Hero

Fitz inhaled that now familiar smell of cordite as his gun flashed in front of him; while he had, in childish fantasies, always pictured himself as a bit of a James Bond – they were both English secret agents after all – he had never really enjoyed shooting in the past. But then, he had never been very good at it either; it had always surprised him that no matter how controlled his hands could be when he created inventions requiring incredibly precise movements, when it came to firing a gun he was hopeless – his whole arm would shake at the distinctive crack that signalled he’d pulled the trigger, throwing any subsequent shots way off target. Yet now, with his arm stabilised mechanically, each time he squeezed the trigger he could hit almost the same mark as before and, with May guiding him, he was hitting the target more and more. He still preferred the ICER to a real gun, in part because no matter how much he tried he couldn’t escape the memory of him murdering a HYDRA agent at the Hub, but the practice was good for his coordination. He also had to admit that there was something oddly cathartic and stress reducing about visiting the gun range in the middle of the night to take out his frustrations on whatever designs he was trying to put together.

He wasn’t the only one with difficulty sleeping either, and while Mack still helped around the lab for some reason he would only rarely join Fitz in the training range. Instead, Fitz often found Skye in there in the middle of the night, or May. What with Coulson’s light almost always on in his office, Morse and Hunter’s… sessions… and Koenig seeming to lurk about the shadows, it seemed like it was only really Jemma who got a good night sleep around the Playground, and even then he’d found her reading in the BUS a number of times when he returned from his late night building or shooting. It was little wonder Coulson kept complaining about the budgets – Fitz dreaded to think what the bill for caffeine related products must be. They’d long since run out of the 1970s sachets they’d had to use for the first few months of being at the Playground, he wondered how exactly Coulson supplied it – whether there was a dropoff point just for the coffee. He almost laughed at the idea, also wondering whether he should build robotic enhanced arms for everybody on the team to deal with the tea/coffee induced shaking.

“You’re shooting too far right,” Skye said to him, surprising him – it wasn’t unusual to find her awake and at the range, but he hadn’t heard her come in.

“I know, I might be… I might have… difficulties… but I’m not blind,” he stammered out.

“You sure about that?” Skye asked, a playful smile across her lips told Fitz she was about to say something that would make him uncomfortable, “Help me understand something Fitz; you’ve been in love with Simmons since you met her, you jumped out of a plane to save her, she tells you she loves you too and rather than be with her, in your own bed, you’re here…”

Fitz rolled his eyes at her “It’s not that simple, I can’t… sleep.”

Skye grinned at him, “I wish I had that problem, since HYDRA the number of eligible bachelors has dropped quite considerably,” Skye joked teasingly, laughing as Fitz’s cheeks reddened from a mixture of embarrassment and indignation.

“It’s not like that. We’re not… We haven’t–” Fitz started, but couldn’t finish before Skye cut across him.

“Wait. You guys haven’t had sex yet?” Skye asked with genuine surprise written across her face. Fitz frowned, though he’d be lying if he said something about the way she said yet had excited him slightly. Somehow it made the relationship feel more real than any of the kissing or declarations of love.

“Well, not exactly.” Fitz admitted, suddenly feeling slightly inadequate under her gaze and putting his empty gun on the table in front of him.

“What does not exactly mean?” Skye asked, taking a step towards Fitz – leaving him with the distinctive urge to break out of this awkward interrogation. “You’ve kissed her, yeah?”

“Of course,” Fitz shot back defensively, as though his pride had been wounded.

“Have you kissed her… everywhere?” Skye asked with a mischievous glint in her eyes. As she took another step forward, closing the gap between them, Fitz took a step back.

“I, erm, I have to… I have to… get back.” Fitz said, unsure if the pauses were because of hypoxia or because of his natural awkwardness discussing this kind of thing. He accidently knocked a folder full of paper targets onto the floor as he tried to leave.

“Seriously? It’s been months now, and you guys are obviously perfect for each other why haven’t you just fu–”

“Because I’m still broken.” Fitz blurted out in anger, walking past her to create some space between them, “I’m trying not to be broken but I am. I know it. You’re all thinking it!”

The playful expression on Skye’s face changed to one of concern as she realised just how troubled he was. “Fitz, you’re just going to have to trust me, but nobody thinks tha–”

“Now you sound like Jemma,” Fitz said bitterly, revealing to Skye the source of the tension between Fitzsimmons. He immediately regretted saying it, in Fitz’s not so humble opinion the less Skye knew the better.

“Maybe she’s right?” Skye half asked, half told him, before adding, “Have you ever known her to be wrong?” She was relieved when he let out a slight chuckle, albeit only a brief one.

“At night, it’s perfect – she’s perfect, but in the day…” He trailed off, struggling to find the right words and clicking his fingers in frustration as if that would help him concentrate. In the end he demonstrated with his hands, interlocking his fingers, “We used to be like this, we used to… to… connect,” he pulled his hands apart, “how can we connect, if we can’t… connect?” He asked with a frown, clearly unsatisfied by his poor choice of words for a man with two PHDs.

“You’ll find a way, you always do.” Skye offered with an optimistic smile more reminiscent of her old, less brooding self – from the days before she dressed all in black and followed Agent May’s example in everything, including humour.

“And what if I don’t?” Fitz asked, his voice trembled slightly as he spoke. “What if, this is it? Forever? How can, how…” He stopped, closed his eyes and took in a deep breath.

“What Fitz?” Skye asked; her voice surprisingly quiet.

“How can she love me, when I’m… like this?” Fitz answered, struggling to keep back tears.

“Fitz…” Skye mumbled, for the first time ever since he’d met her, it seemed like she didn’t know what to say.

“I need some air.” Fitz cut across coldly, walking out of the gun range in fast strides so she couldn’t catch up with him, not that she followed. He wondered if Tony Stark had felt the same way about his arc reactor in his chest before he had it removed; on the one hand it was an impressive feat but on the other it was debilitating to rely on machinery to live.

He had long since memorised the winding corridors of the Playground and walked them now without really registering where he was going, he walked past the lab, noticing that Mack was working on something inside but he didn’t go in. The young scientist merely followed his feet, letting them take him where he needed to go until he had walked beyond the BUS and to the hangar doors. He pressed his lanyard against one of the keycard readers to open an external hatch but it flashed red rather than green. Fitz tried it again, frustrated, before hearing a voice from behind him

“Going somewhere?” Koenig asked, his voice as always a confusing mixture of slightly disinterested but oddly curious.

“Outside.” Fitz said perhaps more forcefully than he intended.

“It’s after curfew,” Koenig pointed out in a matter of fact manner.

“Are you going to open the bloody door, or am I going to break it?” Fitz asked, turning on the man in a surprising flash of anger. He didn’t know exactly what expression he would see on Koenig’s face but he guessed it would be somewhere between irritation and concern; he certainly didn’t expect to see amusement.

“I’m going to open it,” Koenig half laughed, eyes sparkling, “I could do with getting out for a bit myself.”

Fitz felt awkward and, wishing he could retract his anger, mumbled quietly, “Right, well, thanks… I guess…”

Koenig’s lanyard made the reader flash a beautifully vibrant shade of green, immediately followed by a satisfying click to signal the hatch was no longer locked. As the two of them strolled outside to a metal walkway overlooking a patch of forest, Fitz closed his eyes, sighing against the cold night air. Koenig spoke first.

“Now that your arm’s better have you made any progress on other elements to your recovery?” Koenig asked, attempting to sound nonchalant as he did but his voice betraying a deeper interest.

“Will you tell Coulson what I tell you?” Fitz asked, pleasantly surprised that he’d found all the words he needed without gaps.

“Probably,” Koenig replied without expression, unnerving Fitz, before he burst into a slight grin, “but it’s not a certainty.” That was about as close to a guarantee of discretion as you could get from Koenig, it was good enough for Fitz.

“It’s not better, it’s just patched,” Fitz said, idly running his good hand over his brace and remembering his words to Skye, “This, this isn’t forever.” He added, more for himself.

The truth was, as much as Fitz liked the brace, he didn’t want to use it – he didn’t want to need it. Sure, it served some military application; it probably made him more valuable than ever to Coulson and May, if he could just improve his aim anyway, but he couldn’t help feel that it made him less of a person. It acted as a permanent reminder to his own weakness – as if his inability to speak wasn’t enough and, he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it, but one night Jemma had been running her arms against him and recoiled at the touch of the steel. She said it was just cold but Fitz couldn’t shake the feeling she resented that they no longer had the chemistry they used to together, and if there was one thing Jemma needed it was good chemistry. Fitz almost winced at his bad joke.

“As engaging as this conversation has been,” Koenig said sarcastically after the period of extended silence, “if I don’t get back inside where it’s warm my circuits are going to freeze up.”

Fitz turned and saw a gleeful smile play across Koenig’s face, the man enjoyed teasing people with false clues about who, or indeed what, he and his seemingly endless supplies of brothers actually were. “Well we wouldn’t want that,” Fitz replied, shooting him a wry smile, “I’m not as good with repairing circuits as, as I used to be.”

Koenig beamed at him, slapping him on the shoulder in what Fitz was sure was meant to be friendly but was slightly to forceful. The not-quite-man walked towards the hatch that had taken them outside, and jibed quickly before entering, “I could always ask Mack.”

Fitz grinned in spite of himself, looking back out at the night sky and enjoying the feel of the cold air in his lungs. Koenig could sometimes be annoying with his strict adherence to policy and borderline neurotic obsession with lanyards but of all the people at the Playground, assuming he was a person, he took himself the least seriously. Their conversations were often short, like tonight, and Fitz’s grasp on words seemed to come and go. Sometimes he could almost string whole sentences together and then at others, it was as though his vocabulary and the connections he had made so easily in the past were just beyond his reach. If he closed his eyes and reached forward he could practically touch the word he was looking for, but more often than not it would slip past the very tops of his fingers tantalisingly, leaving him searching in the dark.

He was distracted from his thoughts by the sound of the hatch unlocking behind him, assuming Koenig had forgotten something he joked “Miss me already?”

It was Simmons’ small voice that answered him, almost lost in the wind. “Yes.”

“Jemma?” Fitz wheeled around in surprise to find her standing out there in her pyjamas, unshed tears glistening in her eyes, “what are, what are you…” he struggled before changing tact, “why are you here?”

“I spoke to Skye,” she said, her voice shaking as she stepped closer to him. They were just inches apart now, Fitz’s heart stopped beating; he hadn’t meant to tell Skye anything, it had just kind of happened. “I love you Leo Fitz, nothing will change that.”

“But, why?” Fitz practically whispered, terrified of her answer, “how could you when I’m–”

“I swear if you say broken one more time I’ll–” Jemma cut across him, but was herself unable to finish whatever threat she was about to make before their lips collided. The kiss was needy and passionate, full of years of still unresolved emotion; when it broke, they found themselves gasping.

“You must be freezing,” Fitz said after a few moments, remembering she was still out there in just her pyjamas.

She laughed nodding, folding her arms against her chest for warmth and practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Aren’t you observant?” she quipped, teeth chattering slightly as the tears that had been brimming in her eyes rolled down her cheeks freely.

“Perhaps we, we should,” Fitz grimaced as he tried to find the words, she looked at him hopefully, “go inside?”

“Perhaps we should,” Jemma said playfully, seemingly relieved that it hadn’t taken him too long to speak, normally she wouldn’t mind waiting for as long as it took but it was very cold and she had been in such a rush since Skye woke her up she hadn’t even put on shoes.

They practically jogged back to the BUS as Jemma was so cold and even as they made their way up the cargo ramp Jemma almost sprinted up the stairs into the heated area of the plane. Mack’s garage was as cold as the hangar, and that was only marginally less cold than the air outside. The run had made them both laugh, they felt like young lovers eloping together to their own secluded spot – after all, nobody slept on the BUS except them and occasionally Mack if he worked late there. They were more than a little surprised, then, to find Skye talking with Koenig in the main hub of the plane by the holographic table. Skye and Koenig looked up almost conspiratorially before offering them tea. For some reason Americans always offered them tea; not that he minded in this instance, after all, Fitz and Simmons did drink and enjoy a lot of tea, but the occasional coffee or hot chocolate wouldn’t be amiss either. It irritated Fitz that everyone always offered British people tea straightaway rather than giving the choice of beverage the rest of the world seemed to enjoy, it was almost as bad as when they tried a Dick van Dyke-esque impression of the British accent. He found himself smiling; no matter how bad things were, it was still the silly things that really riled him up the most.

“English Breakfast if we’ve still got any,” Jemma answered for both of them after Fitz had stared blankly into space for several moments, lost in his trail of thought. Skye nodded and immediately busied herself by the bar, Koenig got up and walked in the direction of the cargo ramp, stopping only to crack another one of his jokes.

“You know, you humans need to sleep.” He said before sauntering off into the shadows, leaving Fitz and Simmons on their own by the table.

Still cold Simmons pressed herself against Fitz for warmth; his arms naturally closed around her and held her tightly. He broke the embrace though, when she shivered as the metal frame from his brace touched her back. Immediately seeing the hurt look on his face Jemma panicked and stepped forward to reassure him, but he stepped back out of reach. “Fitz,” she pleaded as tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Don’t,” he warned her, fire burning in his eyes.

“It just surprised that’s all, it was cold and–” Jemma took another step forward and, as though in some kind of dance, Fitz instinctively stepped backwards.

“Would you rather I took the serum?” Fitz spat out in a condescending tone that reminded him of the argument they’d had through the glass when she was infected, before she fell. Even as he said it he regretted it.

She slapped him. It hurt.

“How can you ask me that?” This time she took a step backwards, tears springing from her eyes, “how can you ask me that?”

“Jemma,” Fitz said, not knowing what else to say.

“Two days, Fitz, two days,” Jemma’s voice was cold, “two of the longest days of my life not knowing if you’d wake up.” She seemed to shake at the memory. “I thought I’d lost you. After finding you in the water, after watching you resuscitated only to drown again and then this, Fitz, I can’t lose you.” She paused and collected herself as her tears dripped onto the floor.

“Then why can’t you so much as look at my arm?” Fitz asked with a mixture of fear and frustration.

“Because it’s my fault!” Jemma blurted out, “Because if you’re broken it’s because of me.” Fitz looked at her in horror as she continued, “If I hadn’t have got infected then you wouldn’t have jumped and we wouldn’t–”

“Jemma!” Fitz practically shouted, closing the gap between them and gripping her arms tightly. “It wasn’t, your fault…” He began to trail off before recovering himself, “And if you hadn’t got infected, then we… we wouldn’t be, together.”

She melted against him and they held each other for several minutes in silence; Fitz buried his head in her hair as she buried hers on his shoulder. “We’re going to get through this Fitz,” she muttered quietly to him, he nodded in return. “We’re going to get through this.” She repeated quieter, for herself. Their hearts were beating in tandem.

“Tea,” Skye announced from the edge of the room, clearly not knowing what to do with the two tear soaked scientists embracing in front of her.

Jemma wiped her own tears away before accepting the steaming mug and saying thanks, Fitz half nodded as he was given his, mumbling gratitude almost inaudibly. After an awkward thirty seconds where it was unclear if Skye was staying or going she elected to leave and bid them both goodnight, returning presumably to either her quarters or the gun range. When she left they sipped their hot drinks in silence, enjoying the taste of their home, before climbing into bed together exhausted. They didn’t say anything else before they both drifted off to sleep with Simmons’ head leaning on Fitz’s chest, rising and falling with his breathing and listening to the captivating drumming of his heart beat. She ran her fingers up his metal brace, familiarising herself with every rivet of it and accepting it as part of Fitz. Somehow it felt warmer than before, just because it was part of him.

And yet, when she woke up in the morning, he was gone again.

…

She showered on the BUS – most of the Playground had been built before the Cold War and the water pressure on the showers was appalling in the main compound, not to mention the water had a tendency to run cold intermittently and a distinct taste of rust to it. The BUS, on the other hand, was newly fitted and the showers were amongst the best part of it. She got the worst of the water from her hair but resolved to dry it properly after breakfast; dressing and letting her now auburn curls drop lazily either side of her face. The food on the BUS was better too – most of the team had taken to eating there instead of the sanctioned cafeteria area of the Playground to avoid Koenig’s infamous stodgy porridge, it had tasted almost as bad as those odourless protein bars they had found in one of the boxes in the plane’s storage – they were originally supposed to be joined by another agent but he was called away on assignment a few days before joining the team, which was probably a good thing because, as it turned out, he ended up connected with HYDRA.

After breakfast with Skye, who politely asked how Fitz was doing before impolitely asking if they’d had sex yet, Simmons left the BUS in search of her… boyfriend… It felt strange to say it; she turned the word over in her mouth like it was a fine wine. It was at once too serious a word and not serious enough a word for where they were and what they had been through. Rather predictably she found Fitz hard at work in the lab with Mack though, in fairness to herself, Fitz had been spending a large amount of time at the gun range recently; a fact that still unnerved her more than a little.

She had no problems with the idea of him learning how to use weapons, she would almost encourage it. She knew he needed to be able to defend himself properly; no matter how much Fitz protested, he had no place being an agent. It wasn’t that he wasn’t brave or smart enough, he certainly had both of those in abundance even with his new setbacks; it was just that he was too kind, too good. Simmons didn’t want him to lose his goodness. Coulson and May – even Skye – are all killers, Coulson and May are experienced killers, and even though Simmons knew Fitz had killed a HYDRA soldier at the Battle of the Hub (Coulson admitted to her that Fitz had saved May’s life), she also knew the act had almost destroyed him. He had hated himself for what he had done, even though he recognised he had to do it.

Watching him work with Mack in the lab, it was hard to imagine him killing anyone; he seemed so completely peaceful. She was content just to watch him through the glass as he tinkered with his inventions and laughed with Mack, she could have stood there forever – if Skye hadn’t interrupted her.

“So when are you guys just going to–” Skye started asking, clearly enjoying how defensive the couple got whenever she mentioned sex. She had correctly identified that they both hated discussing it and seemed to be getting her kicks from making them both uncomfortable.

“Skye!” Simmons practically yelled at her, giving her a thump on the arm to reinforce the point.

“Alright, alright,” Skye conceded, throwing her hands up in front of her in an overly exaggerated manner to indicate surrender, “I just can’t believe after everything that’s happened–”

“I think it’s because of everything that happened,” Simmons said, turning her eyes back to Fitz, thankful that he was still oblivious that he was being watched.

“So it’s Fitz?” Skye asked and, when Simmons nodded, let out a deep sigh, “that’s surprising.”

“Why?” Simmons asked, reluctantly tearing her eyes away from Fitz to look at Skye.

“Haven’t you seen the way he looks at you? The way he has always looked at you? He would do absolutely anything for you, no matter the cost to himself.”

Simmons looked back to Fitz as he and Mack burst out laughing at some joke, “I know.” She remembered how he had looked as he fell towards her in the sky, as they dragged him onto the cargo ramp and how pale his face was when he had collapsed from his serum.

“He’s afraid,” Skye said after a while.

“Of what?” Simmons wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer, right now Fitz looked so happy – the idea of him being anything but joyful made her gut wrench in protest.

“Of you,” Skye stated simply, before clarifying, “of you not loving him because he’s different now.”

“What can I do?” Simmons asked sheepishly, she didn’t know what to do. She loved him but every time she tried to get closer he’d recoil from her, every time she woke up he was gone, it was like he wouldn’t let her in. They had never used to share anything from each other, except their feelings.

“Go to him,” Skye told her, before turning on her heel and leaving, her footsteps ringing out as she walked.

Simmons took a deep breath, and then entered the lab.

“Hey Fitz,” she called a little too chirpily, causing him to drop the file he was holding. He cursed as he gathered to pick up all the pieces of paper that had spilled out of the binder when it hit the ground. She smiled at him, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes, “What are you working on? The cloaking?”

“No… Wait, yes… I’m… I’m just…” He stuttered, attempting to conceal the file he’d been holding from her; awkwardly bringing it to his chest as though he were trying to protect it. The last few weeks had been hard since he’d returned to the BUS, he still couldn’t form proper sentences but even still he was usually more coherent than that. “It’s a… secret,” he stammered before trailing off, trying to ignore the way Simmons had tilted her head in annoyance at being pushed away once again. He didn’t want to push her away of course, but he was so close now, he just needed a little more time on this. Sensing the tension in the room Mack made his excuses and left, patting Fitz on the shoulder before he did.

“Fitz…” She asked pleadingly, since the fall she had asked that there be no secrets between them anymore but he didn’t want her to know about this, she’d try to talk him out of it. When she saw he wouldn’t budge on the issue, not even after throwing him one of the pouts that she knew made him go crazy, she switched tact and walked past him altogether to her own workstation. Fitz realised too late he’d left a bunch of papers over there, “Fitz, what is this?” She asked as she reached them; the concern evident in her voice.

“Ah, that, well… Jem, the thing… the thing is…” he tripped over his words and his feet as he rushed to swipe the papers off the desk, “you’re not supposed to… it’s not…” he bounced his head around as he tried to find the right word, “ready.” She knew that his problem putting sentences together wasn’t exclusively down to the hypoxia – he was hiding something big from her, she started flicking through the papers in front of her.

Her face went pale as she poured over printed copies of various flight simulators; the wrist thrusters from the Iron Patriot armour, the wing designs from Falcon’s suit and even some private documents from Stark Industries showing Tony Stark’s signature miniaturised arc reactor. Fitz’ shaky handwriting could be seen scrawled across every free bit of space alongside small rushed diagrams and equations even she didn’t recognise, though every so often he had clearly got bored and doodled half-finished games of noughts and crosses – if she hadn’t been so worried, she would have smiled at them. “Fitz, what is all this?” she asked, noticing that many of the pieces of paper in front of her were Level 9 classified and adding, “How did you even get these? You’re Level 5 like me.”

“Jem I know that I… that I’m not… how I was, but I’m still… good,” He said, wondering whether to abandon his attempt to collect the papers into a pile; the secret was out now anyway, he knew Simmons wouldn’t let this go. Even in spite of this he decided to try to gather them up, “Except, erm, except,” he gestured at the files from Stark Industries when he couldn’t find the words, “those… Skye helped me with those ones.”

Jemma’s expression went from concerned to confused to joyous, “You hacked these SHIELD files?” She asked incredulously, handing the Falcon designs she was holding back to him, still not quite having pieced his secret together.

“Well, yeah… it’s no big deal, we used to, erm, do it… all the time,” he said, his voice getting quieter as he turned around and walked towards one of the locked storage vaults meant to hold dangerous chemicals but currently housing his secret project. He didn’t want to tell her how long it had taken him to break the security on the files; the old him could have done it in a heartbeat, this new him had spent the better part of three days trying.

“I know but Fitz don’t you see? That’s great. Solid proof you’re getting better.” She said, genuine excitement in her voice. “Fitz, you’re–”

They both said “almost there” together, but Fitz said it with decidedly less enthusiasm than she did as he tried to remember the six digit key code to his locked storage vault – it was something important to him, he knew that much. He could even remember all the numbers; there was definitely a seven, a nine, an eight, two ones and a zero but he couldn’t for the life of him put them in the right order.

“What’s wrong Fitz?” Jemma asked as Fitz slammed his hand against the keypad, closing his eyes and muttering to himself as he did so.

“I can’t, it’s just… the code…” Fitz said, grimacing in frustration. He may have begun to get better with sentences but remembering strings of numbers was still very tricky.

“Oh it’s 141592, the first six decimal places of pi,” Simmons explained with a smile, thinking she’d solved it for him and slightly confused when he didn’t thank her.

“No. It’s not. I changed it…” Fitz spoke in little more than a mutter.

“Why?” Simmons asked him but either he didn’t hear or simply ignored her because he kept mumbling to himself.

“Let’s see… 101897…” Fitz entered into the keypad and the light next to it flashed red, he hated that light, “No, that’s not it… 101987…” The light blinked red again, laughing at him; Fitz had to fight the frustration to punch it. “110987” The light flashed green, “Yes! It worked, Jem!”

He immediately opened the storage vault door and for a brief moment Jemma saw within it perhaps the strangest and most beautiful contraption of treated leather straps and gilded steel cylinders she had ever seen, but before she asked what it was she asked an altogether more important question. “110987… That’s my birthday Fitz, the 11^th September 1987…”

“Yes, well I had to choose something… erm… memorable,” Fitz told her, smiling at the irony of struggling to remember the word memorable as he hid the papers he’d scooped up in with the strange contraption and then locked the door shut again, sighing when the red light returned.

“What is that?” Simmons asked him, gesturing towards the locked vault.

“Do you trust me?” Fitz said, his voice returning to normal as he straightened up and walked over towards her. The awkwardness of the last few minutes and his difficulty with words faded away as he closed the gap between them with an air of surprising confidence.

She nodded, “I do.”

Fitz broke into a wide smile before pressing his lips against hers and drawing her into a tight hold, arms slotting around her back. She gave into the kiss and closed her eyes, enjoying he sensation as they explored each other’s mouths. Neither one of them would ever get bored of the other and, as Fitz broke the kiss, she sighed slightly; tilting her head to allow him to begin trailing his lips across her neck and shoulder. After a couple of moments he whispered softly into her ear. “Then wait and see.”