Archive of Our Own

Fitz frowned at the sensors in the control panel as he tried to trace the problem back to its source. There had to be some way to get this to work, and preferably, without taking it all apart. Again.

The ladder wobbled under him a bit as he stretched out, cursing Coulson for insisting on placing the panels near the ceiling. Space had been left for murals on the walls, an important detail when the facility's inhabitants would be locked into the Biosphere 3 for two solid years. That didn't make it any easier to balance atop the ladder while juggling the tools, holding the flashlight in his mouth as he worked.

He struggled to reach the highest components in the panel, but the combination of his laser focus on the task, the inadvisable height of the maintenance access hatches, and of Daisy's abrupt entry to this otherwise abandoned hallway conspired to dump him five feet off the ladder and onto his arse, just moments after Jemma Simmons entered his life.

After he groaned a few times, internally assessing if there'd been damage to anything other than his pride, Fitz realized there were cold—but impossibly gentle—hands flitting around him, taking his pulse and running lightly over his arms and legs before they moved to his head. When he heard her concerned, round British vowels directing him to open his eyes, he complied before he registered what was happening.

"I'm fairly certain you're fine, but we should probably get you checked out, just to be on the safe side." She smiled down at him, her hair falling forward and casting a shadow over her face.

"I'll get one of the doctors on staff," Daisy offered, and Fitz could hear her retreating footsteps echoing off the walls.

He tried to sit up, then groaned a little as the woman's palm pressed gently down on the center of his chest, anchoring him to the ground.

"You shouldn't move. If you've sustained a head injury—"

"I didn't hit my head," Fitz insisted, wincing at the irritation creeping into his tone. "I mean...I'm fine. Pretty sure my arse and my ego are the only things that'll be bruised."

"Better to be safe than sorry. If you realized how long you were down before you moved—"

"Just knocked the wind out of me, that's all. My mum would have me up already, rubbing some dirt on it and telling me to stop malingering and get back to work already, I'm sure." He tried to smile, blinking up at her and really taking her in for the first time. The crinkled forehead and worry in her eyes took nothing away from her breathtaking beauty, and he felt a bit like he had when he'd still been trying to shake off the fall.

"What's your name?"

The question was somewhat abrupt, but as Daisy'd had no time for introductions before she'd been sent off to find one of doctors on staff, he figured there was no reason to put it off any longer.

"Leo Fitz. Engineering." He held up his hand, though it was somewhat awkward to reach up while she was still urging him to stay flat on his back with her palm in the center of his chest. "And you are...?"

A nervous laugh escaped her, and her mood seemed to lighten a bit. "Jemma Simmons. Biochem." She stopped holding him down to shake his hand, looking at their clasped palms and laughing again. "It's just...I was asking to assess your mental state. Checking for a concussion."

"Oh." He shut his eyes, taking in a deep breath and realizing he'd just made a prize idiot out of himself. "Of course. You wouldn't be concerned with—"

"No!" She cut him off and his eyes flew open, and he saw a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "Of course I want to meet you—" she began, and her eyes widened for a moment until she corrected herself. "Everyone here, certainly. And given that we haven't been introduced, I can hardly know if you've answered correctly, can I? Would you mind if I checked one more thing before I help you up?"

"Erm...sure. 'Course I don't—" He stopped abruptly when she dug her phone out of her pocket, flicked a few things on the screen, and then shone the light of her LED flash directly into his eyes, causing him to blink compulsively and lean back.

She got up, dusting herself as she looked down at him. "Well, Leo Fitz...your pupils are equal and reactive, you appear to know your name, and you've retained the ability to form coherent sentences. I think I can let you up without feeling I've potentially worsened a head injury."

"Yeah," he stammered, screwing up his face as he rubbed his eyes and cast around blindly to connect with her outstretched hand, trying to recover from the light. "Sorry. These hallways are pretty dim, and that light was a bit of a shock."

"Well, it's important to be judicious where there's the possibility of concussion." Her smile broadened as he was finally able to keep his eyes open again. "I've been assured you're an excellent engineer, that your work has been quite influential in the overall design of the facility. Wouldn't want to risk the stability of the project over an industrial accident like that."

"I really should be more careful with the ladder." He was just able to stop himself from rolling his eyes for yammering on about something so stupid and self-evident when she'd just paid him a compliment. He really was terrible at this.

Before this, he'd always worked alone, knowing his strengths would never lie in mastering the interpersonal dynamics of a group project. That was before he'd been recruited by Coulson to work on the design and fabrication of Biosphere 3, and the prospect of such an excellent challenge had overridden his desire to keep to himself.

"I would hope so," she said, seemingly unaware of his conversational deficit. "Phil Coulson has assured me that you're my perfect partner."

"Your...perfect...I'm sorry?"

"Jemma Simmons." She held out her hand again. "I think a less perfunctory introduction is in order now we're not on the floor any longer, don't you think? I've joined the project to help design the medical and biochem labs, as well as the agricultural pods, human subject biofeedback monitoring devices, and tracking systems. Daisy was doing Coulson a favor, bringing me to meet you on her way back to the IT offices." Her smile fell a little when he said nothing after she paused, the crinkle of worry returning to her brow. "I've been given to understand we'll be working together on the design and build-out of those projects? Were you not appraised of the—"

Fitz finally found his voice, clearing his throat and jumping in. "Yes! I was. Appraised." He huffed out a frustrated breath, wishing he could sound less like a stammering moron. "I've been looking forward to getting started on the monitoring devices, actually."

Her smile brightened again. "If you had any preliminary specs I could look over once I discover where my office is, I'd love to begin working." She looked uncertainly upward, taking in the open access panel and the ladder, still leaning precariously against the wall. "Unless you've got to get back to this, and I can simply start elsewhere until you're ready."

"No, no." He dusted himself off, and fought the insane instinct to brush the dust from the legs of her trousers as well. "This can keep," he said, gesturing upward. "I've been trying to troubleshoot the bad connection in this panel for weeks, and it's a much lower priority than getting started on the monitoring system."

"Just around here!" Fitz and Jemma looked at each other as Daisy's panicked voice echoed through the hallway toward them.

"Oh, no." Fitz squeezed his eyes shut. He'd forgotten entirely about Daisy, and now she was headed toward them at breakneck speed.

"Get that gurney ready! He hit the ground really hard and—" Daisy skidded to a stop as she rounded the corner and took in Fitz standing there, seemingly uninjured. "Or you can just go back to what you were doing, because I guess I imagined the whole thing?"

The two members of the medical staff exchanged confused looks, and Fitz knew he should step in to explain. "Sorry. Just got the wind knocked out of me."

"I'm sure a quick check-over wouldn't go amiss," Simmons said, eyeing the two women with Daisy, carrying the folded gurney between them.

"I really have to get back to the computer lab," Daisy interjected, giving Fitz a worryingly obvious wink. "Jemma's in the office across from the main lab, Fitz. Maybe she could go with you to medical and you could make sure she gets to her office afterward?"

"Oh, no," Fitz began. "I'm sure she would rather—"

"I don't mind," Simmons said, flashing him a blinding smile. "If I can't begin working with your preliminary designs, I'll only have my onboarding paperwork on my agenda. I'd much rather jump in with both feet and take the boring stuff home with me instead."

"I'll let you know when I get around to the paperwork from my own orientation." Fitz smirked a little, walking next to Jemma behind the doctors. She looked back at him, seeming confused.

"I was given to understand you've been with the project for quite awhile. Did I get the wrong impression?"

"The only wrong impression you might have is of my willingness to do paperwork. I think Coulson probably forged it for me about a year ago." At her widened eyes, he continued explaining. "I joined the project when it was just six of us, and we were lucky if we didn't light the building on fire or accidentally insult one of the donors when they came through on a tour. I'm not as careless as I just made myself sound."

He gave her a reassuring smile...while he made a mental note to take home the stack of unfinished forms and reports in the bottom drawer of his desk and get it done.

For the good of the project, of course.

From that day on, it seemed every facet of the Biosphere project had been touched in some way by the work of Fitz and Simmons. The path between their offices became known as the Fitzsimmons highway—to be avoided at all costs unless you wanted to risk bumping into one of them as they beat a distracted path toward the other, or worse, end up in the middle of one of their thundering disagreements before the matter had been resolved.

They both arrived at work one Monday morning (Simmons: bright-eyed with a takeaway cup of blueberry earl grey from the local tea shop, Fitz: bleary-eyed and grumbling about the 9:00 am beginning of the work day being completely overrated) to find they'd been moved into offices next door to each other, just outside a small lab space that was now for their exclusive use. Fitz blushed a little as Simmons gushed about how much easier it would be to work on their projects, that there'd be no more wasted time as they wandered the facility looking for each other.

When she finished her breathless speech, she looked around his new office from the doorway, her forehead crinkling exactly as it had the day they'd met.

"This will never do, Fitz." She strode in, biting her bottom lip as she whirled in place. "Your workbench doesn't get enough light where they've put it."

As Simmons began discussing ways to reconfigure his office, he considered how heavy everything was, well aware they could get assistance with a single phone call. In the end, he simply didn't want to, even if that meant sore muscles for the next few days.

It wasn't until they were bickering about methods to shift the heaviest pieces—Simmons constantly entreating him to put his back into it, for goodness sake and Fitz muttering nonsense about the bloody English and their obsession with issuing orders under his breath in return—that Fitz realized it.

Simmons knew him better than anyone else ever had, than anyone else ever would. Even his mum, as much as she loved him and accepted him. To her, he'd always been an irritable, mess-making, too-quiet enigma. In a little over a year, Simmons had somehow sunk into his every pore, and he into hers. They'd drunk each other like some sort of magic potion, coming away with an extraordinary connection that felt necessary for his continued existence.

And as he let the hot water pelt over the complaining muscles of his lower back in the shower the next morning, a small smile played over his lips at how outmatched they should have been, moving the huge, heavy workbench and parts bins on their own. Yet, just like everything else they'd ever tackled together, they'd found a way.

"Do you think we'll have to include an area in the tropical biome to plant several Camellia sinensis assamica, Fitz, for the experiment phase of the project?" Jemma asked, handing him a cup of his favorite blend of tea as she sipped at hers. "If you or I..." she trailed off, looking down as her voice dropped a little, "...or both of us...are chosen for the closed ecological system phase, we'll need those plants to make our own tea."

"S'pose we'll get a better idea of that this afternoon." He didn't look up, keeping his eyes trained on the components in front of him as he set the tea down blindly on the desk behind him. While he did need to keep an eye on his work, he also didn't want to betray to Simmons exactly how much he longed to be selected for next phase. Even more, he didn't want her to see how torn he'd be if one of them was selected, but not the other.

"You do want to be chosen, don't you?"

"Of course I do, Simmons. I even thought about designing several of the internal systems to be needlessly complex so they'd have to choose me..." A beat passed while Simmons gave him that 'Oh, Fitz' look, and he debated if he should continue or not. "...And you, as well."

When the mild exasperation bloomed into a fond smile, he knew the chance he'd taken had been worth it.

"Fitz, really? You'd like us both to be—"

"We've been at each other's sides this whole time, Simmons." He shrugged, deciding not to add that he wasn't sure he could go back to not having her there to bounce ideas back and forth, or to argue with until they forgot which of them had proposed which theory first.

"I'm in complete agreement, of course." She was back to being all-business Simmons, but with a hint of moisture in her eyes—something Fitz would try very hard not to over-analyze. "In my wildest dreams, I couldn't have imagined the Sensor-based Wireless Network trackers—"

"SWaNs," Fitz corrected.

"SWaNs," she agreed, grinning at him indulgently. "I can't believe each node works so seamlessly with the others and the main server to conglomerate data."

"The Bevy only works so well because of your algorithms, Simmons. I could never have given the specs to the coders to analyze the data so efficiently without that."

"This is the largest closed biological system experiment that's ever been attempted." Her chin raised proudly, gesturing to the glowing building schematics and other data spewing onto the screens in their lab. "And we've essentially constructed the control room for it, as well as nearly everything that keeps it running. They'd be fools not to choose us."

"I hope you're right. That all-hands meeting Coulson called for this afternoon sounded ominous. Got a bad feeling about it I just can't shake."

"You? Filling the role of pessimist? That's new."

"Aw, shut it." Fitz crumpled a piece of scrap paper and lobbed it at her, which Simmons batted away, giggling.

"I think it's time to get back to work. We need to perfect the agriculture biomes, because their output may have to keep up with your stomach."

He and Simmons were the first arrivals to the conference room, getting there even before Coulson walked in. Though she was acting blasé and confident, he could tell Simmons was anxious about the meeting. It lived in the rigid set of her shoulders, in her chin held a bit too high.

The smirk he expected from Coulson when he entered to find them there early didn't materialize. In fact, he seemed to be avoiding both of them, a difficult feat in a room with only three inhabitants. Coulson frowned a bit too long at the screen of his laptop after he'd plugged it into the projector. He couldn't even look Simmons in the eye when she asked him if he needed help with anything.

If he'd had a bad feeling before, it was worse now.

"Ridiculous!" Jemma fumed, walking briskly down the hallway, far too loudly and before they'd gotten far enough away from the conference room to keep the conversation between themselves.

Fitz rushed to catch up, taking her by the elbow as he fell in next to her. "Wait 'til we get back to your office," he said, leaning down and whispering to her. "After we shut the door you can rant as loudly as you like."

He could feel the anger rolling off her, and clearly, everyone else could, too. As they passed their co-workers, none of them tried to start a conversation, and several practically leapt out of the way to let them by.

Once Fitz clicked her door shut behind them, Simmons had begun to wear a path in the floor as she paced, hands balled into fists at her sides.

"It's absolute rubbish," she began, looking dangerously close to tears. "I cannot believe Coulson would succumb to the allure of new funding by selling most of his loyal employees completely down the river."

"Simmons," he began, wincing a little as he anticipated her reaction to what he was about to say. "He explained it all in the meeting. All that bollocks about interpersonal problems being the biggest obstacle in previous attempts at similar experiments."

"Yes, but where was their proof that exclusively choosing married couples as research participants would alleviate those problems?" Her mouth was set in a hard line and she certainly looked angry, but he knew she felt exactly the same as he did. Heartbroken.

"They have none, as you know. We discovered that when you demanded Coulson answer the question during the meeting. Twice." When she drew breath, he held up a hand to wordlessly ask her to give him a bit more time to talk. "It's a theory, and they intend to test it experimentally."

"It's so unfair!" Simmons said, her voice much quieter now, almost sounding hurt. "After all we've done for the project, the chances that either of us will find ourselves in a position to marry before the application deadline—"

Fitz laughed, interrupting her. "Well, that's a zero percent chance for me."

"What?" Her head cocked to the side and she looked him up and down with such open appraisal that he could only fidget with discomfort and try to keep his face from showing his embarrassment. "Don't be ridiculous!"

"Simmons," he said, clearing his throat when her name came out rough and low, "I haven't even been on a date in...bloody hell...almost two years, I think."

"That's immaterial." She looked him over again, making him squirm some more. "You're young, financially secure, handsome, and a genius. These are all very attractive qualities, Fitz."

He swallowed slowly, only speaking when he was sure his voice wouldn't break. "I'm sure you're aware, Simmons, but the same could be said for you. Other than the handsome part, but that's just because that term isn't usually applied to women... You're more of a...sort of...I suppose it's..." He paused for a moment, his mouth moving soundlessly as his hands made a sort of strange 'hourglass' shape in front of him, and he tried (and failed) to stop himself there. "You're...shapely?"

Fitz wanted to die.

For the first time since they'd left the conference room, the look on her face was something other than thundering anger or sadness. That became clear the moment she burst into hysterical laughter.

"Thank you, Fitz." She choked the words out between the last gasps of her giggling fit. "But I'm sure you're aware the same qualities that many people find attractive in a man aren't quite as socially acceptable for a woman. If you were to set out to find someone, I have no doubt you could do so. Even given the more restrictive requirement that they'd also have to be a reasonable candidate for the experimental phase, you could probably contrive to be married in a few months if you put your mind to it."

Now it was Fitz's turn to laugh. "I should put you on the phone with my mum. She has a similar opinion. Let me assure you, Simmons, it's not that simple." He pictured the disinterested looks on the faces of the last few women he'd let his friends fix him up with, but even that had only lasted until they each got an 'emergency text from a friend' and had to cut the date short.

Fitz wasn't an idiot. He'd still be a bachelor by the time the applications were due, he had no doubt.

"I'm thinking of leaving the project." Simmons spoke the words quietly, toward the wall, and even as Fitz's heartbeat sped up at the idea she'd move on and he wouldn't have her as a partner any longer, he hoped he'd somehow misheard her.

"I don't think we should make any decisions today."

"Ah, yes. That's exactly what Coulson just said to us, as well. 'I know a lot of you don't exactly welcome this news, but take the weekend, at least, to think about it.' Ugh." She'd attempted to mimic Coulson's monotone speaking pattern, getting it so terribly wrong that Fitz laughed, earning a withering look from her. Once Fitz sobered up, she continued, "Of course he doesn't want a mass exodus of his unmarried staff before the build phase is complete."

"We can finish work here and find another project, Simmons. It's disappointing, I know, but we can move on."

She looked at him for a long moment. "You'd be interested in trying to find another research opportunity...as a team?"

He sucked in a breath, realizing too late that his eyes had bugged out in alarm. "I—I wouldn't assume you'd want that, of course. It's just—"

"—we work so well together." She finished his thought, just as she'd done hundreds of times before. "Absolutely. We should do just that." She frowned again, her hands twisting together. "I will need the weekend to get over the disappointment here, though. Coulson all but promised me the opportunity to continue on when I agreed to join the build phase, you know."

Fitz nodded, still trying to process the fact that Simmons seemed to be interested in continuing to work with him. "Yeah. He did the same with me, as well."

There was a soft rapping on the door and Simmons reacted to it, her head falling forward in defeat as a low groan escaped from her.

"Bugger off, we're busy!" Fitz called out, and Simmons snapped her head toward him, her mouth falling open in surprise.

"Fitz!" She rolled her eyes, rubbing her hands on her thighs as she seemed to gather herself together.

"Fitzsimmons?" Coulson's voice was muffled through the door, but even so, his uncertainty was plain. "I was hoping I could have a word?"

Fitz wondered if Coulson knew what he was walking into as Simmons opened the door, then closed it again behind him.

"I'm sorry I didn't speak to the two of you before the meeting. I should have. You have to know you both would have been asked to continue with the next phase if not for this new restriction. Honestly, I don't know how we'll replace either of you."

It was quiet, the only noise the slight squeaking of Coulson's shoes as he shifted uncomfortably in place.

"Would you mind, sir, enlightening us as to..." Simmons began to ask, but then she lost the ability to put her question into words.

"...what the bloody hell happened?" Fitz finished for her.

Coulson heaved a deep sigh, squeezing his eyes shut as he leaned back on the desk. It made Fitz feel a bit better, mean-spirited though it was, to see Coulson so uncomfortable as he tried to explain.

"Between the three of us?" Coulson asked, waiting for them to nod before he continued. "The project's bleeding money. We lost one huge grant we'd thought was a slam dunk, and May and I have been scrambling to make up the deficit. We had two choices, and this was the lesser of the two evils."

Simmons groaned. "What could possibly be worse—"

"Our only other option was a television reality show. 24-hour web feeds. Confessionals. Competitions." Coulson sighed. "And even so, I actually considered it once I realized who I'd lose if we took the money for this psychology study. You have to know...I tried everything. It's this, or we have to scrap the whole thing."

Fitz looked around, then closed his eyes, listening to the soft background hum of the computer systems that kept the facility running. He hadn't created all of this for nothing. Unfair as it might seem, under these circumstances, Coulson had made the right choice.

"Well, perhaps one of us, or both of us," Simmons said, raising her eyebrows at Fitz expectantly, "will be in a position to get married before the application deadline."

Fitz couldn't believe she wanted him to feign confidence in his ability to meet a suitable partner and get married in the next three months, but he tried, giving his best hopeful smile and nod to Coulson to back her up.

"Yeah. About that." Coulson looked uncomfortable again, and Fitz's ever-worsening bad feeling intensified. "They anticipated some of the unmarried project hopefuls would run out and get married just to get into the experimental phase. The stipulations of this new arm of the study are clear on that. Pre-existing relationships only. You'd have to marry someone you've already been dating. They're trusting me to make determinations on that during the selection process, and I can't risk losing the funding. Not even to look the other way to get the two of you in."

Fitz wasn't sure what to say to that, the final nail in the coffin killing the last (miniscule) hopes of being selected.

"Ah..." Simmons said, but the look on her face was oddly thoughtful, and she didn't look as disappointed as he felt. Perhaps she was simply adjusting to this new situation more quickly than he was. It wouldn't be the first time he found himself lagging a step behind her.

"Listen, take the rest of the day." Coulson's hand fell on Fitz's shoulder, and it was all Fitz could do not to shove it off in a fit of immature peevishness. "I don't know how I can possibly make this up to you, but I'm going to try."

"Yeah," Fitz agreed, suddenly feeling stifled by the walls around them. The endlessly recirculated air in their self-contained environmental system getting to him in a way he'd never had a problem with before, almost choking on the staleness of it.

Coulson gave them one last regretful look and left, leaving them both sitting with each other in silence.

Jemma broke the quiet a few moments later.

"Let's go get drunk."

By the third beer, they had abandoned any semblance of being there to eat and had settled on day drinking, moving from their table straight to the bar. Fitz was leaning heavily on his palm and wondering how Simmons could maintain her perfect posture through the near-total drunkenness they'd achieved, when a third Manhattan she hadn't ordered appeared in front of her.

Simmons rolled her eyes and sighed, pushing it away with a brisk, "No, thank you."

"Sorry," the bartender said, and she did look truly apologetic. "My boss is an asshole. If that guy keeps paying for them, I'll get fired if I don't at least offer them to you."

"It's fine." Though Simmons sounded as though she meant it, her expression had shuttered off. If it were possible, Fitz thought she might now be more upset than when they'd walked in.

"He's a creep," the bartender continued, leaning forward and lowering her voice. "I can't believe he's still sending them, especially when you're here with someone."

"Oh!" Simmons glanced at Fitz, and then back to the bartender. "No. This is Fitz. He's not someone."

"Oi," Fitz protested, and decided perhaps it was time for his mood to darken as well. "I'm not someone?"

"Fitz, don't be ridiculous. You know what I meant. We're not here together." Her eyebrows knitted together. "Well, of course we're here together, but not together."

The bartender giggled at that, and Fitz decided it was time to settle into complete irritability.

"Could have fooled me." The bartender shrugged at them. "But I'm sorry for assuming. Another round on the house?" She pulled up two more bottles of the beer they'd been drinking, divesting them of their caps and pushing them over.

Once they were alone again, Simmons bit her lip, turning on her barstool toward him a bit more quickly than her compromised sobriety could handle, which lead to her nearly falling into his lap. His hands flew out to steady her, grabbing her shoulders, and he ended up practically snuggling her into his chest to keep her from hitting the floor.

Neither of them made any moves to break apart, and Fitz's mouth went into overdrive as she blinked up at him.

"I don't know why everyone thinks a man and a woman can't be out together as friends." The words they'd often said before fell out of him easily, but now his stomach whirled with anxiety and he wasn't at all sure why. He knew Simmons was just as exasperated as he was, constantly explaining to people everywhere they went that they weren't together romantically. "It's appalling. Even the people at work—"

"Yes," she breathed, her eyes widening. She seemed to be leaning into him, if anything, rather than trying trying to sit up on her own again. That had to be wrong, didn't it? If he'd had his wits properly about him, he wouldn't be getting the impression she didn't mind being in his arms. "Even the people at work."

"Okay. So." He felt slow and dumb, his head feeling oddly fuzzy and warm, his ears ringing too loudly for a handful of beers to be the cause. He helped her sit up on her own, looking away but somehow able to feel her eyes still on him.

"Let's get out of here." She tipped back her newest bottle, emptying a worrying amount of it while Fitz's mind reeled at the tone of her voice. If she'd been anyone else...if he'd been anyone else, he would have thought she was propositioning him. "You promised me a night of movies at your apartment this weekend, remember? We thought we'd be working too late tonight, but it seems we're both free. Have you done any shopping recently? We could do with some food to sober us up."

"Yeah," he said, before he could stop himself. "Sure. Just went yesterday, over lunch."

She'd smeared her lipstick a bit, brushing her fingers over her mouth, and Fitz caught himself imagining it being smeared for a very different reason. He wasn't sure where these thoughts were coming from. (Well, that was a lie. He was a healthy young man, and he was well aware where the thoughts were coming from.) What he didn't understand was why he was more and more frequently distracted by them around his very platonic working partner and friend, but he forced them away by throwing a wad of cash on the bar and gulping back the rest of his last beer.

"Right," she said, with smirk. "Let's get a cab."

Simmons had been quiet on the way to his apartment, biting on her bottom lip the way she always did when she was lost in thought. Fitz would have worried he'd said or done something wrong if it wasn't fairly obvious what was distracting her—the news Coulson had delivered to them a few hours ago.

By the time they reached his apartment and negotiated which of them would put together the snack and which of them would make the tea, Fitz was trying not to think about any of it. Come Monday, he'd have to change his expectations and find a way to finish out the build phase of the project before moving on.

"Fitz?"

Simmons sounded hopeful for the first time that day, and he whirled around before he remembered the effects of the alcohol lingered around him like a haze. Clutching his head and groaning, he croaked out, "Yeah?"

"Hmm. Perhaps we should wait to discuss it."

"Discuss what? I'm fine, Simmons." He massaged his temples, shutting his eyes and willing the slight pounding to subside. "Head's clearing, thought process is fine. I'm just a bit woozy, that's all. Did you have a brain wave about where we should go after the build phase is done?"

"Well...yes."

His eyes snapped open. It had been a joke, of sorts. He hadn't meant it—didn't have any reason to think she'd already have some sort of plan for their futures.

"Excellent." He took a careful sip of too-hot tea, sighing happily as it began to work its magic. If Simmons already had a lead for them for their next project, perhaps this whole Biosphere fiasco wouldn't be so bad, after all. "Let's hear it."

"Ah." She turned around, putting her back to him, as she stiffly began to put the finishing touches on the sandwiches she'd been working on. "So. About that."

Fitz frowned. He'd never seen her so tentative. Usually she was the one rushing ahead, new ideas falling from her lips, needing reminders to temper her scientific curiosity with the occasional bit of restraint.

"Come on, Simmons. No such thing as a completely bad idea, and all that. Let's hear it."

She turned back to him, took a deep breath, and stared at him for a moment before speaking again.

"All right, Fitz. Will you marry me?"

"Yeah. Sure, Simmons." He laughed, shaking his head. "Where d'you want to register? Williams-Sonoma and ThinkGeek? Maybe we could get some place settings and that sweet Empire Strikes Back tauntaun sleeping bag."

"I'm being serious, Fitz."

Fitz laughed harder. Simmons had done this before, insist on taking a joke much too far when he cottoned on to it early, and then she'd spend the rest of the day affronted that he refused to be fooled.

"You're taking the piss," he said, between snorts.

"Deadly serious." She handed him a sandwich and then took a bite from hers, her eyes never leaving his. And she did look serious. But she couldn't be serious.

Could she?

She chewed and swallowed, giving him another pointed look. "Everyone thinks we're together anyway. We could say we were hiding it because we thought it might be seen as unprofessional to date a co-worker, and that the new requirement simply gave us an opportunity to bring our relationship into the open. From there, it would be simple to convince everyone we'd decided to marry."

"What?" he choked out, nearly dropping the sandwich on the floor.

"Coulson wants us to continue on. Come on, Fitz. You could see it in his face as easily as I could. He'd just need a little push to believe it. He won't question it too much, and if we play it right, no one else will, either."

"Are you...oh, bollocks. You are, aren't you? You're serious. Are you still drunk?"

"Sobering up rapidly, and I assure you, I'll have the same opinion once my body has finished processing the effects of the alcohol." She smiled a lopsided smile, and his stomach flipped a little.

"Wait." He was starting to catch up with everything she'd just said, and all of the counter-arguments were forming rapidly in his mind. "What do you mean, 'Everyone thinks we're together already'?"

"Of course they do. Haven't we each been asked that a thousand times?"

"Well, yeah," he admitted. "But they don't really mean it, do they? It's just that close friends of opposite genders tend to confuse people."

"It doesn't matter why they think it, just that they do. If it helps them believe we've been seeing each other in secret for months, and gets us into the next phase of the project, isn't that what's important?"

"You think we should lie to everyone we know, then get married, and their opinion of whether we've been shagging or not is what's supposed to be important?"

She was quiet, and blinked at him a few times before she turned to open a cabinet and get a plate for her sandwich. All he could think about as he watched her, crazily, was to notice how she didn't hesitate. She knew where he kept his plates.

He remembered having this realization before, and again, it hit him all at once. She knew everything about him. More than anyone else did, certainly. He was standing here with the person he was closest to in the world.

"It's all right, Fitz." Her voice was odd—words coming too fast, her pitch too high. "I can see the idea doesn't appeal to you." Her movements were jerky and the smile on her face now was forced, or at least, what he could see of it before she turned away again. "Perhaps the beer's gone to my head more than I thought."

"It's not a bad idea on the face of it, Simmons," he began, crossing into what felt like dangerous territory. "It's just—it's not a one-time lie. We'd be living around the clock with people who'd have to believe we were a legitimate married couple."

"You don't think we could be convincing?"

His brain shut down and his mouth moved soundlessly as he had a hundred different thoughts at once. His eyes ran over her, really looking at her, and honestly, the least believable part was the idea she'd have anything to do with him. Even with the slightly smeared lipstick, her hair flattened after running her hands exasperatedly through it dozens of times, and her clothes rumpled, she was beautiful.

When, exactly, had he come to think of Simmons this way? Or more accurately, when had he allowed himself to notice?

"Twenty four hours a day? Seven days a week?" he choked out, trying to imagine what it would be like.

"I'm quite reserved, Fitz, and you're rather private, yourself. I don't think anyone would expect us to engage in daily public displays of affection. We could probably be convincing with nothing more than a few longing glances and the odd kiss here and there." She thought for a moment. "Perhaps each of us would drop occasional, strategic mentions of our sex life when speaking in confidence to our co-workers for added realism."

He couldn't believe she was saying any of this.

Staring her down, hands on his hips, he took a step closer to her. "Do you think we could sell even one believable kiss?"

Fitz hadn't realized how close they'd gotten until Simmons closed the last few inches between them, grabbing him by his loosened tie and pulling him into a kiss before he could even yelp in shock.

It took a second or two of her lips pressing insistently against his before he realized he'd been so taken off guard he wasn't exactly acquitting himself with excellence. His natural sense of competitiveness kicked in and he slid his arms around her back, pulling her in close and shivering a little as she moaned low in her throat.

When her apparent need to always best him kicked in, her fingers fisted in his hair, forcibly angling his face so she had better access to his mouth. At his surprised gasp, her tongue traced his bottom lip, then invaded his mouth to deepen the kiss further.

All he could do was tangle his hands in her shirt, holding her to him and molding their bodies together. He was sure he'd never felt this feverish and out of control before in his life, but the closer they got, the more he wanted. He took a step toward her and they stumbled backward until he'd driven her into the door of his refrigerator, magnets and the photos they'd been holding up littering the ground at their feet as her hands moved to cup his face.

It felt like he was drinking her in, learning the few things about her he didn't already know. He couldn't believe how strange this didn't feel, and instead, as though it was the one thing that had been missing between them all along.

He was just starting to wonder what he should do next, a little worried at how much they'd had to drink and if she would regret doing this once she'd sobered up completely. He longed for more, toying with the idea of allowing his hands to roam, but he knew they should stop. This was all too crazy and new for them to go too far when they'd been so upset earlier, not to mention the drunkenness that was only just starting to fade.

When he pulled away, shifting his weight back the moment he realized how closely he'd been pressing himself against her, her eyes fluttered open. They stared at each other, both of them breathing hard, and her eyes were dark and glassy.

"Do you see, Fitz?" she asked, her voice still breathy. "We can be convincing if we put our minds to it." A breath or two later, she was looking much more normal, beaming at him smugly, as though she'd just won some sort of esoteric intellectual debate.

His heart sank. Of course that's what she'd been doing. She'd only snogged him to prove a point, to show him they could fool everyone into believing they'd already been in a secret relationship with each other. He could try to blame his own reaction on the lingering effects of the beer, but he knew the truth.

The moment she'd dragged him down to kiss her, he'd forgotten about everything but her. The world could have collapsed around him and he'd never have noticed. He hadn't been thinking about the Biosphere or their jobs or anything else but Jemma, all while she'd merely been showing him a proof of concept for her insane plan.

And worse, now that it had 'worked', she'd be unrelenting. When Jemma knew she was right, she never gave up. She'd poke and prod and stay after him to either give the plan a try, or to make him explain why he'd refuse. That was the one thing he couldn't do.

He couldn't, simply wouldn't, tell her what he'd only just realized himself. He was in love with Jemma Simmons.

She texted him the next day, asking if they could meet again to 'go over the plan'. Fitz stood in his hallway, his bathrobe askew and his hair dangerously mussed, gaping at the words on his phone. He'd half-convinced himself the entire thing had been a dream, fueled by too many beers and his own pathetic crush on his best friend and partner. The words shining back at him in the darkness proved him wrong.

He got very little done that day, starting the same article in his favorite aerospace engineering journal over and over, realizing on each attempt how little of it he was absorbing. It was impossible, it seemed, to do anything other than wonder (he was ignoring that daydream was a better way of putting it) what Simmons had in store for them next.

By the time she arrived at his door, smiling softly and carrying a basket full of muffins she'd baked, he was certain she still intended to go through with the fake dating plan and she somehow believed her blueberry or lemon poppy seed muffins would win him over.

He'd have to set her straight.

After accepting her gift, of course. Simmons made a mean muffin.

Before long, he found himself on the couch with her, about to suggest they relax with a movie before discussing anything else. He wanted to ease into the conversation, take a little time for both of them to think...to see reason. What they needed was a little thoughtful silence.

"So, Fitz." Simmons gave him a soft smile just after they sat down. "I think we should have a very frank conversation. Communication and, above all, both of us staying as comfortable as possible, is very important to me."

"Yeah, Simmons. To me, as well." She sounded so calm and logical. Surely she was about to walk back her crazy plan, and perhaps the two of them could spend some time brainstorming what their next project should be after they finished their work on the Biosphere build phase.

"And consent," she added. "Clear, unambiguous consent."

"What?" he asked, feeling the smile he'd mirrored begin to fall.

"If we're to be a convincing romantic couple, we'll have to provide plenty of supporting evidence. Certainly we'll have to be seen kissing more than once, probably arrange to be seen out together at a party, a double date, things like that."

"You mean if we—"

"If? I thought we'd both agreed it's the only way we can put in an application for the next phase of the project."

"Well, yes," he agreed. "It is the only way we can do that, but—"

"Excellent." She turned toward him, and without a hint of self-consciousness, continued into the single most mind-blowing sentence Fitz had ever heard from another human being. "Surely, to accomplish this, we'll be in rather close physical contact, and that sort of stimuli is sure to have certain biological ramifications."

"Certain...biological...?" He understood the words she was saying, but he couldn't quite believe she was saying them. At least, not in this particular configuration.

"We'll get to that," she said, putting her hand lightly on his arm. "I wanted to let you know that I'm committed to this project. Anything you can do to help accomplish our goal, I'd like to give you my explicit consent. If you ever were to begin something I find troubling, I'll simply tell you no, as quietly as I can. I have no doubt you'll honor that—"

"—'Course I will, Simmons." The idea she even needed to ask if he'd pay attention to her if she said no to something...he couldn't even believe they were having this conversation.

"What about you, Fitz?"

"What about me?"

"Now is the time to give me your boundaries. Let me know if there's anything you'd like me to avoid. Someplace you wouldn't like me to touch? Some kind of act—"

"Stop." He shut his eyes, trying to imagine what kind of act Simmons thought they could get up to in public to reinforce a fake relationship. "Isn't this just meant to be a bit of public kissing?"

"Well, there's kissing and there's kissing, Fitz. A chaste little kiss on the cheek isn't the same thing as one of us backing the other into a wall, hands roaming a bit. We'll need to really commit to sell this. Simple pecks aren't going to convince anyone we have an intimate relationship."

Wondering how he'd allowed his life to become so strange, he turned to his best friend and agreed to the same arrangement she'd made with him, that he was consenting in theory right now and reserving the right to whisper a 'no' to her later.

"And on the matter of physical response—"

Fitz interrupted her there with a series of the hardest, hacking coughs he'd ever experienced, gasping for air as his eyes watered. "Response?" he croaked, wondering exactly how idiotic he sounded, only able to repeat the things she'd already said.

"I'm a biochemist, Fitz," she said, a hint of a smirk on her face, and his stomach flipped at that, along with the gleam in her eye. "I know quite well there are certain facts of human arousal that will visit themselves upon us, even if we're merely playing a part."

"Simmons!" He groaned, dropping his face into his hands. "Do we really have to talk about—"

"Your penis?"

"Simmons," Fitz groaned, and he involuntarily crossed his legs. He ignored the little giggle Simmons let out at that.

"Yes, we really have to. I don't want to feel embarrassed about the perfectly natural reactions of my body to stimulus, and I don't want you to, either." She slid her hand along his cheek, urging him to look up at her again, and he complied before he could stop himself. "I want to be completely clear. You needn't be disconcerted at anything. We're friends, Fitz. Best friends. No mere fact of biology or the ruse we have to put on to get what we need out of this situation will change that. No judgment, no recriminations."

If she hadn't been talking about the evidence of his body responding to her becoming obvious at some unspecified future date, her speech would have been touching. Even so, the earnest look in her eyes, the way she sought out his reactions and genuinely wanted him to be as comfortable as possible, made him feel crazily as though they could actually pull this off together.

"Shake on it?" he asked, sighing deeply as he put out his hand. As she clasped their palms together, he knew he'd probably regret all of this later, but he had to admit it. He was painfully—probably masochistically—curious where this scheme would take them.

After that night, and with Simmons assured they were both on board with the plan, Fitz's life became a whirlwind of new, confusing experiences. Though he began to lose his nerve, he couldn't think of a way to back out without her hounding him until he was either forced to lie or confess he'd fallen in love with her. Knowing his temper as well as he did, his disclosure would probably come at the top of his lungs in the middle of a screaming match, ruining any chance of a favorable outcome.

Simmons became the architect for the reveal of their 'secret relationship', coordinating a gradual series of events she insisted would give them greater believability. She began by asking for a meeting with Coulson and then canceling at the last minute, planning to tell him later that she'd wanted to disclose their growing romance, but didn't want it to 'look like they were creating it to stay on the project'.

That escalated to several days of her grabbing his hand whenever they were walking through the hallways together, only to drop it and flash a guilty look the moment anyone else walked by them.

Then she spent a morning calling him "Leo" in front of other people and pretending it was a slip, correcting herself to "Doctor Fitz" instead. The timbre her voice changed to while using his formal title, along with the wink she often gave him to punctuate it, wasn't at all helpful to his internal dilemma. When he could take no more, he bit the inside of his cheek in frustration and suggested in the most even voice he could muster that they go to lunch together off-site that day.

Once they were away from work, he explained how much he detested being called 'Leo' under any circumstances. She countered by being disappointed in his improvisation skills, noting she'd assumed he would begin calling her 'Jemma' the moment she impulsively began this next phase of the plan.

"You don't like to be called Leo? Are you telling me, Fitz, if the love of your life were sitting here, wanting to call you Leo, you'd refuse?"

His heart was in his mouth as he struggled to find an answer. Relatively certain the love of his life was sitting there, wanting to call him Leo, he desperately wanted to refuse.

"I can tell you with no hesitation whatever," he choked out, "that yes, not even the love of my life could get away with calling me Leo." He promised to begin calling her 'Jemma' at work in return for her promise never to utter the 'L' word again, and to his great relief, she found that to be an acceptable compromise.

All of this was bad enough, but the third phase of her plan threatened to kill him. Simmons found a way to sabotage the computer in their private lab, only hissing a quick, "We need to be kissing when Daisy comes in!" into his ear before she yanked him away from his lab table to kiss him.

By the time Daisy walked in, Jemma had both of their lab coats unbuttoned and she'd wound her arms so tightly around his back that Fitz had the very odd thought he might have been able to rebutton his lab coat with Simmons inside it with him. His vision—in the brief moments between kisses when he tried to open his eyes to find out what Simmons was trying to do—had gone blurry as her lips moved insistently over his.

Daisy's surprised, "Holy crap!" from the doorway a few minutes later shouldn't have come as a surprise, but it did. Fitz had no trouble 'acting' shocked to be interrupted despite the warning Simmons had given him before they started kissing. He'd realized on some level they were kissing only so Daisy could eventually witness it, but with Jemma wrapped around him and her body so warm and soft against his, he found it difficult to keep a logical head about anything.

Jemma upped the ante the next day when she turned to him, sliding her hands into the back pockets of his trousers as they were doing a walk-through of one of the hydroponics pods. Being kissed with no warning didn't even surprise him anymore—he'd begun living in a state where he half-expected her to make physical contact with him at any time—but the pockets bit was new.

As they broke apart for a moment, he looked around, finding no one there. When he asked her who was coming and she told him Melinda May was doing a full tour of the facility and should be there any moment, he nearly swallowed his tongue in shock.

"This is really unprofessional, Simmons," he told her, whispering the words against her lips, then feeling them curve into a smile before she kissed him again.

"You're supposed to call me Jemma," she said, nuzzling her cheek against his, and he took the opportunity to catch his breath. There was something about hearing the bossiness in her tone in this context that made him worry he'd never be able to hear it again and keep his mind on what she was saying. "I wouldn't normally snog someone in the workplace, Fitz, but May and Coulson don't know that."

She splayed her hands at his waist and ran them up his chest, forcing his eyes shut. He couldn't help thinking back to their conversation about the differences between a quick peck on the lips and these intense, deep kisses they were sharing that were coming dangerously close to the idle daydreams plaguing him for the last few days. This was a lot like his favorite one began, and resisting the urge to continue by sliding his hands down to her arse to pick her up was one of the more difficult things he'd ever had to do.

"Next time, Simmons...a little warning," he gasped, pulling away from her just for a moment before she dragged him back to her mouth.

"More kissing, less talking, Fitz," she said, while making the most adorable little gasps between kisses. "We have limited time to work with."

After that, he didn't think about anything but the silky feel of her hair as it tangled in his fingers and the way he couldn't tell if the heartbeat he felt was his or hers, as closely as their bodies were pressed together. He was dimly aware of the moment May walked in, then swiftly walked back out when they both pretended not to notice her.

They kept on, and Fitz, for his part, wondered how he could entice himself to pull away. He wasn't sure he was capable of it, not even if the building had been on fire, as long as Jemma was a willing participant. He began trying to talk himself into stopping, knowing they'd spent most of the day not kissing and the world hadn't come to an end.

"Simmons...she's gone," Fitz said, once he was able to pull back, but she made no move to loosen the arms she'd locked around his waist.

"She might come back," Simmons countered. "And for the last time, Fitz, you're supposed to be calling me Jemma." At that, she grabbed his face and urged him into the hollow where her neck met her shoulder. His head spun as he latched his mouth onto her collarbone while she let out a soft, nearly pornographic moan. "It can't appear we only do this when someone might catch us. Another few minutes, at least, and then we can get back to work on calibrating the carbon dioxide sensors."

As it turned out, the carbon dioxide sensors were the very last thing on Fitz's mind for quite some time.

A few days later, as Fitz was getting ready for work, his phone buzzed against the countertop where he'd left it. It was a text from Simmons, asking if he'd like to spend the night in watching a movie together.

He sent his answer a moment later, after he'd spat out his toothpaste and run a comb through his hair. Sure. Redbox?

He frowned down at his phone when the response came, wondering what she was up to.

Do me a favor? Wear your dark grey button-down and that blue silk tie with the diamond pattern to work today? And a suit jacket?"

How did she know his wardrobe so well? And what could she possibly have in mind that required the clothes he secretly thought of as his lucky outfit?

When he arrived at the doorway of her office about a half hour later, his eyes widened. She rarely wore skirts, and she'd shown up in something he was sure he'd never seen her in before. Surely he'd have remembered this lacy, delicate white sweater and deep, wine-red skirt that seemed to hug her backside with some sort of artificial intelligence, curving around her in a way that made his mouth go dry.

"Excellent, Fitz." She circled around him and he spun until she reached out to hold him in place, and he blushed as he realized she was evaluating him for something. "Yes, you look rather nice in this. Surely someone will ask you why you're so dressed up."

"And why is someone supposed to ask me—"

'—When they do," she interrupted, "you'll simply say you have a date tonight and you don't think you have time to go home and change beforehand."

Fitz looked her over again, suddenly understanding the outfits. "And if anyone asks you—"

"They already have." Her eyes flashed with excitement. "I've made a point of working outside my office and the lab this morning, and three different people have commented on how smart I look today. I may have let a few details slip about a hot date I have planned for this evening." She looked him up and down, an appreciation for the way he'd dressed evident in her smirk and the angle of her raised eyebrows. "You merely need to try to run into some of the same people and tell them something similar. That should get the gossip train running quite nicely."

"I'm supposed to be calibrating the irrigation sensors in the temperate biome agriculture pods, Simmons. It's not likely I'll be running into anyone else today." She frowned, as though she hadn't considered their actual work might get in the way of her plans to keep them on the project.

"Could we...I don't know, Fitz...rearrange the work week a bit? Isn't there something you need to do that requires Daisy's assistance?" Simmons—Jemma, dammit—looked so hopeful that he couldn't imagine letting her down. He also really had to get used to thinking of her as Jemma, but that felt dangerous in some way he was loath to think too much about.

He let out a slow breath, thinking as he tapped on his chin with his index finger. "I suppose I could ask her about some fixes to the Bevy's code? They're live on the test server and she's been waiting to go over them with me for my final sign-off."

Simm—Jemma clapped her hands, coming up on her tiptoes to press a quick, but warm kiss just over his cheekbone. "Ideal, Fitz," she whispered, just before she pulled away. "Absolutely ideal."

He tried to remember that moment and how blissfully he'd stayed there, suspended, in the moments after she'd kissed his cheek, the third time Daisy interrupted their session going over the Bevy code to grill him for details.

After they'd left work together (holding hands), they stopped by a grocery for dinner ingredients and a trip to the Redbox machine to rent a movie. They bickered about what they should make and how much of it should be vegetable-based, and then he gave her an odd look when she added a bottle of red wine to their cart.

"What?" she asked, blinking innocently at him. "Our plan is going so well! It's time to celebrate a bit, don't you think? Daisy appears to be convinced, so it's certain our relationship will soon be an open secret. Then we can move into the next phase!"

He knew she wanted him to ask about the next phase, but he truly didn't feel ready to tackle that right now. Thinking about the way they would most likely curl up together on his couch, the wine relaxing Simm—Jemma until she made those tiny yawns he found so adorable, he wondered yet again how he would make it through two years of sharing quarters with her while pretending they were legitimately married.

"What's your plan for sleeping together?" He stopped, his hands clenching and his eyes shut in utter torture when he realized what his question sounded like. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Are you certain?" she asked, through a laugh, her even strides never breaking as she pushed the cart.

"I meant, what's your plan for sharing quarters once the Biosphere project begins in earnest? You've seen the size of the bedrooms. Not much room there for two people who aren't really married."

"Do you anticipate it being a problem?" She wasn't looking at him, seemingly engrossed in the ingredients panel on the box of crackers she was considering.

"Only if neither of us feels a requirement for any sort of personal privacy."

"And if you're not a blanket-hogger," Jemma noted, fixing him with a pointed look over the box in her hands.

Fitz groaned. "Do you at least like the left side of the bed?"

"I prefer the middle, but I suppose that isn't going to work." She shrugged, as though she'd never given a moment's thought to the idea they'd be sharing a bed for two years. "For you, Fitz, I'll take whichever side you dislike." She was thoughtful for a moment, and the only sound between them was the horrible Muzak blaring from the speakers overhead and the squeaky front wheel on their cart as it spun around. "I think you're onto something here, Fitz. We should set up some sort of privacy schedule. I'm sure we can both find work away from our quarters at prearranged times, so we can each have some quiet time."

"That's..." he began, wondering when all of this had started to seem reasonable to him, "...actually a good idea. I'd really appreciate that, Jemma."

Her eyes lit up at the use of her first name, and he shrugged, looking quickly away. "I had a feeling you would, Fitz. I'm happy we had this talk."

Despite the equilibrium he'd found with the idea earlier, he found himself thinking about the two of them sharing a bed during most of the movie. That is, when he wasn't preoccupied with the way her feet kept nudging his where their legs met in the middle of his couch.

He'd thought he'd be less preoccupied by her if they sat at opposite ends of the couch, but that couldn't have been further from the truth. This angle kept them in a teasing agony of incidental physical contact, while also allowing him to soak in the sight of her profile, lit by the flickering light coming from the television.

"Fitz? Are you not enjoying the movie?"

"Yeah, it's fine. Maybe not Oscar-winning material, but it's all right."

"Tell me anything that's happened in the last twenty minutes," she said, her eyebrow raised in challenge. "Anything."

He sighed. When had he gotten the impression that he could put one over on Jemma Simmons?

"All right, I'm not paying any attention." She opened her mouth to press further, but he preempted her with his palm held out, a gentle barrier to keep her curiosity at bay. "Before you ask, let's talk about it another time."

"You're thinking about sleeping together, aren't you?" She asked the question with a wicked smile on her face, especially after the double-take he gave her. "What? That's what you called it earlier."

"I was, in fact," he said, not liking the way his voice had raised and how he sounded haughty, of all things, "thinking about how we'll get on sharing close quarters for so long. I've never had a sibling, Jemma, and I've been on my own since I left home at 15. It'll be...odd."

Jemma chose a piece of popcorn, taking her time as though she was looking for the perfect specimen, and then chewed on it thoughtfully, the movie forgotten. "Let's get some practice in."

"That's...do you mean..."

"I've had my fair share of this bottle of wine, Fitz. I'm not driving, but I'd rather not navigate home alone on public transit while half in the bag."

Her feet seemed to be seeking his out, and if he didn't know better, he'd say she was doing it on purpose. He would have complained about how cold they were, if only she hadn't just proposed spending the night sleeping in his bed.

"I'll take the couch, you can have the bed."

"That's not the point, Fitz," she groaned. "We need to get the little embarrassments and uneasiness out of the way sooner rather than later." Her smile turned impish. "I'd also like to see what sort of housekeeping I'm in for. As you keep the door to your bedroom studiously closed whenever I'm over, I have a feeling you're a strew-the-dirty-socks-on-the-floor sort of man."

That was how, an hour later, he found himself offering her an old t-shirt and a pair of his boxer shorts to sleep in, then watched in disbelief as she returned from the bathroom to slip between the sheets on his bed.

His only triumph with this entire endeavor was that he was reasonably sure he'd been able to kick two pairs of dirty socks under the bed before she saw them.

It was difficult to stay on his own side of the relatively small mattress, especially as Jemma didn't appear to be as careful as he'd decided to be. She was right up against the imaginary center line of the bed, with seemingly no qualms about any sort of accidental bumping into each other as they shifted to get comfortable.

In the silent darkness, her voice was clear, cutting through his nervousness with its warmth. "Fitz, do you remember the talk we had? Boundaries? Consent? I'm still fine, Fitz, if you are. I'm not anxious about this. I trust you. I'm comfortable with you. I know I'm safe, and I hope you feel the same."

He immediately felt awful about his runaway imagination, which had been playing visions of an alternate universe Fitz and Simmons being here for a very different reason. His thoughts had been of the noises she sometimes made when they kissed, but he'd been wondering what they'd sound like as their hands roamed each other's bodies under his blanket, or as they peeled the clothes off each other. He sobered up immediately when she told him how she trusted him, utterly ashamed of himself.

"Yeah, of course you can trust me, Jemma."

She reached out blindly for his hand and then laced their fingers together when she found it. "I'm so grateful we're partners, Fitz."

With the warmth of her next to him and with the reminder of what they meant to each other, he was finally able to relax and give in to sleep. His last thought was to notice the way their breath mingled between them as they'd turned toward each other, and how everything always seemed to be all right as long as she was near.

On Monday afternoon, Fitz caught himself daydreaming yet again about what it had been like to wake up next to Jemma on Saturday morning. He'd somehow found consciousness before she did, drinking in the odd pleasure of watching her as she slept—small smile on her lips, hair mussed, and still absolutely perfect.

The irrigation system adjustments were suffering due to his lack of attention, he knew, becoming clear again the moment he discovered one of his timers was set to run once every twenty-four days, instead of hours. Mistakes like that would put the food supply, destined to be sparse for the first few months even at optimum output, into near starvation-level territory.

He shook his head to clear it, pushing away all other thoughts and engrossing himself in the work. Once he'd found his rhythm, he was able to instinctively search out problems in the system and solve them, slowly making the adjustments to allow it to work at top efficiency.

When Trip, Daisy's husband and the newest addition to the build team, entered, Fitz's concentration was so complete that he took quite awhile to realize anyone else was there with him.

"Man, I'm sorry to interrupt," Trip said, once the noise of clearing his throat had been enough to catch Fitz's attention. "You look like you're in some kind of zone, there."

"A bit, but it's fine." Fitz was still a little distracted, if he were honest, but only until he finished calculating the next adjustment in his head. He put a friendly smile on his face, not wanting Trip to see the somewhat childish irritation he felt after seeing how effortlessly happy he and Daisy seemed together.

"Coulson asked me to set up a meeting for the two of us, along with Daisy and Simmons. We need to discuss biometric tracking that can give the safety staff early warning if someone's showing signs of physical or emotional distress." The look on Trip's face betrayed his discomfort, and Fitz had to admit he shared that opinion. He'd never intended the SWaNs or the Bevy server to be a watchdog, only a means of recording data on the experiment participants.

"Stipulations of the psychology study?" Fitz asked, and Trip nodded.

"I hate to admit it, but they have a point with all of this. Everyone on the team will be dependent on the work and well-being of everyone else. Early warning that one of us is sick or might be breaking under the pressure might not be the worst thing."

Fitz sighed, remembering that without the psychology grant, there'd be no Biosphere 3. He'd just have to relent on this one. Railing to Trip about personal privacy not getting signed away once the facility was sealed would just be punishing the messenger.

"We need to find a time when you and Simmons aren't holed up in your lab, and Daisy isn't buried under stacks of bug reports."

"So, impossible, then?" Fitz joked.

Trip inclined his chin, a speculative look on his face, and grinned as he continued. "Daisy thinks we should arrange a double date and talk about this mess over dinner somewhere."

"Well, I...I—why would—I don't know—"

"Come on. You and Jemma aren't subtle. I hate to be the one to tell you, but everyone knows. What Daisy and I can't figure out is why you don't get married so you can join us in the next phase? Coulson clearly hates the idea of losing both of you."

"Don't know if we're ready to take that step," Fitz mumbled, giving the answer he and Jemma had prepared together. "I don't want her to feel pressured into accepting a proposal because of the project."

Trip laughed, his face full of mirth. "I don't think you have anything to worry about there. I'm jealous of you, actually."

Fitz's mind raced, trying to work out what Trip could possibly feel jealous about. He and Daisy seemed happy, but if he'd developed some kind of crush on Jemma... It made him angry, and he went silent, seething. It was on Daisy's behalf, of course. Surely it wasn't the idea of Trip having feelings for Jemma upsetting him, though the idea of him kissing Jemma made Fitz feel like punching something.

"The night I proposed to Daisy, I was sure she'd turn me down. I knew we really had something together, but I wasn't sure if she felt the same way I did."

"Why would that make you jeal—"

"You two are perfect together. From just the little bit I've seen you with Simmons here at work, even I can tell that woman has it bad for you."

Dropping all pretense, Fitz found himself asking an entirely honest question. "Do you really think so? You think she—"

"—loves you?" Trip laughed again. "Yeah. No question." Clapping his hand on Fitz's shoulder, he continued. "Maybe that double date isn't such a bad idea. Daisy's been bugging me about it every day. She's going nuts because you two haven't gone public yet."

"Yeah, that sounds like fun," Fitz agreed, wondering just how good an actress Jemma had become, and if they could be convincing enough in front of Trip and Daisy.

Their double date turned into a triple date at some point over the course of the week, with Fitz's new co-worker Mack and his wife, Elena, joining them at Daisy's invitation. Despite having to engage in their faux relationship in front of a larger audience, Fitz found he didn't mind at all.

He and Mack were getting along well right from the start, with Mack's easygoing personality and knack for repairing just about any mechanical device making him an excellent addition to the team. Elena, Coulson had just announced, was the grant foundation's choice to be the on-site representative for the psychological arm of the Biosphere project, and Jemma was inordinately excited about putting on their couple act for her.

Fitz was pleasantly tipsy by the time Daisy started dragging people out to the dance floor, but he'd never in his life been drunk enough to reveal exactly how uncoordinated he was when it came to moving to the music. Trip had jumped in the moment Daisy asked, and both of them working on Jemma eventually got her to relent.

He'd been trying not to look, but his eyes kept finding her on the dance floor. Jemma, it turned out, wasn't any more practiced in the art than Fitz was, but she made up for her lack of knowledge with enthusiasm. She'd pulled her hair out of the ponytail she'd worn at the beginning of the evening and it was whipping around her face as she laughed, looking as though she didn't have a care in the world.

"More drinks?" Mack suggested, and when Fitz began to get up to follow him to the bar, he found himself lightly pushed back into booth. "I got it, Turbo."

No matter how much he'd had to drink, Fitz didn't miss the significant look that passed between Mack and his wife, and he knew they'd been left there alone for a reason.

"I've gotten the feeling you aren't wild about my study," Elena began, taking a long sip of her beer and peering at Fitz over the top of the mug.

"I—" Fitz realized right away there was no point in trying to lie, as Elena clearly had him dead to rights. "It's difficult to be excited about a facet of the project that ensured I wouldn't be able to continue to the next phase."

"No?" Elena looked pointedly at Jemma, where she and Daisy were dancing with their backs together, hopping up and down out of time with the music and dissolving in giggles. "Seems to me it's not completely impossible."

"The stipulations, though. Even if she did want to marry me—which I have no reason to think is true—I didn't think we'd qualify." He didn't have as much trouble with the lie as he would have thought, something he found vaguely troubling.

"You were in love with her before the study was announced, no?"

"I...don't know how to be sure?" he admitted, and then something inside him screamed out for him to tell the truth, even once, even when the person he was talking to didn't fully understand. "That's a lie. I think I've loved her from the beginning."

"And she loves you," Elena added with a smirk. Jemma chose that moment to wave at Fitz from the dance floor, a look of pure happiness on her face, and Fitz's heart swelled with the complexity of his feelings for her. "If you asked, I think she would say yes. And I can see as easily as anyone else, it wouldn't be to get into the next phase."

"You'd sign off?" he asked.

"You'd marry her even if I didn't?" Elena countered.

"Yeah," Fitz admitted, letting his head fall back and his eyes shut as he realized how true it was. "But I don't know how Jemma feels about it, and I don't want her to think I'm only asking for Biosphere."

"Fitz, there is a saying. El amor es ciego, pero los vecinos no." At his confused look, she supplied the translation. "Love is blind, but the neighbors aren't. You might not be able to see how much she loves you, but the rest of us can. The rest of us have. It was clear the moment Mack introduced me to you."

"You really think—" Fitz began, but he couldn't even finish the sentence. How could he possibly hope what Elena was saying was true, when he had ample evidence it wasn't?

"Just don't delay too much. My turtle man took so long to bring it up to me, I ended up asking him. I think you are the daring one, though, no? Between the two of you?"

Fitz sputtered, almost spitting out the gulp of beer he'd just taken, but he forced it down with a painful swallow. "I'm a coward where this stuff is concerned, through and through. And Jemma...she could rule the world if she put her mind to it."

"No time for that, my friend." Elena tapped her watch, about to say something else before Mack returned, interrupting her. She shrugged at Fitz instead, accepting her new mug and leaning back into her husband's chest when he sat down.

Moments later, a rosy-cheeked and thoroughly winded Jemma dropped onto the bench at Fitz's side, gulping down the still-icy beer before holding the side of the mug to her face to cool down.

That did not cool Fitz down.

Jemma was halfway into a conversation with Mack and Elena before he was fully paying attention again.

"Yes, so my lease is up soon," Jemma lamented. "Not knowing where I'll go once the build phase of Biosphere is complete, I'm not sure how to handle it. I don't think I should renew, but there's still four months of work before I might be moving."

"Really? You don't know anyone you could move in with for a few months?" Mack said. Before Fitz or Jemma could answer, he'd asked Elena to dance and the two of them were gone, twirling around each other next to Trip and Daisy.

"It seems Mack is rather convinced of the legitimacy of our relationship," Jemma whispered, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks still reddened from exertion. "Perhaps he'll convince Elena and we'll be one step closer to getting what we want!"

"Oh." Fitz took a long drink, watching Jemma as she waited impatiently for him to continue. "Elena doesn't need any convincing. She thinks I should propose, and she all but told me outright she'd verify our marriage is genuine to the grant foundation."

Jemma made an excited noise, pulling Fitz into a tight hug, and then stared at him for a long moment after she let him go. "We've done it."

As she glanced toward their companions, Fitz took a deep breath, then slid his hand to the back of Jemma's neck and urged her toward him for a kiss. She responded right away, her hands lighting on his back and pulling him closer, then opening her mouth under his to deepen the kiss.

When he pulled away, her eyes fluttered open and she nuzzled into his chest, laughing lightly. "Want to get out of here? I'm too excited to sleep, and I think we should celebrate."

"Yeah," he choked out, and tried to remind himself that this wasn't what it sounded like. Jemma was overjoyed because their plan had worked and they could only properly celebrate on their own, where no one would overhear if they said anything to indicate their relationship wasn't real. "Let's go."

"Your place? You have all the good snacks. I think this calls for junk food."

He pretended to be shocked that she'd want to dip into his stash of greasy, chocolatey, salty treats he kept around, but in truth, he didn't care what she wanted to eat or why. All he could think of was what Elena had said, and wonder if it was possible Jemma wasn't faking either.

A week passed, and while they'd been busy moving Jemma slowly out of her apartment and into his, she didn't mention anything about their night out or his conversation with Elena. The spontaneous kissing at work all but came to a halt as well, and Fitz had begun to wonder if the entire scheme had been the product of his fevered imagination.

That proved to be untrue when they were curled up on his couch again, watching an old movie and sharing a bowl full of popcorn. Everything seemed normal, and he'd even been able to pay attention to the movie. Just spending the evening with her had been nice—no multi-layered contrivances forcing them to do anything other than enjoy each other's company.

Fitz looked over to smile at her and she smiled back, patting his hand for a moment before she picked out another piece or two of popcorn.

"Do you think we could afford to be late to work on Monday morning?" Her voice was light and he didn't think much about the reasons behind her question, just going over his plans for the day in his head to see if he could rearrange them.

"Did you want to move the rest of your things? I don't know if we can hire a moving van on such short notice."

"No, that can keep." She chewed the popcorn, taking her time. "I thought Monday might be a good time to go to the courthouse and get married."

Fitz's coughing fit was so bad that Jemma paused the movie, heading to the kitchen to get him a glass of water to recover.

"I suppose I took you a bit by surprise?" she asked, as she handed him the water.

He scowled at her as best he could through his watering eyes.

"You think it's time to—"

"I don't see a reason to wait. Elena and Coulson are the people we really have to convince, and Elena made her opinion clear to you last weekend. Coulson must have heard the workplace gossip by now, and as Elena already considers us a legitimate couple, I doubt Coulson would overrule her."

"So you want to—"

"I think we have all the paperwork in order, don't we? You have your passport and your naturalization certificate?"

Fitz nodded, unable to believe they were talking about this as though they were negotiating which of them would go to the store because they were out of milk, but there was something about her no-nonsense way of asking questions that made him spit the answers out before he could gather himself together for any sort of rebuttal.

"Right. I think I can find some sort of zirconium ring before Monday morning, something that looks close enough to a real diamond to pass scrutiny as long as no one gets out a loupe." She laughed a little at her own joke, but stopped abruptly when she noticed he hadn't joined her. "Fitz? Are you all right? Did you want to talk about—"

"You wouldn't want a diamond," he muttered, wondering why it was this, of all things, he was stuck on.

"I wouldn't want—"

"I imagine you have ethical concerns about the diamond trade, yeah? And anyway, you'd want a sapphire. It's your birthstone, and it's your favorite." She was quiet, and he was suddenly a lot less sure than he'd felt a moment before. "Isn't it?"

"How do you know that?"

"About the diamonds? Because you're well-informed and fair minded?"

"No, about the sapphire."

"I—" he began, and abruptly stopped. "I don't know. You have that pendant you wear sometimes, and it's always when you're in an especially good mood. That's a sapphire, isn't it?"

"Yes," she confirmed, and just stared at him. Now Fitz had seen everything, because he'd shocked her into losing her train of thought. She was always so focused and practical that he wouldn't have thought it possible.

"I'll go out tomorrow and take care of the rings. Just let me borrow one of yours to get the size right." He wasn't sure why this was suddenly so important to him, but he just couldn't let her go out and buy her own ring. Not even for a ceremony that wouldn't be any more real than the zirconium she'd been willing to settle for a moment ago.

"All right," she said, falling into silence again, and they didn't say another word about it for the rest of the night.

Fitz was all nerves on Monday morning, waiting in the living room for Jemma to finish getting ready so they could leave for the courthouse. The ring boxes were burning a hole in his pocket and he was sure he was going to be sick.

Trying to come up with some way to distract himself, he triple-checked the envelope he was carrying to make sure his documents were there, then patted his back pockets to check for his wallet.

He'd just bent down to retie his shoes (uncomfortable dress shoes he only wore when he felt he had to) and when he straightened up, he was presented with an image of Jemma emerging from his—their, he realized with a start—bedroom.

She'd somehow unearthed a white dress from her many as-yet unpacked boxes, and it was one he'd never seen her wearing before. It was nice without being overly formal, with simple lines and some sort of delicate, yet subtle lace overlaying the skirt.

She blushed, looking down for a moment, and then actually stammered a little when she asked him, "Do I look all right?"

"You..." he began, and he was helpless to continue. He tried to think of some way to describe her and nothing he could say would possibly do her justice.

"Ah, I'm being silly, aren't I?" She looked away, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles on her skirt, and she looked rather uncomfortable.

"No!" He groaned, putting a hand over his eyes while he took a deep breath and regrouped. "Wait—not no. Yes."

"Yes...I look all right?" she chanced, a careful smile on her lips.

"Yes, you look amazing," he said, finally finding the words.

Her small smile blossomed into genuine, flustered beaming that outshone the sun, and he wished yet again that even a small part of this scheme of theirs could be real. "You look rather handsome yourself, Fitz. I've always adored that tie on you. It really brings out your eyes."

He fidgeted with the windsor knot settled in his collar against his adam's apple, suddenly self-conscious. "Shall we go?" he suggested, if only to change the subject.

"You have your—" Jemma began, all business now, but she stopped when he held up his documents to show her. "Excellent. Let's go."

When they arrived at the courthouse, Fitz was feeling silly again. He'd insisted on stopping at a florist stand before they got on the subway, buying her a bouquet of flowers 'for authenticity'. She'd grinned indulgently at the suggestion, but the impulse he hadn't been able to suppress now seemed awkward to him.

She was smiling down at the carefully-arranged flowers bordered with baby's breath as they handed over their paperwork. Perhaps it hadn't been a terrible idea, after all.

Once they finished at the window and were put on the list for the Justice of the Peace, there was nothing to do but wait. They sat next to each other, Fitz's fingers drumming an uneven rhythm on the armrests, with seemingly nothing to say. Even Jemma looked a bit pale, and he wondered if she would take it all back at the last second.

When he couldn't take the silence any longer, Fitz pulled himself to his feet, intending to go splash some water on his face and get control of himself, but he was stopped by Jemma's look of panic.

"Fitz, you're not having second thoughts, are you? Because—"

"No." But he couldn't meet her eyes when he said it, because honestly, he was having second thoughts. The only thing keeping him here was that he couldn't imagine letting Jemma down, and that overrode everything else. "Just heading to the, er, the men's..."

"...of course," she said, through a forced smile.

In the bathroom, he shoveled water onto his face, contorting his body to avoid drenching his clothes as he sputtered, wiping the moisture away from his eyes. He fixed his stare on his reflection, waiting for some sort of wisdom to come, but he remained just as confused as he'd been when he came in.

"I don't know if I can do this," he said to the Fitz in the mirror. He was committing to two years of pretending he had exactly what he wanted, but it was all a lie. He'd told himself what they had was as close as he'd ever get, that his relationship with her had been the most extraordinary experience of his life so far, and that would be enough.

But was it?

He was being an idiot. There was only one way he could imagine handling this, and that was to treat it like any other problem. Just like every decision he'd ever made designing a device or troubleshooting a problem, he needed to break it down and solve one issue at a time.

Their agreement was to create a fake relationship and get married for the purposes of participating in the next phase of the Biosphere project. He'd agreed of his own free will, they'd succeeded, and it was time to move forward. From there, he had three choices.

His first alternative was to leave this restroom, find Jemma, and back out. Tell her he couldn't go through with it, that he couldn't imagine keeping up the lie for two years under constant scrutiny.

Or, he could find her and ask for more time. If a delay could help him wrap his mind around what they were doing and help him decide if he could really go through with it, perhaps that's what he should do.

Finally, he could honor the deal he'd made, leave this room, and marry her as they'd agreed they should. It was the only way to get into the most significant scientific opportunity of his life thus far, but more than that, he knew anything else would disappoint her. She'd be hurt and confused about why he'd agreed until now, only to back out at the last minute.

And that was that. There'd never been a decision to be made. He couldn't let Jemma down any more than he could decide to stop breathing, or stop the beating of his heart.

When he returned, he gave Jemma the warmest smile he could muster, dropping into the plastic chair next to hers.

"I wanted to thank you, Fitz. I know this was my idea, and I'm sure you've had moments when you thought I was crazy, but I'll always appreciate you staying by my side through all of this."

"We're partners, Jemma," he told her, wishing it were true in every sense. "Of course I'll be by your side."

"You've done a marvelous job. I can't even tell you how many people tried to tell me, in confidence, that they thought you might have feelings for me. I know it hasn't come easy, Fitz. You've been outstanding. You've fooled everyone."

Her eyes were misty and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to not cry, himself.

"Yeah. Fooled everyone," he said, his throat feeling like sandpaper. "Right."

Before they could say anything else, they were called back to meet with the Justice of the Peace. Jemma took his hand after they stood up, and he snaked his other hand into his pocket to run his fingers over the velvet of the ring boxes.

The Justice was an older man, with a gentle but no-nonsense air about him. His assistant (and their witness) turned out to be his wife of 45 years, a retired schoolteacher who'd taken the job so they could spend more time together. Fitz couldn't help smiling as the older woman told Jemma what a beautiful bride she made, finding a way to say it that didn't make it sound as though she'd said it hundreds of times before.

"If you'll forgive me, a few questions, before we get to business?" The old man's eyebrow rose a bit as he looked over both of them, appraising them, and Fitz worried it was all about to fall apart. This man had married many people, and surely he had to have a sense for when it wasn't true love and the promise of happily ever after that brought two people to his chambers.

"Certainly." Simmons squared her shoulders, trying to look confident, but Fitz could see the cracks in her armor. Her hand, holding the bundle of flowers he'd bought her, shook just enough to rustle the baby's breath at the outer edges of the arrangement.

"Can't help but notice," he said, looking worriedly between them, "you two aren't from around here. It wouldn't be—that is to say, you'd be shocked how good the INS agents are at sniffing out fake marriages."

Simmons laughed aloud at that, looking relieved. "Is that all? Fitz, oh, of course." She looked over at him in a way that he could only describe as 'adoringly', leaning her head on his shoulder. "We should have made clear from the outset. If you'll look more closely at our paperwork, you'll find neither of us has any American citizenship concerns. I've had dual citizenship since birth, and Fitz has been naturalized for..." She glanced expectantly at him, clearly hoping he'd pick up where she'd left off.

Fitz coughed a bit, his voice hoarse and his throat oddly constricted. "Right. Yeah, erm...it's got to be years now...well, longer than we've known each other, anyway."

"There, you see?" Simmons smiled, her eyes dancing as she reached down to squeeze Fitz's hand, and it was an act of will for him not to outwardly flinch at the contact. How he would ever manage to kiss her at the end of this blasted ceremony without pulling away and immediately confessing how much he loved her, he had absolutely no bloody idea.

"Louis," his wife scolded, "you must not have taken a single look at these two." She reached out to take Jemma's hand, beaming as she looked over at Fitz. "They're clearly over the moon for each other."

The Justice, properly chastised, called them forward and began to speak, and Fitz couldn't believe any of this was real. He felt like he was floating above his body, a silent observer, watching with an odd detachment.

It wasn't until he was asked to repeat their full names that he came back to himself, as though he was speaking an incantation that would somehow make all of this real. When he pledged himself to her, he knew he believed what he was saying, even if Jemma had no reason to.

His hands shook when he was asked for the rings, pulling the boxes from his pocket with difficulty. As he took her hand, threading the ring over her fingertip, he watched her take in the setting for the first time. She covered her quiet gasp with her free hand, then locked eyes with him as she swept away the beginnings of tears.

He'd been afraid to show it to her, knowing she'd be able to see the care with which he'd chosen her ring, this symbol of his feelings for her. She was so brilliant—surely she'd be able to see how real this was to him, how much of himself and his understanding of her he'd poured into his choice.

After the Justice pronounced them man and wife, Jemma stared at him for a moment before reaching for him, her movements oddly uncertain. He ducked his head, cradling her carefully in his arms, and they met in the sweetest kiss they'd ever shared. It could have kept on forever and Fitz wouldn't have minded, and it was all he could do to hold back an embarrassing, disappointed whimper when she pulled away.

Their witness, not bothering to wipe away her tears, pulled Fitz closer and whispered to him, "Take care of each other." Fitz nodded, considering it a promise he had no intention of breaking.

Once he found the courage to turn to Jemma, she almost glowed, looking elated and jubilant and a hundred other words Fitz never thought he'd use as long as he lived, even in his private thoughts. For a moment, he could almost fool himself into believing she truly was feeling those things, that it wasn't just an act to make it look good to the two people they needed to fool. Her hand felt warm in his—but more than that, right in a way that scared him a little, if he was being honest.

After they arrived at work, wearing matching wedding bands and several hours late, it didn't take long for word to get around. Jemma led them to Coulson's office, where she clasped Fitz's hand and gave a speech he was sure she must have practiced, but he didn't know when she'd have found the time.

"I don't think we can deny the marriage stipulation was the impetus for the two of us discovering how we felt, but it was merely a catalyst. At least," she said, blushing and sneaking a look at Fitz before training her eyes forward again, "that was my experience. I can't speak for Fitz as to what effect it had on his impulse to propose, but..." Jemma trailed off, and he knew she was waiting for him to fill her silence, as they always did for each other.

"If anything," he said, his voice a quiet rasp, "I wish I'd done it sooner."

She squeezed his hand, and he assumed it was to silently thank him for reinforcing their manufactured version of the events leading to the ceremony that morning.

"I'm not sure Daisy or Mack will forgive you for sneaking off to get married without them, but I think we can all find it in our hearts to forgive you." Coulson's poker face cracked into a smile. "Elena's already mentioned the two of you to me, and I don't think you'll find any resistance from either of us, as far as recognizing your relationship to each other."

After that, their application was quickly accepted, and the remaining months before the experimental phase began passed in a raucous flurry of activity as they all worked to complete preparations.

The opening night party after the facility was sealed seemed like a bad idea to Fitz, if only because he knew rations would be light until the first crops matured. He knew he'd think back to the platters of hors d'oeuvres with bitterness somewhere around week three, when his stomach would be howling for more calories.

Perhaps the most compelling reason not to resent the party was the silky, backless black dress Jemma was wearing, or the impractical shoes she was somehow balancing on. She'd talked him into dancing once the music started up, beginning with a slow song that let him hold her in his arms as they rocked side-to-side. The way she'd turned her head and laid her cheek on his chest made his stomach clench with a painful longing for her.

"I've been meaning to speak to you about something," she said, her murmured words vibrating into his chest.

"We've got two years to have as many conversations as you like, but if you'd like to have one now, it's fine with me." Anything was fine with him, really, as long as she stayed in his arms, being warm and amazing.

"About how we got here. The way we...I just wanted to..." She sounded frustrated and unsure, and it wasn't at all like her.

"You can say anything to me." He wondered if she'd been able to see right through him, if she knew he'd fallen in love with her, and simply didn't know how to broach the subject. "Even if it's something you think I don't want to hear."

It was his way of telling her everything would be okay. If she wanted to make clear to him that she didn't feel the same way he did, especially as they were about to be in close quarters with each other for years, he needed her to know he would listen.

"I'm so happy, Fitz. Truly...utterly...happy."

It took him a moment to answer, running his hand over her hair as he cradled her head to him, hoping she'd assume he'd done it to keep up appearances for their co-workers.

"So am I." He wanted to leave it there, but he couldn't stop worrying she'd somehow hear the truth in his voice, that he was incapable of hiding it any longer. "This is an amazing opportunity, Jemma." He leaned down to whisper in her ear, not wanting anyone to overhear. "I'm glad you came up with a way to get us in."

She stiffened a little, then straightened up, pulling away and putting some distance between them. He tried not to react, not wanting her to see his disappointment. He must have said something that made her uncomfortable, or perhaps she could tell how difficult he found it to cover his feelings for her.

"I'm not sure how long I'll last here tonight," she said, breaking into a wide yawn that almost made her last two words unintelligible. "I must have been quite excited for today. I hardly slept a wink last night."

Fitz suppressed a yawn of his own, all too aware that Jemma had spent most of the night awake. He'd taken to feigning sleep as soon as they went to bed, waiting for her to drop off so she wouldn't notice his tossing and turning as he struggled to rest. Last night, he'd been trapped that way for hours, wondering why she was having so much trouble as well.

Taking a look around the rest of the room to see if they'd be missed if they slipped away, he realized how empty it seemed.

"Jemma, is it me, or are most of our friends—"

"They've been sneaking out, one couple at a time." She turned his face to the door, where Mack and Elena were laughing, hand in hand, as Elena pulled him into the hallway.

Once they were in the shadows, Elena strained upward on her tiptoes, pulling at his shoulders. Mack braced her on his chest as he lifted her up, spinning her around as they kissed, and then they disappeared into the darkness.

"So," he began, hesitantly, "they're—"

"—randy. Yes."

He squeezed his eyes shut, groaning. "Jemma..."

"I don't think we should stay much longer." Her eyes darted around, and he could almost hear her doing a headcount of who was left there with them. "We're meant to be newlyweds. Wouldn't want to give anyone reason to doubt us."

"No," he agreed. "We can go if you like. I might just grab a few of those mozzarella and tomato skewers on the way—"

"Kiss me?" She blinked up at him after the words rushed out of her, sounding nervous (of all things) as though she hadn't asked him to do exactly that for months already.

"If you think we should—"

"Fitz? Please?"

Her gaze cut into him for a long moment, both of them breathing hard, and Fitz could hear his heart beating through the rush of white noise roaring in his ears. He didn't look away as he dipped his head down, only allowing his eyes to flutter closed a moment before he captured her mouth with his.

She deepened the kiss immediately, her hands smoothing up his lapels, to his face, and then slid into his hair. The moan that escaped her, starting low in her throat before he felt it against his lips, set him on fire. His palms splayed on her bare back, her skin warm and perhaps the softest thing he'd ever felt.

"Our room?" she asked, her eyes heavy-lidded as she leaned back just enough to speak.

It was only after taking a deep breath that he stopped himself from picking her up and carrying her out like some sort of caveman. He hated himself a little for getting so carried away, for letting himself hope she might not be faking anymore. Taking her hand, he began to walk them out, but she spun him around again, pulling him into another kiss as she kept moving toward the door.

They stumbled out, Fitz almost losing his footing several times as they careened down the hallway, all the way to the north wing where their room was. He tried to free his hand to work the keypad, but tearing himself away from her was unthinkable. She arched her back, pushing against his palms where they still rested just inside her shoulderblades, until he was sure she'd fall to the ground if he wasn't supporting her.

"Jemma," he moaned, and she moaned his name in return. He could feel his brain short-circuiting. There was something he'd been desperately trying to do, but he couldn't clear his head long enough to remember what it was.

He backed her against the door and she linked her arms under his, inside his suit jacket. She'd effectively trapped him there, pulling their bodies flush against each other, and he nearly blacked out when she tilted her hips into him.

"The door," she whispered. "Get the door open."

He'd never felt more useless. His vision was blurry, his reflexes blunted as he fumbled with the code, tapping it in incorrectly three times before the bloody thing finally beeped its assent and the door behind her slid open.

As wrapped around him as she was, they both nearly fell when their support was suddenly gone. They struggled to right themselves, each of them stabilizing the other until they found their footing again. Fitz's hand shot out to smack the internal button, closing and locking the door behind them.

Jemma's eyes were wild and dark, but there was an aching gentleness about the way she extricated one of her hands to slide to the back of his neck, urging him back down to her.

"Jemma." They were alone, and she was clearly carried away. There'd been no alcohol at the party, but she seemed compromised somehow, not thinking clearly. She captured his mouth, ramping down from the blistering pace their kisses had built to during their trip back, as though she was determined to drive him insane slowly rather than all at once.

She laid a path of achingly soft butterfly kisses trailing down his jaw, wringing a startled intake of breath from him when she sucked his earlobe into her mouth.

"Jemma," he repeated, with more force this time, and she eased back—not enough to break contact completely, but the loss of her mouth against him made him suppress a whimper. "You can stop. There's no one here we have to convince."

"Yes there is, Fitz." She blinked up at him in the darkness, worry creasing her brow for the first time that night. "You're here."

"What do you mean?" His heart hammered out of control in his chest. She couldn't be trying to say—

She broke away from him and it felt like losing a part of himself, but she caught his hand in hers, maintaining at least that much contact between them. He held onto it like a lifeline, wondering how he'd make it through two years of this if she didn't feel the same way he did.

"I feel awful, Fitz." Her shoulders slumped, her head hanging as she squeezed her eyes shut with what looked like pain. "I haven't been faking any of this, not for awhile. It was probably real to me long before I realized it." Her grip on his hand was strong, almost painful, as she finally looked at him again. "I feel as though I've tricked you—lied to you. It didn't start that way. I just...I wasn't sure we could really find another project together, and even before I knew how I felt, I knew I didn't want to lose you."

"I didn't want to lose you either." He was trying to stop her so he could tell her he felt the same way, but he'd learned long ago that it was very important to listen to everything this wonderful, infuriating woman had to say.

"If you want to divorce and back out of the project, I won't stand in your way. Leaving Biosphere against our contracts will probably get us blackballed in the scientific community, but I'll make sure it's widely understood this was my fault. And...that's all." She looked confused, finally looking back at him, and seeming surprised that he didn't seem angry. "I suppose," she added, her voice faltering.

"Jemma," he breathed, and the weight of this burden he'd been carrying floated away. He felt blissfully light, silly in a way he hadn't allowed himself in a long time. "I've been in love with you since...I don't even know when. I don't know when it happened, but I realized it after we kissed for the first time. I love you. I don't want to change anything, other than to acknowledge what we have is real."

She paused, and then smacked him on the arm, taking him by surprise as he yelped and rubbed at the spot with his hand. "You've known all this time and you just let me flounder?"

"What do you mean, I let you flounder?"

"You're a genius, Fitz. How could you not see how utterly, completely stupid in love with you I am? I can't believe you didn't put me out of my misery and simply tell me you felt the same."

"About this one thing, I think we've been a pair of right idiots." He laughed, and though she looked like she wanted to remain annoyed, she soon joined him, giggling as they came back together, their arms winding around each other.

"You love me?" she asked, still looking as though she was afraid of the answer.

"More than I can say. I'm just gobsmacked you'd be fool enough to fall for me."

"Kiss me? Our first kiss that's real?"

"Jemma," he said, caressing her cheek and relishing the way she leaned into him. "They've all been real."

The next morning, Fitz found himself doing several things he would never have anticipated, all at the same time.

He was up at 6:00 am, having left a warm bed with Jemma in it, after spending a night with her when neither of them had cared even for a moment which side they were supposed to sleep on. He could still see her in his mind's eye, an exhausted, but sated smile gracing her face as she dozed.

This first morning of the experimental phase was something he'd been dreading, the first time they would be completely dependent on pre-packed, protein-rich rations until their crops began to mature. They'd all be living on a limited calorie diet for months, and he'd assumed he'd spend the entirety of that time snapping at people and being irrationally angry.

Instead, he was gathering Jemma's rations along with his, attempting to whistle (and failing, because he couldn't stop smiling long enough to pucker) as he poked through the options they were allowed to make the best breakfast possible.

Daisy entered behind him, yawning and stretching as she shuffled through the doorway. "I didn't think you'd be up yet. You don't exactly seem like the morning type."

"Fully intend to go back to bed," he said, smiling a little to himself as he remembered who was waiting for him. Jemma had whispered something completely scandalous in his ear the night before while they...well, never mind that...and he hadn't been able to get it out of his thoughts since. Perhaps she'd be in the mood to try it after she awoke and they got a little sustenance?

"You're...smiling." Daisy's face softened, and she giggled a little. "And were you trying to whistle when I came in?"

"Maybe." He shrugged, and he was fairly certain he was grinning.

"You're not just smiling. You're giddy."

"Well," he hedged, wondering if he'd be able to lie convincingly in any way at all, so he tried to say something true that hopefully wouldn't tip his hand. "Jemma and I didn't know if we'd make it here. This was something we both wanted, and I'm just happy things have worked out."

Daisy narrowed her eyes, clicking her tongue thoughtfully for a moment before she grinned back. "Yeah, there was something about realizing we'd been locked in that Trip found...interesting...last night." Raising an eyebrow, she gave Fitz a hard look before she continued, "Jemma too?"

"A gentleman never kisses and tells."

"Okay, Fitz, look. I walked in on you idiots a dozen times when you couldn't keep your hands off each other at work." She pulled down two trays from a high cabinet, setting one down for Fitz and beginning to load hers with the food she'd picked out. "Tell her I said good morning, once the two of you can stop kissing long enough to talk."

Fitz went back to whistling as soon as Daisy left, amazed at how lucky he was to have Jemma in his life. However they'd gotten here, he wasn't about to leave her there waiting for long.