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When Jemma was a young girl her mother would tell her not to disturb the cats. Jemma , she’d sigh when looking down into the eager eyes of her small daughter, please just leave them be! Of course, the strong desire to learn more about the species led way to poking, prodding, and several angry scratches littering her arms.
But sometimes when Jemma would look up from her neatly stacked sheets of notes, she’d spot the two cats curled into one another, their soft mews spreading a warm affection throughout her body. One day, she vowed to herself, she would find a friend that would let her curl into them—soft, snug, and safe—like two cats curled into the shape of a heart.
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Jemma’s body ached. There was an ugly bruise on her forehead, the passing of time deepening its color and giving her a headache.
When she, along with Daisy and Director Mace, had arrived back to the base, the hallways were eerily quiet, and a sort of subdued happiness hanging over the space like a thick fog.
Walking back to their room, Jemma was surprised to find Fitz already in their bed, his eyes closed as some wayward program played softly in the background.
Noticing the steady rise and fall of his chest, Jemma crept quietly from the door to the bathroom, carefully picking up her sleep clothes and setting her phone down on her nightstand.
Finishing her nightly routine, her body numbly going through the motions, Jemma took a deep breath and looked in the mirror. The curls she had done up early that morning lay limp around her face, a light sheen of grease covered the roots making her feel dirty and uncomfortable. Wanting nothing more than to hop into bed and curl into Fitz, breathe in his scent and fall asleep to the lull of the rise and fall of his chest, she knew that her current state would never allow for her to drift off comfortably.
Slipping out of her clothes, Jemma turned on the water and hoped the noise wouldn’t wake Fitz. When the water had finally reached the desired temperature, she carefully stepped in and moved her weight from foot to foot as her body adjusted to the temperature change. Finally comfortable, she let the warm water spread across her body, each droplet washing away all that she was feeling.
Lost in the sanctuary of steam and warmth, she nearly missed the signature sound of the three little knocks Fitz had been using since their days at the Academy. Quietly responding for him to come in (despite a soundproof room, night always seemed to encourage the use of whispers), she chuckled when he stepped into the room, his hair ruffled up adorably to one side.
Looking up at her, the laughter died from her lips as she took in the story behind his eyes. She saw sadness, pain, regret, hurt, and frustration—a whole slew of emotions tucked up neatly into a pair of blue little windows. Needing no words, Fitz carefully stripped of his clothes and entered into the small space. Stepping closer to him, she rested one hand on his shoulder, the other coming up to cradle his face.
Leaning her forehead onto his, they stayed like that for several passing moments, the spray of the water streaming an umbrella of mist over their heads.
Eventually, feeling the water begin to cool, they untangled themselves from their position and helped one another clean up. The act of his hand washing the suds away from the bruise on her shoulder she had sustained earlier in the day, while not sexual in the least bit, was so strikingly intimate to her, so full of love, Jemma felt as though a dam of tears would break at any moment.
As they finished up wiping away the suds and emotions of the day, they stepped out of the shower and dried off. The silence that stretched between the two of them was peaceful, the presence of one another all the words that needed to be spoken.
As Fitz walked out of the room and slipped into bed, Jemma finished her routine, her sudden loneliness allowing for ugly thoughts to creep into her mind.
Sighing in frustration and tiredness, she flicked off the bathroom light, walked over to the bed, clicked off the light and sank into the cold sheets. Taking in a deep breath, she turned her body towards the middle of the bed and waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.
Once adjusted, she saw his eyes boring into hers, that same cage of emotions she saw earlier still apparent, trapped behind those blue eyes and long lashes.
Noticing a small tear slip out of the corner of his eye and glide down the curve of his cheek, her face crumpled as she moved herself closer to him and gently wiped it away. Taking in a shuddery breath of her own, she rested her forehead against his once more, both of their bodies relishing the little space between the two of them.
Some time later, his voice broke the silence of the room. “I couldn’t…” his words faltered as emotions seeped their way through, “It’s all my fault. I should...I should have told Radcliffe no. Should have stopped him right from the beginning, but I—I was stupid. Let the tech cloud my judgment.” He was quiet for a moment, though the thoughts and stress silently coming from him seemed to fill the room with noise. “Nathanson’s blood is on my hands. And Agent Spencer and Agent Adams, their injuries are on me. If I hadn’t let Radcliffe get so carried away, AIDA wouldn’t have been able to do all the damage that she did. Nathanson…” he word faltered to a stop as a sob emitted from deep within “Nathanson would still be alive if it weren’t for me.” Feeling his hand tremble against her cheek and his body heaving with deep in-and-out breaths, she clutched onto him and simply held him.
When his movements eventually stopped, she pulled back and waited for him to look at her. When he finally did, she leaned forward and pecked him on the lips. “Fitz,” she whispered. “Oh, Fitz.” Those same string of words had been said many times before, some in exacerbation, some jokingly, some, like tonight, in sadness. “Fitz, I know my words likely won’t help, but Fitz, please…” she trailed off collecting her thoughts. “ Please . You have to know that this isn’t your fault. AIDA...the book altered her programming. I know you, better than anyone else, and I know that you would never had made something that would intentionally harm someone, let alone kill. And had you and Radcliffe known what was going to happen, you would have stopped it. You are the kindest, bravest, most brilliant man I know...and I haven't spent more than the last decade of my life with some horrible person by my side.” Quiet for a moment, she felt his body relax just the slightest, her words seeming to have an effect.
“You on the other hand,” she chuckled bitterly, “you definitely drew the short stick getting stuck with me. Top of her class but can’t seem to stop hurting those closest to her,” she mumbled out, the anger she felt towards herself rising.
Tensing once more, she felt Fitz’s gaze bore into her. “Jemma,” he spoke, the single word alone causing the dam to break.
Pulling her into his arms, he cradled her, shielding her body from the world around them.
“Fitz,” she sobbed, “I just…” her words breaking as a fresh round of tears fell. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I don’t think I handle having another life on my hands!” Squeezing her tighter, he traced soothing circles onto her back until the sobs lessened and her breathing returned to normal.
“Jemma...” he began, his words faltering, uncertain of what to say.
“Oh, Fitz. I, I don’t really mean it,” she sighed. “Being done with S.H.I.E.L.D., that is. We have so much more to contribute, so much more to discover...I’m just tired. So tired.”
Nodding his head, he leaned back to place a kiss on the top of her head, his lips lingering. “Jemma...I don’t know what happened today, and I know my words likely won’t help,” he paused, letting the repeated words wash over her, “but I’m sure you did whatever you could to help that Inhuman. I know you better than anyone else...and you’re likely blaming yourself right now, but don’t. You probably did more than most agents would have because you’re kind and caring, and you’re always willing to help others.”
He pulled back a bit to better look at her and sighed in relief when he saw that the tears had finally subsided. He knew that the guilt she was feeling was likely still buzzing throughout her body, his own guilt weighing heavy on his mind. A conversation was needed, but he’d wait to bring it up until the next day. Looking up at the ceiling and then back towards her, he spoke, “I’m tired too, Jemma. But like you said, we have so much left to do, the whole AIDA mess and the Inhumans...we can’t just leave, we have a responsibility. But as long as I get to come home to you...” he smiled when he felt her smile at the word ‘home.’ “Wherever you go, Jemma, I go.” His words rang out with a fierce conviction. They stayed wrapped like that for an indeterminable amount of time. “You got it wrong,” he whispered.
Scoffing, she replied, “And what did I get wrong?”
“It’s the other way around, really. You’re stuck with me.” Smiling, she looked up at him, both of them relieved to see a smile on the other’s face. “Besides, I’m happy to spend the rest of my life with you. I think we both drew the lucky stick.”
Feeling the effects of the day wearing down on the both of them, eventually they settled into a more comfortable position, sleep finally finding its way to them.
Like two cats curled into the shape of a heart, they drifted off to sleep, their breathing—much like everything else they did together—completely in sync.