For years, Jemma’s life has been determined by a series of concepts and models. She has always been a scientist, even from a young age; what else was she to believe? Of course gravity was a force of attraction, directly proportional to the product of their masses and inversely proportional to the distance between two objects, and of course the speed of light is the same for all observers, regardless of the motion of the light source; those were easy for her to comprehend. They were set in stone, verified by countless tests conducted by students and scientists all around the globe. Although there may exist exceptions to these roles, she finds comfort in the laws of nature.
The refutation of these models, the stability in the processes of the universe, help her to relax especially during times of peril. At the bottom of the ocean, she pondered on the first law thermodynamics and the constant stream of energy flowing throughout the universe. Nothing is created and nothing is destroyed, and she murmured at the longevity at the particles from which she and Fitz and everything surrounding them were made of. And in that particular mindset, after uncovering the true significance behind her thoughts, she found tranquility, peace in the realization that if and when she dies, the energy of her molecules will be recycled for the greater good.
And as she toys with Fitz’s hand, marveling at their half-interlaced fingers with a sense of unexpected calm as they sit in quarantine, using Fitz’s room as a temporary hideout, she cannot help but once again think about thermodynamics. The second law states that an isolated system’s entropy, its disorder, never decreases. The untamed molecules keep crashing into each other blindly, and the system snowballs spontaneously towards thermodynamic equilibrium, the state of maximum amount of disorder. The law, pounded into her head by numerous professors and advanced textbooks, runs through her head like a speeding train and her endlessly inquisitive mind pounces at the chance to decipher the oddity-– the base is threatening to crumble around them and yet here they are, laughing, teasing, cuddling, as if order has not only been restored but has contributed to the evolution of their relationship.
All the agents of SHIELD could play a part in one big system, she muses to herself, since they occasionally do experience short bursts of peace and order before everything once again erupts into chaos. And the rapports between the agents act as systems as well, though they’re not isolated–- they co-mingle fluidly, sliding effortlessly from one to the other in a sort of harmony that is hard to find. They, FitzSimmons, are not quite an isolated system, in theory, so their moments of peace are well-justified in that particular sense…right?
As Jemma’s head further relaxes into Fitz’s shoulder, she allows her thoughts to soldier on. Fitz’s hypoxia and her exoplanetary journey could be considered irreversible processes; they’ve occurred, the finished, and those experiences cannot be erased from memory. Irreversible events create disorder, as they have for both FitzSimmons (the “system”) and the other agents (the “environment”). And surely there must be some respite that comes out of all that disorder…even though outside circumstances never cease to remind them (well, Fitz, mainly), that they are supposedly “cursed,” doomed to a life full of chaos and suffering.
And even though there exists a predisposition towards chaos…order is possible, although unfortunately short-lived. This moment was bound to happen sometime, given that their lives since joining Coulson’s team have been nothing short of tumultuous. It wasn’t written in stone in the laws of thermodynamics, surely, but the logic behind her theory made sense. They’ve been through so much together, torn apart and sewed back together again with an unstable needle and thread so many times that in a way, this all seemed inevitable. The serenity in the midst of chaos wasn’t earned, nor was it predetermined, but it was just…there. Along with all the bickering, the teasing, their synchrony, and the laughter that defined their relationship; the interlaced hands, the tenderness swimming in Fitz’s murky blue irises as he looked down upon her, the subtle glances to the lips– it all occurred so naturally, as if they had been moving towards this precipice all along.
Upon realizing this, Jemma cannot help but worry. Eventually the chaos will touch them again. It’ll radiate through the base, attempting to tear them apart no matter how strongly they cling to each other. Now that she knew was inevitable; it came with the nature of the job. Danger is always imminent in their line of work and no one is ever completely safe.
If they dropped everything and moved to Perthshire on a whim, would they be safe? Probably not, certainly not with SHIELD on their records. Outside circumstances will interfere, as they always did, and she starts to fear that once they leave this room, it’ll feel like eternity until they stumble across this peace again.
But as Fitz’s lips touch hers, ghosting hesitantly before closing the space between them, she melts, and so do her previous hypotheses and theories. For now, she will enjoy this moment, and when need be she and Fitz will endure the chaos of the future together.
Despite the unpredictability of the universe, determination flows through Jemma’s veins as she kisses him back with vigor. She’ll do whatever it takes for them not to get torn apart again.