place before he grimaces at the taste of morning breath. He takes a sip, barely cognisant of the burning of his mouth when he realises that she is staring at him, both hands now clutching at her mug, her head tilted. "What?"

She shakes her head, a grin spreading across her face. "Your hair, it's..." She makes a face before taking one hand and miming what he thinks is static shock, and he groans into his mug.

Just his luck, waking up with terrible bed head.

-----

After breakfast, the two of them decide it's as good a time as ever to start working on their respective projects. Fitz has papers strewn all over the floor and two notebooks haphazardly opened, his laptop laying forlornly to one side as he tries to sort through his notes. Jemma has her single manuscript book open on the piano, tapping away at her tablet. It's a comfortable silence, and Fitz is more than okay with just watching Jemma as she disappears into her own world. He tries to drink her in, the years lost between them feeling like an ocean that is slowly receding now.

It takes forty minutes of alternating between his notes and watching the expressions play out on Jemma's face before she finally gave up trying to write something out of thin air, instead opening the fallboard and starting her scales.

The familiarity of it makes him close his eyes, suddenly struck with an idea. He picks up his laptop just as Jemma begins to play Prokofiev from memory.

She plays and he writes, and something just feels right.

-----

They start the next day slowly, after a late night fueled by tea and chocolate biscuits and three pizzas. Just before bed, Jemma had asked Fitz how much he'd written and his response was so distorted by exhaustion that it was nearly incomprehensible, but she thinks he said five chapters, which seems to clear up a great deal of his paper trail. She wakes up before him again, though the sun is much higher in the sky today, and she prepares tea as he gets up, yawning and groaning, his hair sticking up every which way again. She doesn't hide her smile as she dumps two heaping spoonfuls of sugar into his tea and pours milk into both of their mugs, and she is about to approach him when he stands up, half blundering about before he pulls something out of his backpack. She frowns, picking up both mugs, and when she looks up again, he is facing her, and he is wearing glasses.

"Oh." She freezes, wondering how she missed this before. "When did you get specs?"

He shrugs, stretching his arms up toward the ceiling and not for the first time, Jemma notices just how lean his frame is. "Two years after I moved to Glasgow. My eyesight isn't terrible, but getting any writing done without them if I'm too lazy for contacts is downright impossible."

How did she not notice the contact case and solution in the bathroom? She suppresses her sigh, instead handing him his tea. He gives her a smile in thanks and holds it up to his face. Jemma watches as his glasses fog over and she nearly spills her own mug down her front as she laughs.

-----

Sometime in the middle of a writing frenzy, Fitz realises that they should probably eat something that doesn't come out of a delivery box. It's only been three days since they holed themselves in the empty flat and they have yet to make a significant dent in their groceries. He discovers that Jemma has a tendency to forget to eat when she's writing, which is something that he could never be guilty of, so while she sits at the piano and stares off into space, occasionally plunking out a series of chords without any sort of context, he decides to use what few culinary skills he has.

As soon as the sound of chicken sizzling in a pan echoes across the empty space, Jemma seems to come out of her daze and she stretches, almost feline in her movements, before joining him in the kitchen.

They spend a few moments just orbiting each other, him cooking, her reaching for the kettle to boil water for tea. He hums his contentment at how comfortable the silence is--he has always been better with words on paper.

It isn't until he tosses in a handful of spinach that Jemma speaks. "So, what's for dinner?"

He turns to look at her, blinking slowly. "You know, I'm not entirely sure. I'm making it up as I go."

She grins at him as she reaches for the now whistling kettle. "Lead the way."

-----

For perhaps the first time in their lives together, Fitz is the first to wake up. He wonders just how much later Jemma must have gone to bed because when he all but passed out shortly after midnight, she had still been up, scratching away in her notebook, tapping out chords on a piano app with her earbuds in so she wouldn't wake him. Somehow in the past five days, they've gone from sleeping with some distance between them to nearly holding each other in the night, and he stares down at her arm draped over his chest, her brows furrowed despite the slight smile on her face. She is still very much asleep, and he has to fight the urge to toy with the ends of her hair just in case she wakes up and realises their predicament.

He can't help his thoughts straying back to the past, to camping out in blanket forts and late nights stargazing with her, when they were both still so young and full of hope, when they didn't know what heartbreak was. They've both seen so much already, their viewpoints tinted grey. But finding her again was the best second chance he could ever get, and maybe they could finally patch things up between them.

It seemed to be working so far.

Fitz's train of thought occupies him for what must be the better part of an hour, maybe two, when his stomach makes a nearly offensive growling sound. He is just about to extract himself from beneath her arm when she stirs, stretching cat-like beside him before she opens her eyes. "Good morning."

He grins, sitting up on the mattress before stretching his legs out. "Morning," he replies, deciding against bringing up the near compromising position they were just in. "What time did you go to sleep?"

Jemma frowns and Fitz tries not to think about just how adorable the expression is when she's still half asleep. She picks up her mobile, her other hand covering her mouth as she yawns. "Three, maybe?"

He forces himself to stand and places his hands on his hips, trying to look as disapproving as he can. She laughs and manages to get herself out of bed. "I'll take a nap later. Scout's honour, Fitz."

The sour taste in his mouth tells him that instead of protesting, he should probably go brush his teeth, so he sighs and gives up his act. Without responding, he makes his way to the bathroom and before he realises it, he's standing there, toothbrush in his mouth, while Jemma pauses momentarily in the doorway before reaching for her own toothbrush.

They stand side by side over the bathroom sink, despite the fact that there are two sinks and enough counter space for her to even sit on it. It feels so normal that he doesn't question it. She smiles at him through their reflections in the mirror and maybe he spends more time brushing his teeth than strictly necessary, but he takes it as a sign that the day ahead would be promising.

-----

For the first time in the past few days, they fall asleep before midnight. Or at least Fitz does--Jemma lies in the darkness, her eyes adjusting to the shadows cast on the walls from the trees outside. Fitz is ever-so-slightly sprawled next to her, looking peaceful. She wonders if he has slept with a frown on his face for as many years as she has. She isn't sure if she has ever slept so well as she has the past few nights.

But tonight, the insomnia hits her hard. She tries not to toss and turn too much so Fitz doesn't wake up. She tries curling up next to him, borrowing his warmth, but nothing seems to work so she maneuvers herself from underneath the covers and picks up one of Fitz's jumpers from the piano bench with one hand and her violin case with the other.

She holes herself up in a back room, the smallest of the bedrooms and closes the door--Fitz is a heavy sleeper, but she's relatively sure that if she starts playing double-stops without any attempt at privacy, she'll wake him up and he'll be grumpy for hours.

The back rooms are empty, which means the acoustics will be excellent. She sets her violin down and shrugs on the jumper, trying to keep herself warm. As she pulls out her bow, tightening the hair and picking up her rosin, a smile spreads across her face, slow like molasses. Her fingers itch to set themselves on strings and fly down the fingerboard, let the music carry her away so she might be able to sleep.

She adjusts her shoulder rest and places the violin beneath her chin, her fingers miming the scales that are already running through her head. She draws her bow across the strings, tuning carefully, trying to keep the sound quiet so that she might ease into a melody without being a disturbance to Fitz or the neighbours.

When Jemma plays, time is no longer a detriment. She feels the music in her bones, a heartbeat that isn't restrained by biological inevitability. She could play for hours and not realise it, getting herself completely lost in chords and trills and everything else. Her fingers flit through scales and exercises, but before she can get even three lines into a piece, the door opens.

She gives herself no excuse to put her instrument down, but she turns to see Fitz standing in the doorway, a hand over his mouth as he yawns so violently that she thinks his jaw might have locked. As he looks up, she gives him a small smile before turning away from him, trying not to let him distract her. He doesn't seem to notice, though, instead walking into the room and taking a seat on the floor to listen.

Though she loses herself in her music, she still notices how he slowly comes to life, stretching his arms and rubbing his eyes. He still stares at her though and she doesn't know entirely what to make of it, but she pushes through.

He sits there, nearly in a trance as she plays piece after piece. Jemma has no idea what time it is--it could have been forty-five minutes or maybe two hours since she left the front room--but Fitz sits there the entire time, nodding off once or twice but remaining a beacon. When she finally starts to pack up her violin, loosening her bow and tucking the shoulder rest into a pocket, she sees his socks out of the corner of her field of vision. She straightens and picks up her case, turning toward him.

His hand is outstretched toward her so she takes it, her exhaustion finally settling deep into her bones. Maybe she should think more of this, but it can wait until morning. Her thoughts start becoming muddled and indistinguishable from one another and when they return to the front room, she sets her case down with a yawn that rivals his from earlier. He waits next to her, fingers still entwined with hers and when she stands, he gives her a tug as he leads her toward the bed.

She gives a sleepy smile as he collapses onto the bed, rolling over onto his side, a hand patting hers so she'll lie down, too, and she does, though with more grace than he did. Jemma gives him a sleepy, fond smile as she pulls the blanket up to her waist, Fitz's jumper keeping her warm enough to not burrow entirely beneath the covers. He turns toward her and though she feels moments away from sleep, she could swear that something in his eyes is different--

--his lips are warm and softer than she remembers against hers and though she gets a few seconds to respond in kind, the kiss is brief and the warmth barely reaches her fingertips. Just before she falls asleep, Fitz tucks one arm around her waist and she thinks this might be the perfect way to end a sleepless night.

-----

They really need a break.

Fitz decides this after realising that he accidentally used Jemma's body wash as shampoo and that Jemma seems to be wearing her shirt inside out. He closes the lid of his laptop and walks away from the kitchen island before making his way to the piano, where Jemma is either deeply lost in thought or she's begun taking micro-naps. He puts a hand on her shoulder and she nearly jumps a foot in the air before she realises who it is behind her. "God, Fitz, don't do that!" She admonishes him with very little heart behind her words and he grins, moving his hand to rub at the back of his neck instead. His thoughts drift toward the late night early morning kiss from the night before last and he fights the blush that threatens to give himself away before shaking away the stray trail of ideas.

"If we don't do something mindless soon, I think we might both spontaneously combust due to overworking." She starts to frown, her eyebrows knitting together so he reaches for her hand and pulls her off of the bench. "Come on, you know that we need to take breaks but we're both shit at it."

She holds her ground for a split second, trying to fight him but he insists, threading his fingers through hers and tugging on her arm, letting her know that he has no intention of letting go until she acquiesces. She does, but not without making a face and sticking her tongue out at him. The gesture is so childish that it makes him burst into tears of laughter, completely unexpected and he has stop walking, clutching at his side with his free hand, nearly doubled over.

When he finally recovers, Jemma's hand is still in his, and he looks up to see her glaring disapprovingly. "That's what you get for laughing at me," she says in a slightly haughty voice, and Fitz grins with his eyes still watering.

He gives her hand a weak squeeze. "We should get some makeshift furniture, don't you think? Even if I'm just renting this, we can rent furniture... Or at least buy some chairs. We don't have much to go on." He gestures at the room with his free hand.

She looks around, chewing on her lower lip and he should really not be looking at her mouth right now. He looks down at his feet instead, waiting for her response.

"Let's go on an adventure."

-----

Three hours later, they return with several folding chairs, a obnoxiously patterned rug of Jemma's choosing, three island stools, and a massive beanbag chair that could easily seat both of them and never let them escape again. There is a rental couch on the way and within an hour of them setting up their scant findings, the store has two movers bring in the couch and Fitz signs off on it, and then they're alone again.

Fitz sags into the beanbag chair and lets out a very muffled groan. "Okay, I think that counts as our break."

Jemma makes a noise of dissent, having caught up with Fitz's enthusiasm to stop working and gone much father ahead. "Absolutely not, Leopold Fitz. We have to put these pieces to good use now." She looks around, hands around her neck. "Oh, bloody hell, why didn't we get a TV?"

His head surfaces from the black hole of a beanbag, incredulity written all over his face. "Because we won't use it? And because even though I've sold a fair number of books, I'm not made of money?"

Jemma grins, moving toward her still half-packed bag and feeling around in it until her hands make contact with a smooth surface. "Aha!" She pulls out her tablet and waves it at him. "We can just use this. Movie time!"

It takes the better part of a half hour for them to find something they both want to watch before they settle on Finding Nemo because they could both do with something fun, and it's short enough that they won't feel too guilty about not working on their respective projects for so long. They settle onto the couch, thighs and shoulders touching, the tablet haphazardly propped up on its case on one of the island stools so it's closer to eye level.

Her thoughts keep drifting back to two nights ago, to a kiss that may or may not have been her subconscious projecting her desires into her dreams. She is relatively certain that it did happen, but she doesn't want to bring it up in case she was having a fever dream.

It was so simple and sweet that she almost became putty sitting next to Fitz there on the couch at the mere memory of it. Their first kiss had been so long ago, a cherished memory tarnished with the anguish that had come with his leaving so abruptly, and now here they were, making new memories to patch up the wounds left from the past.

Before she even knows what she is doing, Jemma finds herself leaning into his side, her cheek just barely pressed against his shoulder, his hand winding its way around her shoulders so his arm isn't pinned useless between them. She twists so that her legs are half-tucked beneath her, half stretched out to the empty portion of the couch and despite how few words they've said between them about this, it feels right.

When the movie ends, neither of them want to move, but Fitz's growling stomach makes that decision for them. Jemma only laughs, picking up her mobile to order two pizzas.

She doesn't move and neither does he, so they mindlessly watch a documentary until the food arrives. When they finally do have to get up, one to fetch the door and the other to grab plates and napkins, she finds herself not minding the pins and needles feeling in her legs one bit.

-----

It hasn't even been a week, but Jemma already has five songs written, which is more than she's done in the past three months. She spends several hours trying to decide if she should text her band--she told them she was taking a vacation to strike up inspiration, but she needs to hear how everything sounds with the band. After spending fifteen minutes trying to put together an appropriate text, she finally sends the message out before tossing her mobile onto the mattress, not willing to read the responses.

Fitz nearly jumps out of his skin when her mobile lands barely a foot away from him, hunched over his laptop as he tries to write his next chapter. One of the best parts about being here with Fitz--well, maybe not one of the best, but certainly a highlight--is that he doesn't feel obligated to ask her how much progress she has made, and she doesn't ask him, either. He might have barely two chapters done or maybe he's written ten in the past few days. She doesn't know and she doesn't care to know, but his presence is enough to keep her grounded.

Two hours later, there is a very loud knock on the door: two hard raps, followed by some scuffling, a few muffled voices, and ending in some sort of rhythm being tapped out lightly against the door. She rolls her eyes so hard that it hurts a little, standing up to open the door.

"Excuse me, missy, but you said you were going on vacation." Daisy bursts in through the door before setting her bass guitar case on the floor. "Do you know how difficult it is to wash my own dishes in a timely manner without you yelling at me?"

Jemma makes a face at her flatmate, but she doesn't manage a response because she's scooped up by a pair of arms that lifts her into the air and she flails slightly, reminding herself that maiming their guitarist would not do anyone any favours. "Lincoln, put me down!" She remains too far off the ground for a few more seconds before her feet finally feel the blissful relief of the floor. He beams at her and she frowns, squinting at the number of cases he seems to be holding. His violin and guitar, but also Kara's viola case, and she can see the top of Daisy's cello case over his shoulder. "Why do you have upwards of ten thousand dollars' worth of instruments on you?"

"Didn't we tell you? Lincoln is entering a strongman competition and he's training by carrying everything he can, including you, apparently." Kara's disembodied voice comes from behind Lincoln, who suddenly realises that he is blocking the doorway so he steps aside, and Jemma grins at Kara, who enters the room as she smacks Lincoln in the arm. He winces.

Daisy takes the instruments from Lincoln's hands so that he can put down her cello and she makes a face at Jemma, who makes a rude gesture in return. "We would've told you such developments if we knew you weren't on vacation. You're literally ten minutes away from the apartment!" As she reaches for her cello case, she seems to realise that they aren't alone, spinning on one heel to face Fitz. "Holy shit, another person is here. Hi, I'm Daisy." She crosses the room and sticks out her hand and Fitz nearly jumps a foot in the air before setting his laptop down on the bed, standing to return the gesture. He looks confused even though Jemma definitely told him there were people coming over...

He must not have heard.

Jemma feels a flush rise to her cheeks. "Fitz, this is the band." She isn't ashamed that Fitz is here with her, but she certainly is embarrassed that she told her friends a little white lie. "Daisy is my roommate whom I met in university, Lincoln here is the biggest pain in my arse--"

"--hey!--"

"--and I've known Kara since boarding school days." Daisy gives Jemma a smirk before nodding her head at Fitz, Lincoln waves, and Kara inclines her head, but not before giving Jemma a look that says she knows what's going on here. Jemma chooses to ignore her. "Everyone, this is Fitz."

She leaves it at that. Fitz gives a vague wave before settling back down on the mattress. He is so lost in his own writing that he doesn't quite acknowledge them. Daisy raises an eyebrow before rounding on Jemma, pulling her to one side as Lincoln and Kara begin setting up the stands. "You said you were going on vacation," she says accusingly, poking a finger at Jemma's shoulder. "You didn't mention that vacation was ten minutes away and with a guy. Tell me everything!"

Jemma halfheartedly pushes at her flatmate's arm. "Keep your voice down," she hisses, before sighing. "I'll text you, okay? We're getting work done, that's all." Her thoughts stray to the kiss they shared a few nights ago, but she still remains unsure if it really happened or if she had only dreamt it.

Daisy gives her a look that reads mostly as disbelief, but she lets it go and goes to join the others. "Can we use these?" She gestures toward the fold-out chairs that Jemma and Fitz bought only yesterday, mostly on a whim but it was also getting annoying that the only places to sit in their apartment were the mattress, the piano bench, the counter-tops, and a makeshift nest of blankets. Jemma nods and within minutes, the four of them are tuning their instruments and playing through some quartets.

When she plays her violin by herself, she loses track of time within the music, but when she plays with her band, she loses track within the camaraderie, the easy routine of feeding off of each other's energy and fueling each other in turn. She lifts her head to give a cue and they all follow without needing to look up.

After playing through the two pieces she wrote with only string accompaniment, they move their strings to one side of the room, circling the piano with their other instruments. Kara's practice drum set is plugged into the outlet and Jemma sits down at the piano, handing out the photocopies of what she has.

Daisy gives the sheet a quick look over before picking up her bass and playing some of the chords. "What if we add a suspended fourth instead of a minor sixth at the end of the first two lines?" She plays the difference and Jemma's eyebrows furrow together, going through the music in her mind before nodding.

Lincoln is already jotting down notes for the bridge, where the only note that she had written was 'guitar solo,' knowing that he would come up with something brilliant, as usual. The only time that he is mostly silent is when they're doing an initial play-through of songs, and Jemma finds it strangely endearing.

Kara also says nothing, though she drums through a few patterns that she feels might fit the song. Jemma is no percussion expert, so she never writes anything down except vague suggestions, upon which Kara embellishes with ease.

Though the four of them started off as a string quartet, Jemma knows that their strengths lie in what they contribute to the band. Despite their focus, her eyes keep drifting toward Fitz, still sitting on the mattress even though it can't be particularly comfortable after so many hours. He barely glances up from his work, though she catches him staring once or twice. She tries to ignore the blush that must be spreading down to her chest, the way that Kara and Daisy are watching her.

She wonders if Fitz draws as much inspiration from her as she does from him.

Three hours later, they finalise the fifth song and Jemma beams over the piano, stretching her arms toward the ceiling. "Perfect! I think the album needs more than five songs, so I'll keep working, but if someone can contact the recording studio and get at least two or three dates set up, that would be great."

As the other three leave, Jemma catches Kara's worried glance so she gives her a smile, trying to project all the hope and optimism that she can muster. Kara nods, a small jerk of the head to indicate that she understands, though Jemma knows a talk is coming. The slight dread that comes with the prospect is shaken off by Daisy, who is waggling her eyebrows and staring Jemma down from just beyond the doorway. (Meanwhile, Lincoln is oblivious, chattering away about music, bless his soul.)

Her friends are impossible, she thinks, before shutting the door behind them and joining Fitz on the mattress with the full intention of taking a nap.

-----

Mornings come too quickly.

This is a realisation that Fitz has made hundreds of thousands of times over his relatively short lifespan, but it has never rung more true over the past 10 days with Jemma. They go to bed within minutes of each other if they can manage it because otherwise, one of them is bound to stay up far too late. Jemma hasn't had an episode of insomnia since the night he listened to her play, and so they fall asleep in each other's arms with ease.

He wakes up with his arm asleep beneath her head, but he doesn't want to wake her so he lies there, ignoring the numbness and watching her with a smile.

It isn't long before she smiles, too, and Fitz's cheeks start to redden. "How long have you been awake?"

She opens one eye, mischief in her gaze. "Long enough to know that you've been staring." Suddenly, she bolts up and twists, looking at him in mild horror. "Fitz, you should've said something!" She turns around and raises his arm with both hands.

He winces before taking control of his arm again, vigorously shaking it out. "I didn't want to wake you."

She rolls her eyes, but the effect is ruined by the yawn that causes her to emit a squeak. She drops her arms in laughter before her stomach growls, and Fitz's seems to growl even louder in response. "Okay, I think it's time for breakfast."

Within minutes, the two of them have brushed their teeth and set up ingredients for breakfast. Fitz passes Jemma a few eggs and she trades him the pan. A comfortable silence falls between them, only punctuated by the clangs of kitchen equipment, the cracking of eggshells. He keeps sneaking glances in her direction and he catches her looking more than a few times, and he can't even feel embarrassed about it.

She asks for a plate and he reaches into the cabinet closer to him to fetch one of the plates they bought within the first few hours of getting to the flat. He passes it to her and she thanks him, leaning in and quickly pressing a kiss to his mouth.

They are so lost in their current routine that it isn't until several hours later when they're both doing their work that Jemma looks up from the piano, frowning. "Fitz, did we kiss this morning?"

Fitz looks up from his laptop, his fingers frozen over the keys. He shifts uncomfortably on the island stool. "I... I think we did."

They stare at each other and this may be the most awkward silence they've ever had, but Jemma breaks their stand-off with a soft huh. "I thought I made it up."

Fitz shakes his head. "Nope. No, not made up at all."

Jemma nods and both of them are blushing by now. "And the other night, you kissed me before we fell asleep."

Fitz nods, at a momentary loss for words. He clears his throat and she starts, turning back to the keys. Her cheeks are as red as his must be. "Well, I'm just going to... Go back to work."

The silence is more charged than he expected, but it soon fades into a mild discomfort, and by the time they decide to make dinner, everything is back to normal. But the kiss still lingers in his thoughts, and when they both decide it's time for bed, he dreams of kissing her more.

He wakes with a smile on his face.

-----

They've run out of food again somehow, despite getting enough groceries to fill the fridge for some time. And they've even gotten takeaway far more often than is entirely necessary, but now Jemma concedes that they should really get some vegetables and cook a semi-healthy dinner to make up for the disgusting amount of pizza they've had.

As Fitz drives to the shop, Jemma looks at his hand resting casually on the gear shift and then looks up at him, seeing the smile on his face and she realises that this is the happiest she's been in ages. She turns her head to look out the window, a smile spreading across her face. She blindly places her hand over his and he flips his hand over so their fingers intertwine.

They ride in silence until they get to the shop, where Jemma pulls out her mobile to retrieve the grocery list. "Okay, we need lettuce, cucumbers, green peppers, and potatoes."

"We could just get potatoes and frozen veg," Fitz grumbles, and Jemma nudges his shoulder hard with hers. He winces, twisting to avoid any further attacks. "Kidding, just kidding!"

Jemma quickly snaps up several items on the list and checks them off before picking up a case of beer and putting it in the cart despite not having included it on the list. "So we can celebrate when we get some work done."

He grins, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "If this is your way of flirting with me, I accept."

She gives him a withering glare, only to falter at the smug look on his face that instantly gives way to laughter when she rolls her eyes, choosing not to address that particular comment. "Okay, let's get the rest of this list done so I can take a nap."

Fitz salutes her before taking her mobile, navigating to the appropriate aisles. "You know, when you become a famous musician one day, you won't be able to do this yourself."

"And that's why you'll be doing the grocery shopping. Most people don't recognise famous authors."

Neither one of them acknowledges the implication and hope that they'll be sharing a future together, though the blush that rises on both of their faces says otherwise.

-----

When Jemma's bandmates show up again, Fitz almost doesn't notice.

It's not that he's being intentionally rude. Despite having only met them a few days ago, the three of them seem to be nice people, and he is certainly in their debt for being there for Jemma when he failed her. No, it's just that he is so lost in his own work that he doesn't seem to acknowledge that anyone else is present.

Jemma certainly isn't helping. So long as she is making music, Fitz finds himself with more and more ideas, almost too many to fit into one novel. His mind is filled to bursting as he tries to string all of his new plot points together, all of it spiderwebbing like a crack in fragile glass and he has trouble following just one path when there are so many other options open in front of him.

The girl with dark eyes and darker hair looks at him with a nearly unintelligible glance, though Fitz is certain that she doesn't approve of him. When Jemma doesn't notice, he sees Kara's eyes shifting between them and he makes a vague note to himself to investigate.

The boy who reminds him of an overexciteable puppy doesn't seem to look over as often. When he does, his hand twitches toward his mobile. Lincoln's gaze shifts between them, too, but only when he isn't bouncing on the balls of his feet.

The girl who first noticed him--Daisy, he reminds himself--doesn't seem to look over at all, and Fitz is grateful for at least one person who isn't constantly questioning why he's here.

He sits at a distance from them and tries not to be a distraction, his fingers flying across the keyboard of his laptop. The only reason he knows that Jemma is making progress on her album is that she keeps calling band practices, and that makes him incredibly proud of her and happy that his haphazard plan seems to be working. His own work is more of a jumble, but sorting through it later will be easy.

It might be minutes or hours later that he looks up to see that Jemma is no longer surrounded by people and he frowns, looking up at the clock. "When did they leave?"

Jemma rolls her eyes but there is no malice in the gesture. "Nearly ten minutes ago, Fitz. Glad to know that you're back on planet Earth." She grins and he has the good grace to look sheepish, but the embarrassed flush turns into one of delight when she wraps her arms around his waist and tries to read his work over his shoulder. "Oh come on, you've heard all of my progress!"

He grins, shutting his laptop lid. "If I didn't notice your band leaving, do you really think I processed everything you were rehearsing?" He stands up from the stool, forcing her to straighten up, too. "Come on, let's start dinner."

-----

She could get used to this.

This is a stray thought that flits across her mind at the most unsuspecting of times. She thinks it when he gets out of the bathroom after he showers, his hair sticking to his head in wet curls. She thinks it when she gets stuck on her music and she looks up to watch him writing, his brow furrowed, glasses nearly sliding off the bridge of his nose. She thinks it when they cook meals together and when they dine together and it becomes increasingly more common.

It pops into her head again just now as they're washing the dishes, the clunky yellow gloves on his hands submerged in soapy water, passing her the sudsy dishes to rinse and place into the drying rack. The two of them generate a surprising number of dishes, between meals and haphazard snacking that stains their fingers sometimes and often leaves smudges on Fitz's face when he isn't paying attention. He is humming some nonsensical melody under his breath and before she can comment on it, he seems to notice and instead starts humming something familiar.

Jemma grins, humming along for a moment. "When you're weary, feeling small, when tears are in your eyes, I will dry them all. I'm on your side."

Fitz nudges her shoulder with his and continues. "When times get rough and friends just can't be found, like a bridge over troubled water I will lay me down."

They were only teenagers when their lives had reached a crossroads and they had been separated. Jemma's eyes widen, hopefully as imperceptible as she can manage because she has no idea that he could sing. Of course, he doesn't have a trained voice, but neither does she, and she'll tell him that he sounds good enough to join her band. Mostly as a joke, of course, but she can keep the offer open-ended.

They continue singing together, Jemma switching to harmony when she isn't as surprised by his voice and remembers to try it. They don't finish the song before they finish washing the dishes, the sound of the running water no longer consonant with the silliness of their duet and as they both wash their hands to get rid of the smell of rubber, the smile she's been keeping to herself spreads across her face.

When they're finished, she turns to him, leans in, and kisses him.

She doesn't think about it, only that this feels right. She leans into him, her hands resting on his shoulders, and for a moment she is terrified because he doesn't respond. She caught him off guard and she is about to start internally berating herself when he brings his hands up and tentatively rests them against her waist, all gentle pressure, searching and hopeful. She grins against his mouth and he presses back.

It's sweet and simple and Jemma feels her heart beating wildly in her chest. Maybe she can feel Fitz's heartbeat, too, pounding in time with hers.

She reluctantly pulls back first, her breathing shallow and stilted. "Shall we get back to work?" She want the answer to be no, but she knows that even if it is, there is still the promise of tomorrow.

He nods, seemingly at a loss for words, and she reaches for his hand, his fingertips still pressed into her shirt. His fingers tangle in hers and the smile he returns is radiant enough to lighten even the darkest corners of her mind.

-----

A joint decision is made that it's time for them to take a break. Jemma needs to step away from the piano before her eyes start to redden and Fitz tells himself that if he keeps staring at his computer the way he has been, he might just turn into a mindless drone. So their break becomes a nap on their rented couch, her head resting against his chest, his arm wrapped around her.

Surprisingly, Fitz is the first one to wake up and he reaches blindly for his mobile with his free hand, staring blearily at the time. "Jemma," he whispers, shaking her shoulders slightly. "Jem, wake up."

She shifts, nearly imperceptibly, before sighing into his shoulder. "Five more minutes."

His arm is about to fall asleep with her and he comes up with a brilliant, if not completely devious idea. He raises his free hand and hovers over her side, vulnerable and perfect--

--she screeches.

"LEOPOLD FITZ, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" She tries to twist away from his hand but he doesn't let up on his attack, tickling her side and trying to avoid an elbow to the face from her thrashing.

"Tickle war," he declares, and she shoots up into a sitting position, her arms reaching for the back of his knees and his stomach and his shoulder blades and all of the ticklish spots that she has never forgotten. He hasn't forgotten hers, either, so he reaches for her sides and the nape of her neck and the soles of her feet. She has an advantage, hovering over him and dancing out of his reach when possible, but his arms are longer so she has to be closer to reach him.

It takes a strategic shot to his armpit that makes him squirm and there's a moment of weightlessness as they both fall to the floor and Fitz wraps his arms around Jemma and does his best to make sure he takes the brunt of the fall.

"OOF."

His face must be contorted in pain, if the way his back feels is any indication. His eyes remain squeezed shut, but he feels Jemma's hand running against his cheek. "Oh my god, Fitz, are you all right?"

Jemma is heavy against his chest so he wheezes as he draws breath to respond. "Give me a minute or ten."

There's silence and Fitz opens one eye to see what Jemma might be thinking, but suddenly her lips are pressed to his.

This kiss is different from all the others they've shared. This one is heated and makes his insides feel incredibly funny so he brings one hand up to the back of her neck and the other fits against her waist. Her legs settle on either side of his hips and her hands cup his cheeks despite the day-old stubble.

Her lips fit against his as perfectly as he remembered from not even a decade ago and when one of them draws back, the other one chases their mouth for another kiss. He wants to stay here forever with her, just the two of them working and kissing and a number of other things, but his thoughts are quickly redirected toward her. Jemma, all-encompassing and heavenly and everything that he ever loved in his life.

When she draws back, looking as lightheaded and giddy as he feels, though he knows that has something to do with lack of oxygen, she is beaming, her hands resting against his chest, her bottom lip between her teeth. He grins back but suddenly realises exactly how she's sitting over him and clears his throat, his hands shifting her hips upward.

Her eyes go wide, her mouth open in an oh of dawning realisation. Her grin fades as her brow furrows. "Fitz, what are we doing?"

He just manages to hold back his sigh. He expected this much sooner, really. "We're getting to know each other again and working and apparently that includes some kissing now and then." He frowns, looking up at the ceiling overhead. "And heavy snogging sessions on the floor."

She presses her thumb to his chin, tilting his head down enough so she is in his line of vision. "Is this okay?" She gestures between them. "I mean, I'm enjoying myself and if you moving me is any indication, so are you."

He sputters and she laughs, throwing her head back. "Excuse me," he says, loud enough to be heard over her laughter and she has the good grace to look a little sheepish. "It's okay with me. I mean, we knew everything about each other as kids and we were each other's first kiss, so I think we've skipped a few steps."

She nods, accepting the decision as an adequate answer before standing and giving him a hand to pull him up. "Truce?"

He grins, sitting up and moving to take her hand and just as their hands meet, he pulls her down. "Admit defeat!"

She squeaks, trying to roll away from him, giggles overtaking her. "Never!"

-----

A single light remains on in the front room, a floor lamp that gives off tinted light. Tonight, it glows blue for whatever reason and Jemma is quite pleased with her choice of furnishing, however unconventional it might be. This time, she is the one to remember they need to take a break and stop being robots, churning out writing and music as though they need nothing else to survive.

When they eat dinner, Fitz picks a playlist from his mobile and plugs it into the speaker, humming along as he helps her make dinner.

Dinner passes uneventfully, both of them standing at the island. His shoulder knocks into hers as he sways to the music and her fingers tap a syncopated rhythm against the side of her bowl. Just as they put their dishes into the sink to clean later, Claire de Lune starts to filter in through the speakers and she lets out an eek of excitement as she turns toward him, grinning. "Come on, Fitz, let's dance."

He opens his mouth to voice a complaint, but she beats him to it, her hand reaching for his as she steps in close, her other hand wrapping around his shoulders. He places his free hand on her waist and they sway to the music.

They remain silent for a whole minute before Fitz gives her a wry grin. "You know, it's sort of hard to slow dance to something that doesn't keep the same tempo throughout."

She shrugs, resting her head against his shoulder for a brief moment. We can handle the challenge." It goes unspoken that it's hardly the most challenging thing the two of them have done, and he presses his fingers to her lower back in response. "Spin me!"

He shakes his head as she does nearly all the work herself, twirling outward and nearly running into the back of the couch. "Only you would pick the slowest part of the piece to spin."

As she twirls back toward him, she lets go of his hand and instead wraps both arms around his shoulders, rolling her eyes at his grumpiness. "Fine, next time you get to pick the song."

"Deal."

-----

Fitz wakes up to the sound of a camera. "What the fu--"

He twists around and sees Lincoln standing in the doorway of the back room where they've relocated the mattress to, gleefully typing away on his mobile. "Sorry, Jemma, but this is too cute not to post."

Fitz barely has time to react when there's a blur that moves from the mattress to where Lincoln is, 5-foot-4-inches of uncontained fury as she snatches the mobile from his unsuspecting hands. "Lincoln Campbell, if you post that to Instagram, I will unleash hell on you and you will never live it down. Two words: Toga. Party."

The colour drains from Lincoln's face and Fitz has to suppress his laughter, biting down on his lower lip as Lincoln nods. "Yes, ma'am." She hands the offending device back to him with a glare and he turns back to the hallway while she runs a hand through her hair.

"Fucking hell, Daisy must've given him the spare key."

Within fifteen minutes, Jemma is showered and joins the band in the front room while he is still half asleep, waiting for the kettle to boil so he can have a cup of tea before he takes a shower. He takes out five mugs, but only pours cups for Jemma and himself as he doesn't want to interrupt their rehearsal. When the tea scalds his tongue and the roof of his mouth and the back of his throat, he puts the mug down and decides he should probably shower before he tries to function.

He returns to the front room with wet hair, a minor improvement over what must have been a helmet of bedhead earlier and listens to them play through what Jemma has been plonking away at the keyboard for the past few days. He can already tell that this album will be spectacular and his Jemma might be more than just the lead singer of a cult favourite indie band soon.

When they take their first break, Fitz is typing notes for new book ideas at top speed when he sees a shadow fall over his laptop. He looks up to see Kara, a frown on her face, looking as though she might be the most serious person on this green Earth. His eyes find Jemma's, and she looks mildly worried as she looks over at them, only half paying attention to Lincoln's rambling. Maybe Kara had just been speaking with Jemma?

He looks back up at Kara and gives her an uneasy smile. "Would you like a cup of tea, Kara?"

"That would be great, thanks." She follows him to where the mugs are next to the stove, picking through the tea collection that he and Jemma have gathered. She drops the tea bag into a mug that says Keep Calm and Drink Tea on the side of it before she turns to him. "Look, Fitz. I know that you and Jemma have a history, but let me be frank: if you leave again, she won't be able to handle it and I'm not going to let you hurt her again."

He was dreading a conversation like this, honestly. The kettle isn't boiling fast enough for his taste as he tries to formulate an answer. Of course she would know about their history--Jemma mentioned that they had known each other since boarding school, so Kara had been in Jemma's life during the years that Fitz had not. "I didn't have a choice then."

Kara remains silent, staring at him with concern that might burn a hole through his skull if he isn't careful. He continues. "It destroyed me then. I have a choice now and I'm not leaving. I could never do that again, not to Jemma, not to either of us. We're better together."

A silence between them drags on for what feels like eons and Fitz might just die from how awkward he feels, confessing this to a near total stranger, but then the kettle whistles and he is saved, once again, by tea. He pours water into Kara's mug and she takes it, and when their eyes meet, she gives him a silent nod, accompanied by a glare that says or else.

He has never been so glad to end a conversation in his entire life.

-----

The keys invite her to sit down, so she does. Whenever Jemma writes a song, she plays it several times through on the piano just so she knows what it all sounds like, that it's as cohesive written down as it is in her mind. When she finishes what she could consider a full album, she plays through all of it at least twice, singing over the chords so she gets the lyrics just right.

She forgets how much she enjoys singing sometimes. She was a classically trained musician, but in piano and violin only--her singing was certainly more of a hobby, not having the lung capacity for opera. She was fairly well-versed in improvising, but not enough for jazz; no, she didn't have the confidence in her theory for that. But singing just feels right and when she can put her words to a tune, it's the most gratifying thing she can do.

It takes the better part of three hours before she reaches the final chord of the final song, and she lets her hands fall to her lap, her eyes roaming the page of scribbled lyrics and chords. "Fitz... I think I'm done."

Fitz looks up from his laptop over the top of his glasses--the sight makes Jemma's stomach jolt in a not remotely unpleasant way--before putting his own work down and walking over to her. "Are you sure? I know you're a bit of a perfectionist."

She scoffs, standing up from the piano without looking up at him. "And you're not?"

He grins, shrugging his shoulders as he walks around the island. "Touché." When he clears the island, he stops, holding his arms out. "Celebratory hug?"

She looks up at him, surprised at the suggestion, but this is exactly what she wants. "Are you flirting with me, Fitz?" she teases, and he raises an eyebrow before shrugging, and that alone makes her run toward him, her socks making her slip slightly on the floor and when she wraps her arms around him, he is nearly knocked off of his feet and to compensate, he lifts her just off the ground and they spin for a few seconds before coming to a stop. Her nose is buried into where his neck meets his shoulder and his is in her hair and she can't help but grin.

He pulls back first, but it feels reluctant at the look on his face confirms it. "I think this calls for a celebration."

She beams before furrowing her brows, a thought coming to her. "Are you done, though? I don't want to keep you from getting your work done."

Fitz brings one of his hands up from her waist to the nape of his neck, the tips of his ears becoming pink. "I've been done since two days ago, but I didn't want to keep you from finishing your work."

All she can do is press her lips soundly to his before pulling away almost immediately. "I'll call the band."

-----

They decide on a local bar which Jemma and Daisy frequent often enough that the bartender knows them by name and likely reputation. With a limited amount of possessions with them at the flat, Fitz and Jemma try their best to dress up enough to look like they haven't just been bumming around for two weeks, but they're only moderately successful. No one seems to mind, though, not when Lincoln is buying round after round of shots and Kara is demanding everyone pick at least one karaoke song.

"I'm sorry I wasn't really all there when you lot had rehearsal," Fitz yells over the music, trying to be heard and possibly a little tipsy. "Writing makes me a zombie."

Daisy grins, taking a large sip of her White Russian. "Something else you have in common with Jemma."

Fitz stays quiet and Daisy laughs, turning toward Jemma. "Come on, Simmons, let's go pick a duet for karaoke and show them how it's done!"

Jemma shakes her head, letting her flatmate drag her by the hand to find a song. "There's a reason why you aren't back-up vocals on any of our songs."

Daisy sticks out her tongue. "That's because no one can handle how glorious my voice is!"

Two hours later, when they're all plastered or nearly there, adrenaline coursing through their veins after how they've dominated karaoke night, Lincoln drapes an arm around Fitz's shoulders, mostly using him as a crutch but also so that he can yell "you're, like, our fifth band member!" into Fitz's ear, completely serious.

It sticks.

-----

The next morning, they stay in bed for much longer than expected, both fighting off hangovers of epic proportions, alternating who gets up to get them water and painkillers, not willing to get up and get a greasy breakfast just yet.

It's the last day of their two weeks of shirking all other responsibilities and it feels like the end of the world. Fitz tries to attribute it to the pounding in his head but he knows he is dreading leaving Jemma's side, not when they've just learned each other's habits again, fitting together like they were never meant to be apart. He pulls her closer to him and she obliges, burying her nose into his chest.

They both remain in some sort of limbo between sleeping and waking, not wanting to get out of bed because it means leaving in more ways than one. Jemma hums into his shirt and he knows that she's awake, only pretending to be asleep. "Jem." She makes a noise to indicate that she heard him. "Can we just never get up?"

He feels Jemma smiling. "That's exactly what I was thinking." She lifts her head and looks down at him and even though they both feel like hell, he can't help but think she still looks like the sun, too bright to belong to him. "What do you plan on doing with all the furniture?"

It's a simple question, but there are so many others that lurk behind it, and he watches her bite her lip, trying to come up with an appropriate answer. "The flat is mine," he blurts, and her brows knit together, trying to make sense of an answer that doesn't go with her question. "I bought it once I knew I was moving here. I know I said I was just renting it for two weeks, but who does two-week rentals?"

Jemma presses a finger to his lips to stop him from rambling even more. "So what does this mean for us?"

He feels his heart swell at the use of the word us. "Move in with me."

He curses his lack of brain-to-mouth filter this morning.

There's a pause that holds all of eternity in its contents and could be the end of him as he knows it, but then she smiles. "I have to clear it with Daisy first so she doesn't get shafted with the rent, but I would love to, Fitz."

He lifts his head and pulls her to him for a kiss before they both break apart, disgust written on their faces. "Tooth brushing first?"

She nods, her eyes narrowed in distaste. "New rule."