Before You Go

Together

Jemma kept Lizzie tucked close under her chin, running her fingers over her back. Apologies were whispered into her curls, trying to soothe over the edges.

She suddenly felt hands on her arms. Her eyes flew open to find Fitz looking down at them.

He was so open she could read him like a book. His eyes were raw and blue, so full of worry and tears she could see in that instant why she fell in love with him in the first place. Fitz genuinely cared for her like no one else ever had.

"I'm so sorry, Fitz," she whispered, voice thick. "I . . . I mucked up everything,"

"No," he replied, taking her hand in his. Their fingers found their way together as if by muscle memory, curling into each other's palms. "None of this is your fault. Nothing, Jems."

His thumb stroked over her knuckles soothingly, but Jemma was feeling anything but. "But it is, Fitz. I scared her. She's terrified! No child should ever have to . . ."

Fitz kissed her lightly on the forehead. "They shouldn't. But when you decided to keep her all those years ago, you knew she might have t.' You knew that no matter what," he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His face was so close she could feel his breath on her cheeks. It was comforting. "You'd be a mum to her. And I know you can't remember, but it still stands. No matter what you do, she'll always think of you as her mother."

The pads of his thumbs brushed her tears from her face. "And no matter what, you'll always be my wife."

It was painfully stereotypical, but Jemma couldn't bring herself to care. She had likely wound up with the sweetest man on earth. She was still so confused about everything. But one thing was clear: the boy she'd come to hate was now a man who loved her.

Even if she didn't love him back.

---

Fitz pulled them back together and softly suggested some quiet time for all of them. Jemma simply nodded, still too overcome to disagree.

Lizzie proudly picked out the movie - some Disney movie Jemma had never heard of - and popped it in. Fitz returned just as the trailers ended with a tray of drinks.

"Again?" He asked, looking at the screen then at Lizzie.

Lizzie just snuggled further into Jemma's side under the blanket. "Mum doesn't remember it. Everyone has to hear Let It Go at least once,"

Fitz sighed. This was the second time this week.

He handed a mug to Jemma, who thanked him before taking a tentative sip. Her eyebrows raised at the contents.

"How'd you know?"

He smiled sadly. "I've known you for thirteen years, Jem. I sure as hell know how you take your tea." He pulled out a travel mug, which he placed in Lizzie's eager hands. "And for the monkey,"

"Thank you," she chirped, taking a long sip of what smelled like cocoa.

Fitz grinned at her, ruffling her curls. "You're welcome, Liz,"

They settled in, Jemma playing the part of mother as her own had done before her. She curled an arm around Lizzie, keeping her nestled in her side.

This was what Jemma had envisioned the few times she'd ever dared to picture adulthood. Curled together, able to whisk away worries with quality time. It almost felt right.

But then she'd come tumbling back into the nightmare, and she would remember that this wasn't truly hers. Not current-her, anyway. No, it was the future Jemma Fitz's. Simmons didn't belong here.

It gave her an overall dejected feeling. This was hers, in a way, but all at the same time it wasn't. She was caught in the middle of a whirlwind, forced to choose who she was. And frankly, she didn't have a clue.

___

Fitz kept casting nervous glances in Jemma's direction. She seemed content, a bit joyful that Lizzie had allowed her to cuddle with her. But at the same time, she seemed deep in thought.

Several times over the course of the movie, he had to refrain from massaging her scalp or playing with her hair. Because no matter how similar she seemed, how at home she appeared, this wasn't the Jemma he knew. She was younger, less world weary.

A few minutes from the closing scene, his watch pinged. Jemma's head whipped around at the sound. Sheepishly, he held up his watch hand. Though a look of puzzlement came over her face, she just took it as it was and curled up again with Lizzie.

Fitz sighed, pulling up his shirt sleeve. A message jumped out at him.

Debriefing in five   ~   C

A frown quirked his face. Though he had expected it sooner or later, he'd been leading toward later. Jemma needed him, as did Lizzie, and he didn't want to think about how long Coulson would be keeping him.

So despite his put offs, Fitz towed himself to his feet. "I have to go," he explained at their questioning looks. "Coulson's orders,"

Jemma just nodded, puzzled. Lizzie, on the other hand, stood up on the couch so she was almost level with him. "Tell Uncle Coulson hi for me," she told him, wrapping her arms around his chest and giving him a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

Fitz chuckled, giving her a squeeze back. "I will. And Jemma," he turned to the biochemist. "I don't want to run out on you, but-"

"Oh, no, no," she waved him off. "It's no problem, really. Lizzie and I can go and . . . have lunch?" she directed the last portion to the little girl. Lizzie nodded enthusiastically. "Have lunch," she grinned with a nod of her head at Fitz.

"Oh," Fitz returned her nod slowly. "Alright, then. I'll be back in a bit,"

Astonished by her turn of character, he left their room and headed for Coulson's office.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

__

"So what do you like to eat?" Jemma asked softly.

The mother-daughter pair followed the hallway to where Jemma remembered the kitchen area being. Lizzie held her hand tightly, as if scared to let go, and swung their arms between them.

"Sandwiches," she shrugged. "you make the best ones,"

"Really?" Jemma crinkled her eyebrows. Her own mother had always been adamant that she learn to make at least one easy meal - or, in her case, sandwiches. But she hadn't expected her culinary skills to have made it this far in life.

"Yeah. Especially the ones with pro . . . prosunno," her face screwed up - adorably, in Jemma's biased opinion - as she tried to pronounce the word.

"Prosciutto?" Jemma offered gently.

Lizzie nodded vigorously. "Yeah, that. Daddy likes it with mosella cheese and pesto,"

"You mean mozzarella?" Jemma asked again, smiling at the girl's vocabulary.

"Mmhm. It's his favorite," she grinned proudly. "Mine too,"

"Well then," Jemma grinned down at her with a spark in her eye. "Let's go make some sandwiches,"

If her real mother couldn't be here to take care of and spend time with her, Jemma decided the opportunity fell to her. Because this girl sure as hell wasn't going to hurt because of her mistakes.

---

Cue fluff :)

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