It's not a party, not really. But Jemma is back with the team, and she's so many good things (like alive and not brainwashed), and when Mack produces a cooler from somewhere in the depths of his workroom and suggests a round of drinks to celebrate, she feels as though she's more than earned it.
So, really, this is what it is: Mack and Fitz sharing drinks, heads nearly touching while Fitz explains something in half-sentences, animated and eyes searching to make sure that Mack understands (he does, at least to Jemma's eyes, and she's glad he has someone who can do that for him). Lance sulking in the corner, trying to convince Trip to listen to him moan about having to be in the same room as his ex-wife. Skye and Coulson and May upstairs, debriefing.
Which leaves Jemma all alone.
Which, perhaps, is to be expected. She did leave, after all. But before she can get too upset about it, Bobbi appears next to her, carrying two bottles. She's holding them both by the necks in the same hand, fingers all tangled up to keep them from falling. Jemma can't help but notice that she has very nice hands.
"Hey," she says, mouth curling into a smile that makes Jemma's chest bloom hot. Her eyes meet Jemma's, and she can feel herself blush. There's a part of her that gets embarrassed at that, but then, this is the woman who just finished saving her life. It's understandable that Jemma might have a bit of a crush. "Can I buy you a drink?"
It's a joke, and Jemma laughs, but her giggle is too loud, out of proportion to the actual humor. Across the room, Fitz looks up. "Yes," she manages, trying to keep her voice even. "Thank you."
Bobbi is so beautiful, and capable, and tall - but as it turns out, she's also really nice.
She spends her first drink talking with Bobbi, catching up on what exactly she was doing for Hydra, how long she was there, all of the easy things to ask about. But then it's just Bobbi looking at her, and Jemma's mouth starts to fumble because she's trying not to say things like thank you for saving my life and also I like your hair no matter what Lance says.
She spends half of her second beer catching up with Trip, and that's a lot easier. She missed him, she really did, and he's so good at making her laugh. As they talk, she notices Fitz and Mack quietly disappear, and she's not quite sad about that.
Trip gets about halfway through a story about their last mission - something about May and an evening gown - when Lance starts raising his voice across the room. She's not eavesdropping, but it's hard not to pay attention to a grown man having an honest-to-goodness tantrum at his ex-wife. He goes on for a while - you were too, you always get like this, so judgmental - and when he finally leaves, it's a relief.
Then they're three.
Jemma sits on one side of the couch and Trip settles on the other, Bobbi in the middle. Bobbi and Trip know each other so well, and clearly they can go on for hours about tactics, old missions, conversations Jemma can't quite contribute to. But every so often, Bobbi's knee nudges against Jemma's thigh, and when she rests one hand on her own thigh, her pinky finger hangs down to make contact with the side of Jemma's leg. So, there's that.
Eventually, it's just the two of them.
They're sitting, squashed too close on the couch even though there's ample space, still leaving room for a third person who's no longer there. Bobbi's thigh is warm against hers.
Jemma is still a little giddy from being rescued, heart racing with relief and adrenaline, still struggling to say Bobbi when in her head, it's Agent Morse in capital letters, bold font. But Bobbi is surprisingly easy to talk to, she's finding, and that helps. She smiles easily, and laughs at Jemma's chemistry jokes, and listens when she speaks.
Jemma realizes that she'd forgotten how nice it could be to talk to someone who understands things - what it's like to be undercover, and what it's like to be undercover at Hydra. Someone who's caught up on the most recent season of Doctor Who.
Bobbi keeps throwing that half-smile in Jemma's direction, the one that says she thinks Jemma is either funny in an odd way, or funny in a cute way. Ordinarily, Jemma would have trouble interpreting which, but Bobbi's hand is on her knee and she's rubbing circles against the seam of Jemma's trousers, gently squeezing every time she makes Jemma laugh.
Until just now, Jemma hadn't noticed the pleasingly symmetrical shape of Bobbi's mouth. It's a mouth she'd really enjoy kissing. She lets herself look, just for a moment, and not for the first time tonight a flutter of desire runs through her. Bobbi isn't just amazing, she's gorgeous.
"You're pretty cute, yourself," Bobbi says, voice softly amused, and Jemma realizes she's said that last part out loud. God, god, three hours out of the field and she's back to being terrible at keeping her thoughts to herself. She winces.
"No, it's - I mean. You don't have to be," she says, gaze dipping down to Jemma's lips.
Jemma feels herself blush.
Then Bobbi leans down, and brings their mouths level. She hovers just for a moment, inches away from Jemma, as though she's giving Jemma an opportunity to change her mind. This close, she can smell the floral notes of Bobbi's shampoo, sense the warmth of her skin. She moves closer; she can't imagine doing anything else.
They kiss, and it's electric. Bobbi's mouth is soft, warm against her own, and Jemma sighs into her. Her hands come up, tangling in Bobbi's hair, pulling her as close as she possibly can. She kisses Jemma breathless, tongue and teeth in exactly the right amounts to set Jemma on fire, skin humming with desire.
When they pull apart, Jemma is gasping. Bobbi's pupils are dilated wide, and she won't stop looking from Jemma's mouth to her eyes, back and forth, hungry.
"You're just good at everything, aren't you?" Jemma murmurs, then winces. Another thought she was hoping to keep in her head.
Bobbi chuckles, this low, sweet sound that makes Jemma shiver. Then she bends down to kiss Jemma again.
It's an odd angle - Jemma's too short for this, and side by side is awkward, and Jemma's about to say something when she feels hands on her waist, pulling her nearer and higher. She ends up on Bobbi's lap, straddling her, and oh. That's much better. She's the right height now to kiss along Bobbi's jaw, to trace the shape of her sternocleidomastoid muscles with her lips, down to her clavicles. She learns that there's a spot on the side of Bobbi's throat that makes her moan when she kisses it just so.
But then Bobbi is leaning back, ducking her head to capture Jemma's mouth once again, and that's a different sort of thing to learn about but it's just as nice. She learns about the taste of Bobbi's tongue, and the way she can make Bobbi sigh by nipping at her lips.
Her hands are busy, too, untucking Bobbi's shirt and reaching underneath. Her skin is hot under Jemma's palms, and Jemma lets her fingertips learn the curve of her spine.
She's not sure how much time passes before they next pull apart from each other, but it's a while. Enough time that Jemma's aching to be touched, her brain fluttering with exactly enough dopamine to make her relaxed and giddy, all at once. Bobbi's hands are underneath her shirt, palms flat against her ribcage while she thumbs the underwire of her bra. Jemma's hands are tracing spirals across Bobbi's lower back, one on each side of her spine. Every so often she'll hit just the right spot to make Bobbi shiver underneath her.
"So," Bobbi says. She smiles, biting her lip just enough to make Jemma want to lean in and do the same.
"So," Jemma says. It sounds breathless to her own ears, and maybe she is, a little. She understands what this is - something with parameters, boundaries - but there's no harm in enjoying it while it lasts.
"This is not what I expected when I first met you." Bobbi says.
"Well, when we first met, you were interrogating me."
Bobbi smiles. "I don't date my coworkers," she says, gently. She's making eye contact, searching as she watches Jemma's face.
Jemma can't quite resist the retort. "Something about Lance tells me you do."
Bobbi smiles, that soft one Jemma likes so much, and chuckles. "Anymore."
Jemma feels herself return the smile. "That's alright," she says. "I mean, the idea that a person needs to be in a committed romantic relationship to enjoy physical release is, frankly, a little outdated."
"You sure?" Bobbi asks. She's moving her thumb, now, tracing an insistent path back and forth across the skin above Jemma's sixth rib, like she'd really like the answer to be yes. But her expression is gently concerned and she's waiting for an answer, clearly needing to know that Jemma won't get too attached after all of this. Jemma appreciates it.
"Bobbi," Jemma replies, just as gently. "I'm sure."
Bobbi nods, understanding. This doesn't have to be something they do more than once. Then she reaches back to unhook Jemma's bra and slide one hand against her breasts.
Jemma doesn't think about much else for a while after that.
Bobbi's hands are callused from years of combat training, and she runs the roughness of her fingers along the edges of Jemma's breasts until she gasps, bucking her hips forward. She slides until she's only straddling one of Bobbi's legs, groin balanced against her thigh, and every time Bobbi hits the right spot she rocks her hips down. It's not quite enough, but it takes the edge off, lets her be patient. It's been far too long since Jemma's been able to indulge herself like this.
Bobbi's nails drag along the underside of Jemma's breast and Jemma whimpers, drags her nails across the skin of Bobbi's back a little harder than she should. Bobbi arches forward, groaning in reply. The sound hits Jemma right between her legs.
Dimly, Jemma realizes that things are starting to go farther than they should in a public area. It's not that she minds, particularly, but there are people who live here who would be upset if they saw this, not the least of whom is Bobbi's ex-husband.
"We should perhaps -" Jemma says, breathless. She's not sure how to finish - not with stop, maybe move - but Bobbi understands.
"Are you sure you want to -"
"Yes," Jemma says, more emphatically than she intends to. But she is sure. She jumped off of a building today, and the gorgeous superhero who saved her life is an excellent kisser. Tonight, she's allowed to enjoy being alive.
Bobbi smiles, almost sheepishly. Her nose wrinkles just a little bit, and Jemma fights the urge to kiss it. "I don't know where the bunks are," she says.
"Oh - oh. I could -"
Bobbi kisses her, warm and dirty, tongue licking into her mouth and Jemma feels herself clench. She's already aching for her. "Could you?" she murmurs, pulling away.
It takes Jemma a moment to figure out her legs, but she eases herself off of Bobbi's lap and tries to smooth down her shirt, offers her arm.
They walk for a bit, Bobbi's steps slow and calm. Jemma has to walk quickly to match her stride. "We almost there?" she asks, voice rough.
"Yes. Just around this -" Jemma starts, and then she can't speak, because Bobbi's got her back pressed against the wall and her knee is between Jemma's thighs, kissing, kissing, hungry.
Jemma whimpers, takes Bobbi by the hand, walks faster.
They sort of fall into Jemma's bunk, the one she barely used before she left to work with Hydra. It takes them a minute to settle inside because her bags are all over the floor - she hasn't had time to unpack, and the room hardly feels like hers, bare and cluttered all at the same time. She thinks about apologizing for something - the clutter, the state of her interior decorating, tripping over Bobbi's feet - but then Bobbi is unbuttoning her trousers.
"Yes," she hisses as Bobbi slides them down, kneels so that she can peel them off of her, over her hips, down her legs. She's just the right height to press a kiss to Jemma's cunt through her underwear, the right amount of pressure in almost the right spot and before she can think she bucks her hips forward, murmurs, "God, Agent Morse."
She feels something sharp at the angle of her hip and it's Bobbi's teeth, biting down, making her focus. "Bobbi," she says. Her tone is firm, no-nonsense, and it makes Jemma go liquid. All she can do is nod in reply.
Then her underwear is off, and there are strong fingers between her legs and god, of course she'd be good at this, too. Bobbi's amazing.
Dimly, she realizes that Bobbi's standing up again, that her free hand is slowly hiking up her sweater. Jemma feels a wall come up behind her back, and then she's being pressed against it. There's a moment where things move up - and then she's pinned to the wall, Bobbi's mouth sharp and hot against her throat while her fingers work between Jemma's thighs. She hears herself sigh, then moan. Then she doesn't hear much at all, because Bobbi's inside her and she's strong and gorgeous and Jemma is clenching around her, rocking down with her hips as she finishes.
She's sort of slumped forward, head resting on Bobbi's shoulder with legs around her hips, still pinned to the wall. She doesn't realize quite how awkward the position is until Bobbi fidgets beneath her, shifting weight under Jemma's thigh. She looks up in time to meet Bobbi's apologetic smile.
"You're leaning on my -"
"- arm, of course," she says, moving away immediately so that Bobbi can take her hand back and help ease her down to a spot where her feet touch the ground.
"Did you want to -"
"- bed. Yes please."
Bobbi tilts her head to one side. "You realize you're finishing my -"
"-sentences. Sorry. Sorry."
Bobbi cups Jemma's cheek, traces a line from nose to jaw with her thumb. "I don't mind."
Bobbi helps her to the bed, and Jemma slides down onto her side, just for a moment. She loves this part, just after orgasm, when her body and her thoughts go quiet. Every part of her feels heavy and light at the same time. Bobbi is sweet about it, sitting down beside her and stroking her hair, tangling and untangling it between her fingers.
Eventually, she recovers enough to sit up, and pull Bobbi into a kiss. It's different than the ones before - hungrier - and Bobbi groans into it. Jemma memorizes every inch of her - the mole under her left breast, the way she grunts, thrusts when Jemma takes her nipple into her mouth and scrapes with her teeth, just so. And then she memorizes the way Bobbi sounds when Jemma kneels down beside the edge of the bed and licks and licks until Bobbi is shuddering, tugging at Jemma's hair, making her feel beautiful, dirty, amazing.
She kisses Bobbi until she's come down, stroking her hair, her breasts, her abdomen. The look on her face is a contented one, and when she's finally recovered enough to open her eyes she looks straight at Jemma, says, "Yeah."
Jemma feels like she's aced her A-levels all over again.
"Look," Bobbi says, voice husky in a post-coital way that makes Jemma shiver. "I still don't know where my room is."
"Oh, if you'd like you could stay - I mean, if it's not too much."
Bobbi looks at her, searching. "I won't be here in the morning."
"That's fine," Jemma says, means it.
In the meantime, though, she fits perfectly between Bobbi's side and the wall. She's always enjoyed this part, as well - the casual physical contact, the warmth of another person against her. She curls in against Bobbi's side, nestles her head against Bobbi's chest and finds a comfortable spot. Bobbi's arms come up to wrap around her shoulders, tracing spirals across her skin.
Their feet tangle together, and she falls asleep listening to the gentle thump of Bobbi's heart.