Fitzsimmons

Twelve Days - Day 7

Clatter. Constant clatter sounding through the house. Whenever she wanted to sleep, whenever she was putting Grant to bed. The clatter would restart.

Jemma Fitzsimmons had had enough. It was time to put a diplomatic and civilized end to this madness she was suffering through.

"Fitz," she addressed him sternly following a particularly difficult night putting Grant to bed.

He barely looked up from his sawdust-sprinkled workbench.

"Fitz," Jemma restated and he slowly pulled up his goggles and gave her a waiting look.

"This needs to stop," Jemma said, tucking a stray hair back against her head as though she was emphasizing her stress.

"What?" Fitz looked absolutely clueless as he picked up sandpaper and started smoothing something made of wood.

"The noise from the garage. Grant and I can't stand it," Simmons clarified, then began cleaning some dust off the desk as though on autopilot.

"The baby can't stand it? Really, Jemma?" Fitz said with a raise of his eyebrows.

"He won't go to bed, and neither can I," Jemma replied, placing her hands firmly on her hips. Fitz continued sanding, then blew on the wood piece. Jemma rolled her eyes. "What are you making, anyway?"

"It's a secret. Guess," Fitz replied childishly.

"Fitz, I love you, but I'm not up for guessing games today."

"Fine, I'm making toy blocks for Grant," Fitz squinted at the rough-edged and splintery piece before him. "Or at least I'm trying."

Jemma's gaze softened, and she dropped her hands to her sides. She wasn't that angry anymore, since his reason was so adorable. She wouldn't let him win this argument, though.

"You need to use some polish," Jemma said, barely sounding mad. Then she walked to the cabinet behind him and pulled out a bottle of clear solution. She slammed it down on the workbench in front of Fitz, and a chink echoed through the garage.

When she attempted to walk away fiercely, Fitz had to conceal a laugh. Jemma was ridiculous sometimes, but hey, so was he.