Hi, @shes-an-oddbird! I’m your FitzSimmons Secret Santa! (Sorry this is a bit late--traveling around with the fam has left me more exhausted than anticipated haha.)
I had a lot of fun working on your prompt, and I hope you enjoy it! Here’s to the new year!
Prompt: “fitzsimmons looking for/finding a beautiful view (mountains/ocean/space/etc.)”
Rated G, 2k
Read at the AO3
sneak peek:
“It’s breathtaking, isn’t it?” she says, gesturing with the ICER held firmly, if a bit awkwardly, in her hands, as if she’s projecting more confidence than she feels in wielding the weapon. Fitz glances her way briefly, barely taking in the sunrise that’s haloing behind her. He supposes she’s right, but the anxiety of being out in the field again, even if they’re allegedly far from any real danger, is causing his chest to tighten. Or perhaps it’s this new anxiety of being so close to her, now that he knows. The condensation from her exhalation shimmers in front of his face. She is always much too close to him.
Simmons leans against a tree, catching her breath as they wait for word from the others. “Have you ever ‘bagged a munro,’ as they say?”
He snorts. “A munro is a mountain that’s at least 3,000 feet. Or 914.4 meters.”
She rolls her eyes inelegantly, and his heart constricts. I need to see a doctor, he thinks. A real doctor, not Simmons picking up the slack because no one seems to know the difference between a double Ph.D. and an M.D. Simmons says his bloodwork is fine, but his blood doesn’t feel fine; it moves through his veins like sludge every time she crowds his personal space.
“I know what it means, Fitz,” she says. “I’ve always wanted to climb at least one. The views are stunning. Or, it seems so from the pictures at least. You never have?”
“‘Course not, Simmons. Three thousand bloody feet! Who has the time or energy for that?” What he doesn’t tell her is his dad had promised, during one of his rare good moods, to take him. He’d shown Fitz photographs from atop Ben Nevis and told him someday they’d go together. That was Before. In the After, Fitz had no desire to trudge up a mountain. He’d had no one to go with, anyway.
“Let’s go together,” she suggests, as if she’s inviting him over for tea later. “Next time we have leave, after we visit our families. We can pick one of the smaller ones.”
It is only in getting him back that she can fully acknowledge the loss of him, like pressure applied to a wound and suddenly released. The blood had never stopped flowing; the pain had not subsided, she had just grown accustomed to the bitter companionship of it. Now, it is breathtaking in its ferocity.
It is only in smoothing the salve of him over her skin, the rapid, thrilling beat of his heart reverberating through her, that she remembers how still he was before she let him go. It is only now she remembers she did, physically, let him go. She let him go. But she had to, didn’t she, to find him? She had to let him go.
She can’t let go this time--not to escape, not for anything. She holds him, dreams of grafting her splintered pieces into his beautifully alive branches, imagines entwining her sickly roots with his vibrant ones. Here is fine. Here, forever.
“He’s coming,” he gasps, frantic. The first words she’s heard from him since her name and before that since--. Nothing. Fitz doesn’t care; he is shoving her through a door and steeling his own precious, fragile body against it. “It’s the Doctor. That’s our worst fear. He’ll find us. I’m so sorry, Jemma, I’ve been trying--”
But here, she is confronted with the truth she has never been able to accept. She does not have the words for it, for the horror and gnawing emptiness she has swallowed night after night after night. At the end of it all, her worst nightmares distill down to a stark white room. To a fuzziness at the edge of her vision because of everything she has faced with courage, she cannot, cannot ever face this again.
“That’s not my worst fear,” she admits, either because he deserves to know or because she can no longer carry the burden of it alone.
He looks at her, eyes wide in confusion, or maybe just to drink her in, after all this time. She wants to kiss him and marry him and tell him she loves him. She wants to take him away, she wants to spend days in bed, she aches to save him.
Instead, she steps back, holding a hand to her shredded heart. “I can’t survive it again.”
“No, Jemma,” he says, reaching for her because he always has and she had thought he always would. It’s strange, but she cries harder now, with the comforting heaviness of his arms around her, than she had when Mack, when she saw, when they brought,
At the end of it all, it’s a stark white room and a bag only big enough for one. At the end of it all, it was the only home she’s ever known consumed by fire.
“Jemma,” Fitz whispers, heartsick but determined, holding her face in his hands and kissing her fiercely.
“Don’t,” she sobs, pushing away another memory he doesn’t have. “Don’t promise me. Please don’t do this to me again.”
At the end of it all, what can he do but catch her? What can she do but fall?
Merry Christmas, @jemmafitzsimmons! You’re such a fun person to write for, and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed being your FS Secret Santa! I kind of stopped and started, so it’s not exactly what I originally intended, but I hope you like it anyway.
Mel requested “sci-ops friends-to-lovers during the holidays (with bed sharing! :D)”--my perfect holiday cup of tea :)
Rated T (7k words)
Summary: FitzSimmons have spent every Christmas since starting at the Academy together. This year, he's agreed to a ski trip without her. When she gets invited along anyway, will they finally have a discussion about their relationship?
Sneak Peek:
Jemma Simmons loves Christmas in America. It’s something she hadn’t anticipated when she left Sheffield for a city too small for an airport and discovered she’d be spending the holidays amongst accents as flat as the windswept plains, an endless variety of casseroles, and not a single person who understood the importance of a Christmas cracker.
Every December since she arrived at the Academy has been bitterly cold, beyond anything she’d experienced at home. She’s mastered the art of wearing three layers minimum and re-designed her own gloves to retain heat more efficiently. She unabashedly adores the gaudy decorations in the town’s almost-revitalized downtown, and she’s made enough friends of legal drinking age to ensure she’s never without the necessary ingredient for mulled wine.
And Fitz is here, of course. It’s strange to think they grew up five hours apart by train and yet it took moving to the secret training academy of a secret organization and one particularly persistent lab instructor for them to become friends. It’s not that she doesn’t miss her family because she does, terribly. And she does occasionally regret that so far, in the four years she’s been at the Academy and now Sci-Ops, they’ve never been granted enough winter break leave for even one Christmas at home. But four years is enough time to create new traditions, like watching all the holiday episodes of their favorite TV shows, or Jemma finding a new snow-related activity to bribe Fitz into trying with the promise of alcohol-laced hot chocolate as a reward. Or how every year they insist there’s no need to buy gifts, but when they drowsily rouse themselves on Christmas morning, having passed out in the middle of a movie the night before, they always sheepishly—and elatedly—hand over presents they’ve hidden around the flat.
For some reason, the memory of waking up last Christmas to soft music still playing through the TV and Fitz’s stockinged feet barely brushing against her calves is the only thing her mind can focus on as he stammers an apology, fidgeting awkwardly when she doesn’t immediately respond.
Fanfiction request: ://Jemma is pregnant with her second child but their first child (i loved your one with James in it) is jealous. Basically family and domestic life! You’re literally the best writer I swear ❤️
Thank you so much, Anon! <3 I feel bad because you sent this months ago and now you probably won’t even see it. Also, if I had written this months ago it would be a much different fic. But after season five, this is what happened haha. I think because (although it’s not explicitly stated), I wrote James as an only child in the other fic, and then there was the whole backstory with their daughter this season and changing the future, so…this happened. Maybe a bit more angst than you asked for, but it’s definitely domestic family life haha. No references to That Scene from the season finale.
It’s not necessary to read the short fic anon was referencing to understand this, but if you’re interested:
Thanks to @itsavolcano for the beta! Read below or at AO3:
++
It’s not that they plan to have only one child, but when James turns two and they decide to try again, it just never happens. There doesn’t seem to be any particular reason, at least none that the doctors can discern. The solutions they suggest involve a lot of money and invasive procedures and shockingly high failure rates, and neither of them wants to put the other through all that.
Jemma cries only once, late at night, three years after they first realize something might be wrong. “I’m so happy with our life,” she insists. “We’ve fought so hard to be here, and I love our family more than anything. But Fitz—”
“I know,” he whispers, brushing a strand of hair from her face and placing a kiss to her forehead. He blinks against the tears filling his own eyes. “I wanted to meet her, too.”
It’s the first time they’ve spoken of it. Even when, months into Jemma’s pregnancy, the doctor had shown them their baby on the monitor and announced they were having a boy, they hadn’t talked about the daughter they’d once had yet never met. When Deke visits, they smile indulgently at the easy way he tosses James in the air, and they don’t talk about his mother. After James inevitably falls asleep sprawled across Deke’s lap, Jemma passes around the Zima they can only brave drinking for their grandson, and they listen delightedly to the adventures he is having on an uncracked Earth. Every time, Fitz swallows back down the question he’s too afraid to ask: Do you resent us for not bringing her back to you? But the question is meaningless because surely Deke knows, like he and Jemma both know, any daughter they might have had in this timeline couldn’t possibly be her.
And yet, all scientific, rational thought aside, there is an ache Fitz is ashamed to feel: a space in his heart carefully carved out for a beautiful baby girl who will grow up to be exactly like her mother. A daughter he knew he would raise before he’d even married. And James, his precious, longed-for child—he worries he has already failed him because in his thoughtful silences and emotional outbursts, Fitz sees himself and the solitary childhood he hadn’t wanted to pass on.
But if wounds never fully heal, they at least stop throbbing. The latest household emergencies involve a very minor burn from James’s unauthorized experiments and having to inform his wife the grocery store is out of her favorite crisps. Every now and then he has to stop for a moment and breathe, because his life is wonderful in a way that still feels like a dream he’s desperate not to wake from.
So when, eight years after James is born, Jemma holds up three positive pregnancy tests, neither his brain nor his body seems to know how to react. He remains rooted by their bedroom door, eyes wide and uncomprehending. Her words barely register before he’s already worrying about their age and if this could put Jemma in danger, and yet something completely illogical inside of him pushes all these thoughts away because he knows what this will mean. His arms pull her flush against him and his lips crash into hers and in between his kisses and her laughter all he can say is, “We didn’t lose her. This time we won’t lose her.”
++
James is an extraordinary child, even disregarding the obvious bias of his grandparents and the entirety of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s inner circle, but they’ve agreed he’s too young for certain truths. He knows his parents used to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. and he knows sometimes they consult on projects that require him to stay far away from the lab, but for now Deke is his uncle, time travel is science fiction, and there never existed a future where he wasn’t free to roam the beautiful Scottish countryside with his doting grandmother.
Fitz and Jemma don’t mean to exclude him as they prepare for their daughter’s arrival. They don’t even realize how their excited whispers might appear to him. They’ve lived their lives all out of order, and someday they will sit down with their children and try to map out time as if it had ever been linear, but for now Fitz places his warm hands on the swell of Jemma’s abdomen and they speak a language no one else has ever understood.
It’s when James throws a spectacular tantrum at the dinner table and announces his intention to move in with Deke that they realize he’s been faking excitement about his sister. Jemma, sicker and more exhausted during this pregnancy than her first, orders him to his room. She doesn’t need to ask Fitz—he’s jumped through holes in the universe for his wife; he can have a conversation with their son.
Fitz has actually done the reading, so he’s prepared for the feelings of jealousy. He’s sure James, unconsciously or not, worries about losing his parents’ undivided attention. Maybe he even thinks they’ll take away his newly reinstated lab privileges in favor of making him help with the baby.
What he isn’t prepared for, what he’s not sure he could ever have prepared for, is the way James sits carefully perched on the edge of his bed, backpack already filled with clothes and his most important belongings, his expression determined.
“You’ll love her more,” James whispers. Tears shine in his eyes, but his face is defiant, and Fitz doesn’t know whether his heart breaks more for the falsehood his son so clearly believes, or that his fiercely open child is trying desperately to hide from him.
For a moment, he doesn’t know how to respond. Even now, the words sometimes jumble in his head and it’s worse when he’s feeling vulnerable, when voices remind him of his failings. He hesitates, closes his eyes, and concentrates on breathing. He practices techniques he’s perfected from years of therapy until he can kneel in front of his son and not fall apart.
James is silent through all of this, and once again Fitz is infinitely grateful they’ve somehow raised a kind boy who always lets him take the time he needs, who holds his hand when it shakes and has never allowed anyone to mock him for the stutter that occasionally resurfaces. He wishes more than anything he could explain to his son properly, but words have never been good enough, even before his brain injury.
Fitz folds him carefully in his arms, surprised as always at how small he still is, how he fits against him, filling cracks he never realized he had until the moment James was born.
“We won’t love her more,” he says softly, lips brushing against his son’s silky curls. “If you’re determined to leave, will you at least take a walk with me first?”
James’s silence stretches for a long moment until finally he nods, shrugging out of Fitz’s embrace. They walk out of the house together, Fitz throwing Jemma a look he hopes is reassuring, and head down the moonlit lane towards the park. He has an almost overwhelming urge to carry him, but James is very against being treated like a baby at the best of times, so instead he links his fingers through his son’s, relieved when he doesn’t pull away.
When they arrive, James dutifully allows himself to be led towards the swingset, and they each take a swing. James twists his slowly, around and around, while Fitz drags a foot through the sand, writing equations and erasing them, destroying the world and recreating it endlessly.
“There’s a lot we haven’t told you,” he says, when he’s sure he can manage it without his voice breaking. “And I’m sorry for that. I really am, and I hope someday you’ll understand why we thought it was for the best.”
James says nothing, leaning his head against the chain and staring at the stars. His fascination with space is both a mirror image of his and Jemma’s and something that continually alarms him. Fitz finds himself constantly pointing out all the beautiful, fascinating things on Earth, but he supposes he can’t expect his son to crave something he’d never lost.
“Maybe this won’t make sense because of that. Or because I can’t explain it well. But your mum and I never thought you could exist. We…we’d been told, we knew we would have a daughter. We prepared for her. We felt like we’d known her for years. But you, we didn’t think we could ever have you.”
James looks over, finally making eye contact and glaring at him in disbelief. “Of course you could have a son. Statistically, pregnancies are slightly more likely to result in males. And even if you had a girl, maybe she wouldn’t actually be a girl, because I was reading about how—”
Fitz cuts him off with a laugh, utterly charmed at the way he really is a mix of himself and Jemma and yet entirely, wonderfully unique. “You’re right,” he acknowledges. “It was silly of us. But I think we both got to a point where we just…didn’t feel we had the right to hope for certain things.”
He sighs, leaning back and letting the swing slowly carry him. “So many terrible things happened. I still…sometimes it’s still hard to talk about. Or think about, honestly. But we made it here, and we found the home we’d always dreamed of. We were so incredibly happy, and it seemed like wishing for anything more was tempting fate.”
James processes this carefully. “Because you’re cursed?” he asks, and Fitz groans.
“I wish your mother hadn’t told you that. I said that one time.”
James looks skeptical, so Fitz pushes forward. “The point is, your very existence was a surprise. The best surprise, really. And I thought I couldn’t possibly have any more love left in me until I met you. This baby is different. We knew a long time ago we might have her, and we will love her so much, but we could never love you less.” Fitz reaches out to grab the chain of James’s swing, halting his son’s rotations and forcing him to meet his eyes. “I promise. If you only ever believe one thing I tell you, please believe this.”
Tears stream down James’s face and Fitz aches to wipe them away, but he waits for his son to make the first move. James hesitates, then steps down from his swing and climbs onto Fitz’s lap. They both barely fit, and the chains press uncomfortably into Fitz’s side when he shifts to give James more room, but he doesn’t care. He can feel tears soaking his shirt, so he wraps his arms around his son, resting his cheek to the top of James’s head and letting the swing sway them back and forth.
He wouldn’t remember this, but Fitz used to bring him here as a baby, when he wouldn’t stop crying and Jemma inevitably collapsed in exhaustion. He would sneak out of the house, eschewing the stroller for Jemma’s wrap, and swing for hours with James on his chest until he fell asleep. The way James burrows into his chest now takes him back to all those years ago. He’s very nearly too big for it to work anymore; this might even be the last time he can comfort his son like this, and the thought causes him to hold James even tighter. He thinks of his own mother, letting her only child leave for the Academy at fifteen, and can’t fathom ever having her strength.
“I always wanted a brother or sister,” he confesses, brushing his fingers through James’s hair. “I was lonely as a kid, until I met your mum.”
“But I’m not lonely,” James insists. “I have you and Mum. And Uncle Deke and tío Mack and tía YoYo and Aunt Daisy. And the kids at school are all right. Liam and I did that project together. It was fun.”
“I know,” Fitz says. “And we’ll always be here for you. But I still think you and your sister could have a great relationship. You just need to give her a chance.”
“Okay,” James sighs, as if he’s agreeing only to appease his father, but Fitz can tell from the way his breathing calms that they’ve turned a corner.
“And I promise,” Fitz continues, “if she’s being annoying and you want to hang out alone, me and you, we will. No questions asked. Okay?”
Fitz can feel James smiling against him. He closes his eyes, enjoying the slightly chilly breeze and the way his son’s quiet puffs of air feather against his neck. He doesn’t particularly want to move, but when he catches himself nearly falling asleep he gently lifts them both up.
“We should head back. Your mum will be worried. Want me to carry you?”
James rolls his eyes. “I’m not a baby.” But he drags his feet, exhaustion causing him to stumble, until finally he tugs at Fitz’s arm, pulling him lower so he can jump on his back. He wraps his arms around Fitz’s neck, resting his head against a shoulder.
“So, are you going to Uncle Deke’s? Or will you stay a little bit longer?”
James tightens his grip and shakes his head. “Maybe later. He never makes me good food anyway.”
Fitz laughs as he turns onto their street. “Your Uncle Deke grew up in a place where they didn’t have many options. It’s left him with an…interesting palate.”
“I don’t like it,” James confesses. “I mean, he lets me eat all the ice cream and candies Mum won’t let me have. That’s nice. But last time we had a box of Twinkies for dinner. He found them in some American store, and they were expired.”
“Great,” Fitz mutters. “I didn’t know Twinkies could actually expire. Let’s not tell your mum any of this, and I’ll have a talk with him next time he comes ‘round, okay?”
“‘Kay,” James agrees.
Fitz thinks he might say something else, but his arms start twitching slightly, the way they always do in sleep. He carries him carefully into their house, into their room where Jemma is wide awake. She’s been trying to read but mostly worrying, he can tell, and she smiles in relief when they walk in.
He sets James carefully down on the bed and steps to the dresser, pulling out his pajamas to change.
“I know,” he says before she can protest. “He’s way too old for this.”
Jemma laughs fondly, tucking the blanket around their son and switching off her lamp. “Yes, and I know it’s not really for him.”
He gives her a sheepish look and she smirks up at him, but her eyes are shimmering and soft. He lies down on the other side of James, turning off his own light and stretching an arm over his son, trailing his fingers down the curve of Jemma’s belly. Of all the impossible things Fitz has experienced in his lifetime, the one that he finds most incredible and unbelievable is the way his universe keeps growing and yet somehow always fits into his arms.
Jemma whispers something reassuring, but sleep is already pulling him under. He’s never been happier or safer than he is right now, his wife’s quiet endearments mingling with the sound of his son’s heartbeat, the feel of his daughter’s movements beneath his palm.
at night I listen to your exhalations,
counting seconds until the next sharp
intake. you’re not as peaceful in sleep
as you once were, but at least now you
remember how to breathe on your own.
(I don’t:
the oxygen you give me is not a cure.)
I press my mouth to your skin,
sweat and shower gel mixing on my lips—
you taste like fifteen years of history. you
smell like the rain-slicked cobbled streets
of home, of lifetimes we’ve never shared.
I lost you, I confess. I trace the soft down
of your arms and you shiver like maybe
this time you’ve heard. you never hear.
or I’m not brave enough to make you.
tomorrow, I will ask you to draw
equations along my body, to diagram
a universe of infinite possibilities.
any possibility but one—
because I already lost and the feel of you
in my arms still matches how I twisted
around your limbs and could not let go,
the weight I carried and would not leave.
you told me to hold on tight and I have,
but still I lost you. when you touch me
I say your name, your name, your name.
somehow the echo of your silence survives.
Five times FitzSimmons get married and the one time it sticks.
thanks to @itsavolcano for the beta and @grapehyasynth for the brainstorming help!! (shoutout to her for the Vegas section!)
Read at AO3! or below:
++
i.
The forecast predicts rain, just as Fitz had insisted it would, but Jemma silences him with an arched eyebrow before he can say anything. “It doesn’t count as a curse if we chose to have an outdoor wedding in Scotland and it rains, Fitz. This was a statistical likelihood.”
“I said that one time,” he grouses, but underneath his words are only affection and happiness.
Jemma walks over and sits on his lap, curling into him. “I need to get ready,” she murmurs, and he shakes his head, wrapping his arms more tightly around her. She laughs, but doesn’t actually make an effort to leave.
Caught in a perpetual cycle of saving the world left little time for wedding planning, so his mother and Jemma’s parents had taken over. When they arrived in Glasgow, they’d found themselves relegated to following everyone else’s orders. It’s not necessarily the wedding they would have chosen, but he can’t be anything but extraordinarily grateful to be here. If Jemma’s dress is a bit frillier than she would have liked, the decor more excessive than necessary, the bouquets a little gaudy, neither of them even think to complain. They know more than most that reaching this point was never guaranteed.
Still, he relishes the momentary quiet of the morning, the stolen minutes he’s allowed to spend with Jemma, and he can’t help wishing it could stay this way, just the two of them, for awhile longer.
“I love you so much,” she sighs, her breath feathering across his neck. He dips his head to kiss her in response, and it’s slow and reverent in a way they are so rarely allowed to be.
They reluctantly disentangle when Daisy knocks seconds later, having been commanded to retrieve Jemma.
“I’ll see you soon,” Jemma promises, and he holds her words deep inside because it’s the only way he can let her go.
++
He’d wanted them to write their own vows—the only part of the wedding they had any real control over—and he’d spent hours thinking of what to say, how to explain what this day meant. But when he’s looking at Jemma in front of him, her wedding ring in the palm of his hand, nothing he’s planned is good enough.
“Jemma,” he says, and her name, the most important word in his vocabulary, is enough to fill his eyes with tears. “I want you to know I...I’ve realized something. The universe can’t stop us. Because we have crossed—” he pauses, seeing Jemma’s eyes very subtly widen, and remembers a significant percentage of the audience, including his mother and her parents, knows nothing of the more classified aspects of their relationship milestones. “—continents,” he finishes. He bites his lip and gently squeezes her fingers. He’s not fully aware of where the words are coming from, only that they’re bubbling out and he’s desperate for her to understand what he’s trying to say.
“We’ve crossed continents, we survived Professor Vaughn’s classes and Sci-Ops and fieldwork we weren’t cleared for, together. And a love like that, that is stronger than any curse.” Somewhere in his periphery, he can hear laughter from the gathered crowd. They will think he’s making a joke or being dramatic, but Jemma smiles tremulously and he knows she’s deciphering what he’s really promising her.
“You and I, we are unstoppable together, and I don’t want to live another day without you. So, Jemma Simmons, I vow to be by your side the whole damn time. I vow to love and cherish you forever.”
He slips the ring onto her finger and she steals a kiss before he can move away. He smiles against her lips and ignores Daisy’s half-hearted slap to his shoulder.
“Leopold James Fitz,” Jemma says, beaming widely at him, “if I had waited for you to propose, we’d never have gotten here.”
“Hey—” he starts to protest, but she laughs and covers his mouth with her hand.
“I’m tired of not being married to you, and I can’t wait to start this part of our lives together. I vow to always be with you, no matter what. You’re my person, and I will love and cherish you forever.” She pulls at the lapel of his jacket, tugging him closer. “So marry me, Fitz.”
He grins, barely waiting for her to slide the ring on to his finger before capturing her mouth in another kiss. “Absolutely,” he whispers.
“I feel like there’s no point in me saying you may kiss now, so whatever,” Mack sighs. “But I’ll still pronounce you husband and wife.”
Fitz draws Jemma back to him amidst cheers, just as the skies open with surprising fury. There’s screaming and a mad dash for the reception hall, but he hardly registers the clamor.
“What’s a little rain when we’ve survived the bottom of the Atlantic?” he asks. Jemma wraps her arms around his neck and he lifts her, twirling her around. Her laughter echoes in his ears, louder than the downpour.
ii.
“It’s not like it really matters, I suppose,” Jemma says one night as they lie tangled together on the twin mattress in their bunk. “Ceremonies aren’t allowed, there aren’t any legal benefits, we’re already living together. We probably…” She stops, blinking back tears from a heartache he knows she’s only recently begun to feel. “We probably wouldn’t be approved for a child even if we put in a request. We’re not exactly popular with the Kree.”
Fitz turns to her and runs a finger along the curve of her face. “But it matters to you,” he says. He hadn’t realized until this moment that it did. He’s often found himself, when he isn’t thinking about everyone and everything they’ve lost or struggling with a time machine he doesn’t believe will actually work, daydreaming about the wedding they could have had. But Jemma has always been more pragmatic, and marriage on the Lighthouse means nothing at all.
“Isn’t that a silly thing to think about?” she asks, and the tremor in her voice causes splinters to dig their way into his heart.
“No,” he reassures her. “Of course it’s not.”
She cries then, unexpectedly, shuddering sobs that echo loudly in their room. At some point, she had stopped crying. If they fell apart at every horror they’d experienced since the world cracked open, they wouldn’t survive. Fitz holds her to him, pressing his lips to her forehead and trying not to be sick as Robin’s words flood his mind.
This is how it will end—with Jemma crying in his arms. He tries to pull himself back. Today is not that day. Today he can love her without losing her. She is real and alive and whole, and today he can save her.
He shifts until he is sitting up, bringing her with him and reaching for a small pouch in his cubby-hole next to the bed. He takes her hand in his and shakes out two rings, smooth and polished, like something from Before.
“Made ‘em with some scrap metal I nicked. I was saving them for…” He can’t say it, but she’ll know—for a mythical day that won’t ever come, when they return to the past and save the world. He’d never believed in a higher power, so how could he believe in a prophecy that set the remains of their team up as saviors? And yet he’d held onto these rings because he hadn’t wanted it to be like this.
Fitz holds her hands and ducks his head until he can meet her eyes. She’s still crying but she smiles at him, soft and trusting.
“I’ve loved you since I was sixteen years old,” he tells her. “There’s no one else I’d rather be trapped in a dystopian hellscape with.”
Jemma laughs and rolls her eyes, and he sneaks a kiss. Everything here is stolen, even these moments that should be their right.
He struggles to remember what people say in weddings, but people don’t have them anymore, and his memories are blurring together. “I promise,” he tries, “to love and respect and support you. I promise to be with you, for better or worse, metrics full of units or none at all, in sickness and in health, until—” His lungs constrict and he breathes through the pain of it, of knowing it has always been until her death. “Forever. I promise I’ll be with you forever.”
Fitz slides the ring onto her finger and she lifts her hand up, the metal shining in the dim light.
“I promise,” she repeats after him, “to love and respect and support you. I promise to be with you, for better or worse, metrics full of units or none at all, in sickness and in health, forever.”
He looks down as she puts his own ring on. It surprises him, seeing it against his skin, new and odd and yet already a part of him.
“Fitz,” she says urgently, and he glances back up at her. “I promise, okay? I promise I’ll be with you forever.”
He knows what she’s trying to tell him, what she’s trying to give him. He wants nothing more than to take her offering, but he doesn’t know how to have faith.
“You’re my husband,” she says, framing his face with her hands and kissing away his tears. “But you’re more than that, too. I’ll always be with you, Fitz.”
He kisses her back, hungrily and greedily. Today she is real and alive and whole, and today his ache for her can be soothed.
iii.
“I can’t believe we’ve never been to Vegas before!” Jemma giggles, pulling sharply at his arm so he topples into her side.
“Is it honestly that exciting? We don’t gamble or participate in other...seedy activities.”
“We could see a show?” Jemma suggests, although she seems content enough to stay in this club and order increasingly complicated drinks. “I always thought of a Vegas trip as very American. A real cultural experience.”
“It’s too bad Coulson didn’t give us more than one night off. Who knows what sort of American cultural experiences we could have.” If she detects the sarcasm in his voice, she doesn’t respond, just insistently pushes another drink his way.
It might not be his ideal vacation, but they haven’t had a free night in ages, and he can’t complain when Jemma’s warm body is pressed against him, when the worry lines creasing her forehead have smoothed out and she’s giggling like they used to, back when everything was easy.
She kisses his jaw and then slides closer, biting at his ear. He squirms a bit, not quite as comfortable with public displays of affection as she is, although based on the antics of some other couples in this club, her actions could be considered positively family-friendly.
“Let’s get married,” she whispers, the heat of her exhale fanning across his face.
“Um, wh-what?” he manages, brain stuck somewhere between where her hand is inching up his thigh and the shock of her words, spoken as if she’d merely suggested ordering room service.
“It’s a proper American experience, isn’t it? Going to Vegas and unexpectedly getting married? Oh, do you think we could find an Elvis officiant? Now that would be authentic.”
Fitz realizes he must be a few more beers in than he’d thought, because he can’t think of any compelling counterarguments to Jemma’s reasoning, which rarely happens.
“Okay…” he says, drawing the word out to give him time to think. “You’re sure about this though? This isn’t the alcohol?”
Jemma smiles at him and then straddles his lap in one fluid motion. She tugs him to her by the collar, and her grin is mischievous but her eyes are heart-stoppingly sincere. “Of course I’m sure. I’ve wanted to marry you for ages, and I’m afraid with this whole saving-the-world business, we might never have the opportunity.”
He chews on his lip, considering, although he’s never had the power to deny her. And anyway, she’s right—they know better than anyone the danger of waiting, and he really, truly wants to marry her. He grabs his cell phone from the table and does a quick Google search. He shows her what he thinks is an acceptable result, and she approves with a decidedly non-PG kiss.
++
He hadn’t meant to answer the phone—the shrill ringing had only increased the pounding of his head and he thought he’d rejected the call. Instead, his mother’s voice reverberates in the tiny hotel room, staticky through the speaker.
“Leopold James Fitz, I have been asking you about your wedding plans for ages! I haven’t seen you or Jemma in almost two years, and you have the absolute gall to send me photos of the two of you eloping in Vegas? Vegas, Leopold?”
Fitz groans, pulling a pillow over his face. He vaguely remembers texting his mother a few photos. Drinking apparently turns him into an idiot.
“Hello, Linda!” Jemma pipes up from beside him, sounding remarkably bright and cheery and not at all hungover.
“Oh, hello, Jemma. Please don’t think I’m upset at you, love. I know this harebrained idea must’ve been all Leo’s doing.”
Fitz expects Jemma to correct his mother, but instead she hums noncommittally and smirks at his outraged expression.
“Well, you know how Fitz can be,” she says as he splutters in protest. “He’s so focused once he gets an idea into his head. We’re dreadfully sorry we didn’t tell you, though. What if we plan a nice reception in Glasgow later this year, would that be all right? We haven’t even told my parents yet, and I’m sure they’ll be equally upset.”
He can hear his mother considering before she acquiesces with a sigh. “That’s a lovely idea. Very modern.”
“Wonderful,” Jemma says, snuggling into his side. The feel of her limbs entwined with his leaves him both breathless and content. He’s suddenly aware that this is the first morning he’s woken up next to his wife, and the realization staggers him.
“And of course, congratulations! I must admit I’m a bit of a hopeless romantic, and I’ve been praying for this day since Leo first wrote me about this brilliant girl in his classes. I spent months encouraging him to say something to you, but he was too shy. Kept telling me he couldn’t think of anything clever enough to get your attention. And now I can hardly believe it, but here we are! I’m so very happy for you two.”
Jemma glances up at him, eyes wide in surprise, although he can’t imagine why.
“Thank you, Linda,” she says. “We’ll email you some potential dates, okay?”
“Of course. Love you both.”
“Love you, Mum,” Fitz manages. When he hangs up the phone, Jemma is still staring at him, her expression inscrutable.
“What?” he asks.
“You really spent months trying to get my attention?”
Fitz shrugs. “I always thought it was a bit obvious. Why?”
Jemma shakes her head, eyes softening as she looks at him. “It’s nothing. I just...I’ve always noticed you, Fitz.” She moves until she’s lying on top of him, her head resting against his heart. “I love you so much,” she whispers. “Thank you for agreeing to this.”
He takes her hand in his, their matching wedding bands lining up. His whole body warms at the sight. “What else was I gonna do?” he says, dropping a kiss to her head, but she’s already fallen back asleep.
iv.
Jemma takes his hand, sliding her fingers in between his, and for a moment the horror of their situation fades and he feels the relief that has only ever come from her presence.
“I’ve thought about our wedding a lot,” she whispers. It’s not at all what he’s expecting her to say, and her ability to surprise him after all their years together sends tendrils of warmth through his veins. It’s too dark to see her expression, but he doesn’t need to. He closes his eyes and breathes her in.
“I never thought I’d be that type of person,” Jemma continues, squeezing his hand, the alternating pressure their own Morse code. This is the way she holds his hand when she’s telling him you’re my person. “You were always the romantic one. But I imagined having a small ceremony in the backyard of our cottage in Perthshire. We’d have decorated with fairy lights and flowers, and that’s all we’d need because our home would be so lovely. We could have drinks and all your favorite desserts and half our friends would end up passing out in the living room.”
The drip of a tear off her nose somehow echoes in their hidden closet, despite the cacophony closing in from the outside, and Fitz finds he can’t speak at all. He squeezes her hand back. You’re my person, too.
“I was going to make you wear a kilt,” she laughs. “I thought you’d look so handsome.”
He swallows thickly and draws her into his arms. At this point, there is no need for defensive posturing. There is no reason to prepare. Fighting was destined to get them this far, and this far only. The lifelines on their palms match up, and the truth they’ve fought for so long is this: their love is infinite but their bodies are fragile.
She presses a kiss to his chest and speaks directly to his heart: “I was going to vow to be with you forever, no matter what. But if this is the price for our years together, I wouldn’t change a thing. I hope you know that. So, since this is our last chance: Leopold James Fitz, will you—”
“Jemma,” he chokes. “I—”
But here, they have always been too late.
v.
“This is ridiculous,” Jemma seethes, storming into the lab where he’s finishing up with equipment diagnostics.
“What is it?” he asks, turning to her in concern.
She wipes furiously at the tears on her cheeks, and he can tell by her posture that she’s equally angry at herself. “I know I’m being stupid, and after everything we’ve been through wedding planning should be the easiest thing to survive, but it’s so stressful, and you know, it’s hard finding any vendors with any sort of proper cancellation policy. Is it our fault we work for a spy organization and can’t always predict what threats will arise last minute? We already lost all our deposits from the last time everything fell apart, and I just got off the phone with the venue, and they refuse to rebook us because they think we’re fickle. Fickle, Fitz, as if we knew there’d be a bloody alien invasion a week before our wedding!”
A need for air forces Jemma to stop yelling, and he takes the opportunity to gather her in his arms. “I know,” he soothes, stroking her hair rhythmically until her erratic breathing slows down. “I’m so sorry, Jemma. I know it’s not fair.”
“Why aren’t you more upset by this?” she asks.
He holds her even closer and rests his cheek on the top of her head. “I am upset. I wanted this, too. But mostly I want to be married to you, and we can find another way.”
“A courthouse wedding?” Her voice is subdued, muffled against his shirt.
Fitz steps back and takes her hand, guiding her over to his work station. “I was doing some research for a honeymoon, and it was supposed to be a surprise, but…” He clicks on a folder on his desktop and opens a brochure he’d downloaded the other day.
“The Seychelles?” Jemma’s eyes widen, the corners of her mouth quirking up.
“Yeah, well, we never got the chance. But I noticed this place offers—” he scrolls down until he finds the highlighted paragraph. “—wedding packages. You don’t have to book them far in advance, and we’d only need to bring a few documents.”
Jemma steps closer, skimming through the information. “I’d wanted everyone to be there," she sighs. "But after today, I don’t see it happening. And oh, Fitz...this is absolutely beautiful.” She turns her face towards him, and her smile is enough to make him believe in a universe where anything is possible.
Yeah, he thinks. Beautiful.
She reaches up, brushing her lips against his. “I’m in. And I’m going to do something with you on that island that will take your breath away.”
He laughs. “I know, I know, we’re going snorkeling.”
Jemma smiles smugly, stepping forward until there’s no space between them. “No,” she says, gazing directly at him and making his heart stutter. “I’m not talking about snorkeling.”
Fitz is not entirely convinced he’ll survive the wedding.
(+ i.)
“Can you believe how beautiful it is today? And you insisted planning an outdoor wedding in Scotland was practically begging for rain. Perhaps we’re not cursed after all.” Jemma is sitting at their breakfast nook, a mug of tea in her hands. The light from the rising sun filters in through the open window, setting her hair ablaze. Fitz is about to tell her how beautiful she looks, but first—
“Ugh, I said that one—”
“You said it more than once, actually.”
“Okay, fine, but I also said we were stronger than any curse. Which you’d know if Kasius hadn’t ruined my proposal.”
“Fitz,” Jemma says, almost sternly, as she sets her tea down and holds a hand out to him. He walks over to stand between her legs and she gazes up at him with an adoration so intense it’s like standing beneath a waterfall.
“Yeah?”
“We’re getting married today.” She reaches up to pull at his shirt and he tips towards her, kissing her and tasting Earl Grey and orange scone. He doesn’t know how many kisses they’ve shared in this lifetime or how many they’ve lived and can’t remember, only that the press of her lips to his is, all these years later, both achingly familiar and intoxicatingly new.
“We’re getting married today,” he agrees. He sits down at her feet, resting his back against the window bench and letting Jemma run her fingers through his hair. He gazes around at the small cottage they’ve made their own, at the fresh flowers and fairy lights serving as wedding decor. It’s simple and beautiful and he thinks, god, I’ve waited my whole life for this. Not just for the wedding, for all of it—their home, the family they’ve created in each other. They spent lifetimes separated or failing to save the world, but all of that pain only led them to this beginning.
“We have at least thirty minutes before my parents inevitably show up two hours ahead of schedule,” Jemma says. Her fingernails scratch playfully at his scalp and he sighs in contentment.
“Mm, any plans?”
He glances up when she doesn’t respond, and her answering smirk is demanding to be kissed off her face. So he does.
++
Fitz and Jemma tiptoe through the living room, where Daisy, Mack, Elena, Hunter, and Bobbi are passed out, sprawled across the floor and all of their furniture. They quietly pile leftover dessert onto a paper plate and sneak back into bed, taking turns with one fork and giggling like it’s fifteen years ago and they’re tipsy in their dorm room after finishing top of all their classes for the semester.
“You looked so good today,” Jemma mumbles, mouth full of cake. “I knew you’d be ridiculously attractive in a kilt.”
“Really? Because you couldn’t wait to get me out of it,” Fitz replies, leaning forward to kiss frosting from the corner of her mouth.
Jemma laughs, unabashed. “As if you were any better. I’ll never find those buttons, and they were beautiful.”
Fitz blushes, apologetic, and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re beautiful,” he says. “Was the wedding everything you wanted?”
“Yes.” She takes a final bite of cake and sets the plate down on her nightstand. “I’m sure I’m being grossly sentimental, but this was the best day of my life.” Jemma lies down, resting her head in his lap and closing her eyes as he softly slides his fingers through her hair.
“Do you ever think about...with all the time jumps, there must be some version of us that never experienced this, right?”
“No,” Fitz says, voice firm. “Everything was always going to lead us here.”
He feels Jemma smile against his leg, can tell from the way the rhythm of her breathing changes that she’s falling asleep. “I don’t think you’re speaking with your usual scientific lack of bias.”
“I don’t care,” he says. “I refuse to believe this wasn’t always our future.”
Jemma reaches up, pulling his hand from her hair and bringing it to her face. She kisses his palm and then rests his hand to her chest, so he can feel the beating of her heart.
“My hopeless romantic,” she sighs.
“Yeah, well, you married me.”
She laughs and he shifts until he’s lying on his side facing her. “I did,” she murmurs. “And I would do it again. I don’t think there could exist a version of me that wouldn’t want to marry you.”
He kisses her forehead, her nose, her cheeks. “I love you,” he whispers. “I can’t wait for our future.”
Jemma smiles against his lips, no longer on the precipice of sleep. She kisses him deeply and draws him towards her until his body rests heavily on top of hers. She holds him tightly, and Fitz forgets all about the past and the future and the mystifying combination of the two, because lying here, tangled up in his wife’s limbs, is the only thing he’s ever needed.
Merry Christmas, @unbreakablejemmasimmons from your TFSN Secret Santa! I had the best time working on this fun, trope-y prompt, especially considering how angsty canon is haha. Thanks for being such an awesome giftee, and I really hope you like this! <3
Read on AO3!
(It has an M rating, but it’s really just a very short scene in the last chapter which is sectioned off with asterisks. People who don’t read smut can let me know if this is okay or would prefer something else. I don’t write it that often so I’m not up on my etiquette haha.)
Prompt: "Fitz and Jemma meet as the best man and maid of honor in their friends' wedding--will they infuriate each other or will sparks fly?"
Preview:
Jemma grins broadly, waving her fingers as they head for the exit, but when Fitz moves to follow their friends she grabs the collar of his jacket, spinning him to her in one fast, unexpected motion. She’s no longer smiling and her eyes glint dangerously in the dim lighting.
“What—?” Fitz starts, but Jemma shakes her head, pushing him back down into the booth.
“We need to discuss our schedule.”
“S-sorry?”
“Fitz.” She sits across from him, hands clasped in front of her, a stern expression on her face. “I love Trip and Daisy more than anything, but they spontaneously got engaged in the middle of wedding season, and now are planning to have it two months from now. You realize that’s eight weeks away, right?”
“I can count,” Fitz mutters, unsure if he should be offended or not.
“Perhaps,” she concedes. “But you don’t seem particularly aware of how difficult this undertaking is.”
Okay, that definitely offends him. “I’m aware!” he protests, but Jemma cuts him off.
“Daisy wants this wedding to be, and I quote, ‘the classiest, most ridiculous, most fun, most beautiful dance party in the history of weddings. And please make sure there’s plenty of debauchery.’ I’m not sure you realize how impossible that is with eight weeks notice.”
“It’s also contradictory,” Fitz laughs, stopping abruptly when he realizes Jemma is glaring at him. “Come on, Simmons,” he says. “I’ve known Daisy since freshman year. She’s excited, but she’s joking...mostly. She’d be perfectly happy getting married in someone’s living room, as long as we were all there.”
Jemma frowns and he slinks back a little in his seat. He hadn’t noticed, as the four of them had laughed their way through the initial planning brunch, how intense she could be. “Be that as it may, Daisy and Trip deserve the best wedding we can give them while still being budget-conscious, and at this point many vendors will already be booked. Daisy doesn’t have any family, and Trip’s family, while...delightful, are spread all across the country and won’t be much help. So it’s up to us, which is why I’ve prepared these.”
She pulls two binders from her bag, one with his name on the cover and one with hers.
“Is this...color-coded?” he asks, reading through a detailed timeline followed by pages of footnotes.
“I excel at preparation,” she replies, somewhat smugly.
