#someone asked where fitz's other leg went which I thought was funny

[bookwyrminspiration]

I found the artists Instagram and I love her art but my gosh what is with the cover

For anyone curious, here's a link to her IG! She is a very talented artist, though there is a big difference between doing a single piece you can put all the thought and detail you want into it, and illustrating a graphic novel.

Between being asked to use a different style than her typical one (as she said on her tumblr), and the simplifying necessary for a graphic novel (though not as much so for a cover), and probably much more, it definitely was not what many of us were expecting.

I don't think it's bad--although I will say I think the layout of Fitz's face is wrong for the angle, a technical critique--it's just very different from the example art we've seen of hers prior. Which makes sense, but is still something to get used to.

There's also what others have said about it not feeling like it embodies keeper, but I'll go into that in another ask about the cover :)

Anyway! I want to very clearly emphasize my support for the artist, she has a massive task in front of her and a fandom with high expectations. I don't think she's paying attention to us or what we say, but either way. Even if the cover isn't what we thought or expected (honestly I forgot it needed a cover), she clearly has skill and artistic knowledge I'm curious to see in the rest of the novel--which I think will be a better judge. Covers are all played up, but the book is the real meat of it and, I think, more important.

[daisybeewrites]

July — d.j.

for @dreamcxtcherr ‘s 3k writing challenge. congrats lena!!

word count: 1.8k

warnings: mention of car crash/death, mention of alcohol consumption, daisy cries, i think thats it lmk if not!!

ship: R x daisy johnson

okay y’all… first ever anggstttttt!!! i’m way too excited about it. if you want a fully immersive experience, i recommend listening to july by noah cyrus slowed + reverb

(gif uncredited on pinterest (ugh, i hate that. credit a gif if you use it!! im trying to find the owner)) update — found owner

It was another mission. Another nightmarish fire-fight where you almost lost a limb, almost lost a friend, almost lost your life. Twenty-four hours later and you’re back home, safe.

Well, as safe as you can be when your engagement is on the verge of breaking off.

You stare at the simple ring on your left hand. White gold band, a tiny amethyst set to the left of a diamond. There was a nearly identical one lying next to the sink, the only difference being the switched places of the glittering gems.

You know she didn’t do it purposefully. You had both been exhausted after what was supposed to be an in-and-out mission turned into a hostage situation. Daisy did what she always did as soon as you were home — take off her gauntlets, wash her hands in the sink, grab a snack, and hop into a steaming shower.

But you still can’t stop yourself from staring at it, eyes fixed, hands shaking, breath held and mind racing.

You used to join her. You would wash each other’s hair, ease each other’s sore muscles with delicate touches on tender purple-black bruises. She would lean into you, letting you braid her hair and falling asleep in your arms, drifting into a deep slumber. It was intimate, lovely; it was normal and perfect.

Taking a sip of your room-temperature beer, you slide off the cool granite of the kitchen island. You had a new routine after missions now, you just had to get used to it.

You hear the shower shut off, bare feet pad into your cosy bedroom, and the door shut with a loud creak. The minute squeak of the mattress tells you that Daisy flopped into bed.

A ghost of a smile lights your face. It looks more like a grimace, you think, as you check your distorted reflection in the green glass of your beer bottle. Chucking the empty bottle in the recycling, you run a hand through your dirty, salty hair. The comfy sweats you changed into an hour ago would need to be washed, the dirt still adorning your skin rubbing off on the black material. You exhale before heading down the hall towards the bathroom.

The tiled room is filled with steam, the mirror fogged up so that only a blurry outline of your silhouette could be seen. You are unrecognizable.

How fitting.

The quick, cold shower you take does nothing to ease your mind or body. You wipe the mirror in a circle, taking out a first aid kit.

With all your cuts bandaged and the proper creams Jemma had snuck to you and Daisy applied to your fresh bruises, you headed into the hallway in your towel.

Daisy is standing in the kitchen, lilac lounge shorts you bought her last Christmas showing off her tanned and scarred legs. She looks warm and soft, a very different Daisy than the superhero who had broken a mob boss’ legs just hours before. Her hair is wet and in braids. You frown. You always braid her hair.

If she hears you, she doesn’t turn around, so you take a moment to admire her. Ten seconds, that’s all you give yourself. It was a stressful mission, if you stare too long she might snap. From the back, you can’t see the dark circles you know are there, but you can see the tension in her shoulders and the slight tilt of her head as she ponders what to eat.

You say nothing as you go to the bedroom to change. You find a black pair of SHIELD sweats and an old, holey t-shirt you vaguely remember stealing from Fitz. A presence at the doorway catches your attention.

“Hi,” Daisy says tentatively. Your breath caught in your throat, your lungs holding the air captive until Daisy spoke again.

“I missed you.”

Your eyes widened. Maybe tonight wouldn’t end with one of you on the couch, clutching a six pack while the other cried as quietly as possible, tucked into cold, lonely sheets.

“Braiding my hair, I mean,” She clarified. Her fingers twisted together, rigid posture giving away her nerves.

The air felt humid, as if the open window had suddenly sucked all the AC out and let the mid-summer heat in. Your memory flashes to the last time you and Daisy had a normal, happy conversation.

The edges are fuzzy, but the pure joy in Daisy’s chocolate eyes is clear. Fairy lights strung haphazardly around the living room, a movie playing in the background, your lips on hers. Blankets make a ceiling over your head that shut out the rest of the world, this moment was only for you two. You played with the thin metal band on her ring finger, she ran her hands through her hair. Her matching ring scratched your scalp lightly. You both smile as you pull away. You whisper childhood stories, laugh at the funny parts and offer melancholic smiles at the not-so-lighthearted parts. You were happy.

That night you got the call — Lincoln Campbell, yours and Daisy’s best friend, had wrapped his car around a telephone pole coming off of a long shift at the hospital. His blood alcohol was almost .40.

Eggshells littered the house from the time you got back from the funeral. One wrong word, Daisy would snap and spend hours punching a bag until her fingers bled. You would fill those hours with whatever was closer — wine or your car keys. You pulled yourself out of your head, realizing you should answer her.

“I missed it, too,” You breathed.

Daisy made a small, unintelligible noise before collapsing against the door frame. You froze for only a second, your mind racing through possibilities. Was she bleeding internally? Was it her back again? Did she get shot and not notice until now?

You leap over to her, catching her as she crumbles to the hardwood floor.

A quiet sob wracks her chest. Your hands hover over her slouched back, unsure how to comfort her. At this moment, Daisy feels foreign. Her sudden vulnerability alerts you to how she’s been holding her emotions in for god knows how long.

“Daisy…” You start, hesitantly.

Daisy hiccups loudly, another wave of tears washing over her.

“Tell me to leave, I’ll pack my bags,” Daisy cried, “But I don’t, I-I don’t want to lose you!”

Burning tears gather on your lash line, threatening to fall at her words. You never could stand to see Daisy cry.

Your brows furrow slightly in confusion before you realize what Daisy is talking about. After Lincoln’s death, you two had fought increasingly more often until Daisy locked herself away or spent the night at May’s, and you went for drives until your car ran on empty. On those nights, bottles of wine disappeared from the cabinet without a trace.

Daisy sits up, stamping down her sobs, seemingly resigning herself to the fact that you aren’t going to say anything. Her trembling lip and red eyes pierce your heart. The astronomical distance between you two seems atomic now. You reach out quicker than lightning, shushing her cries and rubbing her back.

“Do you want to go?” You asked after a while. Your knees dig uncomfortably into the floor, your shoulder hurts from the ridges in the doorframe.

Daisy sniffles, her hair falling into her face as she looks away. You crane your neck down, carefully tucking her hair behind her ear.

“You know I’m afraid of change, I guess that’s why we’ve stayed the same,” You sigh, your chest constricting and squeezing the broken glass pieces of your heart.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself to continue, “But if you want to find a new life, someone who loves you better than I do, darling, I understand.”

Daisy is still frozen, stare burning holes in the floor. You’re glad that the two of you are at home, the poly-tectic adaptive materials hidden between the walls keeping the house from collapsing. By the slight groan of the foundation, you can imagine Daisy could bring down a mountain with the amount of pain she’s in.

Which can only mean one thing.

“I’m not enough,” You stated. It wasn’t a question. You glance down, a glint in the low light cast from the lamp on the bedside table catching your eye. She has her ring on…

Daisy finally, finally shakes her head ‘no’. You let go of a breath, guilt building every second that passes. She isn’t happy. You shouldn’t be happy that she’s staying.

“Feels like a lifetime, we’ve been trying to get by while we’re dying inside,” You say, gently.

Daisy snaps her eyes to yours, a desperation in them you recognize as grief.

“So much of the past year has been consumed by grief. We never took time off, we never talked about it. I’ve done a lot of things wrong, loving you being one,” She whispers.

You nod, there is no denying that you each had a part in getting to where you are now. Delicately, you grab her hand. She squeezes it, a rush of small vibrations traveling up your arm. Your chest flutters at the familiar affection.

“So have I,” You assure her. She gradually falls towards you, exhausted. You let her rest her head on your shoulder, her breath evening out as her arms wrap around you. You feel hot tears flow down your face, fall onto her hair. Slowly, you pull Daisy closer to you.

Hours later, the sun peeks over the top of the mountain range in the distance. You had adjusted the two of you sometime around two a.m., no longer able to feel your legs from how the floor cut off your circulation.

Sometime around three, you had gathered the courage to move Daisy to the bed, trying hard not to wake her. She had only turned over and not let go of your hand.

You haven’t slept at all tonight, thoughts spinning until you force yourself to pause and count to ten, only to repeat the pattern.

You know what you have to do. You know what’s best for the both of you. You’ll leave, pack your bags and find a place to stay until you can scrape up enough money to rent an apartment. You’ll go to therapy, learn to live without Lincoln, without Daisy. Eventually, Daisy will heal, too. You both have the team at your backs, no matter what happens. She would be okay.

But you know you won’t. The fear of losing Daisy, of losing your life, your home, yourself stops you. You can’t move on. You can’t move forward.

You know that the big changes it takes to heal could cost you Daisy. So, you stay the same. You give into fear. You’ll never be enough, never love Daisy right, never quite heal fully — and neither will Daisy. But you still stay.

You’ll always stay the same.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ahhhh how was it? did you love it? any feedback? want more? put any thoughts/feelings/questions/concerns in the comments or my ask box!! i really enjoyed writing this and i hope you enjoyed reading it even more!!

<<3

[marvul-imagines]

Oceans Away

Chapter One

Three months ago

The room was dark, grainy, with a little bit of sunlight filtering in, barely making an impression through the amount of dust, filtering and dancing through the air. Asia Monroe, Agent of Shield, lay on the thin cot beneath her for a moment, unmoving, simply taking in her surroundings. She didn't want anyone to know she was awake yet, not until she figured out where she was and why she was here. And why the fuck her head hurt so badly. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking in the pain, and the musty scents of dust, and trying to feel for anything at all, anything familiar. She stretched her senses out, feeling for any bit of water, the water that composed a human body, that she could.

Before she even got the chance to do so, a door creaked slowly open. Asia forced herself to take slow, measured breaths, not wanting to give away that she had woken up quite yet. Not that she would even get the chance. "So, you're awake," a familiar, deep voice spoke, a weight touching the edge of the bed as a man sat down. "How's your head? They had you pretty messed up in there."

The brunette slowly opened her eyes, the jig was up anyways, to see Clint Barton, wearing all black, sitting at the foot of her bed. "Clint? What are you doing..here? Where is here, by the way?" She asked all at once, trying to prop herself up, but a blazing pain raced through her head before she could do so.

"Ehh, you probably shouldn't try and do that just yet. You're going to be pretty out of it for a bit. What do you remember?" Clint asked her, brow furrowing as he looked down at her.

Asia tried to think about it, tried to remember where she was, what she had been doing. Why was she out with Clint? Where was Nat? Where was the rest of her usual team? Thoughts, inklings of them, started to slowly drift into her mind. They had been on a mission for....something? Whenever she tried to think about that it was like someone had cut the footage, there was nothing but empty black. "Mmm....Coulson sent us...you and me and Natasha out here, for, uh, for something?" She said, trying once more to sit up, rubbing at her left eye with the heel of her palm. "We're in Eastern Europe, I think? I guess it's hard to tell from in here but I'm....pretty sure that's where we were. Where are we?"

"A little place called Hell. And, you've got that much right," Clint grinned, adjusting the curtain to let a little more light in for her, "Looks like the Red Room didn't fuck with your mind too badly. Shame, now I'll still have to deal with your annoying jokes," his words were teasing, but there was still that intense look of studying her, making sure she was okay.

"The Red Room?" Asia asked groggily, the words causing her brain to ache when she tried to think about it. "What...what was I doing there? What were we doing?"

"Deep undercover, Monroe. You were pretending to be their latest initiate. Was going great, till they clearly caught wind of what we were doing," Clint sighed, shaking his head. "I should have done something more. Something...." he looked like he wanted to punch something. "They had started a basic mind-wipe on you. Thankfully, I got there in time. You should, hopefully, be back in tip top shape shortly."

"What about Nat? Where is she? Is she okay?" Asia asked, finally managing to sit all of the way upright. If she was hurt, Nat should be here. She always was.

"Calm down, kiddo, she's fine," Clint said, standing up and placing a pillow behind Asia's back. "She's just doing a little bit of...clean up. Eliminating the rest of the Room's operatives who were there, getting the kids out safely. She'll be back soon, I'm sure. Until then...want some soup or something?"

On queue, her stomach growled. "Yes, please," Asia muttered, her head still pounding. What else had she forgotten? She didn't like the idea of being unmade. Hazily, she reached for the phone on the wooden table beside her cot, looking at the time. 17:39. The man on the background of her screen, she knew him instantly. Leo Fitz. At least she hadn't forgotten the people who mattered. At least it was just the details of this mission.

But, unfortunately, she did remember the familiar ache of her screen, empty of all messages. He hadn't reached out to her, not once, not to make sure she was okay, to make sure he was alive. He had been far too busy as of late, too busy for her, too busy for anyone. He spent all day, every day, in the Lab, in the basement, in the Library, trying to find any sort of hint as to what happened to Jemma Simmons. And his leads were starting to run dry, just like their relationship was starting to run dry.

It felt like he hardly paid her time of day anymore. They hadn't had sex in weeks, and he barely kissed her ever. She got it, he was busy, dedicated, wanting to make sure that their teammate got home alive. But she couldn't shake the feeling it had something to do with the grand confession of her emotions that Jemma had made to Leo literally days before her disappearance.

And she understood it, she did, she really really did. The desire to save a friend. She got that. She felt it too. Of course, she wanted Jemma back. But did she have to lose him along with it? That hurt more than her fucking head did right now. She looked over at Clint, her friend, her partner, her mentor. He seemed to have a fine relationship with Harper, even when he was gone for a long time. How could he make it so easy?

The shirtless man, the assassin turned Avenger turned part-time Avenger turned dad, gave her one last grin, before disappearing out the door he had come through, presumably off to make the soup. God, she wanted food. And she wanted to sleep, more. Her body begged for it. She let the phone drop back to the table, pretty damn sure she wouldn't be getting any messages on it any time soon.

She would sleep, she would eat, and then they could fly back to base and give a debrief to Coulson, if he was around and not too busy. And she was sure Daisy would want to see her. They had been up to their ears in work lately, with the Terrigen getting out into the ecosystem, causing an influx of people to turn Inhuman. They were pretty sure it had to do with the crystals dropped into the ocean, and somehow being consumed by fish. Most of the people who had turned had been taking Fish Oil pills, so it seemed like a likely answer. Too bad their best scientists were otherwise occupied.

As she leaned back down to let herself sleep, she found that the desire to rest was gone. Of course. Her mind was moving far too much now. Slowly, she swung her legs one by one over the edge of the bed. She wanted her ice bath. Back at HQ, she had started using an ice bath to absorb and heal her wounds. It also made her feel stronger, much stronger. She had found that, just as her body was able to control water, it was also able to make a space underneath the water for her to breath, separate the water from the oxygen. Sometimes, she even slept in there. She looked down at her arms, covered in green sleeves, and slowly rolled them up, revealing the bruises beneath. Yea, she could use an ice bath right about now.

Cautiously, she stumbled out of the makeshift bedroom and into the equally dimly lit hall of whatever shack they had rented for this mission. The cement floor was cool and clammy against her bare feet. She could hear the sound of water boiling on a stove just a door away, feel it bubbling if she tried hard enough, smell the soup in the pot, smell tea that Clint was making. She pushed into the kitchen, wincing at the bright light coming from the bulb above.

"God, whatever the hell they did feels like a hangover times a thousand," she groaned, dropping herself into one of the wooden kitchen chairs, feeling it groan beneath her weight. "Soup almost ready? I could kill for food right now."

"Funny part is, I'm pretty sure you would kill for food," Clint joked. "About two more minutes, so just hold your horses. Nat will be back soon, and then we can all fly home."

The two minutes went by quickly, and, in silence, the two Shield agents slurped their meal, waiting for their third member to arrive back safely.

And she did, safely and silently, which was quite a Natasha thing to do. They hadn't even heard her enter until she spoke. "What, ate all the good food without me while I'm out there cleaning up after you two?" Her tone was teasing, lighthearted. The redhead was still wearing her black suit when she walked into the kitchen, hugging Asia tightly from behind. "I'm glad they didn't hurt you too badly. Next time, I won't let them lay a finger on you." She said seriously, and Asia believed it. There were few people Natasha hated more in the world than the Red Room and their operatives.

"It's okay, it was worth it," Asia shrugged in reply. "If we were able to shut down one of their locations, then it was all worth it. Did you get the kids out?"

"Yea, to a Shield monitored orphanage," Natasha replied, setting her guns down onto the counter and pouring herself her own bowl of soup. "It may not be the best life, for now, but it's a hell of a lot better than what would have happened to them there. Plus, I talked to Tony and he's going to make a donation, help spruce things up a bit." She shoveled the soup into her mouth, and Asia took this as a sign that she didn't really want to talk about it anymore. The brunette nodded, going back to eating her own food.

"Well, now that we're all here and the jobs done, what do you guys say? Shall we blow this lame excuse for a Popsicle stand?" Clint asked, putting his bowl in the sink and rinsing it for a moment.

Nat and Asia looked at each other, before looking back at Clint and both nodding enthusiastically.

"That's what I thought," Clint grinned. "Plus, I'm sure Monroe here is excited to see that boy whose waiting for her back at base," Clint winked at her, causing Asia to roll her eyes and plaster a smile to her face. As good as spies as the two were, Asia had gotten pretty good at lying to both of them, at least when it came to her feelings. Yea, she was excited to sleep in her own bed. But she was pretty sure no one was there waiting for her.

[theartofbeinganerd]

Hey, if you are still taking prompts, can I request academy fitzsimmons falling in love and getting together?

Hi anon, thank you for the prompt! I know it’s not ~technically Academy Era since they’re not at the Academy, but I hope this is still alright!

(Also, I could possibly be persuaded to write parts of this from Jemma’s POV, especially the last few bits of it, just an fyi...)

I’ve had some trouble recently with the read more line not working on mobile, so if that’s a problem, please let me know and we’ll work something out! I’m more than happy to do what I can to make sure everyone can enjoy my fics!

-

It was the final day of classes for his first year at theAcademy, and having finished all of his finals and in possession of a planeticket back to Glasgow for that evening, Fitz was rushing around his dorm roomlike a madman, shoving things haphazardly into his open suitcase. He’d meant to be packed before then, butthings had kept getting in the way, and…and perhaps,there may have been a part of him that wasn’t ready to leave yet.

Logically, he knew that packed or not, he was going to haveto leave the Academy campus eventually, and ofcourse he was excited to see his mum again, but…

“This is why I left you all of those notes, reminding you topack, for weeks,” Jemma pointed out,crossing her arms over her chest and narrowly avoiding the wrinkled-up t-shirthe’d tossed at the suitcase on the bed beside her. “Honestly, Fitz.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I’d have packed before now if you hadn’tkept me busy twenty-four-seven with your ridiculous study sessions,” Fitz shotback, eyeing the pile of clothes in the top drawer of his dresser, thenshrugging and scooping it all up into his arms to carry it over to his bed.

Jemma actually cringedas she watched him dump the heap of unfolded clothes into the suitcase. “Areyou sure you don’t want me to do some folding for you? I wouldn’t mind…”

“Oh c’mon Simmons, we both know you’re asking for entirelyselfish reasons,” Fitz half-joked, planting his hands on his hips and archingan eyebrow at her. “In fact, I take a great amount of pleasure in the thoughtof you on a plane back home to Sheffield, twitching the entire way because youcan’t stop thinking ‘bout my suitcase full of wrinkled laundry.”

“You are a cruel human being, Fitz,” Jemma sighed teasingly,reaching out to poke him pointedly in the ribs.

Fitz swatted her hand away, stepping back and out of herreach. “Just for that, I’m gonna let you in on a secret: my poor suitcase isbound to stay packed and full of said wrinkled laundry for at least a month, perhaps longer.”

“Ugh.” Jemmadropped back dramatically onto his mattress, covering her face with a hand.“You’re going to make me come to Glasgow and unpack it for you, aren’t you?”

Fitz bit his lip, just barely managing to hold back thestrange reply of, whatever gives me achance to see you – where had thatcome from?

Shifting a bit uncomfortably as he tried to push thatthought to the back of his mind, he replied half-heartedly, “Ah, don’t worry,I’ll unpack it; I’d hate for you to make the trip just to deal with mymismatched socks – or to go through my pants.” He affected a shudder that hadJemma giggling, kicking lightly at his leg, which was still far out of herreach. “I’ll even send you photographic proof.”

“Of what? Your pants? I don’t think we’re that close yetFitz, but it’s the thought that counts.”

Feeling the tips of his ears begin to burn in embarrassment,Fitz attempted to cover for it by grabbing a handful of his rolled-up socks.“Oh yeah? You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”

“A bit – ahhh! Fitz!” As he began launching the socksat her, Jemma squirmed away, holding her hands up defensively as she shriekedat the attack. “Stop! Stop it! Fitz!”

It was only when he found himself out of ammunition thatFitz showed mercy, and collapsing back on his bed on the other side of hissuitcase, he couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the sight of Jemma,covered in socks and scowling at him. After a moment, her stern expressioncrumbled, and she began giggling right along with him.

However, just an hour later, neither of them was laughinganymore.

“So, uh…you’ve got my number?” Fitz asked again, just to besure.

Jemma nodded, patting her messenger bag, where Fitz knew shekept a mostly-empty address book (one that only contained information on her relatives,professors and a handful of colleagues, and now Fitz). “And your address aswell, so that –”

“So that we can have an old-fashioned pen pal experience,yeah, I know, I remember.” He made a big show of sighing in exasperation androlling his eyes, as though writing Jemma a letter once or twice a week was a chore or something, when it was far morelikely that getting her letters in the mail would be the highlight of his wholemiserable summer.

“Letters are much more personal than e-mails!” Jemma defendedherself for the hundredth time. “No one eversends letters anymore, they all claim to never have the time to sit down for afew minutes and write out a handful of quick paragraphs, pop it in the postbox, and there, you’re done!Honestly, it’s a shame.”

Fitz held up his hands in an attempt to placate Jemma.“Okay, alright, yes, letter-writing is a dying art. But if we stand heretalking about it all day, we’ll miss our flights.”

Jemma frowned, darting a glance at her watch, then lookingover her shoulder toward her gate. “You’re right, of course.” She took a deepbreath, offered him a weak smile, and unexpectedly surged forward to grasp himin a tight hug. “Call me as soon as possible, alright? I’m going to be boredwithin an hour of landing, and I’ll be in desperate need of someone to talkscience with.”

Hesitantly, Fitz lifted his arms to hold her in return,placing a shaky hand against the small of her back, where he could feel theheat of her skin through her shirt. “Yeah, okay,” was all he could manage tosay in response.

Jemma leaned back what felt like far too soon, grasping hisshoulders and beaming at him, though her eyes looked strangely…bright. “This issilly, isn’t it? We’re going to talk all the time and write letters, and injust a couple of months, we’ll be back at the Academy.”

He wasn’t actually sure at all if the painful twisting hisgut at the idea of letting Jemma go and watching her leave was normal, if they were just being silly – it wasn’t as if he’dever really had friends, let alone someone he was as close to as Jemma.“Probably,” he answered regardless, chuckling faintly.

She nodded, still smiling so widely that it seemed abit…forced as she stepped back and Fitz immediately felt cold and empty. “Okay.Okay, I’m really going now, or I’ll miss my flight.” With another decisive nod,she picked up the handle of her suitcase and took another step away from him.“Talk to you soon, Fitz.”

“Soon,” Fitz agreed half-heartedly, smiling only because hedidn’t want Jemma to think he was upset and stay even longer trying to cheer himback up and then really miss herflight.

Jemma gave a little wave, then turned and headed in thedirection of her designated gate, quickly disappearing into the crowds of foottraffic in the busy airport.

With a heavy sigh, Fitz sank into one of the uncomfortableplastic chairs to wait until his own flight – at least he knew once he was backhome, he could call Jemma and it’d be like they’d never left.

-

Over the next few weeks, Fitz and Jemma spent practicallyevery moment of every day on the phone; they spent days discussing the latestscience journals and published papers, they spent nights ironing out thedetails for the projects they planned to tackle upon their return to theAcademy and bickering back and forth about Fitz’s so-called “ridiculous” namesfor them.

In fact, Fitz spent more time talking to Jemma than he didhis mother, who he shared a house with.

Of course, his mum seemed mostly amused by the whole thing(and also embarrassingly proud of the fact that he’d found a friend with whomhe had so much in common at the Academy), always asking teasingly how they had anything to talk about in their letterswhen they already shared everything over the phone.

The only problem with her amusement at the whole situation,however, was when a couple of her friends came over one night to gossip andthey all had such knowing looks ontheir faces when the phone rang and Fitz rushed for it. He ignored theirgiggles and greeted excitedly, “Simmons?”

“Hi Fitz!” Jemmareplied brightly. “Oh, I cannot wait to tell you…I had the most brilliant ideawhile I was out with my family tonight.”

“Don’t you think allof your ideas are brilliant?” Fitz teased as he turned his back to the gaggleof smirking women and beat a hasty retreat to the living room.

“Well, can you blame me?” she shot back.

They fell into their natural rhythm of conversation, Fitznodding along as she mapped out her idea and cutting in to add his own, butthen he caught a thread of conversation from out in the kitchen – his mum hadjust said ‘Jemma’.

Keeping on ear on Jemma’s excited rambling, Fitz turned theother to the kitchen curiously. His mum’s friend, Bonnie, was sighingexaggeratedly, “Oh, I remember those days.”

“They seem so long ago, don’t they?” Leslie (who always usedto pinch his cheeks when he was young) said wistfully.

The hell? Whatwere they even talking about?

“Oh, but to be young and in love again,” Bonnie went on,accompanied by another dramatic sigh.

Fitz sucked in a sharp breath that caught in his throat,causing him to launch into an immediate coughing fit. How could they… They thought he was…with Jemma?!

It was absurd, preposterous, the most outrageous thing he’dever heard of. Him and Jemma?!

Just then, he registered the sound of Jemma calling his namerepeatedly into his ear, the concern in her tone steadily growing. “Fitz? Fitz? Fitz!”

Clearing his throat a couple of times, Fitz answered hercroakily, “M’fine.”

Jemma breathed an audible sigh of relief. “Oh thank god. Don’t you ever scare me like that again!”

“I won’t, I’m sorry.” Noticing his mother and her friendspeering worriedly through the doorway, Fitz quickly waved them off, thenhurried upstairs so that he wouldn’t overhear any of their other crazyfantasies.

However, that night, when Fitz was all-but asleep, phonepressed to his ear with the sound of Jemma’s deep, even breaths lulling him to sleep,he was hit with the sudden and intense desire to have Jemma there, with him. It was far from thefirst time he’d felt that way since they’d been forced to part for the summer,but it was the first time he’d wishedfor her to be there for anything other than working on experiments together orhaving deep discussions over breakfast.

In that moment, when his thoughts were all a jumble from thehaze of sleep, Fitz almost ached tohave Jemma there now, wrapped up in his arms with her cheek pressed to hischest, where he could feel her warm breath on his neck and her heart beatingagainst his ribcage.

And his last conscious thought, before sleep finally pulledhim under, was a startlingly clear, holyshit, I’m in love with Jemma.

-

After that, Fitz tried everything he could to forget about his midnight revelation, tojust go back to being Jemma’s friend and not the pathetic loser who wasdesperately in love with his best friend. But, try as he might, he only seemedto fall deeper (or possibly, he onlycontinued to discover how deep his feelings actually went – he wasn’t really upto overanalyzing the situation, thanks) – every single thing Jemma did made hisheart swell until his chest hurt and his stomach twist up in knots that weresomehow both pleasant and nauseating.

Being in love sucked.

After getting off of the phone with Jemma late one night,and his heart gave that painful twinge it always did now when they hung up,Fitz decided that enough was enough – if bottling it up wasn’t doing a damnthing, then perhaps getting it all out there would free him from these feelings.

So, a desperate whim, Fitz climbed out of bed and,half-delirious with exhaustion and lovesickness, he found a fresh piece ofpaper and a pen and began pouring his heart out in scribbled, messyhandwriting.

Dear Jemma,

I’m sorry. I’m sosorry. I’ve tried, I really have, but it just won’t go away. I want things togo back to normal, I want to turn back the clock and well, we both know time travel is impossible,but I hope you’ll forgive me for saying that in the first place, I’m kind of amess right now. But, it’s true, if it were possible, I’d give anything to goback in time and stop this from ever happening.

Jemma, I’m in Ithink I I love you, okay? Not just like friends, even though I do, I lovebeing your friend! But all of sudden I want to be around you all the time and –well, that’s not much different from how we usually are, is it? But it is,because now there’s this ache in my chest and I know it’s physicallyimpossible and you’re probably having a good laugh at my expense saying ‘sillyFitz’ right about now, but it feels like my heart is honestly breakingevery moment I’m not with you. That’s ridiculous, isn’t it? I’m sorry, Iprobably sound like some dumb romance movie, but…I don’t know.

I’m sorry I’mrambling, I don’t really know what I’m feeling or how to explain it, and I’mlikely doing a rubbish job. All I know is that I love you so much I want totear my own heart out of my chest and hand it right over to you so thenmaybe it’ll stop crying out for you so much.

Oh Christ, I��m sorry,I’m so so so sorry Jemma. I’m gonna try to forget all ofthis, and then things can go back to normal and we’ll go back to the Academyand spend all day in the lab fighting about the silliest things and crackingjokes in Professor Vaughn’s class until he catches wind of what we’re up to –which he won’t, of course.

Don’t worry about anyof it, okay? ‘Cause even if these stupid feelings won’t go away, I’ll still domy best to ignore them and just be your friend and you’ll never have to know. Ipromise, this doesn’t have to change anything.

Please don’t letthis change anything.

Fitz

When it was finished, and Fitz could set down his pen andclasp his trembling hands together, he released a deep breath and spent a longmoment just gazing down at the letter. Then, slowly, he raised his eyes tostare at the framed picture on his desk of him and Jemma, making funny faces atthe camera and clearly caught mid-laughter.

When the mere sight of Jemma’s face had a swell of lovesurging through him, making it difficult to breathe, Fitz knew that the dumbletter hadn’t worked at all – he wasas in love with Jemma as ever.

-

He spent a few days wallowing in the wake of the utterfailure of the letter, hiding under the covers of his bed and grumbling tohimself about how he was always mucking everything up. But, Fitz finally had todrag himself out of bed when his mother called up the stairs to let him knowthat he wasn’t going to be fed if he didn’t come downstairs for breakfast – andhe was promptly betrayed by his growling stomach, just like his dumb heart.

Couldn’t he trust any ofhis organs?

He hadn’t talked to Jemma since he’d written that stupidletter, too embarrassed and upset with himself to speak with her and know thatwhile she was just having a chat with her friend, he was harboring adeep-seated, unrequited love for her. It just didn’t seem fair to her, afterall.

However, even if writingthe letter hadn’t helped, Fitz thought grimly as he scowled at his desk,perhaps tearing up the damn thingwould – yeah, it wouldn’t get rid of his love for Jemma, but at least he’d getsome satisfaction out of it.

But, when he stepped up to his desk and expected to find thebadly folded letter, creased from too much handling (and obsessing over),sitting right on top of the organized chaos where he’d left it…

It wasn’t there.

Growing a bit frantic, Fitz began to tear apart his desk,all-but shoving books and stray pens to the floor as he searched every scrap ofpaper, hoping to find it was that damned letter. But, it wasn’t there.

Feeling his chest tighten to the point where he wasstruggling to catch a breath, he stumbled out of his bedroom and called, “Mum?Mum!”

“What? What is it?” She appeared at the bottom of thestairs, apron half-tied and a towel still in her hands, looking quite put out.However, when she saw his wide eyes and breathless gaping, concern furrowed herbrow. “What’s the matter, Leo?”

“There, there was a…um…a letter on my, my desk and…”

“The one for Jemma?” his mother questioned, and when henodded frantically, she smiled in relief and told him, “Oh, I posted that daysago for you, figuring you’d forget all about it and leave the poor thinghanging again.”

“You… Oh god.”Breathing rapidly, as though he’d just run a marathon, Fitz bent at the waistto rest his hands on his knees. He was going to be sick. Or pass out. Maybeboth. All he knew was that he could see his world crashing down around him.

Jemma was going to read that letter and hate him for therest of his life.

-

After spending a handful of minutes nearly having a panicattack, Fitz had come up with the only solution he could think of – he had to beat that letter to Sheffield, hehad to get to Jemma before she read it and never spoke to him again. Though hismum seemed to think it insane, Fitz knew that he had no other choice.

And so, he boarded the next train to Sheffield, anxiouslytapping his feet and wringing his hands the entire four and a half hours there.He tried to come up with some semblance of an excuse, or an explanation, justin case she’d already read the letter, but the idea was so horrible that hejust couldn’t. He refused to acceptan outcome where Jemma had already laid eyes on the monstrosity that was never meant to be seen by anyone, let alone her.

By sheer luck, Fitz managed to hail a cab and stumble outJemma’s address coherently enough that he ended up at an intimidating two-storyhome with a long winding driveway. He still had no idea what he was doing, hejust kept repeating to himself over and over that he had to stop her from reading that damn letter before it was too late.

He knocked on the front door with shaking hands, taking deepbreaths and preparing himself to plead with Jemma to just give him the letterback as soon as she opened the door.

In all of his planning, it had never once occurred to himthat anyone but Jemma would open thedoor, actually.

So, when it finally did open and a woman with dirty blondehair and Jemma’s kind smile appeared, Fitz found himself completely lost forwords.

“May I help you?” the woman, who could only be Mrs. Simmons,asked as she peered at him in mild concern.

“You…uh…Jemma?” Fitz fought a wince, awkwardly stuffing hishands into the pockets of his jeans.

Somehow, Mrs. Simmons’s expression dawned withunderstanding, and a playful smile tugged at her lips. “You wouldn’t happen tobe Fitz, would you?” So relieved he could collapse, Fitz simply nodded. “Jemmadidn’t say anything about you stopping by.” She peered over his shoulder at theidling cab, brow furrowing in confusion.

“She didn’t…uh, I thought I’d…surprise her?”

“Oh.” She frowned, then told him apologetically, “I’m afraidJemma’s not here, Fitz. She left this morning to visit her aunt and uncle wherethey’re staying in Paris. She won’t be back until August.”

Initially, Fitz had the sinking feeling that it was all overand he was going to be forced to resolve himself to a life without Jemma in it(he couldn’t exactly jump on a flight to bloody Paris after all), but then he saw a glimmer of hope. “She didn’thappen to receive a…um, letter, did she? From me?”

Mrs. Simmons’s smile grew as she nodded excitedly. “Oh yes!Just this morning, actually – she was thrilled to have gotten it before sheleft for the airport. Said it’d give her something to read on the plane.”

Fitz’s stomach gave a threatening roll, and afraid that he’dvomit on Jemma’s mum’s shoes and only make things worse, he mumbled a hasty goodbye and hurried back to the cab. Hewas dazed and terrified, and couldn’t quite get his tingling fingers to stopshaking. He wasn’t even really aware of much of anything, until he’d somehowreturned home, collapsed in his mum’s arms, and cried over ruining everything.

Love more than sucked – it was completely and utterly useless.

-

It had been days,and Fitz had only grown more and more depressed over the destruction of hisfriendship with Jemma, all because of his stupid feelings. He’d tried calling her to attempt to explain somehow, butshe never picked up, nor did she return any of the calls – she probably wasn’teven listening to the messages he’d left or reading the e-mails he’d sent.

While a part of Fitz couldn’t believe he’d screwed up sospectacularly, another part of him certainly could – Jemma was one of the bestthings that had ever happened to him, so of coursehe’d have found a way to muck it all up and push her away. It’d only been a matterof time, really.

Finally, though, late one evening while a storm that fit hisgloomy mood raged outside, it seemed that his mum had reached the end of herrope.

She was preparing to head out to meet Bonnie and Leslie fordinner, but when she’d stopped to say goodbye to him and found him stillslouched on the couch in his ratty old t-shirt and too-short plaid pajamabottoms, she released an exasperated sigh.

“Oh come on Leo, you’ve got to get up, go out, do something,” she insisted, tugging theblanket he was all-but hiding under down so that he could see her disapprovingfrown.

Fitz groaned pathetically, pulling the blanket back up untilit covered his head. “I don’t wanna do anything ever again. In fact, I shouldjust call up SHIELD and tell ‘em I can’t go to the Academy anymore – what’s thepoint if Jemma hates me?”

“She does not hateyou,” she repeated yet again, clearly frustrated.

“Then why won’t she call me back, huh? If Jemma didn’t hateme, you’d think she’d at least have answered one of my calls, or sent me aquick e-mail to let me know that she’s alive.”

“Oh honestly, howdid you get so dramatic?” his mum grumbled. “Look sweetheart, you just have togive her some time; it’s a lot to take in, for anyone. But you don’t just throwaway a friendship like yours, and Jemma’s a smart girl – she’ll know that, andeventually reach out to you. Just give her time.”

“Okay,” Fitz mumbled, even though he didn’t want to, and he was still quite surethat Jemma hated his guts and reaching out to him was the very last thing inthe world she wanted to do. He peeked his head out of the blanket slightly,just in time for his mum to drop a kiss on his forehead.

“This will work out, Leo, I truly believe that.” She ruffledhis hair, then adjusted the strap of her purse on her shoulder. “Alright, I’moff. I’ll be back by nine, and do try not to wallow too much, okay?”

“No promises,” he muttered, crossing his arms petulantlyover his chest. “Drive safe, Mum, and don’t forget your umbrella.”

She chuckled, picking it up and waving it pointedly. “Don’t worry,I’ve got it.” She gave him another wave, then headed out the door, leaving Fitzalone with the rumbling thunder and pouring rain.

Sometime later, when he was scoffing at a low-budget horrormovie with terrible effects (and trying his level-best not to think about Jemmaand failing), Fitz was taken by complete surprise when a flash of brilliantlightening outside the nearest window was followed by a banging on the frontdoor.

Letting out a harsh yelp, he fell off of the couch and ontothe floor, tangled up in the blanket. When the loud knocking came again, heflailed about until he was free of the blanket, then got to his feet andcautiously approached the front door.

Knowing how his luck had been lately, there was probably ahockey-mask-wearing killer just waiting out there for him to open the door. Buthey, at least that was better than being the jerk who’d managed to screw up afriendship with Jemma, wasn’t it?

When he’d reached the door, he grasped the doorknob, takinga deep breath and slowly turning it until he could crack open the door and peerinto the dark outside.

However, it wasn’t a masked killer with a machete waiting onthe other side – it was an even moreshocking sight.

Standing right there on his doorstep was Jemma Simmons; shewas soaked through from the rain, hair plastered to her forehead and cheeks,there was a slightly breathless grin on her face, and strangely enough, a suitcasewas placed at her feet.

Fitz opened his mouth a couple of times, but he’d beenrendered completely and thoroughly speechless by her sudden appearance (and god, who had the right to look that beautiful while any normal person wouldjust look like a drowned rat?).

“Hi Fitz,” she whispered, just barely loud enough to beheard over the pounding of the rain against the roof. “I…I just…I had to seeyou.” She let out a disbelieving little laugh, shaking her head. “I left Paris, got on the first plane here, and…I feel ridiculous, to be honest, but…” Taking a deep, shaky breath, she gavehim a wobbly smile and said, “I’d just as gladly tear my own heart out and handit over to you, Fitz – if such a thing was possible. I…I’ve been so conflicted,all summer, because I wanted to be happy to be home and with my family, but allI wanted was…to be with you, and Ididn’t understand what it all meant until I read your letter and…and itclicked, and…” She have another shake of her head, briefly closing her eyes andsmiling so wide it had to be hurting her cheeks. “Oh Fitz, I love you too.”

And then, before Fitz could even try to come up with a response to the words that couldn’t possiblybe real, Jemma’s freezing fingers clenched in a fist around the front of histhin t-shirt. Using her grip on him, she then tugged him out the doorway andout onto the step with her – right into the downpour. He was drenched withinmoments, but as Jemma threw her arms around his neck and pushed up onto thetips of her toes to press her lips firmly against his, suddenly Fitz didn’tcare so much about the rain.

Maybe love didn’t suck after all.