Chapter Text
Jemma tried to peek into the kitchen before she went around the corner but Skye was apparently already looking for her and caught sight of her instantly.
“Mmm-mm-mmph,” she called loudly, her mouth full of bagel as she furiously waved Jemma into the room.
“Bloody Hell,” Jemma mumbled to herself, pushing back her shoulders and holding her chin high. Instead of stopping at the table, she went directly into the kitchen to put the kettle on for tea first.
Skye was bouncing in her seat, fingers twitching in anticipation as she waited while Jemma slowly opened a tea bag and put it into her cup. Having run out of things to do until the kettle boiled, she sighed and went to sit primly at the table.
Skye was still trying to swallow down another bit of her breakfast as she said, “You’re just mean, Jemma. Making me wait. So…” She drew out the last word and then let it hang in the air between them as she rolled her fingers over in a hurry-up gesture. When Jemma just stared blankly, she prompted, “Do tell. Do tell.”
“Skye—” she started, trying to think of an excuse for why she didn’t want to talk about this now.
She realized that she had been perfectly willing to talk about it yesterday but that had been before last night. Skye wasn’t being unreasonable, it was just that Jemma didn’t want to discuss it now—or ever.
Since that incident with the portal to the Kree homeworld a month and a half ago, she and Fitz had only just gotten things back to the point of “dating” about three weeks ago. This mostly consisted of going to restaurants, coming back to the base and kissing in the hall outside her room.
After their first date, standing there unlocking her door, the tension between them had been a force unto itself. It was like an electrical field surrounding them, making the tiny hairs on the back of her arms stand on end. She turned back to him slowly, knowing what was coming and, though her stomach was flip-flopping with anticipation, she still took her time and tried to savor the moment. Though there was an edginess that had her squeezing her hands into fists. It was almost as if the air were pulled taut between them. She was so nervous that, as he stepped in, she bumped back into the doorframe with her shoulder. She was afraid he’d be upset but was completely surprised when he started to laugh and instantly the strained mood was broken.
Then his arms were around her, his lips pressed against hers. He pulled her top lip between his and then switched, sucking her bottom lip in and drawing on it gently. She teased at the soft, tender skin of his lip with the tip of her tongue and he shivered against her. He touched his tongue to hers and, for a moment, she went weak-kneed with a longing she had no idea she even felt. He came away wearing the widest smile she’d ever seen on his face. It was the best, sweetest first-kiss she'd ever had—shy and tentative but also dizzying and full of all the magic and promise she ever dreamed they might have. He left her on her doorstep breathless and yearning for more.
That was the moment she knew. It wasn’t when she told him that maybe there was something to talk about between them. Though she suspected then, she still hadn’t been sure until the moment she felt his lips touch hers and all of a sudden the certainty had hit her with a force like a tidal wave. She tried to resist for so long and then it just clicked—like a key in a lock, the tumbler was thrown. She’d fallen in love. And she couldn’t blame gravity for that.
Each of their subsequent kisses had been more and more heated, and a great deal more desperate—hands searching out hallway-appropriate places for contact and lips and tongues standing in for the actions that other parts of their anatomies longed to play out. Four nights ago, he very timidly slipped his fingers up over the swell of her breast as she clung to him with her fingers woven into his thick curls. He quickly retreated at her surprised gasp, but she realized that things were probably progressing beyond hallway-suitable levels if, indeed, there were such a thing.
Fitz was quite good at kissing. So, needless to say, she was extremely curious to find out if he was good at other things. Skye had caught them in the hallway last week (very embarrassing to all parties concerned) and had been demanding regular, if fairly discreet, updates ever since. Yesterday, Jemma confided to her that she was finally ready to “take the plunge”.
Skye was still staring at her expectantly, a bemused smile playing over her lips that made her dark eyes gleam.
“Well…” Jemma looked toward the ceiling, mouth slightly open as she tried to come up with something. She gulped, unable to bring herself to admit the truth.
“Oh no,” Skye said, her smile deteriorating when Jemma still didn’t come out with anything other than a breathy sigh. “Fuck, was it bad?”
As soon as Skye let loose the truth, the dam broke: “It was. So bad. Awful. Oh, God. How are we going to—” She dropped her head down into her hands.
Skye was patting her on the shoulder. “Hey, shit happens. You just gotta try again. I mean—it wasn’t, like, you know—freaky bad, was it?”
Jemma looked up at that. She wasn’t sure what “freaky bad” meant but it might qualify. “What is ‘freaky bad’, exactly?”
Skye looked up thoughtfully as she popped a small bite of bagel into her mouth. “I mean, he didn’t try to stick it in your ass without telling you or something, right?”
Jemma was visibly shocked, eyes wide as she looked toward the door to make sure no one was listening in. “No! Of course not,” she whispered harshly, not even able to meet Skye’s eyes.
Skye shrugged. “Or call you ‘mum’ or ‘alien space princess’ while you were in the throes or anything?”
Jemma just shook her head, trying to stifle an amused smirk.
“Well, probably not freaky bad then. Just—you know, try again. I mean, he isn’t exactly Don Juan or anything. He was probably just nervous.”
“It wasn’t just him though!” Skye’s wide eyes and equally wide grin made Jemma drop her head into her hands again just to cover her scarlet-tinged face.
“No kidding?” Skye said, taking a slurp of her coffee. “Do tell.”
Things started off wrong from the beginning. Jemma normally spent a good deal of time grooming before going out with Fitz but an emergency had kept her in the lab until he finally came to get her. (He was understandably a bit jumpy about her whereabouts after the Kree-portal incident.)
She was still clearing up in the lab and hadn’t realized the time. Fitz had made reservations and offered to change them if she wasn’t ready but she didn’t want to postpone their evening until it was too late (she had a pulse, after all) so she decided just to go in her work clothes.
The French restaurant had been rather nicer than her attire and she felt uncomfortable and out-of-place the entire time. Fitz was wearing an actual suit and tie for heaven’s sake and he looked quite handsome. The waiter was surly and very—French. She felt like he was judging her through the whole sodding meal. She’d eaten little, her nerves keeping her from enjoying the food at all and though a little wine might have made her feel better in the moment, she didn’t want to spoil their upcoming activities.
When they arrived back at her door, she unlocked it and turned to ask him in. However, now used to the routine, Fitz was already prepared to lean down and kiss her. She put a hand up to stop him so she could speak and he froze, his face immediately lined with worry.
She shook her head at her unintended implication. “No, I just—Well, would you like to, eh—come in for a bit?”
His eyes went wide with surprise and for a moment she thought she’d actually made a mistake. Was it too soon? She wasn’t sure what the correct timeframe was supposed to be for sex with someone you’d known for over a decade.
But he seemed to compose himself and, swallowing hard, managed a high-pitched, “Course.” He cleared his throat, his voice recovering as he coyly added, “I mean, y'know, if you want?”
He followed her in and quickly had her pressed to the inside of the door, kissing her hotly with his fingers tangled in her hair. Which was amazing—until his fingers actually got tangled in her hair.
“Ow, Fitz! Just—let me. Stop pulling! Just—OUCH!”
When she finally freed herself there was a very awkward moment of wondering if they should continue. As she stood there, so close to the door, she considered whether she should shoo him out and try again another time or actually attempt to get back into it. (If only she’d known!)
The question was answered when, despite boldly meeting her eyes, he timidly said, “You look really beautiful tonight, Jemma.”
“I didn’t even change,” she muttered, looking away demurely. But she couldn’t help the sudden upwelling of love that bubbled to the surface and she wasn’t even sure who closed the distance this time.
They were in a frenzy as they did a shuffling, conjoined walk to the bed. She was busily attempting to push his suit jacket off his shoulders, as she tried not to break their lips apart. It wasn't working and, pulling back, he leaned forward in an effort to work it off his arms while she leaned in trying to slide it back when they bumped heads awkwardly. It wasn’t too awfully painful but Fitz managed to clip the side of his jaw on the top of her head, just enough to make him clack his teeth together.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, rubbing the spot. He didn’t seem terribly perturbed as he went straightaway for the lapels of her blazer but, in hindsight, it seemed an omen of things to come.
They’d just got into kissing again when it seemed he was urging her back onto the bed, but they both still had shoes on so she leaned away and pointed at their feet.
“I’ll just—” she said as she sat and began unlacing her boots. Fitz did the same, sitting on the side of the bed to unlace his dress shoes and remove them.
When they were both finished, he turned to look at her and she suddenly wasn’t sure if she wanted to keep going or not. He looked like he was asking permission with his eyes and suddenly she really just wished he would take charge. She sighed inwardly and thought that, hopefully, he would get more comfortable, more secure, and feel he could lead in future.
So instead of saying something to him about it, she hoped for that best and scooted back on the bed until she was against the headboard. Fitz—looking slightly odd in a dress shirt, tie and slacks but no shoes or socks—shimmied up to lay on his side facing her, his eyes large and questioning.
She reached out to stroke down his cheek and then let her fingers slide up to where his hair swept back from his forehead in a slight widow’s peak. She slipped her fingers into his curls and tried to recapture how she'd felt earlier.
He moved closer, kissing her sweetly, his lips soft and searching against hers. As it grew more intense, tongues tangling eagerly, she slipped off his tie and started on his shirt buttons. He tried to do the same for hers but his fingers were shaking nervously and she finally did her own, shrugging the shirt down her arms as he immediately went for her cleavage. She might have laughed if she weren’t still struggling with the shirt. As it was, she was stuck with her wrists caught and a very distracted Fitz stuck to her chest.
“Fitz?!” she finally said in frustration, after a bit of a struggle—more loudly and far less tolerantly than she would’ve intended. “I’m, um, stuck.”
He got the message and helped her off with the cuffs of her shirt. She managed to get his off without incident but while she was leaned forward getting his last cuff off, he was already beginning to fight with the clasp of her bra. She tried to take over but evidently it had become vendetta between them. She waited as he wrenched at the elastic. With probably more luck than anything, he finally got the clasp to separate.
After so much enthusiasm while they were hidden, she was surprised when he seemed far more hesitant to touch—cupping lightly and finally giving them a few tentative licks.
“I won’t break,” she said with a chuckle.
He must have taken her literally because he soon began to assail her with an excessive amount of teeth. She didn’t want to discourage him, it was merely unpleasant and not outright painful—until it wasn’t.
“Ouch!” she cried out, fingers reflexively tightening in his hair, causing him to wince. She just managed to hold in an exclamation that she was ‘definitely not a chew toy’.
“Oh God, sorry,” he was clearly mortified and she couldn’t quite bear to tell him that the rest of his treatment toward them was definitely not very pleasurable either. She decided that redirection was a better escape. She could save the critique for another day.
She reached down to unbuckle his belt and he stopped dead, breath held, waiting to see what she would do. She tried stroking him lightly through the fabric, wondering if she should reach inside or perhaps tell him to just take them off. She fingered the waistband of his pants questioningly and he immediately unfroze.
He went straight for her jeans, undoing her zip and starting to shuck them down, but that was when she remembered that she was on the last of her laundry that morning. She’d saved out her last pair of lacy knickers to change into that night and worn her horrid, granny pants instead—the pair she was currently wearing. He had her jeans halfway down her hips when she sat up straight trying to hide them, managing to meet Fitz’s nose with her forehead.
“Ah! Jesus!” he cried, cupping his nose. In an effort to see if he was okay, she brought her knees up to get up to a sit and felt one connect with something. She didn’t have to wonder long what it was. Fitz seemed to collapse in on himself, clutching just below his open fly. Jemma gasped, bringing her hand over her mouth in horror. He seemed to be in so much pain his lips were fixed in a silent scream. He went down on his side on the bed.
“Oh my! Fitz! Are you alright?” she said, clutching his shoulder. He seemed to be fighting to draw a breath. “Fitz? Say something, please?”
He finally managed a weak, breathy, “I’ll be...okay. I think. Ju–just gimme, maybe, a minute?” He nearly sounded like he believed it.
She nodded, checking his nose as well. Which, thankfully, wasn’t bleeding and appeared to be unbroken. She didn’t know about the rest of him but it seemed fairly unlikely she’d done any permanent damage in that area anyway. At least, not physically, but she couldn’t vouch for any psychological scarring and there was the pain, of course. It now seemed their night was completely ruined.
“Ice pack,” she said, almost to herself. She threw on her top and ran to the lab, returning with an ice pack for his nose. She held it on while he lay on his side, recovering.
He refused to allow her to ice the other affected area and after about four rotations between ice on and ice off his poor nose, he finally brought his hand up to his face protectively when she tried to apply it again.
“I’m fine now, Jemma,” he told her, sounding reasonably like himself.
“I’m so sorry,” she said again, wanting to throw her hands up at how awful the evening had gone. “I can’t believe that happened.”
He patted her hand. “I’m fine. In fact,” he sat up, brushing his nose against her cheek and wincing slightly, “I think we could maybe—I dunno—pick up where we left off?” He looked uncertain and she was sure her expression must have bordered on mystified. She actually couldn’t believe he was still keen after that disaster. Because, clearly, she was chaos personified. “I mean, if you want to?” He didn’t sound particularly suggestive and really only a tiny bit hopeful.
“Alright,” she said, feeling it was the least she could do after causing him such grievous injury. “Oh, but just let me, um—a minute.”
She went into the loo and divested herself of her granny pants—the cause of all Hell breaking loose—stuffing them to the bottom of the laundry bin. She decided to just—well, go for it and walked out into her room naked. Fitz, had actually shown initiative and gotten into bed, shedding his trousers and pants into a pile on the floor.
His eyes went wide when he saw her and she was pleased by his awestruck look. She slid between the sheets beside him and he kissed her cheek chastely.
“I’d, ehm, can I—I mean, would it be okay—could I go down on you?” he blurted in an uncertain sort of too-fast warble.
She didn’t know what to say for a moment. She’d never really been a huge fan of that but the eager-puppy look on his face made her say: “Eh, yes—if you like.” Her tone sounded odd and formal to her own ears but she didn’t bother to correct herself. “But, um—no teeth,” she added, grimacing at even feeling the need to say such a thing.
He looked horrified at the suggestion and, face reddening, immediately ducked under the covers. He was soon lapping between her legs. It wasn’t unpleasant but she felt uncomfortable and self-conscious. She hadn’t even showered! After a few minutes she felt fairly certain nothing was going to come of his efforts and she was already thinking of tapping him on the shoulder when he lifted up the blanket to ask, “Is that, er, alright? I can keep on but is it, y'know, okay?”
She felt a bit bad for him suddenly. She really should perhaps learn to be more direct. “You can stop now,” she said. “I’m, well, ready. I mean, for—if you—“
He was already nodding and crawling up her body. She reached over into her night table where she put a new box of condoms she’d gotten just for the occasion.
She pressed one into his hand and felt her stomach clench in anticipation. She heard the crinkle of the foil and then his face was coming close to hers, the smell of her was on his breath. He kissed her and she tried not to grimace at the taste. She actually didn’t know how men dealt with it. She was just glad she was a woman. She wondered idly if it was a pheromone issue. Interesting idea for an experiment, seeing if heterosexual women responded negatively toward female pheromones. She’d have to check the journals and see if it’d been done yet. Her thought was interrupted by the feel of him against the seam of her thigh as he brought his lips to her neck. She reached down, trying to guide him.
But as she took hold, he spluttered, “Jemma, wait. Oh. Just—don’t.” He eased her fingers away.
Then he was pushing awkwardly against her, trying to guide himself. When it seemed he wasn’t going to make it on his own, she tried rolling her hips up and managed to get him in the right spot on an exploratory poke. He slid inside a bit roughly and she gasped at the feeling. He didn’t go fast but it was enough to make her bite her lip as her body tried to catch up. He was groaning into her ear as he finally filled her fully.
As he pulled back out, he gasped and apparently managed to get some of her hair in his mouth, which he finally inelegantly spit back out. She shook her head, trying to get the stray locks back. Sighing at the frustrating struggle and just wanting to get past the awkwardness, she slid her hands down his moist back, cupping his arse as he thrust back in again—then came with a loud groan.
When his shuddering had stopped, he sighed against her neck and if her disappointment could be measured in volume, she thought it might be three Grand Canyon’s worth.
It wasn’t just that she hadn’t shared in the pleasure, it had been the whole experience—she felt so little of the connection that she’d hoped for. It certainly had none of the charisma of their usual relationship. It’d just been sex. Really awful, completely terrible sex.
After a moment, he finally eased himself off. He went onto his side next to her and when she finally got the courage to look at him, he looked near tears. She immediately went into fix-it mode.
“I’m sorry,” he said, looking up so he wouldn’t have to see her eyes. “I–“
She put a hand on his arm and patted lightly. “Don’t worry—it’ll be better, um—next time.” It was the best she could manage. She felt that if she looked at him much longer she might cry herself.
He didn’t seem reassured by this but said, “I could, y'know—ehm, go d—“
“No, that’s alright!” she interrupted, already knowing what he was about to say. “I mean, I’m not—that’s fine. Maybe—er, another time.”
He looked a bit hangdog as he got up to go to the loo and when he came back, he started to pick up his trousers and pants from the floor.
“Are you—going?” she asked, as he slid his pants on, her heart sinking as she felt hurt despite everything.
“Ehm, no?” he said, not really sounding sure himself. “I just thought I’d—” He threw his trousers over her desk chair with a flourish but they both knew it was just a cover. “Unless—ehm, you want me to?”
She didn’t know if she could handle it if he left as well. Then, at least, there was some sort of hope that perhaps they might have another go and it could be wonderful. She tried not to scoff internally and consoled herself with the fact that people sometimes had to get used to one another. It wasn’t generally magical the first time with anyone—but it had never been quite like that.
In answer to his question, she shook her head. But realized that she also didn’t want to force him to stay. “Unless you want to—” she added tentatively.
His eyes flashed to the door and she felt that sinking feeling go just a bit deeper into her. He looked back at her, his expression going a little softer and he came into bed with her again. She put her head against his shoulder but she was stiff and unable to relax as she tried to bring herself close to him. She still felt a bit like he really didn’t want to be there with her anymore.
Eventually, she fell into a rather fitful sleep, waking occasionally and feeling certain that he would be gone but he was always there beside her—until he wasn’t. She heard the shower running though and saw it was almost six. She thought briefly of getting in with him but, gnawing her lip, decided to let it go. She put on her dressing gown and went into the loo to start getting ready.
He looked surprised to see her when he got out and almost shyly wrapped the towel around himself. She pulled a new toothbrush from the medicine cabinet and held it out to him. “Morning,” he said quietly.
“Morning,” she replied, trying to sound cheerful, but she thought her voice sounded more startled than anything.
“Jemma—” he started, but then he just shook his head, opening the toothbrush she’d given him instead.
She waited until he started to dress before she got in the shower and was just rinsing her hair when he peeked through the door and said, “I’m, ehm—I'm off now. I’ll, eh—see you in the lab?”
“Of course,” she said. “In a bit.”
He nodded and turned to leave but seeming to think better of it he turned back. “I’m sorry—about last night.”
“It was fine!” she cried, falling back on her usual falsely cheerful façade.
But the lie just fell flat, and he looked down, nodding slowly toward the floor before he turned and left.
“I’ve had worse,” Skye said immediately after Jemma had finished.
“Really?” she asked, voice full of skepticism.
“Um, well, close? But, yeah, that was pretty bad,” Skye agreed with a slight grimace.
Jemma was nodding and took one hand from where it was wrapped around her mug of tea to gesture with an open palm. “This is exactly what I’m trying to tell you,” she reiterated.
“So, when’re you giving it another shot?” Skye asked, curious. She winked and Jemma just looked down into her tea. “Come on! You can’t leave it like that. I’m serious, you guys are gonna be great together once you work out all the kinks!”
“I don’t know, Skye,” she mumbled, taking a sip of her tea.
“Ah! You can’t give up after a bad first time! I mean, you at least have to give him one do-over!” she argued. “I mean—it’s Fitz. You two have been through too much to let this be the thing that does you in. So—it was awkward. Who cares?” She stopped to take a breath and Jemma finally looked up from her tea.
“I’m in love with him, Skye. What if this is the best it is? I mean, I’ll just have to deal with it, I suppose,” she said and went back to blowing on her tea.
“Jemma, I have a crazy suggestion—” Skye said, her eyes growing serious as Jemma looked up from her mug again. “Try talking to him! Just, you know, give him the lay of the land. Tell him you hate it when people chew on your boobs and you’re not very into him frenching your hoo-ha. There! Problem solved! As for the other stuff, well, awkward happens—probably more so with you two…” Jemma glared, “Hey, I’m not kidding. You two injuring each other during sex seems about right to me. And as for the other other thing, well, give him a minute—he’ll get tired of your lady bits sooner than you’d like, trust me. You’ll be thinking up ways to get him off faster cause you got shit to do.” Her eyes went wide as she rolled them dramatically. “Believe me, I know.”
“That was quite a speech,” Jemma said after taking another sip of tea. “Did you get all that from watching When Harry Met Sally for the fourteenth time? Or was it that last romance novel you read? What was it called again? Secret Desires at Midnight or something?”
“Shut up,” Skye said, throwing a piece of bagel at her.
He was pacing again. They were in the “new” garage and Mack was leaning against one of the SUV’s he’d been working on before Fitz got there.
“Sure you don’t wanna talk about it?”
“No!” Fitz yelled at the ceiling. “Yes! How the hell do I know!? I mean, not really but—also, yes!” he seemed near hysteria as he paced and threw his hands about wildly. “Actually, it’s just too embarrassing, really,” Fitz added, now just sounding defeated.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better—as my ex used to say—anything you say goes into the 'vault',” Mack said with a chuckle, wiping his hands on a grease-stained rag.
Fitz nodded and sat down on a rolling stool by Mack’s toolbox and said, “Jemma and I we—finally—" He gaveMack a significant look, “you know—and it was—UGH—I mucked it up. I was complete rubbish.”
“Come on, man. I’m sure she doesn’t think that. You’re probably worryin’ over nothin’,” he said reassuringly, not understanding that Fitz was well beyond reassurance.
“No. Trust me. She thinks it. There’s no other word for what happened last night.” He ran his hands through the hair at his temples. “God, she’ll never go out with me again. Tha’s it. This is the end. No happy endin' just one round of bloody awful…” He couldn’t quite finish the thought.
Mack was chuckling lightly at Fitz’s outburst. “Listen, there’s only one thing you can do in that situation, man. Try again. Make it better. If she’s the girl for you, she’ll wait it out. You two’ll get there.”
“No, tha’s the thing, we just shouldn’t’ve done it t’ begin with. Yeah. Never again. We’ll just forget about it. We’ve always been friends. We can be again. Clearly we’re not—I don't know—compatible.” He threw his hands up in frustration. He was really only half joking. "She's too gorgeous and incredible. I'm just—" He shook his head.
“Whaddya think went wrong?” Mack asked, ignoring his dire pronouncement.
Fitz’s face got very red. “Well…” He started after hemming and hawing for a bit. “It was…” He squeezed his eyes shut.
“Quick?” Mack suggested.
Fitz only nodded, not opening his eyes.
“That doesn’t seem crazy for—you know—I mean, you’ve kinda had it bad for her a good long while, right?” Mack reasoned.
“Yeah, but, like, really quick,” Fitz said, covering his face. “Like, it wasn’t even that quick the very first time. Jesus,” he moaned. “She’s goin’ to think I’m some sort of premature ejaculator—bloody jessy who can’t go a full round. Fuck!”
He looked up, suddenly realizing he was still talking to Mack. Fitz really just wanted to hear that he wasn’t mad, that it hadn’t all been his fault or even just that it was the way life went at times and Mack was good at that so he kept going.
“But—that wasn’t even the half of it, really. I mean, she was—I dunno—weird. I mean, she suggested that I ‘come in’,” he air quoted the phrase, “and then she was actin’ like maybe she wasn’t really—into it? I guess? There were loads of times to just—stop, give up, try again later but she carried on. Somehow, it just—I mean, it was like she was—I don’t know—just goin’ through the motions?” Mack was nodding seriously but didn’t say anything even when he paused. “Maybe she doesn’t really want this after all? Maybe I should’ve said somethin’? Or–or just left when it started to go wrong? I didn’t want to hurt her feelin’s though. But then!” His eyebrows drew downward as he grew a look of pure indignance. “She acted a bit like I was a criminal tryin’ to go after that epic disaster. I mean, I’d’ve stayed if she really wanted me to, of course—and I did—but I would’ve thought she wanted me to go after that train smash and she just looked at me like I was the worst person in the world.” He sagged visibly after his confession.
He left out Jemma’s crazy freak out, bashing him in the nose and her—apparently accidental—knee to his bollocks. He might’ve thought it was intentional if she hadn’t been so apologetic afterward. Since he wasn’t exactly uninterested, once the waves of nausea had passed, he’d suggested another go. His brain tried very hard to ignore the fact that her enthusiasm seemed to have dried up by that stage but he kept thinking he could bring her back around. It hadn’t happened though. Clearly. It was all his fault.
“I mucked everythin' up,” he lamented again.
“Well, I’m gonna say the thing that you prob'ly don’t wanna hear, man. You need to talk to her. Not just make assumptions about how she feels or just get up and leave, but really fuckin’ talk to her,” Mack said in a rather impassioned way that made Fitz grow even more embarrassed.
Of course, he knew this was an issue but, up to now, he’d been very good at pretending it wasn’t. Well, pretending wasn’t really the word—Fitz was actually horrible at pretending. He was well aware that he was avoiding these conversations with Jemma but he did it anyway because they were either difficult or potentially destructive to the relationship. But he also knew that, in the end, not having them would likely be equally destructive. But, really, that seemed like six of one, half a dozen of the other to him so why bother with the actual conversation? He forgot to consider the statistical likelihood that it might actually make things better.
“Right, that makes sense,” he said contemplatively to Mack, still having no intention of actually speaking to her. “I’ll try that tonight.”
Actually, he avoided her all day in hopes she might let things settle for a bit—if he were lucky, maybe for a few days.