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Fitz had to remember to breathe when he entered the museum. His bow tie was too tight, as were his shoes, and the vice-like grip on his arm wasn't helping matters. But he forced himself to take a slow, steady breath. After all, they could smell fear, couldn't they?
"Steady, Fitz," she whispered into his ear, "you're doing great."
Great? Of course he was doing great. He had three years of field experience, after all. But undercover work was a different beast all together, and it likely took a little getting used to.
And then there was the fact that Jemma was all the way on the other side of the room, and he was supposed to pretend that she wasn't there at all.
"It's weird being without her, isn't it?" mused Bobbi. "You two have been inseparable lately."
Fitz bristled, forcing himself to focus on anything other than his girlfriend and her date. "We've always been inseparable."
"Fitz, the whole time I've known you two, you've either been fighting each other, or one of you has been stranded on the other side of the universe. These days, you're never more than three feet away from each other."
"That's probably because of the whole 'stranded on the side of the universe' part." He adjusted his tie. "There's food here, right?'
He could feel more than see the smirk on Bobbi's lips as they pretended to admire a stuffed liger.
"The honeymoon period," she sighed, "We had one too, believe it or not. It's nice. But you're going to need to tone down the pining, okay? You're broadcasting it to everyone within fifty feet."
Fitz sighed.
"I hate galas."
"Stop looking at him, okay? It'll be suspicious if you're the only woman in the room who isn't staring at me."
Jemma rolled her eyes, but Hunter remained unmoved.
"Oh, come on," he said, tugging at his suit coat, "you know I clean up well. I look like an international man of mystery in this get up."
"Well," countered Jemma, "maybe the mystery isn't that interesting upon closer inspection."
She smiled at Hunter's defensive, "Hey!" and, for a moment, was not keenly aware of the distance between herself and Fitz. She cleared her throat.
"So, is it time?"
Hunter checked his watch. "Just about. I was just waiting for the—well, here we go."
As the waiter passed, Hunter snagged two glasses of champagne and handed one to Jemma as he escorted her to the bathroom. Once Jemma verified that the coast was clear, Hunter followed her in and secured the door.
"How long should it take?"
Jemma set her glass of champagne on the counter, then emptied the contents of her makeup bag.
"Just a minute or two. I wouldn't have needed to do this at all, of course, but you and Fitz insisted on going through the front door when the security system has a CurieR1867 liquid scanner." She stopped working and turned to Hunter. "It's ridiculous to have one of those at a silly gala, by the way. Most airports can't afford security that advanced."
Hunter shrugged. "Our mark has deep pockets. And they really don't want people to steal the artifact."
Jemma rolled her eyes and resumed pouring the contents of her mascara tube into a small, plastic bottle. She really could do it herself, easily, but if Fitz were there—
"There were a thousand ways we could have done this, but you insisted that we do it this way." She poured the contents of her lipstick tube into the bottle. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to concoct a sleeping agent that has champagne as the activating ingredient?"
Hunter stared at her.
"Really, really hard?"
Jemma sighed, then folded her arms and glared at him. Hunter raised his hands in mock surrender.
"Don't look at me, it was Fitz who—"
"After you dared him! You told him he couldn't do this!"
Hunter folded his arms in apparent indignation. "I said nothing of the kind."
"Oh really?" Jemma cleared her throat. "You're physically incapable of turning off the heart eyes, mate," she said, using her best Hunter impression.
All the humor left Hunter's face at once.
"I'm going to ask you to never do that again."
Fitz furrowed his brow as he and Bobbi watched the couples spin on the dance floor.
"They've been gone a long time," he grumbled.
"I'm supposed to be the one keeping track of them, remember? Your part doesn't come in until later." Bobbi turned to him and frowned. "Speaking of which, I'd get a better vantage point if we were dancing."
Fitz gaped at her, then groaned.
"Fine. But I'll be bad at it."
"I'd expect nothing less."
Before he knew it, Fitz was in the most ridiculous position he'd ever been in his life: dancing with a woman who was not his girlfriend, while the woman who was his girlfriend was off doing who knew what with another man. It didn't help that the only other person he'd ever danced with was his mother.
And what in the world was Jemma up to?
"Quick, kiss me!"
"NO!"
"But he'll see our faces!"
"I don't care!"
"What if I just put my face really close to your face, and you sigh a little? Pretend that it's Fitz?"
"NO."
"It's fine," soothed Bobbi. "Hunter's an expert. He'll take care of her. They probably had to pretend to make out so they wouldn't get caught by a guard."
Fitz almost choked. "Excuse me?"
"Oh, don't worry about it; it doesn't mean anything. Coulson and I had to do it once."
"You and Coulson—what?"
Bobbi's eyes lit up. "They're back. We'll head up to the vault after we finish this dance. Sound good?"
Fitz knew it was ridiculous, but it was almost as if he could sense Jemma's presence from across the room. He tried not to think of her creamy pink dress and the way her breath tickled his neck, but it was no use. Before he knew it, Bobbi was leading him off the dance floor and down the hallway.
Was it silly that his heart ached with every step he took away from Jemma? Because it seemed to him that after all they'd been through, he had every reason to insist on being handcuffed to her forever. And between his pining for Jemma and trying to recall just how many ops Bobbi and Coulson had been on together, Fitz was thoroughly occupied until they donned their gas masks, found Jemma's hidden sleeping gas, dispersed it into the ventilation system, and made their way toward the vault.
It was after Fitz had dismantled the third laser grid that Bobbi cocked her head at him.
"You know what? I'm really impressed."
Fitz wiped the sweat from his brow and glared at her.
"Well, I mean this is certainly impressive, but I half expected you to blow our cover by now. You did a great job."
Fitz groaned as he pulled the door of the vault out of the way, revealing a brilliant stone that seemed to be engulfed in green fire. Fitz sucked in a breath before carefully removing it from the case and stowing it gently into the case they'd pilfered along the way.
"I'm a grown man Bobbi," he said, overtaken with awe.
Bobbi, for her part, simply nodded in concession.
"So," Jemma said as she curled into Fitz's side, "what do you think it is?"
Fitz turned to her, noticing how the stone cast an almost eerie green glow over her skin. He pulled her closer.
"No idea."
They watched the stone in silence for a bit, and Fitz felt like he was thawing from a chill.
"Fitz?" Jemma eventually said.
"Hmm?"
"Hunter spent twenty minutes complaining about your hand placement after you danced with Bobbi."
They laughed so hard that Hunter appeared, asked them what they were on about, and gave up ever getting a straight answer.