Chapter Text
“Are FitzSimmons on the fritz once again? Leo Fitz was spotted in Los Angeles with up-and-comer Skye Johnson looking quite smitten. Jemma Simmons, meanwhile, was nowhere to be found. Rumor has it, the duo’s latest project might be in jeopardy—“
Jemma huffs and turns off the television, glaring at it as though it’s the cause of her problems. The images of Fitz and Skye Johnson walking down the street together, arm-in-arm, is a little more irritating than she’s willing to admit out loud. To comfort herself, she glances at her mantel, crowded with gold trophies.
But it’s not the trophies she’s looking at, all the awards that she’s won for the roles that she’s played; she’s looking at the photos that hang above each one, of her and Fitz. They’re not the glamorous red carpet shots, or even the ones from the after parties. They’re the traditional photos they take together for just the two of them at every event, that live only on their phones and on their respective living room walls. He has his own version of this, too, and the reminder of that calms her down slightly.
This has happened before. Rising stars meet Leo Fitz at a party or through some mutual acquaintance and they see him for who he is—purely good and compassionate and always willing to help, but also horribly bad with relationships and women. She’s seen one too many of these women take advantage of Fitz and his connections, but it’s never affected them, because she’s never let it get that far.
If there’s one thing on earth that Jemma Simmons is sure of, it’s that she would do anything for Leo Fitz.
She looks at her calendar and breathes out a slow, steadying breath. Their meeting with the studio executives is tomorrow for the project they wrote together. They plan to direct and star in it together, too, a regular Good Will Hunting endeavor, and she’s thrilled at the prospect of having such creative license over her and Fitz’s work. Getting funding off of the ground has been a challenge, but one she’s sure that they’ll manage to overcome.
As her anxiety rises, she shakes her head at herself and picks up her phone off of the coffee table, dialing Fitz quickly. He’s always the first name on her “Recent Calls” list. It rings twice—and then goes to voicemail.
She frowns down at it before deciding to leave a message. “Good morning, Fitz! Or rather, afternoon now, I suppose. I just wanted to check in and see what you’re up to today. I was thinking I could come over later and we could go over our pitch for tomorrow’s meeting with Victoria Hand. Just give me a call back when you get this.”
Jemma hangs up and resolutely decides that there’s no point in worrying. Her dog, a little black rescue mutt, snoozes on the nearby loveseat and she coos at her.
“Widget! Let’s go for a little walk, hm?”
Widget immediately perks up, wagging her little tail with enthusiasm. Jemma laughs and gathers her leash, pushing her feet into some trainers. Widget runs in little circles around her as she tries to fasten the leash on her.
“You’re so good when Fitz does this!” Jemma complains. “Although you were his idea anyway.”
Fitz had gotten it into his head that Jemma was lonely, after her spectacularly public breakup with Will Daniels several months back. He’d told her he was taking her to lunch, and instead had taken her to the local Humane Society.
“Just think about it!” Fitz had exclaimed over her protests. “You’ve got the time, you’ve always wanted a dog—what better time then now?”
She’d agreed to go in and just look, intending to sleep on the decision, but then Widget had stared at her through the glass of her kennel and she’d been a goner. Snatching her headphones off of the table near the door, Jemma prepares herself for the possibility of cameras as she checks her appearance in the mirror.
“We look as presentable as ever, Widge,” Jemma hums. “Off we go, then.”
She presses play on her friend’s boyfriend’s latest album. Bobbi’s new squeeze was some indie musician named Lance Hunter, who Bobbi absolutely insists Jemma will love. She’d downloaded the album at Bobbi’s wheedling, and finds that the first song is, indeed, right up her alley.
Her walk does the trick for clearing her head. Widget happily plods along in front of her on the sidewalk, and the music sets a nice soundtrack to her day. An added bonus is the decided lack of photographers nearby, allowing her to relax. She makes it through the entirety of Lance’s album before she returns home, and she smiles when she sees a familiar car in the driveway.
“Hello?” she calls, voice echoing into the living room.
“In the kitchen!” Fitz calls back.
“Of course you are,” she laughs, unhooking Widget so that the dog can run for her favorite person.
“Widge!” Fitz cheers. When Jemma enters the kitchen, he’s knelt down beside the dog, enthusiastically rubbing her belly. “My favorite girl.”
“And here I was, thinking for all these years that I was your favorite,” Jemma teases. She snatches the sandwich on the plate in front of him and takes a bite, making a face as she attempts to swallow it. She turns toward the fridge, pulls out a jar of pesto aioli, and quickly adds some to his lunch as he plays with her dog.
“What did you just do?” he asks suspiciously.
“Saved you from choking to death. Should be proper now.”
He takes a bite and moans, rolling his head back. “You’re a culinary genius, Jemma Simmons.”
She smiles at him and slides onto a barstool. “So what brings you by?”
“Got your message, sorry, I was out with Skye,” Fitz explains. His words cause a strange stirring in her but she ignores it. “Thought we could go over the notes here instead of my place.”
“You don’t want me at your place?” she asks immediately. His eyes widen.
“I was just closer to yours,” he explains carefully. “Why wouldn’t I want you at my place?”
Jemma looks down at the counter awkwardly. “I’m not sure. Just haven’t seen much of you lately, that’s all.”
He looks at her carefully as he chews, speaking after he swallows. “Did TMZ do that stupid Fitzsimmons on the Fritz thing again?”
She nods sheepishly and he groans. “C’mon, Jem, you know that’s all bullshit. Skye’s really nice, she’s a good friend and we both know I don’t exactly have enough of those.”
“Do you have a crush on her?” Jemma blurts out. He stills for a moment and then shrugs.
“She’s pretty, funny, talented—I mean, sure, I guess I do.”
Jemma hums noncommitantly and stands up, just to give herself something to do. She approaches the fridge, pulls out a bottle of water, and takes a long sip.
“Are you okay?” he asks, brow furrowed. “You seem like something’s wrong. This isn’t like—like before, is it?”
“No, no, I’m fine,” Jemma assures him. She internally blesses whatever gods granted her with extraordinary acting abilities. “Guess I must just be nervous about tomorrow.”
He nods understandingly and beckons her closer. She steps into his space and lets him hug her as Widget attempts to get in the middle, darting around their feet excitedly.
“They’re gonna give us the funding, Jemma. It’s all just a formality. Even if the movie was shite—“
She pulls back to glare at him, and he holds his hands up in front of him in surrender.
“—which I’m not saying that it is, they’d still give it to us because it’ll bring people in to the theater. People come out to see us, together, and they know that.”
Jemma smiles at that. He’s not being arrogant, that’s just how it is. Ever since their first film together at only seventeen years old, their partnership had drawn large audiences across genres. It didn’t hurt that they continually won critical acclaim for their roles as well.
“Yes, well, we know how poorly it went when you attempted to do that superhero film without me,” Jemma points out with a little smirk, remembering the trainwreck that was nineteen year old Fitz as Spiderman.
“It’s not my fault they decided to CGI the bloody suit!”
Jemma laughs and cuts him off before his rant regarding that particular incident builds to a point that she can’t stop it. “Let me go grab my notecards for the presentation. I’ll be right back.”
She darts up the stairs and hears him begin to chat with Widget, which brings a smile to her face. His love for her little mutt never fails to make her beam. She finds them easily in her little study and trots back down the stairs with notecards in hand. He takes one look at the stack and begins shaking his head.
“No, no, no, Jemma, that is too much.”
“Fitz! We need to be prepared!”
“I know you, and I quote you on this, ‘excel at preparation’, but this is ridiculous. I’m not memorizing all of that.”
“You can memorize the script of an entire film, but you can’t memorize these!”
“I’m pretty sure that those are longer than most film scripts,” he argues back, snatching them out of her hands. “Jemma! No ice breaking puns. You’re not good at them.”
“I’m great at them,” she shoots back.
“Name one time that anyone has ever laughed at your puns.”
“When we first met Phil, remember? He loved them. He still does!”
“Phil is the exception, not the rule,” Fitz laughs. “Besides, you know that Phil has a horrible sense of humor. Remember when he wanted us to do that awful parody film of Twilight?”
Jemma groans, dropping her head into her hands just at the thought of it. “Okay, fair enough, that was the worst screenplay I’ve ever read.”
“If only Phil was the one we were pitching too,” Fitz observes dryly. “You know he’d love our screenplay.”
She smacks him lightly on the arm. “The producers loved the screenplay already. It’s just about the money at this point.”
“And they’ll give it to us, I’m sure,” Fitz assures her again, putting an arm around her in an effort to calm her down. She sinks into his side and pecks him on the cheek.
“Okay, fine. You don’t have to memorize the cards, but I’m going to.”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it, just said I would complain about it.”
“Ah, yes, as you do about everything,” she winks. “Do you think they’ll make us audition for the roles?”
Fitz snorts. “Really, Jemma?”
“I was just wondering!” she squeaks indignantly. He shakes his head fondly and then pats her arm.
“Don’t forget we have to go to that thing tonight,” he reminds her. She groans and drops her head to the countertop.
“What’s this one for again?”
“Oh, c’mon, you’re the one who signed us up to be the sponsors for this. For girls in STEM, remember?”
Jemma sighs heavily. “Ah, yes. I got too in to that part as the scientist, didn’t I?”
“You were very method about it,” Fitz agrees. They sit in silence for a minute, punctuated only by the noises of Widget playing with a chew toy in the corner. “Oh hey, do you think we could bring Skye? I’m sure the press would really help her out. The show’s ratings aren’t great right now, so we’re trying to—“
“We?”
“I meant—she, she’s trying to put herself out there more. Be seen, do some mingling, try to bolster herself up. She’s the romantic lead of the show, so if people get invested in her, they might get more invested in the character.”
“Yes, I do know how that works, Fitz,” Jemma says irritably. “I’ll make a call to the people in charge, have them put her on the list, then.”
Fitz grins, oblivious to her lack of enthusiasm at the thought. “Great! I’ll give her a call and let her know.”
He leans forward, pecking her on the cheek and giving Widget one last pat before he’s out the door, phone to his ear and hands noticeably absent of notecards.
They were supposed to attend the event together, but now she wonders if he’s going with Skye instead. The thought makes her indescribably sad, and she glances down at Widget morosely. She bends down, picks up her little mutt, and heads for the stairs.
“Come on, Widge. I think today is a good day to binge watch Grey’s Anatomy, don’t you?”
She changes into some sweats, curls up with her dog, and presses play on Netflix. Widget snuggles up beside her under the blankets and Jemma is once again reminded what a wonderful idea it had been to get a dog, but then that thought leads her back to Fitz, which leads her back to the way he’s been dismissing her for his new friend Skye.
It only takes three episodes to get her mind off of her own situation, because at least she hasn’t lost her leg in a fiery plane wreck and had a falling out with her wife like one of the doctors on the show. It only takes one more after that to have her dozing in and out in the sweet place between waking and dreaming. One more after that, and she passes out.
She is woken up by Fitz and a decidedly unfamiliar female giggle.
“I can’t believe I’m meeting Jemma Simmons,” the girl gushes. “I especially can’t believe I’m waking her up.”
Widget is darting around on her king sized bed, eagerly trying to say hello to Fitz and also meet the newcomer in the room. Jemma blinks blearily, confused to find Fitz standing above her bed in a nicely cut grey suit. Skye stands behind him in a hot pink dress, and Jemma nearly sighs at the sight alone. The girl is beautiful, there’s no denying it, and she smiles brightly at Jemma as she wipes drool from the corner of her mouth.
Lovely. Just the kind of first impression she wants to make.
“What’re you doing?” she finally mumbles.
“We have to leave in like, ten minutes!” Fitz laughs, tugging her up out of bed. “I would help pick your outfit, but we both remember last time you let me try that.”
Skye giggles and moves toward the closet. “This I can help with!”
Jemma continues to blink, and Fitz looks at her worriedly. “You okay?”
“Just a bit overwhelmed,” she grimaces. She hears an enthusiastic squeal from her closet.
“You should totally wear this one. It still has tags, so I assume you haven’t worn it yet.”
Jemma looks over at the sky blue dress in her hands and nods. “Sure, yeah, I’ll wear that one. Can I have a minute? I’ll be down as soon as I can.”
Skye hands it to her and then nervously lingers in the doorway. “I’m Skye, by the way. Skye Johnson.”
“Yes, I know, Skye,” Jemma says as patiently as she can. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too!” the brunette says brightly, darting out of the door. Fitz rubs a hand on the back of his neck.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—“
“It’s fine,” she says shortly. “Just let me get dressed, okay?”
He still seems unsure, but he shuffles off down the hall anyway, shutting her door softly. She sighs heavily, scrubbing her hands over her unmade face before ripping the tags from the dress and slipping into it. Rushing to her bathroom, she does her makeup as quickly as she can, the way that her stylist Kara taught her to in case she was ever in a bind. She clicked on her straightener, laughing lightly as Widget darts between her feet while she tries to pick out a pair of heels. She settles for some grey ones that nearly match Fitz’s suit, but hesitates; she’s spent eight years matching with Fitz on the red carpet, and it’s a habit that she suspects will die hard if he ever settles down with anyone else.
She shakes herself from her train of thought, runs her straightener through her hair as thoroughly as possible in the short time allotted, and accepts that she looks as good as she can get at this point. Jemma shoves her phone and a couple of other essentials into a small clutch, bends down to pat Widget, and dashes down the stairs to find Fitz and Skye chatting in her living room.
“Everyone says you and Jemma are so tight, it’s like you’re psychically linked,” Skye tells him excitedly, leaning forward toward him on the couch. He shifts uncomfortably.
“Y’know what? No, I don’t--I don’t think so…”
Something about his denial of their closeness stabs at her, but she pastes on a smile and descends the last few stairs.
“Are you two ready?”
They both glance up at her, and Skye lets out a sound of appreciation.
“How did you do that so fast?” Skye exclaims. “You’ve gotta show me how to do that.”
As much as Jemma doesn’t want to like her, and as suspicious as she still is of the other woman’s intentions with Fitz, she can’t help but be a little endeared by her shiny enthusiasm.
“Perhaps I will. Fitz? Shall we?”
He’s looking at her with an expression she’s seen from him fairly often, but she’s never quite been able to place what it is. It’s the only thing she can’t read about him, and it’s always irked her slightly, but the mystery of it also pleases her. There’s something nice about being so close to someone for so long, only to still wonder about them. Fitz is the most interesting person she knows, even in this town of incredibly eccentric people. She’s never found anyone as interesting as she finds him, and she often doubts that she ever will.
He smiles at her and stands, gesturing toward the door. “After you, Simmons.”
“Last name basis, are we?”
“He seems to prefer that,” Skye points out as she follows him outside.
“Oh, yes, never call him by his first name,” Jemma laughs, locking her door. “Who’s driving?”
Fitz falters for a moment. “Oh. Right. We came on our way cause you hadn’t answered my texts, so--we could all go together, but I brought the Porsche for me and Skye—“
Jemma’s entire body goes cold. She gulps down a thick breath and nods, attempting to paste a smile onto her face. It’s brittle and physically hurts, but she holds it anyway.
“Not a problem. I’ll drive myself.”
Skye looks distinctly uncomfortable, wringing her hands together. “Why don’t we all go in Jemma’s car?”
Jemma shakes her head quickly. “No, no, it’s fine. Fitz loves to drive his Porsche. Showy, if you ask me. I’m alright on my own.”
Fitz looks at her like he’s kicked her puppy (which he never would, given his affection for Widget), and she can’t handle the pity on his face. She’s also angry, because they’re always each other’s default date and if for some reason one of them decides to bring someone, they expressly tell one another so that the other can invite a date themselves.
Unable to handle his gaze anymore, she climbs into her car and turns it on, pretending to fiddle with her phone so that her face isn’t visible as tears burn at her eyes. Her hands shake slightly as she plugs her phone in to her aux cable, putting Lance’s album on once again and letting the music fill the crushing silence of her car as she drives toward the venue for the event. At some point on the freeway, she sees Fitz’s Porsche zoom past her Audi.
She hates walking the red carpet alone, hates the interviews by herself and really, really hates posing for photos. Where is she supposed to put her hands? After eight years of this, she still hasn’t become accustomed to it. In so many ways, she feels like the same seventeen year old, nervously walking her first red carpet at the Oscars. Only then, she’d had Fitz to clutch onto for dear life.
Sucking in a deep breath through her nose, she releases it through her mouth and smiles as convincingly as she can at the valet driver, handing him her keys and preparing herself for the onslaught of camera flashes.
“You’ve won three Oscars,” she whispers to herself. “You can do this, Simmons.”
Her little pep talk works, and somehow, she channels the hurt she’s feeling into being more dazzling then ever. She jokes with reporters about her dress, tells the story of waking up only 30 minutes prior, and makes insightful comments about the importance of empowering young women. She runs into Bobbi on the carpet with her new beau, and they take a few photos together so that he can run off and hide from the cameras.
“He’s still new to this,” Bobbi explains through her teeth as she smiles at a camera over her shoulder. Jemma laughs and nods at her, hand on her arm congenially.
“Does this look alright? And yes, he’s not exactly a popstar. His album is fantastic, though.”
“Isn’t it?” Bobbi grins enthusiastically. This time, the smile is real and it warms Jemma to see her aloof friend excited about love. Becoming a super model straight out of high school had given Bobbi a very different experience with men than most, and Jemma felt for her. The two of them had bonded over shared experiences at a luncheon when they were nineteen and twenty-one, respectively. Jemma had Bobbi to thank for much of her knowledge of navigating the social strata of Hollywood.
Jemma tunes out the questions being shouted at Fitz and Skye as they make their way down the line up ahead. She chats amicably with a few more reporters, does a funny joint interview with Bobbi that she’s sure will wind up on Buzzfeed, and then slips away with her blonde friend in search of Lance.
“Sorry about that,” Jemma greets when they find him, lurking near the bar inside. “Hard to meet someone in all those flashes. I’m—“
“Know who you are, love. Hunter.”
“Oh! I thought your name was Lance.”
“It is, I just prefer going by Hunter.”
“Ah,” Jemma muses, smile tugging at her lips. “Much like Fitz, then.”
He obviously doesn’t need an explanation for who Fitz is, since her statement is just met with a nod. Bobbi and Jemma each order a drink before finding their table numbers. Bobbi and Hunter are at Table 3, but unlucky Jemma is at Table 1. Of course, with Fitz.
“I’m sure someone would switch with you,” Hunter says naively when Jemma weakly whines about the situation to Bobbi.
Bobbi laughs fondly and ruffles his hair as he bats her hands away. “He’s so cute. So new to all this.”
“It’s all about cameras and angles and where they can find me,” Jemma explains to him, rolling her eyes. She sighs heavily and looks regretfully at the front-and-center table where Fitz and Skye have just begun settling in. “Might as well get this evening over with, hm?”
Bobbi squeezes her arm as she and Hunter head toward their own seats, and Jemma is grateful to find that she hadn’t wasted all of her charisma with the cameras. She slips in to a seat on the other side of the table from Fitz and Skye, pleased to find a few other familiar faces seated there as well.
“Trip!” she exclaims happily as he pulls out the chair beside hers and drops into it. She gives him a once over and a smirk. “Looking as dapper as ever.”
“You’re looking lovely yourself, Jemma Simmons,” he grins, leaning in to kiss her cheek. Across the table, she notices Fitz stiffen but ignores it. He’s always prickly at these kinds of events. Maybe they’re not going together will be a lovely addition to the evening, since she won’t need to babysit him into being nice to people.
“How have you been? Working on anything exciting?” she asks, fiddling absently with her tumbler of whisky.
“I just wrapped on that rom com you turned down,” he teases. “Trying to decide if I wanna take this part I got offered as a guest star on a TV show—I’m leaning toward no.”
Skye’s ears perk up and she leans toward them. “Hi!”
Trip looks at her with raised eyebrows and she winces, waving absently with her hands.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to just interrupt you like that. Or eavesdrop on you. It’s just, you’re Antoine Triplett, right?”
“I am,” he says, extending his hand. She daintily places hers in his and gives him what Jemma has to admit is an extremely charming smile.
“Skye Johnson,” she responds. “I think it’s actually my show that made you that offer.”
Trip’s eyebrows somehow raise higher. Jemma winces, wanting to stop Skye from committing a classic Hollywood faux pas, but Fitz beats her to it.
“Trip’s always fielding a lot of offers,” he tells Skye easily. “I’m sure he’s considering yours.”
Trip just nods easily, leaning back toward his conversation with Jemma without completely blocking the other two out. “Yeah, definitely. Anyway, yeah, I just screen tested for the adaptation of that novel, The Night Circus?”
“Oh!” Jemma bounces excitedly. “I love that book! I was hoping to test for it.”
“Please don’t,” Trip jokes, nodding toward the Scot who seems dead set on setting a record for fastest consumption of an alcoholic beverage. “Cause you’ll get the part, and then they’ll give mine away to Fitz.”
Fitz stands abruptly, shaking his empty glass and mumbling a question to Skye about whether she wants him to get her anything. Skye’s eyes widen at his sudden departure and then she stares at her hands on the table, looking entirely out of place.
Jemma remembers that feeling distinctly, still often has it, and wonders if it will ever really go away. She glances toward where Bobbi murmurs quietly to Hunter, tucked into him intimately even in this public setting, and remembers how the model had helped her navigate these waters.
“So Skye, how are you enjoying working on television?” Jemma asks politely. She is rewarded with a bright, relieved smile, and she feels her resentment toward the other girl slowly melting away.
“I love it,” she gushes. “My crew and cast are just—they’re so amazing. It’s almost like a family. We’re only halfway through the season, and we haven’t been renewed yet but it’s been such a fantastic experience.”
“What are the hours like?” Jemma asks curiously. “I’ve done a couple of cameos, but nothing like shooting an entire season.”
“Oh, they can be really long,” Skye admits. “But like I said, working with the people I love really makes it go by faster. I’m sure movies are the same.”
Jemma smiles softly, answering the question just as Fitz returns. He glances at her nervously, and she knows he’s aware that he’d hurt her earlier. The look he’s giving her is the kind he wears when he’s terrified she’s either going to blow up at him, cry, or disappear on him.
She’s still upset, but decides to at least put him out of his misery. “I know there’s a lot of shoots I wouldn’t have survived without Fitz.”
“It’s insane to me how many things you two have done together,” Trip chuckles.
“Twenty-one,” they reply in unison.
“Come to think of it, the only thing I ever saw that you two weren’t in together was when Fitz did Recovery,” Skye mentions off-handedly. Both Fitz and Jemma noticeably tense; neither Skye nor Trip seem to notice, though.
“Or when Jemma did Hydra,” Trip supplies.
Skye brightens. “Oh yeah! You were so badass in that.”
Jemma gives her a brittle smile, fighting down the nausea that still erupts whenever anyone mentions her and Fitz’s time apart. It had only been six months, only long enough for them each to do their own movie—but it had been the worst six months of her life.
“Thank you, Skye.”
Waiters come out then, saving her from continuing this conversation about her ghosts, and she risks a glance at her partner. Her earlier jealousy and hurt tucks away somewhere else in the back of her mind, the instinct to check on him moving to the forefront. He’s already looking at her, thoughtfully with a hint of sadness. When she meets his eyes, he gives her a little nod and smile, which she returns with a small crinkle of her nose.
At least for now, for this moment, they’re okay.
They make it through the rest of the night, agree to meet up thirty minutes before their meeting at a coffee shop down the street from the studio, and then go their separate ways. She watches him open the car door for Skye and fights against the sinking feeling that it causes.
When she gets homes, she immediately kicks off her heels in front of the door. Even though it’s nearing two in the morning, Widget trots happily to her feet, tail wagging.
“Well, Widge, looks like it’s you and I, hm?”
She scrubs off her makeup, pulls her hair into a ponytail, and changes back into her earlier sweatpants. She glances at her closet and briefly considers laying out her clothes for tomorrow, but changes her mind at the last second and opts to simply set her alarm an hour earlier.
The last thing she sees before she falls asleep is the picture of Fitz she set as her background, snapped in his living room as they worked on their screenplay.