.

.

.

004.

Truth or Dare

. . .

"Truth or dare?"

Fitz pretends to think about it.

"Truth."

Jemma shakes her head and attempts a stern look, failing miserably as a smile teases the corners of her mouth. "Not allowed."

"You gave me the option."

"And you pick 'truth' every single time."

"Alright," says Fitz grimly. "Fine." He takes a fortifying swallow of beer. "Dare."

Jemma's answering smile is almost wicked.

"I dare you to plant an article of Skye's clothing in Ward's cabin."

Fitz nearly chokes. "You're joking."

Jemma grins. "Quick. Before they finish their game of Battleship."

"Next time," grumbles Fitz, rising, "I'll stick to 'truth'."

.

.

.

005.

The Christmas Tree

. . .

"No, no, no. Not there. You know the rule. No two baubles of the same colour next to each other."

Jemma sighed, shooting Fitz a half-hearted scowl over her shoulder. "You suck all the fun out of decorating a Christmas tree."

Fitz spluttered a moment. "I like an even distribution of colours," he said defensively. "Makes the finished product more aesthetically pleasing."

Jemma rolled her eyes, but obediently took the blue bauble off its branch and hung it next to a silver one. "There. Better?"

"Much."

Jemma smiled, shaking her head in mock despair. "Fusspot," she muttered.

"I heard that."

.

.

.

006.

Let Go

. . .

Jemma tries digging the toes of her shoes into the earth but still inches forward on her belly, dragged closer to the cliff's edge by the combined weight of Fitz and the nameless baddie dangling from his ankles.

"Jemma."

When she looks at Fitz's face, it's to find his expression grimmer than she ever remembers seeing it. She knows what he's thinking.

"No." She shakes her head furiously. "I'm not letting go."

There are tears in his eyes and a small, regretful smile on his lips. "Goodbye Jemma."

He loosens his hold and his hands slip right out of hers.

.

.

.