Hero

SHIELD Academy of Science and Technology, 2004.

Simmons frantically paced around her room, running her hands through her hair as she did. Her bedroom was so pitifully small she could only take about five or six steps before she had to turn around walk the other direction; in fact calling her room a bedroom would be misrepresentative, it was closer to a glorified cupboard.

Fuck. She thought.She didn’t normally swear – in fact she made a point not to, typically she hated it – but these were exceptional circumstances and she was long past the point of maintaining pleasantries. Fuck. She thought again, her lips ghosting the act of saying it. She knew she had had her notebook in Professor Vaughn’s class, and she was sure she had it with her when she got back, but she’d turned her tiny room upside down for it and it was nowhere to be found.

“Jemma Simmons, how did you get here?” the 17 year old asked to nobody in particular. She had always been bright – after all, she had finished school early without even trying – she had scored highly in every exam she had ever say and had even received exemplary marks in her first PHD from Trinity College, University of Cambridge. Her second was being peer-reviewed. Truthfully, she had been an outcast there; unable to mingle with the other older students - she could've stayed and sought the earliest tenure the university had ever seen - everything was arranged, at least until she received the letter from the SHIELD Academy of Science and Technology, that was. She felt like Hermione Granger as she eagerly read each line; freedom of study, generous funding, lab access and extensive job opportunities. It was perfect, or almost perfect: while Hermione Granger could simply hop on a train to Hogwarts from King’s Cross, Simmons’ studies would take place in America. Sure, SHIELD had European branches but the Academy itself was based across the Atlantic and away from everyone she knew – away from home. And now she had lost her notebook too.

At this point Jemma Simmons was more than homesick. She hated America, she hated that everyone she met either mocked or imitated her accent (often with little difference between the two), she couldn’t stand the constant heat even in the winter (she never thought she’d miss the oft cold, rainy weather of England), crossing the road was immensely frustrating and terrifying (how was she to know jaywalking was illegal there, or that they drove on the opposite side of the road?) and worst of all, she hated simply that she didn’t know anyone there. She had always wanted to visit America, true, in fact she knew even then that she didn’t really hate America, she probably would have loved her time there had she made more friends, or indeed, any friend. She hated feeling alone, and she had never felt so alone since she left Gatwick Airport two months ago.

She threw herself onto her bed, bouncing only slightly as the springs in the mattress had a disappointingly limited amount of give in them, and stared up at the white ceiling. She let out a great sigh as her eyes followed a crack in the paint above her head all the way along the coving to the window – the condensation around which had made the paint bubble slightly. She couldn’t even ring her parents, it may only have been 4:30 in the afternoon for her but it would be night time in England. She found herself wondering what her life would have been like if she’d have stayed and gone to Cambridge instead, the University Library there had a copy of every printed book in existence. She pictured her days working away and then long walks by the River Cam with friends in the evenings. Friends, she sighed, still looking unblinkingly at the ceiling, oblivious of the fact that her eyes were now leaking tears.

A rather timid knock on her door broke her from her thoughts, it was so timid, in fact, that she wasn’t sure if it had been on her door or the door next to hers – the walls were very thin. After all, who would come to her room? She called out cautiously, “hello?”

“Simmons?” A soft Scottish voice replied as shy as the knock on the door. It felt oddly comforting to hear a Scottish accent so far from home.

“Who is it?” She asked back more defensively than she’d intended to, wiping away her tears and walking towards the door to see who it is.

“You don’t me but I, erm, well you left your notebook at class.” The Scottish boy replied awkwardly. She opened the door to find him shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

“Oh, thank you.” She said as he pushed her notebook into her hands awkwardly. He turned to fast after she accepted it that she practically had to shout out to him or he wouldn’t have heard her, “What’s your name?”

He paused for a moment before he reluctantly walked back to face her, “Leo, Leo Fitz,” he answered, seemingly hopeful that he would be able to go back to wherever it was he was going now that he’d given a reply.

“Pleasure to meet you Leo, I’m Jemma, Jemma Simmons,” she said in her most polite voice, extending a hand to greet him the way she remembered to in her elocution lessons from school. After a few slightly painful seconds he gave her his own hand and they shook before she opened the door of her room fully and gestured inside, “would you like to come in?” When he looked as though he was about to say no to her offer she tilted her head and said, “please.” He reluctantly agreed.

They sat opposite each other: Simmons sat on her bed and Fitz sat on the chair next to her small desk. Fitz broke the tension, “So, you’re from England?”

“Yes. That obvious huh?” She nervously joked, hoping she wouldn’t mess this up. “And you’re from Scotland?”

“Aye,” he answered and, after another too long pause, asked, “I’m here for engineering, what about you?”

“Bio-chem,” her eyes passed over him from the top of his curly brown hair to the bottom of his nicely polished shoes, “A long way from home.”

“Aye,” he agreed in little more than a whisper with a slightly pained expression on his face. They spent several moments in silence, each clearly thinking about the world they’d left behind.

“What is home, for you, what’s it like?” She asked him, feeling nostalgic enough that she didn’t seem to realise how personal a question it was.

“Home?” Fitz asked back slightly surprised, when she nodded he closed his eyes and began imagining it, a peaceful expression immediately settling across his face, “Clean air, large rolling hills of greens and greys, valleys and mountains that rise and fall across the land like the crests of waves immortalised in stone,” he sighed and tilted his head up to look at the ceiling as though picturing the sunlight on him, “the way the sun scatters the morning fog and the frosted ground glistens.”

“That’s beautiful,” She said sheepishly, her own home wasn’t nearly as tranquil. London was more of a sprawling hodgepodge of concrete and brick – though admittedly, it wasn’t all that bad, her family lived in a fairly nice area after all.

“That’s Scotland,” Fitz smiled at her, clearly realising he’d sounded like a tourism commercial. “It rains a lot too.” He added and they both laughed, breaking the tension in the room, “What about you, what’s home for you?”

“London – not nearly as picturesque,” She quipped calmly and watched as a smirk played across Fitz’s face, “but we spent some time living on the Isle of Wight, that was beautiful.”

“Who’s we?” Fitz asked, his eyes shining enthusiastically – she didn’t know it but this was the longest non-work related conversation he’d had since he’d arrived.

“My parents and me,” She smiled thinking of them both, “And you? Who have you got back in Scotland?”

“It’s just me and my mum,” he said before adding, “and a few friends of course, but mainly just me and my mum.” Simmons watched his eyes dilate as he drifted amongst his thoughts.

“Do you miss it?” Simmons asked, breaking him from his mind and having to clarify what she meant when Fitz looked at her quizzically, “Home, I mean.”

“Aye,” Fitz answered, slipping into his Scottish accent, “I do.”

After a few moments Jemma said in a voice little more than a whisper, “me too…” She trailed off before leaning her head back against the wall and closing her eyes, “tell me more about Scotland, about your home.”

“There’s not that much to tell really,” Fitz said, shifting on his seat slightly and pausing, hoping she’d interrupt him but when she didn’t he continued, “Well I live in a small village quite close to the middle of nowhere; we have a shop with a post office, a church and two pubs, which tells you something about the Scottish mindset. Who needs decent internet when you can have alcohol?” He was pleased to see she smiled at his lame joke, and then added more seriously, “but it really is a breath taking place: I used to take long walks starting from the Killearn Glen, miles and miles across the fens to the edge of Queen Elizabeth Forest Park – by Loch Lochmond – have you ever been?”

“No,” Jemma admitted but, seeing Fitz look obviously disheartened, promptly said, “but I’ve always wanted to.”

Fitz smiled, “perhaps I’ll take you there one day?” He offered, leaning forward and putting an arm on her shoulder.

She tried to smile at him but just couldn’t, the emotion she’d been feeling for the last two months started to bubble up inside her. She really was beyond homesick. “What are we doing here Fitz? We don’t–”

“Belong.” He finished her sentence for her. The corners of his lips twitched upwards slightly as he squeezed her arm reassuringly, “It’ll be alright Jemma.”

“What makes you so sure?” She asked, feeling her eyes water slightly.

“Because we’re not alone anymore,” he grinned at her before seeming to remember something and standing up abruptly, “I have to go now, but if you want we could sit together tonight – at hall?”

“That sounds good,” She said, smiling genuinely at him.

“Alright then,” his eyes flashed as he spoke in an overly formal manner complete with slight bow, “It was a pleasure to meet you Jemma Simmons.”

“You too Leo.”

As the door closed behind him she lay back down on the bed thinking, maybe things aren’t quite as bad as I thought.

 ---

The Playground, 2014.

“Do you know what he’s working on?” Simmons asked Mack as they cleared up the lab for the night. She was trying not to act too interested, but Fitz’s secret project concerned her more than slightly; she’d never known him to keep a secret from her in the past, other than his feelings. Thinking about it properly, it wasn’t even the fact that he had a secret project that bothered her; it was the distance between them. They had at once never been so close or far apart: by night they were the model of a perfect couple, well they almost were anyway, but by day it felt like they just drifted apart. Simmons didn’t want to give voice to her real fears about why they couldn’t quite connect.She wasn’t even sure if she should ask Mack, after all, they weren’t close – united only by their shared concern in Fitz, and nowadays Fitz seemed to spend more time with Mack than he did her, or, at least, it felt that way.

“Beats me, half the time I don’t know what’s going on that mind of his,” Mack replied in his usual cheery manner, lifting a particularly heavy box filled with colourful test tubes onto a cabinet.

“Careful with that,” Jemma snapped at him instinctively, though she really needn’t have been worried; those ridiculous muscles of his could probably lift two or three of those boxes without him breaking a sweat.

“I’ve got it,” Mack reassured her, grunting as he set the box down in place before turning to look at her directly, eyes shining with care and concern, “if you really want to know what he’s up to, why don’t you just ask him?”

“I’ve tried, he won’t tell me,” she admitted, she didn’t know why but she felt completely at ease around Mack, it was as though he exuded some kind of warmth that made him easy to talk to. Of course, it paled in comparison to the ease she used to feel around Fitz before she jumped.

“I’m sure he has his reasons,” Mack said reassuringly, shooting her a small smile, “just give it time.”

“You really have no idea what it is, aren’t you helping him build it?” Simmons asked; her attempt at hiding how desperate she was to find out what he was up to failing. She couldn’t believe how it was affecting her, she felt like he was driving her mad; he had used her birthday for the code – even if he had now, regrettably, changed it. She never thought she’d be the type of girlfriend who wanted to know exactly what her boyfriend was up to, and for the most part she wasn’t – she didn’t have to be, Fitz told her everything anyway – but whatever he was building he’d been working on for weeks, it involved her somehow and the brief glimpse she saw of the whatever-it-is had looked beautiful. For some reason though, it filled her with equal parts curiosity and dread, Simmons was afraid.

“Look, truth is, he doesn’t need my help anymore – with that arm thing of his he’s as good as he ever was, well at least physically, I think he just asks me there for the company. And as for what he’s designing, I’ve no idea, we only ever work on parts of it,” Mack grinned slightly, “besides, I’m not sure he could explain what we were doing even if he tried.” When Simmons looked troubled and didn’t respond Mack reached out and held her shoulder reassuringly, speaking softer, “this is a good thing; he needs a project right now. And he’s in good hands, he’s got you hasn’t he? And just about everyone around here is looking out for him.”

Simmons mouthed the word “thanks,” and he nodded at her, giving her shoulder a slight squeeze for support before turning around and walking away, leaving her standing alone in the lab. She looked around at the various worktables and stations; despite its limitations this was probably the best lab she had ever worked in and yet she’d give it up in a heartbeat to return to the BUS instead, get rid of all Mack’s bikes and rebuild their old workspace just the way it was. She smiled at the idea, remembering the energy she used to feel just being around Fitz, how they would bounce ideas off one another and would finish the other’s sentences. She missed those days; if only they’d admitted how they felt earlier she might have enjoyed them all the more.

The door slamming behind her distracted her from her thoughts.

“Jemma,” Fitz’s Scottish voice cut across the lab. Her heart skipped a beat in excitement and restless anxiety. He sounded slightly surprised and confused, as though he wasn’t expecting anyone to be there. When she turned to look at him she saw him looking somewhat flustered as he struggled to carry a small mountain of files and folders, attempting not to drop them as he veered towards a piece of clear workspace. She suppressed the urge to turn and run, to bury herself from her guilt.

“Fitz,” She smiled, walking up to him and helping him with what looked like a bureaucrat’s nightmare, taking half of the pile and dropping it onto a nearby free worktop. He let out a great sigh as he set the other half down before bursting into a wide grin. She instinctively hugged him and pressed a brief, soft kiss on the cheek, enjoying how warm his skin felt against her lips.

“How, how are you?” He asked her in the ever awkward and slightly stuttered fashion that she seemed to find so endearing. In many ways it wasn’t so dissimilar from how he’d been before: sure, he could no longer string long scientific sentences together but, now that she thought of it, Fitz had never been very good at small talk, or normal talk, or in fact any non-science talk in general.

“I’m good, very good actually, just thought I’d drop by and check in on you,” she smiled at him; she could never quite get enough of how nervously he acted around her, his shyness made her feel special. It was only when he frowned that she realised that what she said sounded more like she was checking in on him because he was, well, the way he was, than because he was her boyfriend, and she had every right to check on him.

“You don’t have to drop in and check on me–” Fitz started but was immediately interrupted.

“That’s not what I meant–” She tried to explain but was, herself, cut across.

“You don’t have to…” he paused to make sure she wasn’t going to interrupt if he kept speaking and, when she didn’t, he continued, “You don’t have to, because, erm, because… this is your lab too Jem, this is our lab.”

Jemma wished she could see it that way; the lab was many things but it wasn’t their lab. Their lab was back on the BUS. When he saw that she was still lost in thought he came and gave her a hug which most people would have described as socially uncomfortable, but that to her was the most reassuring feeling in the world. Love poured off of him in waves, she had no idea how she had never noticed it before for all these years. Although later she would tell Skye that they held each other in the Lab for what felt like a lifetime, it would be closer to the truth to say that Fitz held her. When at last they reluctantly pulled apart from the warm embrace she missed him immediately, she had to fight the urge to throw her arms around him again in an attempt just to be closer together. Fitz eyed her curiously.

“So what’s all this for?” She asked slightly too cheerily before indicating to the mountain of papers now sprawled across one of the lab tables in an attempt to make the obviously-worried-about-her Fitz a little less worried about her.

“It’s, erm, it’s… for the project,” he said, looking away slightly as though he were ashamed and shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

“Oh, the project?” Jemma asked him; emphasising the words to point out that simply saying the project didn’t really clarify anything for her. When he nodded sheepishly but refused to elaborate any further on what it was he was building she continued, “Would you like me to go?”

“No,” Fitz said with surprising speed. Fear flicked across his eyes and his entire posture changed; he straightened himself up and furrowed his brow, squaring his jaw in resolution, “I could never want that Jemma… never…” He wore the same face he had when he had jumped from the plan: his gaze was singular and intense; it pierced straight through her, radiating warmth wherever it fell. For the second time in such a short conversation she found herself questioning how she could ever have thought that he didn’t love her. After a few moments he dropped his shoulders back into a slouch and let a slight smile roll over his lips before saying softly, “Stay Jem, please… I was going to look for you anyway.”

She always loved it when he called her Jem instead of Jemma; somehow it made her feel special, as though she were his very own priceless gem. And, truthfully, Fitz did look on her as if she were the most beautiful, valuable and wonderful thing in existence. His eyes smiled warmly at her, sparkling, before he pressed his braced hand against her cheek; she didn’t flinch under the cold metal. She did however flinch when she felt it shaking against her. Instinctively reaching up she held it with her own hands and, feeling it tremble as she did, looked at him with worry.

“Fitz?” She asked, full of fear at the steady tremor running through his fingers, “your hand…”

He gave a pained smile, “I can’t use the… the, erm, the brace,” he sighed at finding the right word before pressing on, “all the time or I’d never, never get better.” She smiled at him, a tear rolling down her cheek. Despite everything that had happened, that was still happening,

Fitz still had hope for his future – their future. After a surprisingly long period of silence between them where they simply enjoyed the presence of each other’s company Fitz spoke out. “I’m waiting for, well…” He trailed off, clearly hiding something and changed the subject, “Koenig found some old lemon cake, it’s not bad… for tinned food anyway, there should be some left.”

“Lead the way,” she said simply; of all the times guys had asked her out for food, which was admittedly less often than you would expect, scavenging the remains of Cold War era tinned lemon cake was undoubtedly the least glamorous event she had been invited to and yet, somehow, it had more heart in it than all of the others combined. It was Fitz who asked her, so how could she say no?

On the way towards the lunchroom Fitz’s hand instinctively took Jemma’s and although it brought Fitz comfort, the constant trembling only made her anxious. She found herself wishing he would just switch the brace on so he didn’t have to handle the constant frustration of his own arm not responding properly to what he wanted. She wished that he could be like before the fall – not for her sake, but for his. That he was alive was enough for her; watching Coulson and the team bring him back to life only to watch him drown again on the cargo ramp of the BUS had been the most heart breaking experience she had ever had, she knew then that a world without Leo Fitz was a world she had no interest in living in. Yet watching him beat himself up daily because of how he was, because of what she did to him by jumping from the BUS, it was almost enough to make her wish that she had hit him harder, that he never would have woken up with enough time to dive for her, that he would still be the way he was.

Every time she looked at him, every time she watched him struggle with words or drop things or spend sleepless nights working, all she could think about was that it was her fault. She did this. While she could never wish that she hadn’t met Fitz, she found herself wishing that Fitz had never met her – maybe that way he would have stayed at Sci-Ops away from all the bloodshed and hellfire that made up their lives now. The trembling in his hand made her gut wrench in response to the knowledge that Fitz’s life would be better without her in it. If only he would turn that bloody brace on… She knew better than to ask him to though, Fitz would do what he thought was right, and if he wanted to rebuild the control and strength of his arm again then she wouldn’t stop him. She just wanted there to be an easier way, she wanted to be able to squeeze him tight and take away the anguish he must be feeling because of her… Somewhere, deep down, she was guilty for his predicament, even though Simmons knew Fitz didn’t think that way, she didn’t understand why.

“Fitz,” she said quietly, not realising until after they stopped and he turned to look at her that she had actually spoken out loud. She froze for her a few moments, it seemed it was her time to be lost for words, before she eventually stumbled out, “Why don’t you… hate me?” When he said nothing and just stared at her she continued, “You have more than enough reason to so why don’t you?” He paused for a few moments, seemingly unable to comprehend what she had said, before he broke into a smile and spoke, half laughing.

“Hate you?” He asked incredulously, “Jem I love you, how could I hate you?” She felt herself mellow slightly but nonetheless recoiled, fearful.

She squeezed his shaking hand, “I did this to you, it was my fault; if I hadn’t stepped off the plane then you wouldn’t have jumped–”

“Jem,” He said calmly but either she didn’t hear or she ignored him because she kept speaking.

“You wouldn’t have drowned and–“

“Jemma.” He was more forceful this time and yet still she continued.

“You would be ok.”

“Jemma!” He half shouted just as she finished, before adding quieter, “It’s ok… I’m ok… really Jem, I am.”

“No.” She said, tears welling up from behind her eyes and spilling freely down her cheeks, “You’re not ok Fitz,” Fitz moved to comfort her but she stepped backwards; her tears ran along her jaw and collected under her chin, dripping droplets onto the concrete floor beneath, “None of this is ok. This place… When did this become our life Fitz? We’re scientists, not spies or soldiers… and HYDRA… We don’t belong here. I wish we’d never joined SHIELD.”

“Well I’m glad we joined SHIELD,” Fitz told her before closing the gap between them and gripping her in a tight embrace, “I love you Jem… absolutely and forever.”

“I love you Leo,” She said, burying her head into his shoulder, drying her wet cheeks on his shirt. “But I just want to go home…” She didn’t care how childish she sounded, she missed her parents and London, she even missed the Academy though she doubted there was anything left there now. “Fitz, we don’t belong here.”

“No,” He mumbled so quietly she almost missed it, “We do… belong here.” He lifted her chin up with his good hand and cupped her face, running his thumb across her cheekbone and his fingers through her hair. “This is home now. You are my home.”

She couldn’t help but smile, even at the cost of tasting her tears on her lips, “what about Scotland?” she meekly quipped, “Isn’t that your home?”

“Well yes,” he joked, shooting her a lopsided grin, before becoming more serious and staring at her through his infinitely loving eyes, “But, you’re more than that to me.”

The ensuing kiss was passionate and heated, a frantic mix of teeth and tongue as they battled to touch and to taste as much of each other as possible. Their lips were locked tightly as Fitz gently tilted her head further into their kiss with his good hand, gently caressing her side with his other one. He took several steps forward until she was leaning against the wall before he broke the kiss and pressed his lips along her neck, enjoying the small sighs she made. She pushed herself into him in an effort to be closer together while her arms ran down his back and pulled him further. She felt his hand beginning to rise up her side towards her breast and surrendered completely to a base need for him. She loved Fitz, she loved him fiercely and entirely and with everything that had happened, that was still happening, she felt an insatiable and utterly animalistic urge for them to be together, to connect. She pushed her fingers under his shirt and dug them into his back, while his own fingers lightly grazed the skin around her nipple. Even through her shirt and bra, she gasped and sought out his lips, he groaned softly as they began anew their battle of mouths. Everything faded from her except Fitz, her hands explored him, ran all over him, around his neck, his face, through his hair. She yielded completely until a voice rang out from behind them, bringing her crashing back to reality.

“Fitz.” Coulson said flatly, clearing his throat as they reluctantly broke apart from each other. Fitz blushed a fierce shade of scarlet and tucked his shirt back in while Simmons tried to correct her hair from where Fitz had ran his fingers through it.

“Coulson…” Fitz stuttered and stood instinctively in front of Simmons, instinctively ready to take the blame. Coulson’s face betrayed no emotion.

“May’s looking for you Fitz, she asked if you still need her to pilot the BUS.” Coulson told him, his eyes flicking between Jemma and Fitz.

“Right, yes,” Fitz replied, “is she, ready… now?” He asked, running his hand across his upturned collar in an attempt to make the situation look less like Coulson had walked in on two teenagers. He failed.

“She is,” Coulson said before twitching his lips into a smile, “But she doesn’t like waiting so whatever this is,” he looked between them both and raised an eyebrow, “It’ll have to wait until later.”

“Yes sir,” Fitz answered, his blush deepening even further as Coulson walked away, a slight spring in the man’s step.

“What was that about?” Simmons asked after Coulson had turned the corner, breathing a sigh of relief.

“I’ll show you,” Fitz replied with a look of joy on his face, turning on the brace on his arm and flexing his fingers to check it was working.

Simmons could barely keep up as he rushed back to the lab, calling out for her to grab the one red file amongst the mountain they’d left sprawled on the worktop as he unlocked the storage unit that held his secret project. She hadn’t seen him look so excited in some time, possibly since before he fell, and for the briefest of moments she had the old Fitz beaming at her from across the lab, his mind a mystery of ideas and inventions. She didn’t even have time to look at the file she was holding before he grabbed her hand with his good one and led her out of the lab and towards the cargo ramp of the BUS, his mysterious invention held tightly in his other arm. May was waiting for them on the ramp.

“Everything set?” May asked, “Have you told her yet?”

Fitz shook his head as they boarded the BUS; he lifted his project up onto the worktop Mack had set up where their lab used to be. As Jemma looked at it she noticed it was in fact not one invention but two separate ones.

“How high?” May asked Fitz, closing the ramp door behind them.

“3,000 feet.” Fitz answered, tinkering with a few things on his inventions before turning to Simmons and holding out his hand, “the red folder.”

“What are they?” She asked him, feeling slightly nervous.

“They fly,” He said with a grin and bright eyes that would have reassured her had he not then said, “or at least they should.” He lifted one of the flight stabilisers up and brought it towards Jemma, even with its crude, unpainted finish it was by far one of the most beautiful designs she’d ever seen; some parts of it were clearly heavily influenced by Tony Stark’s Iron Man and Iron Patriot while others looked entirely original.

“You built this?” She said, eyeing the detailed work that had clearly gone into every solder of the invention. At first glance the device on was not unlike putting on a bullet proof vest – both were surprisingly heavy and both had two arm holes and a zip running up the front, though that was about where the similarities ended. Fitz’s invention also involved a biomechanical exo-suit that slotted over the wearer’s clothes; the design of which was similar to that of the brace on his arm. On the upper arm, elbow, thigh and shin were cylinders she surmised must be thrusters; each attached to a series of different joints to allow them to freely rotate. She grunted upon donning the invention and realised that Fitz’s brace must have load bearing capabilities as well as help his fine motor skills as there was no way he was strong enough to carry both the stabilisers with one hand normally.

She was surprised to find that despite the metal framework that now ran along her arms and legs she didn’t feel trapped; each section was perfectly measured to accommodate full movement – it was just a pity the thing weighed so much, she could barely stand. It made her especially frustrated to see that when Fitz put on his suit he had no problem with the weight at all. It was quite interesting seeing the suit on someone else; it made it clearer what each component was doing. She saw that the main thrusters could be found on the back panel below the parachute, his suit connected to the brace on his arm as though the brace were a part of it. It was only when she dropped to her knees from the weight of the suit that he ran over to her to adjust it, typing numbers into a small LCD screen attached to its front from the red file she had brought him.

“And there we go…” He said to himself as he heard a slight hissing from her suit. Almost immediately the weight was lifted from her shoulders and it barely felt like she was wearing a thing. “Hydraulics weren’t, erm, weren’t…” he looked at her for help but managed to find the word just before she could say it, “calibrated!” He half shouted before he handed her a weighted glove to wear on one hand, filled with a series of markers.

When he didn’t put one on for himself, she asked, “What about you?”

“I already have them,” he told her, gesturing to his arm with the brace. Though the bruises from the serum had faded, there were still dark purple blotches above each of the markers he and Mack had injected.

“Are you sure about this?” Jemma asked timidly as the plane’s engine started and it began its ascent.

“This could give us an edge over HYDRA,” he said stretching his arms out in front of him to test the response of the suit, “but… that’s not why we’re doing this.”

She eyed him curiously, “Why are we doing this Fitz?”

He looked towards the ground, “When I was falling, after I jumped… for just a moment I felt… peaceful…” He paused and looked up directly into her eyes but even as they met each other’s his were glassy and unfocussed. When he spoke he spoke quickly and had to blink away tears. “It was cold, Jem, like ice setting from the inside out… The fall took away so much Jem… I try and I try but no matter what I do, I just can’t quite… things that used to be so easy… I’m done falling Jemma – and with this, we can fly.”

She nodded at him, before asking. “How do we fly these?”

“We don’t,” he grinned, admiring his own genius, “they fly based on your movements… Skye helped, a lot.”

“Anything I should know?” Simmons asked him, love written plainly across her face.

“The thrusters start after thirty seconds… oh and oxygen,” Fitz blurted out and indicated to a canister attached by his stomach – she had one in the same place on her suit – “Just in case… everything else is automatic.”

“And you’re sure about this?” She knew how Fitz could be and wanted to give him every opportunity to change his mind.

“We’re approaching 3,000 feet,” May’s voice came from over the intercom, followed immediately by the sound of the cargo hatch opening. Wind tore at them as they walked towards the edge, hand in hand.

“Do you trust me Jem?” Fitz asked one last time.

“I do.” She answered truthfully.

They said “I love you,” together and stepped into the unknown.