I'll Be Around (I'll Be Loving You Always)

I'll Stick Around

A bit of a tie in to my other fic, The Best Friends. I just needed to write some fluffy pregnant FItzSimmons for a change :P

Enjoy!

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Fitz sighed, setting down his fork and watching as Jemma once again sprinted from their breakfast table and into the restroom.

It had been happening more and more often lately. But no matter his inner suspicions, Jemma insisted it was just the bug that seemed to be attacking every member of the Sci-Ops population. Something about the cafeteria food, but she knew as well as him that neither of them had set foot in there since their second week - well over two years ago by now.

Fitz slid back his chair, following after her to the open door. She was on her knees once he arrived, retching pitifully into the toilet bowl.

Swallowing down his nausea at the both the sight, smell, and sound, he bent down and gingerly pulled her long hair back behind her head. He slipped a hair tie off his wrist, as had become his ritual, and tied her locks back in a sloppy bun.

Jemma was mostly dry heaving by now, so he thought it safe to wet a cloth.

She took it gratefully, leaning back against the cool bathroom tile and sucking in breaths. She offered him a weary smile.

"Nasty bugger, isn't it?" She waved breezily. "I only hope you aren't unlucky enough to come down with it. You know, Sandy from communications caught it last week, and she's still -"

"Jemma," Fitz broke in quietly. "You know as well as I do I can't get sick from this."

Her brow furrowed, but Fitz saw right through her. "What do you mean, Fitz? It's just a stomach bug, nothing to worry about."

Fitz shook his head, eyes heavy. "It's - it's not that, Jems. You know it too,"

Her bottom lip slipped between her teeth. "I don't think you know what you're -"

"Are you pregnant?"

His eyes are moist, serious but hurting, and she can tell that she's ripping apart whatever is left between them. Friendship or not, it's all going down the drain with what she's about to say next, and they both know it.

"I don't know," she all but whispers, her hand slipping into his. Her voice is cracked with fear and uncertainty, and it's only now as he dares to glance at her that he really sees the shadows beneath her lashes and the dullness in her eyes.

They stay like that, arms pressed against each other, backs to the bathroom tile, hands intertwined. Neither of them know what to do next, neither knows what to say, but before he can stop himself, the words are tumbling from his lips.

"Is it mine?"

It's almost a whisper, but in the silence it's a gunshot, and that's all it takes for Jemma turn her head into his shoulder and stifle a sob.

That's all the proof he needs, and without hesitation he lifts her gently into his lap, pulling her closer, and presses a kiss into her hair.

He wishes the night could fall back into his mind, but it won't. All he can recall is the few waking moments of soft, bare skin against his before she's lurching out of his bed and gathering the clothes that they'd apparently pulled off each other in the night. That's all he can remember, all he can pull from the deepest depths of his mind.

His first time, being with Jemma, the creation of his child . . . He couldn't remember a damn thing.

"I did a test," Jemma rasped out beneath his chin. "In the lab, yesterday. Blood work, but I think I did it right. And if I did . . . Oh, God, Fitz,"