Fitzsimmons

Hypothesis

Quick Note: Inspired by this fanfiction: https://m.fanfiction.net/s/10848710/1/when-your-heart-beats-next-to-mine

Happy stuff that will most likely not happen.

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"Fitz, we really need to talk," Simmons said sternly as she entered the lab. She had been trying so hard to communicate with him, but he kept shutting her out. All she wanted to do was assure him that she still supported him and considered herself to be a friend, but he wouldn't let her speak long enough to say anything.

"I don't think that's necessary," Fitz responded automatically, focused on his tweaking of a bot part.

Simmons, tired of him putting up such a fight, slammed a hand on the workbench, causing a metallic rattle to echo. Fitz dropped his piece and looked up at her, startled.

"Why won't you talk to me anymore?" Simmons demanded, letting all of her anger flow out of her into her harsh words. "I haven't done anything to you!"

Fitz tried to put his tongue on what he wanted to say, a difficult task between his injury and his guilty feelings for liking Simmons when she didn't like him in the same way. While Simmons watched him struggle, she formed more arguments against his ridiculous avoidance of her.

"None of this is my fault, yet you've managed to make even me blame myself! Not to mention what you've spewed to Lance and Mack! They have a horrible and inaccurate impression of me because of your damn inability to tell me, your best friend, what's bloody wrong!" Simmons was shouting now, and she knew it. She saw the hurt flash across his face, but barely regretted what she had said. She needed some sort of release for these built-up emotions, and, although she cringed to think of it, she didn't want to end up walled-away from everyone like Fitz.

Fitz continued to stare at her, utterly offended, especially because he wasn't the bad guy here. Neither one was the bad guy. It wasn't Jemma's fault that Fitz had fallen for her, and it wasn't Fitz's fault, either. He would blame whichever supernatural being if he believed in such nonsense.

Once the tension in the silent lab had become less palpable, Fitz opened his mouth and worked his hardest to make something happen. He had spent too long hoping for a better time to approach Jemma. This was the best he would get. It was now or never.

"I've been distant," Fitz started cautiously. That was a good opening. He nodded internally. "And I know we both know why," he tried. That was okay. She could understand it, most likely.

"I'm not angry at anyone." Fitz was surprised by Jemma's patience with his speech. She was level-headed and receptive, nodding at the appropriate times and looking away when the tension started to return.

"I'm just defending myself," Fitz finished, hoping Simmons would understand without further elaboration. When he sensed that she was starting to retreat from remorse, he tried to reel her back in.

"I have this theory, though, and it's mostly what's causing my hurt, because I just don't know how it would result."

Simmons' thoughts turned away from making a break for it, and she instead decided to hear him out. She gave a face of confusion, indicating that he should continue.

"When conducting an experiment, the first thing is to make an observation," Fitz began his explanation. When he had made sure Jemma understood him, he started again.

"Observation: When I'm around Jemma Simmons, I think worse, but feel better. There's this conflict in my mind." Jemma stayed quiet, like an audience member to a presentation by scientist Fitz. "Hypothesis: If I decrease the distance between us, my endorphin levels will increase. I infer that at a distance of zero, or more likely thousandths of millimeters, my happiness is highest. I would be more open to conversations with her.

"Next I designed a procedure, materials include one Leopald Fitz and one Jemma Simmons," Fitz paused here, leaning backwards in his chair and rubbing his palms on his knees, which were bouncing up and down with nervousness.

"Are you saying..." Simmons started sensitively, wanting to be careful with her phrasing. "We should kiss?"

Fitz kept bouncing his knees and turned away from Simmons. He began bracing for rejection. Simmons felt her chest clench, experiencing a minor heartbreak from seeing her best friend so scared of her.

"This is all wrong," Simmons mumbled, but Fitz didn't hear her. She studied his tense face, slowly losing the will to stay to herself.

"Fitz," Jemma whispered preciously, then pulled his rolling chair closer to where she stood, Fitz looked terrified and completely shattered.

She leant down slightly, then tentatively stretched a hand towards his head. When he made eye contact with her, lip quivering and eyes glazed over with wetness, she lost all inhibitions.

Although she was under the facade that this was all for science, Simmons knew the real reason she was doing this.

She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his, both closing their eyes in a sort of disbelief. Fitz could feel Simmons' breath hot on his cheeks, and he had to fight the instinct to move away.

Just a tilt of head and their lips were met in a soft and delicate kiss. For science. (But not really.)

They broke away in a few seconds, and Fitz had a glistening streak marking the trail of a tear that snuck through his tightly shut eyes.

"Qualitative observations?" Simmons breathed out, her forehead still pressed against his.

"You first," Fitz managed, tears beginning to spill.

"Okay..." A moment of silence. "Shortness of breath. Heat rushing to my head. Slight nausea. Elevated heart beat, pulse. Something else, a huge thing, but I can't find the words to describe it."

"Me too," Fitz looked at her hopefully, yet still crying a bit.

"Do you want... a second trial?" Simmons suggested, feeling suddenly addicted to Fitz.

He broke out a smile, something Simmons hadn't seen in months. So Simmons smiled, too.

"For science?" Simmons clarified, though it was a lie.

"For science," Fitz agreed.

There were more trials than necessary throughout the rest of the night.