Fitz has always been more tactile with her than others, but he’s never been overly touchy and it gives Jemma pause when he winds his arm around her, forcing him to eat with one hand. Her brow furrows as she tucks into her plate, concern and hurt for him settling in her chest. She’s easily dismissed her father’s words about him, and subsequently his mum, because she knows them to be utterly foolish and false, spoken by a man who had never taken the time to get to know Fitz properly. But she realizes as she watches him out of the corner of her eyes, that Fitz isn’t able to do the same and suddenly the hotel, the room service, the touching, and the tender affection he’s been giving her since they’d arrived makes even more sense to her.
He was hurting, too.
Suddenly her food isn’t nearly as appealing as curling up into his side and comforting him is. Setting her plate aside, not even caring that she’s barely touched any of it, she scoots further into him and rests her head on his shoulder, careful not to bump his plate of food in the process.
She’s still feeling odd, out of sorts, and she’s not sure that she’s being comforting in a way that makes a difference. She doesn’t think he wants to talk about any of it quite yet, probably wanting to at least finish his meal in peace, or if he even realizes that she knows he’s upset, so she simply sits in silence, allowing him the quiet and not pushing him.
He knows better than to think he could hide his upset from Jemma, yet he tries anyway, steadfastly focusing on his food in an attempt to keep her from seeing his face. Of course, he fails miserably, and he knows it as soon as she sets aside her plate and curls into him. Fitz freezes, hand tightening around his fork even as his arm pulls her in closer, and rests his cheek against the top of Jemma’s head, just thinking. Part of him wants to tell her to keep eating, that she can’t neglect herself now, now with their child on the way, but he can’t force the words out.
After all, how is he supposed to convince her to eat when he’s having so much trouble keeping down his own food?
Instead he disengages just a bit, moving to set his partially eaten portion of shepherd’s pie on the nightstand before coming back to Jemma, this time using both of his arms to haul her against his chest as he scoots down in the bed. Fitz takes a minute to luxuriate in the feel of her, the knowledge that she’s carrying their child planting a seed of warmth that pushes away the frigidness that had set in with her father’s harsh admonishments that allows him to smile softly as he kisses her hair.
“Ye know,” he murmurs, voice clouded by her curls, “I dinnae regre’ a momen’ o’ this. An’ I never, ever will. Thank ye, for givin’ me this.”
She lets Fitz arrange them in the bed, settling into the soft blankets and pillows, food forgotten and focus completely on each other. Reaching around her shoulder, she tucks her damp hair behind her and smiles up at him softly. She can tell there’s more in his mind, can see the sort of faraway look in his eyes, and she worries her bottom lip with her teeth.
“Technically, I haven’t given you anything yet,” she says, voice soft and gentle as if she might break the air between them. She knows what he means, though, the feeling of gratitude similar to the one she’d a little while ago in the tub.
Between what her father had said and Mary’s worries about history repeating, it’s really no wonder that he’s feeling the way he is, and her arms tighten around him, wanting to take that away from him.
“The only thing I regret is not telling you I loved you sooner.” They both have the habit of being awkward, a little uncertain when it comes to others, but with each other there was none of that and though her words may sound twee, she knows that he knows she wouldn’t say them if she’d didn’t truly mean it.
It’s nearly impossible to do, but Fitz snugs him arms about her more tightly, bringing Jemma closer so he can kiss her slowly. He takes his time, mapping the familiar territory of Jemma’s mouth at a leisurely pace, not pushing for anything more than just this. How could she say she hasn’t given him anything? Jemma’s given him everything, the spark to push his creative streak further than it’d gone before, the opportunity to see the world, the dose of sweetness he needed to keep from going bitter in an increasingly dark world, and most importantly, all of herself.
True, she hasn’t given them a child yet, but she’s willing to, and that’s what touches Fitz. She’s easily the most brilliant biochemist that S.H.I.E.L.D. has ever seen, but she was willing to put her research on hold on short notice to start their family. And she had agreed to do so without hesitation. That’s what Fitz was thanking her for, and couldn’t thank her for enough.
“Ye’ve given me everythin’, Jemma,” he whispered, more than a bit breathless from their kisses. “An’ tha’s so much more than I deserve.”
Jemma smiles up at him, eyes dazed from his kiss, and rests her hands on his chest. His eyes are familiar, so familiar now that she could describe them from memory: the lightest of blue around his irises, flecks of almost crystal clear color here and there, darkening outward to an almost sapphire at the very outer ring. It’s one of the first things she’d noticed about him, the brilliant curly-haired boy with the shockingly blue eyes, and her fascination had only grown through the years as she’d learned how his eyes changed color with his emotions, learned how to read him by just the flash or shift in his eyes.
His eyes are soft now, almost liquid-like, and she can’t pull herself away from them. Foolish man thought she’s given him everything, when he’d done so much more for her. He’s been the foundation, the rock she’s needed when her ambition got a little too adventurous, the center of gravity when everything felt like it was falling apart, the steady strong when everything was at risk of crumbling around them. He’s always been exactly what she needed, even when she didn’t recognize it, and laying here next to him in this ridiculously overstuffed bed with too many pillows, she can’t help but smile at how they’d gotten here. They’d taken the long way round, spending years as partners and friends only, but they’d somehow made it here: together, having a child, figuring things out for themselves in their own way. It doesn’t matter if it’s in any particular order; they’ve always done things the Fitzsimmons way, not the way anyone else does it.
Leaning forward, she softly kisses the tip of his nose affectionately. It’s the sort of thing she’d never do to anyone else, or let anyone else be privy too. This affection was for Fitz, and Fitz alone.
“That goes both ways, love. Now we’re adding another little thing to our ‘everything’ list.”