I do not own Agents of SHIELD. If I did it probably wouldn't be as good.

Prompt three: Fantasy

She tapped the side of the glass beaker with her pen, watching as the liquids merged together and transformed into a cloud of fizzing fluorescence. Jemma glanced across the lab and smiled to see Fitz leaned over his own work bench, his boyish face mere inches from the paper he scribbled on. His brow was furrowed with concentration, his hands effortlessly transferring his spiralling thoughts to the page before him. She had always marvelled at the way he could so easily represent the ideas for their prototypes; the sketches he produced were beautiful in their own way- precise and careful. She still had his original designs for the D.W.A. filed away safely; she planned to frame them one day when they had a lab that wasn't so... mobile.

She moved closer to him, feigning forgetfulness and collecting another beaker from the shelf beside his workstation. As she passed he lifted his head, his clear blue eyes held her gaze and she felt her heart drop to her stomach. How could he do that to her without even trying? He twitched his eyebrows upwards just barely, an unspoken question.

Jemma bit the inside of her cheek as she tried to ignore the familiar feeling of her heart beginning to race, and she looked away quickly. She could swear she heard him chuckle.

She turned her back to him, making her way back to her own workstation, but she could feel his piercing stare boring into her. She knew if she turned round she would see right into his very being, into his dreams, his wants, his desires. A part of her so wanted to turn, but yet another part held her back. It was this part that kept her feet rooted to the floor.

A low hum entered her awareness; Fitz's favourite song from their time at the Academy. She played it to herself on repeat every night, the volume turned low so nobody else could hear. She laughed to herself as he started to sing quietly, getting the words wrong. He always got the words wrong.

"No, it's..." she turned round to face the engineer but the space he had occupied was empty. She drew in a sharp breath.

Jemma made her way quietly across the cold silence of the lab, and ventured out into the bright hallway. She moved quickly along the empty corridor, passing no one. Soon, she came to a dimly lit room, the sound of regular beeping bringing her back to reality, and with it the sickening calm as realisation dawned.

Fitz lay peacefully in the bed before her. Eyes closed, arm wrapped carefully in a sling, as they had been for the past nineteen days. She moved next to the bed, to press the play button on her IPod, and sat with him until the last strains of their song hung in the air.

I am pretty sure the "Jemma fantasizes about Fitz being awake" stories will be a strong theme today, but this is my take. I'm not really sure about it as there is a complete absence of any plot, but there we go! The title is a James Morrison lyric.