#but would papa!Coulson really split up Fitzsimmons when they're all so hurt by betrayal and such

[dilkirani]

If your still doing this could you please do 47) things you said in a hotel room?

Sure!! Hope you like. :) s1/s3:

—-

Everything is silent, achingly so. Fitz finds his own breathing deafening and he tries to consciously quiet his inhalations and exhalations. Jemma is flat on her back in the twin bed next to his—a mere meter away, but the distance feels infinite. She’s still awake too, he can sense it, but she hasn’t spoken in hours so he doesn’t either.

Not for the first time, he wishes he had a switch in his brain to turn it off. Usually, he can’t fall asleep for excitement over a project or theories spinning out too fast to keep up with. But tonight his head is filled with permutations of betrayal, complex hypotheses to explain why a man would one day be a friend and the next day an enemy. It didn’t make sense, none of it, and the more he thinks the more he hurts. A simple on-off switch would be nice. Just power down for the night, reboot, and try again in the morning.

“I can feel you thinking,” Jemma says, and it takes Fitz a moment before he realizes she’s actually spoken aloud and not just infiltrated his thoughts again.

“Sorry,” he replies. He squeezes his eyes shut, although he barely registers a difference. Their room is so dark.

He hears her sigh and shift in her bed, and then a second later her hand is on his shoulder, pushing gently. “Move over,” she says. He acquiesces without being conscious of it and tries not to gulp when she slides under the blanket next to him, her thigh just barely grazing his hip.

“Are you scared?” she asks, and for some reason he loves that she asks, even though she has to know the answer.

“Yeah,” he responds. If anything, he’s more still than before, hyper-conscious of the boundaries of his own body and of the heavy darkness cocooning them in this strange new reality. He stares up at the ceiling, although he craves a glimpse of her face.

“Me too,” she says. She turns on her side then and grabs his hand and Fitz is overwhelmed by the sensation. “But at least we still have each other, right? We’ll get through this together.”

He tilts his head to her, and even in the non-existent light he can make out her profile, the soft smile turning up the corners of her lips.

“Yeah,” he whispers. And then, more strongly—“Yes.” He hadn’t known his whole world could turn upside down and fall apart without warning, but he might have guessed that if it did, Jemma Simmons would be on the other side, promising they’d survive it together. Maybe it’s sentimentality, but he finds that every cell in his body believes what she’s telling him, and he nearly weeps with gratitude.

They fall asleep curled towards each other, like flowers reaching for the sun, hands so close they could touch. They could, but they don’t.

++

Fitz is almost embarrassed at how loud his own breathing is, especially in the stillness of the large hotel suite. Almost, because there’s very little room in his brain for any emotions that are not love and satisfaction and happiness and a kind of intense wonder at the beauty of lying next to Jemma Simmons and knowing that by some miracle, she has wanted this just as much as he has.

He checks his phone and sees that Mack has sent an only slightly-unsubtle ‘15 more minutes’ warning message. He sets a timer and then tosses his phone onto the floor. Jemma immediately curls back against his side, resting her head over his hammering heart.

His head is strangely empty but buzzing incessantly at the same time. He wishes for a moment that he could turn it off and let go completely, but if he does he might never leave. Who knew that heaven was as simple as a hotel bed and Jemma’s sweaty limbs tangled up with his own?

“I can feel you thinking,” Jemma says, and it takes Fitz a moment before he realizes she’s actually spoken aloud and not just infiltrated his thoughts again.

“Sorry,” he replies, squeezing her closer to his side. The fact that they’re here, together, after everything is so surreal he feels dizzy.

She runs a hand along his face, scratching gently at his stubble. These small gestures between them are so unbearably intimate, and as if he hadn’t fully realized it before, the truth of it hits him like a tidal wave: he will never, in his entire life, come back from this. She’s it for him; although really, she’s been the only one for years. Maybe forever.

“Are you scared?” she asks, softly, no hint of judgment in her voice.

“No,” he answers honestly. He turns until he’s on his side facing her and clasps her hands against his chest. “I mean, yeah, about a lot of things. But not about this. Not about us.”

“Me neither,” she says, and she smiles so brightly it takes his breath away. “I thought I might be…I mean, after your speech—”

“Come on, now,” he interrupts, but he’s grinning and she’s giggling, and he can’t believe he’d ever been afraid of his feelings, had ever wished they might disappear.

“But I’m not,” she finishes, kissing his nose, his cheek, his lips. “I can’t believe how right this feels. How perfect.” She pauses, grimacing slightly in self-deprecation. “One’s probably not supposed to admit such things right after the first time, is one?”

He laughs before capturing her lips in a lazy kiss, some part of him still in shock that this is something they do now. “Well, it’s not like I can hold it against you. I think it’s pretty obvious I’ve been in love with you for ages.”

This is an unintended confession that should cause an anxiety spike, but he has never been safer than when he’s resting in Jemma’s arms. Her eyes soften and she runs her fingers through his hair, always impossibly gentle. “I’ve been in love with you for ages, too,” she says.

He thinks of all the obstacles between them, all the heartache and misunderstandings and wounds untended, but he knows suddenly that she’s not trying to appease or reassure him. She’s simply speaking a truth she’s been afraid to voice for so long and he’s unspeakably touched by her bravery.

They very nearly fall asleep, but the piercing sound of his alarm jostles them out of bed. Fitz feels an aching emptiness as they separate to dress and hopes that someday the world will give them more than a few moments of stolen time.

When they walk down the hallway they drift towards each other like magnets, hands swinging so close they brush with every step. Fitz reaches out and laces his fingers through hers, and this time he doesn’t let go.