Fitzsimmons + “remember when we were in high school and we swore that if we were still single at 30 we’d marry each other, well hey guess whose birthday it is”? :)
It’s some absurd time at night (or maybe in the morning, she’s not quite sure anymore), and they’re still up, too filled with adrenaline and alcohol to go to bed. It’s just her and Fitz now, legs dangling over the side of the building as they stare out at the gleaming lights of the city, but she can still hear cheering coming from downstairs, where the party is still going on.
Jemma nudges him, just about dropping her beer down several stories. “We can go inside, you know. I think Daisy finally put away the baby pictures.”
“Nah, it’s okay. I kind of like it out here,” he admits, shoulders lifting in a shrug, fiddling with the label of his bottle.
“Me too,” Jemma says quietly, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Happy birthday, Fitz.”
“Thanks, Jemma,” he mumbles into her hair. It’s quiet for a while, kicking absent-mindedly - and all of a sudden, they’re laughing, their voices spilling out into the night air.
“Sorry,” says Jemma, pulling away with her hand over her mouth. “Sorry, just… were you thinking about…”
“Year twelve? When we said we’d marry each other if we were still single by thirty?” Fitz finishes, grinning lopsidedly at her. “As if I could even forget that conversation. Hunter found out and told the whole school, remember?”
“Oh, yes. That was the cause of the great Milton blowup,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “I think it’s best I’m shot of him, actually.”
“I think it’s best too,” nods Fitz, and Jemma glances at him. “We were so stupid back then, weren’t we?”
“I don’t know.” Jemma shrugs and bites her lip. “I don’t think that it was that stupid. It wouldn’t be half bad being married to you, you know.”
His reaction is priceless, eyes wide, faint blush on his cheeks, and suddenly she’s giggling again. Maybe it’s the alcohol making them both so brave, but Fitz rolls his eyes and presses a kiss to her cheek.
“Jemma Simmons, you are so in love with me,” he teases.
“I’m not!” she protests, although laughing ruins the effect a little.
“You totally are.”
“I’m not,” she says, and suddenly she’s not joking anymore, as her hand finds his to keep warm in the crisp air. “Not yet, anyway. But I think I will be.”
“When?” he asks after a moment, breath all stuttery, and she laughs again.
“Well technically, I’m still twenty nine, so… in about twenty three days?”
“You’re so stupid,” Fitz sighs affectionately.
“You still love me.”
“Unfortunately,” he mumbles, smiling when she leans over and presses her lips to his. And, Fitz will tell her later, no one’s thirtieth birthday has ever felt so good.
if there were ever to be a homestuck movie, i would hope to god that the go-to, repeated-far-too-often, trailer joke would be john, standing in the bathtub in the stairway, staring balefully at his cell. “rose, you can see me right. tell me. whats wrong with this picture.” preferably being cut to after a shit-ton of action scenes.