Hi Kris! Thanks for the prompt! (And just for context, bc why not? This one is *ahem* heavily inspired by an actual night of mine while at university years ago. Sadly, he didn’t end up being my Fitz. *sigh*)
#57 - There is enough room for both of us. (Want a ficlet? Pick from this list.)
~
College AU
Jemma lifted her head from Fitz’s lap to look around the dark living room, finding their friends sound asleep. The television was paused, Netflix asking if they wanted to watch another episode, so Fitz reached for the remote and switched the screen back to the browse menu. “I think we’ve watched enough pilots for one night,” he whispered.
“That last one was a bit dull, wasn’t it? And it is four in the morning.”
“What?” he asked, glancing down at his watch. “Christ, I didn’t even realize.”
Jemma glanced around, taking in the rather amusing sleeping arrangements. Bobbi and Hunter were on the floor spooning. Daisy and Trip, always the interesting pair, were somehow lying upright back-to-back on the love-seat, a pillow in between them. And Elena was curled up in a ball on the recliner as Mack laid sprawled out on his stomach underneath the coffee table. Which was how Jemma and Fitz found themselves sharing the sofa all to themselves.
Smiling, she resumed her place happily at his side, thanking the gods for a night like this. It was pure luck, really - that both of her roommates happened to take trips for the weekend, leaving her alone in the apartment, which allowed her to plan a night in with her friends for once. And that Fitz happened to be free for the night as well.
Before their night of Netflix began, she made sure she was seated directly next to him on the sofa, even sharing a blanket with him to make them more comfortable in the chilly apartment. When they started the pilot episode of Lost many hours ago, she kept her expectations of moving things along with Fitz relatively low, so she did not expect to feel his pinky finger suddenly curl around hers underneath the blanket, or how that turned into two fingers crossing over hers, and then three, and then he was holding her hand and she thought she might burst.
As the hours passed, the countless TV episodes blurring together and Fitz never letting go of her hand, Jemma gradually stretched her legs out along the sofa as she leaned into his side, which eventually led to her resting her head on his lap. He followed her movements, placing his arm around her waist and finding her hand again to hold on top of the blanket. In her peripheral vision, she could see Daisy smiling in the corner, silently cheering them on. But now everyone was asleep, and the question of how the two of them would retire for the night filled Jemma’s mind.
Through a stifled yawn, Fitz stretched his arms above his head. “You can go sleep in your bedroom if you want. Probably much more comfortable.”
“Oh, that seems hardly fair. Everyone else wakes up with an aching back except me?
He shrugged “Alright, suit yourself. I’ll sleep on the floor, then.” He moved to get up, but she reached for his sleeve, pulling him back down onto the sofa.
“What, no. There’s enough room for both of us.” She gestured with her eyes at the rather large sofa.
His eyes widened. “Wha-oh, okay. If you don’t…I mean, if you don’t mind.”
“Shut up. Here. Lay on your back.”
He did as she instructed, a slight blush consuming his cheeks while she retrieved a pair of pillows from her bedroom. When she returned, she offered him one, and then placed the other on his chest to stretch herself cozily on top of him. She didn’t want him to feel too uncomfortable by her forwardness, so she used the pillow as a small barrier between them to ease the slight awkward tension. But the position still allowed her to intertwine their fingers and rest them against his chest.
“This okay?” she asked.
“Mmm…uh..yeah. This is…this is good.”
“Good. Goodnight Fitz.”
“Night Jemma.”
As much as she tried to relax in her current predicament, her heart raced from her excitement and utter astonishment that this was actually happening. Jemma Simmons, who barely made an effort to speak to guys she found interesting, let alone the particular guy she currently had a raging crush on, was now sleeping on top of him, and he didn’t seem to mind.
A few minutes passed, neither of them seeming to fall asleep, and Jemma felt him shift a bit underneath her.
“Jemma?” he barely whispered.
“Hmm?”
“Are you still awake?”
“Yes, obviously.”
He let out a deep breath. “Okay, well, I don’t…I don’t know what this is. This…thing we’re doing. And I’m not that great at relationships or anything. But I want you to know that I like where this is..uh..going. But I don’t want to move too fast, or whatever, and I want to respect your boundaries and all that, because you’re really nice, and I don’t to mess this up—”
“Fitz.”
“What?”
Lifting herself up from his chest, she moved upwards and captured his lips in a sudden slow and gentle kiss. He froze for a moment, obviously perplexed my her sudden eagerness, but quickly relaxed against her, moving his lips with hers and curling his arm around her back.
She pulled back after a few seconds, wanting to save more for later, but lingered close to his face and drew her finger down his jaw. “Go to sleep. We can talk in the morning.”
He nodded his head quickly. “Yep, that sounds-that’s a good idea.”
Sinking into his shoulder, now abandoning the pillow barrier, she did her best to let her mind drift, but the feeling of his chest moving in tandem with hers, and for a moment what she thought were his lips pressed gently to the top of her head, she knew she wasn’t going to get much sleep that night, but she really didn’t care.
Hi there, Kris! Here’s 92. “I want you to be happy.” (Prompt list here.)
[Continuation of this story, but can be read alone.]
She hoped he would remember right away. After all, Coulson was already finding the bits and pieces of his life, even if he wasn’t sure how to fit them all together.
But after spending time with Fitz in the lab, in the kitchen, and even in what used to be their room, he still insists on giving her incredulous looks.
“Look,” he says as he sits at the table, “there’s no way that I, Leopold Fitz, winced when you supposedly stuck a needle in Doctor Radcliffe’s eye.” He smooths down the SHIELD issue t-shirt like it’s one of his designer suits. “I’m a scientist.”
“You’re a squeamish scientist,” she says as she works behind him, “always have been. You were even worse at the Academy.”
“And that,” he says with a finger in the air, “is another impossibility. My father never would have allowed me to work for SHIELD.”
She presses her lips into a thin line and takes a deep breath through her nose. She makes sure to smile as she places two plates laden with sandwiches on the table and takes a seat opposite him. He frowns at his lunch.
“A sandwich?”
She rolls her eyes at him. “What, you’re not allowed to eat sandwiches in this brave, new world of yours?” She gives him a good-natured sigh. “Well, you can at least try it. You were pretty fond of it back home.”
She tries not to watch him, but she can’t help it. His ridiculous haircut might cost a month of her salary, but he smells the sandwich first, just like he always has.
“What’s in it?”
“Prosciutto,” she says, “and buffalo mozzarella, which is somewhat difficult to track down in these parts.”
He frowns again before taking a bite, and she’s at the edge of her seat. She doesn’t miss the way his eyes light up, how the corner of his mouth curls into a smile.
“Is that …”
“It’s pesto aioli,” she says, feeling a swell of pride. “Just a hint. I make it myself.”
She’s about to ask him if he likes it, but her answer comes when he takes another bite, then another. He gobbles it up before she can manage her own first bite, but she doesn’t mind.
“So?” she asks.
He wipes the corners of his mouth and takes a deep breath, cocking his head at her.
“Why are you doing this?”
The question catches her so off guard that the best she can do is mumble a, “What?”
“This,” he answers, “all of this. Why spend all this time on me?”
She’s not sure how she should answer, because she’s already told him everything—the Bus, the ocean, the planet. And he’s the one who admitted to having dreams about her, so he should know.
Shouldn’t he know?
She never did tell him about rest of the story of Romania, the parts that would make her blush, but surely he could read between the lines.
Or, maybe he can’t. Maybe his life has been so devoid of love that he doesn’t see it when it’s staring him in the face.
“Fitz,” she says, swallowing her hesitancy, “you said that in your dreams—your memories of me—you were happy.”
She watches as he nods, then lets his head hang down. She knows what he’s done in this world, but her heart still aches for him. Her hands reaches out for his before she can think better of it.
“I want you to be happy,” she says, opening his palm so she can trace the lines. She doesn’t believe in palm-reading, of course, but she’s starting to believe in fate. He closes his hand around her fingers, and her eyes dart up to his, though she finds them unreadable.
“The sandwich,” he says, clearing his throat. “it was delicious.”
She can’t contain the smile that spreads across her face or tear her eyes away from their hands. One day, she thinks, she’ll tell him that even when he wasn’t himself, he still managed to give her hope.
It’s a new month, which means new birthdays to celebrate, and TFSN would like to give a big shout out to all them!
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i’m trying to see how much i could lighten this scene where they do the smile before they kiss thing and i am honest to g*d crying in the club rn send help call 911
