Work Text:
The sliding doors to the lab open and Jemma’s jaw drops to the floor as she comes to a screeching halt, taking in the sight in front of her.
“Nathanson!” she yells angrily, walking in fast steps to her workbench.
Nathanson flinches, his extended hands pulling back as if he were a little boy caught with his hands in the cookie jar.
Jemma stops next to him, placing her hands on her hips and sternly eyeing her infuriating colleague. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He looks at her in bewilderment, gesturing at the ÄKTA prime plus protein purification system at her station. “Trying to help you move your—”
Jemma gasps, throwing one hand in the air. “Oh, the nerve!” She points at Nathanson, resisting the urge to actually poke his chest. “Did I not expressly forbid you from ever touching my lab equipment ever again after the Wallac 1420 Victor2 incident?”
“Yes, well, but I thought—”
“You thought you could use the space? Well, guess what, if you can’t manage to keep your own workstation in order so you constantly intrude on other people’s space, you can wait three minutes for me to move my equipment myself before you invade my workstation… again!”
“Yes, well.” Nathan stares at her with a deer-in-the-headlights look, his eyes nervously darting to the ÄKTA prime. “But it’s heavy. I thought I’d—”
Jemma gasps, exchanging a quick look with Bobbi, who is sitting at her own station watching the scene in quiet amusement. Jemma narrows her eyes to threatening slits. “Oh, you did not just—”
Nathanson’s eyes grow wide in panic and he lifts his hands in defense. “I just—”
“Get away from my workstation!” Jemma growls through gritted teeth.
Nathanson slumps his shoulders, gesturing towards the exit with his thumb. “I’ll get myself a donut.”
He turns around and heads for the door.
“Yes, go ahead,” Jemma calls after him, following him a few steps to the exit, her index finger raised. “But don’t you dare come back here with glaze all over your fingers!”
Jemma fixes her eyes on the door until Nathanson disappears through it and it slides shut. She exhales a sharp breath, her chest still filled with rage.
“One of these days, you’ll actually make him cry,” Bobbi pipes up, causing Jemma to turn and face her friend and colleague. A mischievous grin plays on Bobbi’s lips.
Jemma scoffs, rolling her eyes. “That would require him to actually have a soul.”
Bobbi laughs out loud. “Good point.”
Jemma walks back to her workbench. “Ugh, I can’t believe he had the audacity—” She picks up the ÄKTA prime plus, her anger still fuming, and turns around quickly, the weight of the equipment propelling her further than she’d expected, “to try and—”
She stops abruptly, her eyes widening in shock over the pain rushing down her spine and right leg. She draws in a sharp breath, feeling her muscles tighten in suspense, her fingers gripping the ÄKTA more tightly.
“You okay?” Bobbi asks, her tone laced with concern, as she gets up from her chair and walks over to Jemma.
Jemma grimaces, trying to take a step forward. “Yeah, yeah. Just a little pinch.” She manages to put the protein purification system back down, gripping the edge of the workbench with both hands and leaning slightly forward. “Ouch.”
Bobbi comes to a stop next to Jemma, leaning forward to get a better look at Jemma’s face. “You sure you’re okay?”
Jemma straightens ups, her face contorted in pain. She presses the heels of her hands into her back, trying to massage the sore spot. “Yes. It’s nothing,” she groans. “It’ll pass in just a moment.”
Bobbi squints skeptically. “Then why is your face still looking like that?”
“I’ll be fine.”
Bobbi gestures over her shoulder. “Want me to drive you to a doctor?”
“God, no.” Jemma shakes her head vigorously. “It’s fine, Bobbi. It’s the end of the day anyways. I’ll pack up, grab my tea and muffin, head to my bench, head home, take it easy over the weekend and I’ll be as good as new come Monday.”
Bobbi’s eyes widen in surprise. “You’re still planning on going to the coffee shop and your bench?”
“Of course.” Jemma shrugs. “I’m sure the walking will do me good. Loosen the muscles. Unpinch the nerve. It’ll be good. It’ll be fine.”
Bobbi draws in a slow breath, seemingly not happy about Jemma’s decision but nonetheless accepting it. She lifts her chin in the direction of the purification system. “Want some help with moving the ÄKTA now?”
Jemma’s lips tick up into a sheepish smile. She nods barely noticeably. “Just don’t tell Nathanson.”
Bobbi chuckles, reaching for the ÄKTA. “Wouldn’t dare.”
Jemma lifts her foot to tackle the small step leading up to Sky Full of Daisies, immediately regretting not taking the wheelchair ramp when another shooting pain surges down her leg. She pauses briefly to compose herself, putting on her happiest smile, before opening the door.
The bells above the door jingle, causing Daisy to look up. “Hey there!”
“Hello there, Daisy, lovely Friday to you.” Jemma slowly walks up to the counter, grimacing with each step. She stops in front of Daisy, exhaling a shaky breath and forcing another brave smile. “Same as usual.”
“What’s with your face?” Daisy asks.
“Beg your pardon?”
“It’s flinching.” Daisy squints in confusion, gesturing up and down Jemma. “And, why are you moving like you’re about to audition for the ‘I’ve fallen and I can’t get up’ commercial?”
Jemma waves her off. “Oh, it’s nothing. I hurt my back a little at work. Just a little muscle spasm. A pinched nerve.”
“Then why the fuck are you here?” Daisy stares at her wide-eyed, pointing at the door. “Go home! Or maybe, you know, to a doctor!”
Jemma rolls her eyes. “I don’t need a doctor. I’m fine. It’s after work. And after work I—”
“Get your tea, go to your bench, and meet your strictly platonic bench buddy,” Daisy remarks drily, with only the slightest hint of teasing in her tone.
“Precisely.”
Daisy leans a little closer. “You look like you can barely move.”
“I can move just fine.” Jemma twists side-to-side, doing a terrible job of hiding her pain. “See?”
Daisy crosses her arms in front of her chest, looking at Jemma skeptically. “Uh-huh.” She picks up a spoon and drops it over the counter, where it lands with a metallic clunk on the floor next to Jemma. “Oops. Look. I dropped something,” Daisy says in a deadpan voice, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. “Could you pick it up for me?”
Jemma squints at her friend in discontent. She inhales deeply, before bending down and picking up the spoon, unable to stop from groaning. She presses her palm against the most tender spot on her lower back as she straightens up, forcing a smile and placing the spoon back on the counter. “There. See?” she says triumphantly, trying to ignore the part of her brain that wants to scream in pain. “All good. Now where are my teas and muffins to-go?”
Daisy chuckles quietly, shaking her head in disbelief. “Coming right up, Miss Fountain-of-youth.”
Jemma stretches out the hand holding Fitz’s tea and the small paper bag with his baked good. “Your tea and blueberry muffin, kind sir.”
Fitz takes his eyes off the sinking sun, a smile appearing on his lips when he sees Jemma. He takes the cup and bag from her. “Hey. There you are. I was starting to worry.”
“What? Oh, now don’t be silly.” Jemma waves him off. She turns around to sit down, hissing through her teeth when a sharp pain radiates through her lower back.
“What’s wrong?” Fitz asks, eyeing Jemma with concern and a laser-sharp focus.
“Ugh.” Jemma leans against the backrest of their bench, rolling her eyes at Fitz. “Not you, too. It’s… I hurt my back at work. It’s all Nathanson’s fault. But I’m fine. I’m sure it’ll get better over the weekend.”
“Where does it hurt?”
Jemma sighs, realizing he won’t drop the topic. “Lower right back is where it’s worst.”
“Lean forward.”
Jemma furrows her brow. “What?”
Fitz shifts in his seat to better face her, gesturing with one hand towards the ocean. “Lean forward. My mum developed some back problems when she had to stay in bed more with her chemo. I learned some stuff from her PT.”
Once again, Jemma lets out a deep sigh, but complies with Fitz’s request. She leans forward, and Fitz carefully presses the heel of his hand against her lower back. “Here?”
“Bit more to the right,” Jemma clarifies.
“Here?”
When he presses against her lower back again, the pain almost takes her breath away. Jemma gasps loudly. “Ahhh. Yes, there.”
Fitz immediately takes his hand off her back, pointing at her with a stern expression. “I’m taking you to urgent care.”
Jemma rolls her head back. “Fitz, no. I—”
Fitz’s index finger darts closer. “I did not press that hard and you screamed bloody murder.”
“I did not scream—that loudly.” Jemma tries to protest, unconvincingly.
Fitz looks at her wide-eyed. “You were late to get here so it’s presumably painful to walk. You’ve walked around carrying your bag, which I know has way more content than strictly necessary, and the tea and the muffins—”
“Well, they hardly made a difference,” Jemma counters.
Fitz’s eyes grow even wider, rejecting her argument. “You carried a heavy bag when your back’s mucked up. You could barely sit down. I bet you can barely get up.” He pauses, once again pointing at her with conviction. “I’m taking you to urgent care.”
“We’d spend hours there and they’d probably send me home with nothing more than some muscle relaxants!”
“Yes, and that’s probably exactly what you need!” Fitz gets up from the bench, extending his hand in Jemma’s direction.
Jemma slumps her shoulders. “Fitz.”
“Simmons!” Fitz says, sternly.
She sighs, placing her hand in his palm. “Fine.”
“Two hours,” Jemma groans, one arm still draped around Fitz’s shoulders, who is trying to open the door to her flat. “Two hours waiting for a two minute exam and a prescription for muscle relaxants.”
The door finally swings open and Fitz snakes his arm back around Jemma’s waist, holding on to the hand resting on his shoulders with his other, guiding her into the apartment. “Yes, Jemma. So you’ve told me repeatedly.”
“Two hours,” Jemma repeats indignantly, watching Fitz as he closes the front door and places her keys on the dresser next to it. “Plus driving time. Two hours plus driving time wasted of your Friday night.”
Fitz scoffs, shaking his head, unable to hide a smile. “Nothing’s wasted.” He steps around Jemma, helping her out of her jacket and then bends down to help her out of her shoes. He straightens up, placing his hands on his hips. “Now, you lay down on the couch in whatever position is remotely comfortable.”
He stretches out his hands. Jemma sighs, before placing her palms in his, allowing him to guide her to the couch.
“Ugh,” she groans in pain, as she sits down.
Fitz hooks his arm under her knees, helping her to get more comfortable, before standing up. “Now you stay right here and I’ll raid your kitchen and make dinner.”
“Fitz.” Jemma tilts her head to the side. “You don’t have to.”
Fitz huffs in amusement and heads for the kitchen, not dignifying her protest with a verbal reply.
“And I didn’t have time to go grocery shopping,” Jemma calls after him. “You won’t find much!”
“Please,” Fitz shouts back, beginning to open various cupboards in her kitchen. “I’ve seen your kitchen. There’s always something. And the meds say you can’t take them on an empty stomach.” He looks into the living room at where Jemma’s head is poking up from behind the back of the couch. “So I’ll make you dinner!”
A grateful smile flashes across her face. “Thank you.”
Fitz shrugs. “Hey, you’d do the same for me.” He opens the next cupboard, scanning the various cans and jars. “And I’d be getting a much better deal out of it based on your cooking skills.”
He hears a weak chuckle from the couch, when his eyes catch sight of a jar of tomato sauce and a box of pasta.
“Aha!” he exclaims triumphantly, taking both objects out of the cupboard. He turns around, holding the jar and box up for Jemma to see. “We have a winner!”
“Jemma,” he says softly, crouching down next to where she’s lying on the couch.
“Hmm?” she hums quietly, but her eyes remain closed.
The corners of Fitz’s mouth quirk up. He scoffs quietly in amusement. Gently he places his hand on her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “Jemma,” he repeats a tad louder.
Her eyes flutter open. “Yes,” she mutters, groggily.
His thumb rubs up and down her arm, trying to wake her up a bit more. “You’re falling asleep.”
Her glazed-over eyes stare back at him in confusion. “What?”
A chuckle escapes his lips. He tilts his head sideways to look at her straight on, hoping it’ll help her to focus. “You’re falling asleep. I think the meds are kicking in. Maybe you should go to your bedroom instead. Your back’s bad enough. Don’t need to add a night on the couch to its misery.”
A tired laugh, barely more than an exhale leaves her mouth. She clears her throat, trying to push herself up to sitting. “Right. Yes. Probably.”
She slowly twists her back, grimacing in pain. Her expression causes Fitz’s face to contort as well. He pushes himself up, stretching out his hands, palms up. “Come on. I’ll help you.”
She smiles, accepting his help. Fitz pulls her up to standing. He snakes his arm around her waist, briefly reaches for the remote on the coffee table to turn off the TV, and slowly guides her to her bedroom.
She sits down on her bed with a quiet groan. Her eyes don’t quite focus on anything in particular, but he can tell that her tired mind is trying to ponder a problem.
“I got no PJs on,” she mumbles, her eyes wandering side to side in confusion.
“Oh. Umm.” Fitz looks around wide-eyed, before raising his index finger. “Hold on.”
He walks to her dresser and pulls open the drawers until he finds a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. He heads back to her, looking down at the picture of misery in front of him, her deadbeat and hunched over body. “Can you… Do you… Can you get yourself dressed?”
“What?” She looks up, before furrowing her brow and nodding absentmindedly. “Umm. Yes. Sure. Maybe.” She pauses, before switching to shaking her head instead. “I’m not sure.”
A smile flashes across Fitz’s face. “Let me help you.”
Her head bobs up and down in silent confirmation.
Carefully, Fitz helps her out of her jumper, replacing it with the t-shirt. She stands on wobbly feet, holding on to Fitz’s shoulder, as he helps her change from her trousers to the sweatpants.
“There you go,” he remarks, standing up and taking her hand, carefully guiding her back to sitting on her bed.
She lies down without saying a word and rolls onto her side. “Thanks, Fitz,” she mumbles quietly.
Fitz smiles, pulling the blanket over her. He tucks her hair behind her ear, ignoring the slight twinge in his stomach. “Night, Jemma,” he whispers, before heading out of the bedroom, turning off the light, and leaving the door just an inch open.
Jemma stares at the sleeping figure on her couch, one arm hanging over the edge, his mouth gaping slightly ajar, his hair disheveled. She can’t help but chuckle quietly, before clearing her throat. Fitz’s body stirs briefly, but he doesn’t wake up. Jemma repeats the sound, a bit louder this time. He blinks, lifting his head slightly to look at her with tired, half-open eyes. A hint of confusion lingers in his expression.
“Good morning,” Jemma greets him, joyfully.
“Hey,” he mumbles, his voice hoarse. He sits up, wiping away some drool, as an embarrassed blush reddens his cheeks. “How are you feeling?”
“Much better,” Jemma remarks, unable to stop from smiling. “What are you still doing here?”
He shrugs. “Thought it’d be safer to stay here, in case the meds didn’t do the trick and you needed help in the morning.”
Jemma feels heat creeping up her cheeks. “Thank you,” she replies, barely above a whisper.
One corner of Fitz’s mouth ticks up. “’Course.”
Jemma exhales sharply, trying to ignore how her stomach twinges as she gazes into the piercing blue of his irises.
“Well, the meds most certainly did the trick,” she tries to distract herself by returning to the topic of her back pain. “I mean I still feel a little twinge, but I think one more night on the muscle relaxants and I’ll be as good as new.”
“Great.” Fitz pushes himself up to standing. He groans briefly, stretching his back and twisting his torso side to side.
Jemma crosses her arms in front of her chest, unable to hide her amusement. “Am I going to have to share my muscle relaxants with you?”
Fitz laughs out loud, shaking his head. “Nah, I’ll be fine. I think I just need breakfast and a shower.”
Jemma smiles widely. “Well, that can both be arranged.”
Fitz lifts his chin in the direction of the front door. “I can shower at home, no worries.” He pauses, before gesturing over his shoulder towards the kitchen. “But how ‘bout we start with breakfast. You make tea, I’ll make eggs. I saw you had some, and not to brag but my scrambled eggs are legendary.”
Jemma raises her eyebrows curiously. “Well, how can I refuse the offer of legendary scrambled eggs?”
Fitz lifts his shoulders. “You can’t!”
“Wouldn’t dare to,” Jemma replies, trying to maintain a serious expression.
Fitz chuckles, his gaze dropping to the ground briefly, before he heads for the kitchen.
“Fitz,” Jemma calls after him.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you, for everything.”
He smiles at her one-sidedly, his eyes warm and sincere. “Of course. That’s what friends are for.”
Jemma can’t quite figure out why his words sting just a little. She shakes her head to free her mind from the strange uneasy feeling in her stomach and follows Fitz to the kitchen.