and the weight behind her words is SO MUCH MORE

“Have you seen Sana?” Yousef asked, dipping down towards the blonde girl he’d been introduced to a little earlier but for the life of him couldn’t remember the name of. His mind had been other places. The loud pumping music and the bodies moving in close proximity to them made it difficult to converse without shouting and after her returned “Huh?” he took a seat beside her and asked her again. “Have you seen Sana?” A bright smile warmed her features at the mention of her friend but a frown then creased her brow, presumably after realising she hadn’t in fact seen Sana in a while. “No, sorry.”

With a sigh he gave up looking for Sana for the moment. “So uh…” Yousef trailed off, racking his brain for the blonde’s name. She must have noticed because she offered, “Noora?” and he smiled in appreciation that she’d given it with a happy ease that suggested she wasn’t at all offended by the fact he’d forgotten her name. “So Noora,” he said, putting extra emphasis on her name as if committing it to memory. “Have you known Sana long?”

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unbreakablejemmasimmons  asked:

If you're still taking prompts-- Fitzsimmons + 25) things you said in the back seat of a cab please! :-)

I’m always taking prompts, it just takes me a million years to get to them, apparently! Here you are, lovely! Set in the unspecified future when everyone’s free from these framework shenanigans.

++

He leans forward to give the driver their address and then collapses against the back seat. Jemma melts against him, soft and giggly in his arms. It’s not that he thinks he deserves to be rewarded for saving the world so often, but these occasions are rarer than they should be. And how can he regret anything about his life when it’s led him to this particularly perfect moment, but even still would it kill the universe to let evenings like this stretch past the hours allotted for their happiness?

He feels Jemma twisting to look up at him, a pretty frown darkening her features. “Fitzy,” she draws out in a whine that he absolutely shouldn’t find attractive, “why are you being serious now?”

“I’m not,” he tries, but the rest of his protests die on his tongue at her knowing eyeroll. It’s no use; there’s never been any use in hiding things from her, but the desire to protect her from everything bad extends to his own melancholy thoughts.

“Do you remember when I left to find Coulson with Fury’s toolbox, and you made me my favorite sandwich?” The cab driver, on the phone dealing with some minor family emergency, isn’t paying any attention to them, although Fitz is sure this conversation would make no sense to him anyway.

Jemma wrinkles her forehead in confusion. “Of course I remember. What brought that up?”

“That’s the last time I was in a cab.”

Really?” she asks, eyes wide. “That can’t be right.”

“It is, though. Ever since then it’s been the Zephyr or some other high-tech SHIELD transport. And in…” he pauses, looking away from her briefly. “In, uh, Morocco I hired a car and driver.”

Jemma inhales sharply and her fingers grip his arm so tightly it stings. He’s desperate to draw the hurt from her before it spreads like a poison, so he places a kiss to her forehead and smiles bracingly. “That ended up being quite expensive. Had to buy the guy a new car. Left him a 5-star review on TripAdvisor, though, so maybe he’s forgiven me by now.”

His joke falls between them with a dull ache. “That’s not funny, Fitz,” she says, voice trembling.

“I know,” he sighs. “I’m sorry. I just…that’s not the point.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to form coherent thoughts with alcohol muddling his system. “I was thinking about the last cab ride because…I was really scared. Not sure if I could find Coulson. I was scared of what they’d do to me if they found me, and I was so terrified to leave you behind. But when I saw you’d made me that sandwich I felt…genuinely happy. It was the first time I really believed you and I would be okay. You know, that we were friends again.”

Jemma blinks slowly up at him before grasping his hand between hers, drawing it up to rest against her heart. “We were always more than that,” she says quietly, her words weighted with a truth so long unspoken. Even now, when they’ve entwined their lives as deeply as possible, it feels like a secret too precious to share with the world. 

He swallows thickly, suddenly overwhelmed with how much he loves her and how he’s still sometimes convinced it’s all a miraculous dream.

“The point is,” he says, clearing his throat and leaning his head back against the car door, “that cab rides are better with you.”

She laughs, and he does too, because he’s done a terrible job at expressing the feelings rending his heart. “Everything is better with you,” he clarifies.

Jemma slides her fingers across his brow, tracing his nose, the curve of his jaw, trailing along his lips like the softest kiss.

“We need a vacation,” she says suddenly and he stills, drawn to her honey-eyes and the tenderness she can’t contain. She nods decisively when he doesn’t reply. “That’s what this is about. We had a lovely evening off and now you’re moping because it’s about to end—”

“I’m not moping,” he grumbles, but she presses a quick kiss to his lips and effectively shuts him up.

“You’re moping because it’s about to end,” she repeats. “Come on, Fitz, we deserve this. And we never made it to the Seychelles.”

He can see them so clearly—lounging in bathing suits, drinking cocktails and getting sunburnt despite their best efforts and his lungs ache with the want of it.

“We’d never get the time off approved,” he says sadly, and Jemma smirks at him.

“Maybe you can’t get time off approved, but I’ve already got two weeks secured.”

“What?” he gasps, genuinely shocked. “Since when?”

She shrugs. “I talked it over with Coulson a few weeks ago. I was waiting for the right time to surprise you, which is apparently…now. In the back seat of this cab.”

They both look around at the decidedly unromantic interior of their cab and simultaneously fall into laughter.

“When should we go?” Jemma asks, when she’s gotten herself back under control.

“Now,” he replies, grinning at her eagerly, suddenly looking years younger. She raises an eyebrow and he knows it’s pointless; Jemma Simmons, who creates binders of research for any small decision, will not allow their first romantic getaway to happen with zero planning.

“Next week?” she offers as a compromise and he has to stare at her for a moment before he realizes she’s being completely sincere.

“Yeah,” he says, stunned and breathless. “Next week. Me and you. The Seychelles.”

She draws him towards her, smiling into a kiss. “I’m gonna do something with you on that island that will take your breath away,” she whispers, causing his entire body to go numb.

“Yeah, snorkeling, I know,” he says archly. “Someone told me there are over a thousand species of fish in the Seychelles.”

“I’m not talking about snorkeling,” she replies, voice lower and throatier than it has any right to be, and he audibly gulps.

“Can we perhaps finish this conversation at home?” he pleads, throwing a glance towards the front of the cab where the driver, thankfully, appears still engrossed in his own conversation.

Jemma giggles delightedly. “Whatever you want,” she says softly, like a promise. With her warm weight pressed against him, he can’t imagine any universe in which he might be happier. When he’s sure Jemma has half-dozed off, he sticks the hand not wrapped around her deep into his pocket, fingers grazing over the small black box. He grins to himself. He might need to create his own binder of Seychelles research after all.

I’m the girl with big grey eyes filled with sadness. Who always has a lot on her mind. Who carries the weight of things from years ago. Who looks calm but is struggling with anxiety inside. Who cares more about others than herself. Who can’t quite look people in the eye. Who tries to keep herself together but looses it behind closed doors. Who has so much emotion about everything. I’m the girl with big grey eyes filled with sadness. Who tries her best to be happy but sometimes the sadness washes over first.
—  Chapters from my life
Alluvium

More Season 8 angst? Sure! We’re still somewhere between DeadAlive and Three Words, here.
_________
“Where’s Scully?” Skinner asks tentatively.

He is propped up in bed, his limbs feeling numb and heavy.

“She left,” he says, feeling her absence like a yawning hole in his chest.

Skinner nods and sits down next to the bed.

“She told you, then?” he asks.

Mulder quirks a weak smile. “The part where I’ve been dead, or the part where she got herself pregnant while I was gone?”

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