Fitzsimmons

Quick Note: I wrote most of this either late night or early morning on hotel wifi. Just for you guys. You're welcome.

Also, did I tell you my theory that Agent Triplet is gay? I don't know where this came from, but I think that would be awesome, and we could really use a gay person to create more gay ships and grow the fandom, because about 98% of fandoms have several gay ships. This is what I think about at 5:25 AM.

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Fitz didn't know why he had let Jemma go to that party in the Boiler Room without him. He also didn't why he was feeling so protective of her. She wasn't his, no matter how much he sometimes wished she was.

Fitz simply didn't feel like attempting to be cool tonight. Everyone knew he wasn't, so why should he even try?

But somehow, maybe it was fate, maybe it was tiredness clouding his judgement, Fitz found himself wondering around a raging party filled with the world's brightest minds, when they were sober. Currently the agents in training were gathered in sweaty clusters, talking and drinking and awkwardly dancing. Most were far past sobriety.

"Jemma?" Fitz called out, whipping his head around the masses. Searching through the jumble of strange faces for that one unforgettable face Fitz carried with him everywhere he went.

Soon he found her in the center of some sort of drunken So You Think You Can Dance, stumbling over her feet and flailing her arms high above her head. Fitz, after the initial surprise had passed, sighed. He reached for her elbow and pulled her out of the center of attention and towards him.

"Hey!" she complained, weakly pushing against Fitz's chest in an attempt to get back in the circle.

"Jemma, it's me."

"Fitz? I thought-" She started giggling. "I'm sorry, I thought you weren't coming..."

"I wasn't going to, but Jemma, you're drunk." Fitz practically yelled over the loud music and chatter.

"What?" she yelled back.

"Jems," Fitz started.

Jemma snorted. "Where did that nickname come from?" Her expression turned solemn. "Oh God, did I make that up?"

Fitz laughed a little. He had never seen Jemma like this before. She had always had her wits about her when they talked, and scatter-brained, drunk Jemma was new.

"No, I did." he assured her. She nodded, then stole a red plastic cup from a passing partier. She raised the beverage to her lips, but Fitz smoothly grabbed it away from her. "C'mon, Jems. Let's go home."

Jemma, after some weak protest, complied, and, with Fitz's help, wobbly made her way to the exit. Jemma clung tightly to Fitz's arm to insure she wouldn't stumble. Almost too tightly. Fitz felt her fingernails digging into him. He didn't know if her being this close was pleasing or painful to him. It was Jemma, so probably the former. It seemed as though everything she did, even while drunk, was perfectly imperfect and should be worshipped and idolized. Long story short, Fitz was in love.

"Fitz," Jemma interrupted his thoughts as they made their way out of the building completely. The night air was cool on their skin, and it cleared their mind of distractions. Jemma, like a child, asked"Where're we going?"

"My dorm." he replied simply for Jemma's sake.

"Why?" she questioned, genuinely intrigued. Fitz cracked a small smile, earning a giggle from Jemma.

"I'm going to help you get better." Fitz promised, although he wasn't all that sure what he could do, having never been intoxicated before.

"But I'm not sick." Jemma disagreed, confused.

"I know, Jemma. But you will be. I think." this last part he muttered silently.

"But I don't wanna be sick." Jemma whined.

"Then you should go to parties less." Fitz chuckled a little, his breath visible in the coolness. Jemma giggled some more.

"Did I ever tell you that I like you?" she slurred. Fitz's heart leapt in his chest, but he forced himself to remain calm, even now that Jemma was drunk and wouldn't remember any of this. He wasn't going to take advantage of her like that, so he simply remained silent.

"I realllllllyyyy like you," Jemma repeated. "Actually, I like you so much that-"

"Jemma, stop talking." Fitz ordered. She would never be saying any of this if she were sober. Let her secrets be her secrets.

"Fitz, can you kiss me?" she asked him casually, breaking the silence. Again, Fitz's heart skipped a beat. Again, he controlled himself. She was just drunk.

"W-Why?" he stuttered.

"I don't know. I just never kissed anyone." she explained simply.

"Jemma, you wouldn't be saying any of this if you weren't drunk."

"That doesn't mean I wouldn't think it." she whispered back. Fitz stopped walking, followed by Jemma, whom was incapable of walking by herself right now. Their feet stuck on a cement sidewalk about ten yards from Fitz's dorm.

They turned to each other. So many things were going through Fitz's mind now, as opposed to Jemma, whom just wanted one thing. She reached up and grabbed Fitz's hair, giving him every sign that this was okay.

Intoxicating and intoxicated. That was Jemma Simmons to Fitz right now. He so, so wanted to, but would she want to the next morning? Would she regret this? Would she even remember?

"Jemma, we can't," Fitz warned. Jemma didn't back away, so Fitz tried to reason with her. "You wouldn't your first kiss to happen while you were drunk, would you?"

Jemma shook her head gently, then pressed her head to his chest.

"Thanks for looking out for me." she whispered, quite soberly. She hadn't had one drink that night.