Jemma nods, a silly sort of smile on her face, and lets Fitz lead her away. They wind through small streets, some cobblestone and some paved here and there but it’s still uneven ground, and with the foot traffic, Jemma finds herself tripping more than once and bumping into people accidentally. Still, she’s too enamored by the buildings and the feeling of the city to care all that much; she’d worn comfortable trainers with the knowledge that they’d be trekking through the city.
She can tell when they must be coming closer to the Accademia; the crowds became tighter, more people pressed into small streets between tall buildings, and the flow of the crowd is moving in one general direction. Tightening her grip on Fitz’s hand, she closes the distance between them in a wide step and tucks into his side, not wanting to get separated in the crowd.
The narrow, winding streets offer plenty of protection from the midday sun, a fact for which Fitz’ pasty Scottish skin is grateful. He feels Jemma tug on his hand as she attempts to draw closer, and pulls her beneath his arm instead, his hand dangling over her far shoulder. He tenses for a moment, unsure of how Jemma will feel about this overt display of affection in public, but relaxes when he feels her own arm curl around his waist.
Fitz likes this, being able to do normal, couple-ish things in public. Coulson is far more lenient all around, but still, this isn’t something either of them would likely feel comfortable with on the Bus. Aside from Coulson, there’s no way in hell they’d be able to do this without Skye giving them crap constantly. No, here, in sun-drenched Tuscany, they can just be two British tourists enjoying a day of sightseeing together.
He steers them through the tall, dark wood doors of the Accademia di Belle Arti, eyes drinking in the marked differences between the exterior of the gallery and the interior. “I’ used t’ be a convent,” he whispers to Jemma as they find their place in the queue, “th’ buildin’, I mean. Th’ actual organization is much older.”
He grins down at Jemma, proud of himself despite the disbelieving look on her face. “Wha’? ‘M no’ allowed t’ read th’ tourist literature?”
