Finding You

Field Day

Eighteen years of partnership.

Nine and a half years of marriage.

Eight years of working for SHIELD.

Seven years of parenthood.

And yet of all the things Leo and Jemma FitzSimmons had faced up to this very moment, nothing had prepared them for this moment. Not a skydive through the atmosphere, not six months on an alien planet, and not an impromptu dip to the bottom the ocean.

The sun beat hot upon their backs, a blazing ball in the sky that seemed to mock. Any slight breeze blowing lightly across the dusty prairie-esque landscape had died out long ago.

A sweat drenched curl drooped into Fitz's eye, but Jemma quickly brushed aside. Her eyes tiredly met his.

"I don't know if I can take much more of this," he groaned. "I'm so tired ... It's been ages since we've had water."

"Only twenty minutes," Jemma sighed, readjusting her stance in their shared potato sack. "This is for our daughter, Fitz! We can make it."

"But it's so bloody hot, Jems! I think I'm getting heat stroke." Fitz dragged a hand across his face for good measure.

As if on cue, a gunshot rang out. Jemma's eyes lit up with a determined light, her hands more firmly grasping the burlap sack.

Fitz groaned again stubbornly, following her lead begrudgingly. "You're going to damn well kill us both, woman." But there was no bite to his words.

A second shot rang out sharply. And they were both off.

Well, Jemma was.

Fitz, on the other hand, was caught off guard enough to send them both toppling face first into the dust.

Fitz let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl, rolling over so Jemma wasn't crushing him. "I told you," he rasped. "We're gonna die, Jem."

She snorted, shoving his legs off hers. "Quit being such a wet blanket, you git. Ellie's supposed to be the dramatic one."

From out by the huge, overly colorful banner reading,"Springdale Elementary Parent-Child Field-Day," a girl came running toward them.

"Mum! Dad! You're losing!" She whined, crossing her arms when she reached them.

Jemma blew a bit of hair out of her mouth. "Yes, I see that, monkey. Not much we can do about it, though,"

Ellie sighed, grasping the edge of the sack and towing it off her parent's fallen forms. Her brow furrowed, seeing Fitz laying defeatedly. "Mum, is Dad okay? He's not moving!"

"Yes, dear, he's fine," Jemma drew out the last few words, aiming them at Fitz with a well timed shove of her shoe into his gut. He grunted, which then stretched into a childish whine.

Ellie shrugged, watching the other parents finish crossing the line at the other end of the field. She sighed again. "Well, at the very least, we can try the pie eating contest."

Fitz suddenly perked up. "Is there apple, by any chance?"

The seven year old grinned, already knowing how to engage her father. She grabbed his hand, ushering him up and toward the next contest.

"I swear we'll win this one, Jems!"

"What happened to dying of dehydration?!"