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Jemma sags back against the stall door once she's left alone in the ladies' room. Then, just as suddenly, she jerks back upright. She informed the terrifying mole-hunting woman that there was nothing but HYDRA files on her hard drive, and that wasn't strictly true.

Oh, there's no SHIELD information there. Jemma isn't quite that thoughtless. No, she's just thoughtless enough to have essentially dared someone to look at a hard drive with porn on it. Lesbian porn.

She lets her head bang against the stall door. Great. Not only is the terrifying mole-hunter -- TMH for short, perhaps? -- going to see what kind of stress relief Jemma enjoys while waiting for experiments to progress, she's going to see that -- well, Jemma has a type. To wit, dark-haired, commanding women, often in uniform: much like TMH herself.

God, this is embarrassing; making her new home in the ladies' room is hardly going to improve matters, though. Jemma splashes a little cold water on her face as she washes her hands, then returns to her work station. Where her hard drive has already been removed. Great.

"Dr. Simmons," says a voice behind her shoulder: TMH, of course. "In my office. Now."

Jemma gulps. "Right away," she says, and follows her, trying desperately not to admire her rear end.

TMH closes the door and locks it behind them. "I must say," she says, "I was surprised to find what I did on your hard drive."

"You hardly had time," Jemma says, then wishes she could cram the words back in her mouth.

Shockingly, TMH laughs. "Oh, I had time," she says. "To recognize, if not to -- enjoy."

She can't be saying what Jemma thinks she's saying. "...oh?" Jemma tries.

"Don't play dumb with me, Jemma Simmons, PhD, PhD," TMH says. "It doesn't suit you."

"You would have -- enjoyed," Jemma says. "I don't think you mean 'beating my Minesweeper score.'"

"I mean watching your porn," TMH says. She is really standing quite close to Jemma. "But I have a better idea."

"Do you," Jemma says, and wets her lips reflexively.

"How good are you at keeping secrets, Jemma Simmons?" TMH asks her. She's near enough now that Jemma has to look up to meet her gaze.

"Better than you think," Jemma says, and she goes up on her toes to close the distance between them in a brief, hard kiss.

At least, she intends for the kiss to be brief and hard. TMH evidently has a different plan. Her hand comes up into Jemma's hair, and her mouth opens, lush and hot. Jemma finds herself moaning into it, quite unexpectedly.

TMH pulls back, her mouth curved into a smug smile. "A secret worth keeping?" she asks.

"I don't even know your name," Jemma says, touching her own lips with the backs of her fingers. They feel hot and sensitive. "I can't keep calling you --"

"Calling me what, HYDRA bitch?" She appears to find that funny.

"Well, TMH, actually," Jemma admits. "Ah... 'terrifying mole-hunter.'"

"Oh, I like that." She laughs. "You can call me -- Roberta. If you prefer."

"Roberta, then," Jemma says, and dares to lean up for another kiss.

TMH -- Roberta -- winds her hand in the hair at Jemma's nape and deepens the kiss, her tongue expert. "How quiet can you be, Jemma?"

"I spent most of my life in dorms," Jemma says. "How quiet can you be?"

Roberta's low laugh is electric. "Very, very quiet," she says, and kisses Jemma's neck, pulling the collar of her sweater aside to give herself more room to work.

"I want," Jemma says, almost too loudly, then again, more quietly: "I want."

"Good," Roberta says. "Take off your pants and sit on my desk. Don't make a sound."

Jemma gulps and does as she's told. Just how much of her collection had Roberta seen? Her clit throbs as she steps out of her trousers and underwear, then folds them neatly and places them on the edge of the spotlessly-clean desk.

Roberta nods approvingly as Jemma seats herself on her piled clothing. She steps between Jemma's parted thighs and puts two fingers on Jemma's lower lip. "You know what to do," she says.

Obediently, Jemma sucks Roberta's fingers into her mouth, holding eye contact and wrapping both of her bare legs around Roberta's thigh as she licks and sucks. Roberta's nails are short and smooth, her fingers callused, like she spends a lot of time working out.

Roberta's patience runs out quickly; she pulls her wet fingers out of Jemma's mouth with a slick pop and slides them, without ceremony, into her cunt. Jemma swallows hard and leans up to press her mouth to Roberta's as those clever fingers curl inside her, pushing just short of pain on her G-spot.

"Good girl," Roberta whispers, thrusting her fingers deeper, rubbing her thumb over Jemma's clit almost too roughly. "Don't make a sound, Jemma."

Jemma sucks in a breath, clenching hard around Roberta, and comes -- silently.

"Good, good girl," Roberta says softly. She pulls her fingers out of Jemma's cuntand licks them clean; Jemma watches, mesmerized. "Well? Get dressed," she says, waving peremptorily.

"Can't I --" Jemma begins.

"Later," Roberta cuts her off. "Once I've found the mole."

"Right," Jemma says, a cold lump in her gut. She pulls her clothing back on. "Well -- thank you, I suppose. And -- good luck."

"I appreciate it," Roberta says. As Jemma takes a step past her, she fists one hand in the back of Jemma's sweater and pulls her in for one more fierce kiss, then lets her go.

Working for HYDRA is certainly not simple, Jemma thinks, but it does seem to have its rewards.