Title: Hold Tight
Fandom: Marvel's Agents of SHIELD
Rating: R
Length: 786
Content notes: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR 1.06
Author notes: For this prompt on avengerkink: http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/17613.html?thread=39915213#t39915213
Summary: Fitz/Simmons/Ward established relationship, hurt/comfort, sex, aftermath of 1.06.




Fitz was sitting on Jemma’s bed, and Ward was standing next to him. Jemma was tidying up the room, just as she always did, a bit of formality for her own sake more than for theirs.

They spoke of dinner and the team and Coulson’s strangely affectionate way of scolding. Ward noticed that they rather conspicuously were not talking about the fact that Jemma had nearly died just a few hours before.

Until Jemma picked up her favorite fuzzy socks, bright red with pink and maroon polka dots, from the floor and threw them into the hamper.

Fitz, in a disproportionately bitter tone, said, “Those horrid socks.”

Jemma rolled her eyes without turning around. “Yes, your opinion on these socks has established numerous times for the record.”

But when she turned, she could see his face. “Fitz?”

“I would have had to pack up those ugly, horrid socks,” Fitz said, almost choking on the words.

Ward put a comforting hand on his arm, but he continued, “I would have had to pack up your things. To send them to your mother.”

Jemma walked over to him, sat next to him. She put her hand on his and held hand tightly, even though his was still clenched in a fist.

Fitz looked at her. “What the hell would I have told your mother?”

“You would have lied,” Jemma reminded him. Her voice was kind, but she was direct, couldn’t be anything else.

“I would have,” Fitz said, voice bitter. “I wouldn’t have told her how angry I was that you--”

He trailed off.

Ward knew that he should stay out of this. He knew that Fitz and Simmons were inseparable, and he was just the guy they invited to be with them when they felt like it. But he couldn’t deny it.

He felt the same way.

“You shouldn’t have given up,” Ward said, trying not to sound like he was judging her. He wasn’t sure he succeeded.

“I was afraid I would kill all of you,” she said. “You know that.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Ward said. “What you did was incredibly brave. No one’s blaming you, Jemma.”

“I’m blaming her,” Fitz objected.

“Are you still angry that I asked you come into the field?” she said.

Fitz answered, “I’m angry that you tried to leave me in the field without you.”

Jemma put a gentle hand on Fitz’s cheek, grabbed Ward’s hand with her other. “I risked my life to save you. Both of you risked your life to save me. And we’re all here.”

Fitz leaned into her then, held her close, and she let go of Ward to hug him back; he was, as usual, quick to forgive.

Ward stepped back. He wondered if he should leave them alone, let them have this night for just the two of them. The thought twisted his gut; there was a moment when he thought he would never see Jemma again (and if he hadn’t gotten there in time, Fitz might have jumped without any training; Ward might have lost them both).

He looked down at the two of them, sitting on the bed, clinging to each other. He looked, briefly, at the door.

“Don’t you even think about sneaking out of here,” Jemma said suddenly, without letting go of Fitz.

“How did you--” Ward asked, but then smiled and sat on the other side of Jemma and held them both, tight as he could, tight as if his arms were the only thing keeping them from falling.

Jemma kissed Fitz then, on the lips, rougher than usual, aggressive. She turned back to Ward and did the same, and he felt her teeth on him, a blade of desire on his lower lip. Hands then, pulling one another’s clothes off as they leaned back into her bed. Mouths kissing shoulders, lips, chests. Soon the three of them were moving together, Jemma in the middle, closing in on one another as if their bodies were a refuge, gripping one another as if they needed their lovers’ bodies to keep breathing.

When they were done, when their bodies still lingered, Ward whispered, “You’re not ever allowed to die on me. Either of you.”

Jemma stroked his arm in reassurance. Fitz raised an eyebrow at him and said, “Back at you.”

They smiled and nestled closer, hovering in the moment.

“Would you have really packed up my favorite socks, Fitz?” Jemma finally said.

“No,” Fitz answered, “I would have burned them.”

Jemma swatted him lightly on the shoulder. But Ward laughed and couldn’t stop, and soon the three of them were laughing together, for a long time. They barely even knew why.