Ho ho ho! It's been a while since I've posted any stories on this site. My last fandom was Pitch Perfect and if any of you know me from there, I feel really bad that I never finished my stories but there's hardly any inspiration there anymore. Sorry.

So moving on to a new fandom, I've become obssessed with Fitzsimmons. Like, I haven't shipped this hard since Forwood, and that is seriously saying something. And in the spirit of the holiday season, I give to my fellow Fitzsimmons shippers 12 Christmas Fitzsimmons fics, as prompted by people on Tumblr (I'm still accepting prompts. If you have any, please leave it in my Tumblr ask, meowl-mittens :D). Now, let's get on with the story, shall we?

Prompter: supeaunaturelle

My Home and My Heart

"I dunno, Simmons. I think I might give Christmas a miss this year."

He realizes too late that he probably should have said that before she had picked up her hot chocolate, the poor girl's hands jerk violently enough for her to nearly drop her mug.

"I-I'm sorry, I must've mistakenly heard you say you were going to give Christmas a miss?"

He shrugs as nonchalantly as he can manage, showing no sign of fear. "You heard right."

It's at this point that Simmons starts turning a little pink in the face. "But why?! Why and how in the bloody world could you even think such a thing!"

"Well, I just don't see the point since we'll be on a plane and all! The Bus isn't exactly what you'd call a festive place."

Simmons crosses her arms over her chest and pouts as if she were a little girl being denied a cookie from the cookie jar. It's not right, she thinks. Fitz has never really been the most enthusiastic person, excluding anything science-related, but since their days at the Academy, the holidays had always brought out the better-tempered side of him. The only person who got more excited than Fitz over Christmas was herself.

"We can put up decorations, bake cookies, cook our Christmas meal for the team, it's tradition!"

"Traditions change, Simmons," he tells her. He knows putting up with her reaction is a necessary evil, but it's one he'd like to be done with. She's both overreacting and not overreacting, if that makes sense to anyone but himself.

She's gaping at him and he's not sure whether he wants to give in or to laugh. Poker face, Fitz. You didn't win a game against Ward of all people for nothing.

"Fine then," she says after a beat, giving him what he knows is her best I'm-pretending-not-to-care-to-get-my-way face. She stands up to leave, taking her mug with her, and he just knows that there will be hell to pay for what he's just done. Necessary evil, he reminds himself.

Necessary evil, necessary evil.

It's been three days and Jemma Simmons is still unamused.

She hasn't been ignoring him per se, being partners stuck in a lab nearly 24/7 made it damn near impossible to do so, but she's certainly been testy. Every question he asks is answered with as few syllables as she can manage, whenever he beckons her over to see a new discovery, she mumbles some excuse about being busy, and she's been timing her meals in a way that she eats with anyone except him.

He hadn't calculated this. He's known Simmons for years and had spent so much time with her that he knows her mannerisms, her emotions and reactions better than his own. He had estimated her to feel frustrated, to make a few petty remarks and give him a glare every now and then.

It's Christmas Eve and May's landed the Bus is Portland, per Coulson's orders. Their boss is apparently quite fond of the symphony and had bought everyone tickets, in lieu of a traditional Christmas dinner, to a show. Before Simmons can even think about avoiding him, Fitz takes his seat next to her. It's tension-filled, and for the first thirty minutes he can't stop glancing at her and hoping she'll glance back, but by the end of the concert, they're walking side by side, close enough for Simmons to press her arm against his, the way she always does when she's cold.

They trail behind the rest of the team in comfortable silence, the kind that he's missed since he'd upset her.

When they get back to the Bus and they bid the rest of the team goodnight, Fitz goes to the kitchen and to heat up water for two cups of tea. It's presumptuous, considering that Simmons hasn't actually spoken to him yet, but she's in the couch surfing channels on the TV, and he figures it's a good sign that she doesn't mind them being alone someplace other than the lab.

When the tea is ready, Fitz sets the mug down on the coffee table in front of Simmons. She gives him a look and doesn't say a word, but she picks up the tea and scoots over for him to sit next to her on the couch. They take a few sips in silence.

"I am sorry, Jem," he murmurs, so low that Simmons isn't sure if she'd actually heard him say it. "I didn't think it'd upset you as much as it did."

With the way she's looking at him, Fitz knows, she doesn't have to say anything. All is forgiven and he's glad of it.

"I know," she says, sighing heavily. "I just don't understand why you don't want to celebrate Christmas in the first place."

"You know why," he whispers. "We love Christmas because it's the one time of the year that we get to go home. Christmas traditions are home traditions."

"I miss them too," Simmons says, moving closer to rest her head on Fitz's shoulder. "But we are home. At least I am."

Fitz smiles at that and rests his head atop Simmons'. They stay like that for a while, occasionally sipping at their tea. It's almost midnight when Simmons gets up from the couch and decides to call it a night. Fitz watches her as she disappears into her bunk, and thinks about how much colder the plane feels now that his partner isn't next to him.

He waits for the alarm on his phone to signal midnight before he gets up from the couch and collects the mugs of tea, leaving Simmons' in the sink and filling his own with fresh coffee.

Time to get to work.

It's the cookies that wake Jemma up the next morning. That and the hot chocolate—rich, real tablea chocolate, not the artificial powdered kind. The scent is unmistakable as she blinks away the last traces of sleep from her eyes and gets up from bed to investigate.

She opens her bunk door to find the rest of the Bus fully-transformed. Colorful lights line the living area, each bunk has a wreath hanging on its door, there's a huge well-decorated tree complete with presents sitting underneath, and tinsel literally everywhere.

But ultimately, it's the windows that strike her the most. She doesn't see sky when she looks at them, what she sees is a holographic projection of snow. It's the same view of falling snow as what she used to see from the manor back in England where she grew up spending the holidays. If she had a hunch before, she had no doubts now as to who could have done all this.

"Good morning," she turns to find Fitz standing by the threshold of the kitchen, holding a large plate. She thinks she could probably see the dark circles under his eyes from across the plane.

He crosses the path to where Jemma is standing and holds up the plate to her. "Cookie?"

Wordlessly, Jemma picks up a badly drawn gingerbread man but makes no move to eat it. Instead she looks up, wide-eyed, at Fitz.

"I thought—"

"I lied," Fitz tells her, grinning cheekily. "Well, I wasn't lying when I said it, because I wasn't sure if I'd manage to get everything I needed, but the rest of the time…"

Jemma smiles at him then, and suddenly he doesn't feel like he cares that he didn't get any sleep last night. Her eyes are shining at him, and anything is worth seeing that.

"It's beautiful, Fitz," she tells him, "but how did you manage all this by yourself? And in one night! Did you sleep at all?"

He shrugs at her, and someone in the background speaks up. "No, but he did have some help."

They turn to find Coulson standing a few feet away, Skye grinning brightly next to him. "We helped with the decorations," she says. "But the idea was all Fitz, especially the—"

"—the windows," Jemma finishes, turning her attention back to Fitz. He's giving her that smug-but-adoring look that makes her head spin and butterflies to swarm in her stomach. He's been giving her that look a lot these past few months.

"If I couldn't bring you home for the holidays," he whispers, low enough so that only she can hear him, "I thought might as well bring home to you."

"Thank you," she says, putting as much weight into the words as she can. They're pulled out of their little moment by someone clearing their throat, and are startled to find Ward standing close to them. The agent suppresses a groan as Skye nudges for him to lift his arm up higher above Fitzsimmons' heads.

And that's when they notice the thing in Ward's hand.

Mistletoe.

"My gift to you," Skye says to Fitz, grinning impishly as the Scot's face turns pink.

But before he can protest, he feels soft lips press lightly on the corner of his lips, and suddenly his head is spinning. He turns a darker shade of red and finds Jemma attempting to rival his blush with her own.

Fitz can't suppress his smile, despite the fact that next to him Skye is clapping her hands giddily like a child. Thankfully, May interrupts the scene by calling everyone to the tree—with as much of a smile as The Cavalry can smile—and announces that it's time to open presents.

The next hour is a flurry of ribbons and wrappers as everyone exchanges presents. Fitz surprises Jemma yet again with a box of gifts sent from her parents for the both of them. Everyone is laughing and festive, and Ward is only a little miffed at Skye's gift: a bright yellow smiley-face t-shirt. ("To add some color to your wardrobe," she said.) They eat cookies, drink hot chocolate, and Skype with Jemma parents.

By the time things mellow down, it's close to lunch and Fitz announces that for once he'll opt for sleep instead of food; he'll join them again for dinner and the Doctor Who Christmas special. He enters his bunk and pulls out his blanket, and hears someone close the door behind them. His back is turned but he doesn't have to check to know who it is, so when everything's settled he lays on his bed and makes room for Jemma as she crawls into his arms and snuggles next to him.

They stay like that in silence; her head on his chest, his arms around her and their legs tangled together. It's calm and it's perfect and he can feel himself drifting out of consciousness when he hears Jemma's muffled voice.

"Merry Christmas, Leo."

He smiles and kisses the top of her head before closing his eyes.

"Merry Christmas to you too, Jem."

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