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[retravel]

[ SHIELD is dealing with catastrophes of their own when the snap occurs. Earlier, Fury and Hill put out APB's on all the aliens crashing down to Earth while the radio broadcast tinny updates throughout their safehouse, some from the news and others from agents. They've barely contained a HYDRA resurgence when their debriefing, rebriefing, whatever becomes one of many ground zeros — an intern stumbles first, files scattered across her feet, and then she's gone, disintegrating.

His team is lost faster than he can reach them. Fitz barely grasps Mack's hand, already turned to dust in his palm.

Lucky for him that Melinda May withstands all. Stays the course. Orders them to remain at attention.

The remainder congregates in their bunker, the Lighthouse, knowing nothing substantial until Fitz, of all people, gets a call, the ID flickering UNKNOWN. And yet something tells him to answer, gait carrying him to the side, hand braced against a desk to compensate for the unsteadiness of the world. The sound of Natasha's voice prompts a sharp inhale, forcibly even confirmations (yes, I understand; yeah, I'm with you) until the end of the call, a choked I'm glad you're still here. Easy enough to chart a course to where she directs him, SHIELD burner in his blazer pocket, just in case an emergency shakes the Earth once again. It doesn't seem to him to be that kind of crisis, however. Not a gaping wound, in need of plugging up and patching over — more like their bones have been removed. Total collapse.

Fitz fidgets in front of the elevator, hands twisting, waiting for an entire minute before he turns on his heel and vaults the bloody stairs. The front desk told him she's there already, that her flight landed earlier than expected. And when the clerk said, "The room was ready. Aren't you both lucky?" Fitz actually laughed aloud, startled and croaky. Only when he the door opens, and he crosses the threshold, looking the same as always (perpetually business casual, button-down withstanding the end times as much as his very corporeity, it seems), a touch scruffier, perhaps, blue eyes alight with disbelief and urgency — well, he feels lucky, so winded by the sight of her that he drops his bag with a thud and lets the door clatter behind him. It only takes seconds to reach her, standing there like a half-formed thing (a thought made real, there despite his fears otherwise), and grasp her shoulders, hands running up her arms. Real. Dead real. Right here. He brushes a thumb across her jaw, smooths his fingers over the apple of her cheek, and sinks down just enough to press a kiss to her forehead, arms winding around her so they fit together. Soft, as he always is, despite the jagged world around them. ]

Nat, I — [ His voice cracks. Another kiss follows, first at the side of her head, then at her hairline, tilting into her wherever he can manage. ] Natasha.

[basques]

[ Even now, Natasha doesn't fully anticipate the greeting she receives, standing at the other side of the room, black jeans and turtleneck a stark contrast with the icy blonde even she's still getting used to. She should have expected this; Fitz is certainly more openly emotional than she allows herself to be, and in the past week, Natasha hasn't realized until this very moment how much she's needed this. She folds herself into his arms and lets him hold her, letting out a long breath as the tension releases incrementally from her shoulders, her jaw, letting herself take it all in for a moment. He smells familiar, that same no-brand cologne he's partial to, scruff catching the soft skin of her cheek in a pleasant way, closing her eyes. ]

Leo, hi. [ It's quieter than her usual coy hello might typically be, voice low and tempered, slinging her arms loosely up over his shoulders, dipping a few fingers back through short curls as she leans back a fraction to get a better look at his face, one palm finding the side of it. ] You're a sight for sore eyes. [ Something Steve would say, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly before she lifts to cut the small space between them, her mouth finding his, soft but a little insistent. There isn't any rush, no time constraint here, no pending threat. The air cushioning the entire planet feels deflated, pillaged, and there isn't a single reason she can't kiss Leopold Fitz in a Welsh B&B as much as she'd like.

She licks back into his mouth a little suggestively, like a quick note that she'd be more than happy enough to express their relief in seeing each other entirely without words, but levels herself out again with another fleeting peck. She's grateful he wasn't in Wakanda. ] I should've picked you up in the jet, but I didn't want to compromise your position.

[retravel]

[ When she raises her arms up, he adjust to circle her waist and slide his hands up the small of her back. With their faces just enough distance apart for her to see him and vice versa, the line of his mouth quirks the slightest amount, a hesitant happiness — unsure if it's allowed, with the universe cleaved in two. It settles into a firmer smile, as she jokes and kisses him. He may be prone to following her lead, but he never fails to meet her, pushing back with an urgency.

Perhaps like always, Fitz looks at her with an awestruck openness, features loose and unguarded. ]

Pick me up in the jet. [ a startled huff of amusement, not quite a laugh, and he kisses her again, languid this time. He can't believe she's alive, that she called, that before all this he received texts from burner numbers across Europe, including a picture of Glasgow in the February snow, while she was stopping over. Fitz still finds it utterly mad that she ever agreed to a dinner date. And it's beyond belief that a routine mission ended with kissing her in the back of a black cab, in the first instance.

Today, he lets their foreheads fall together and breathes, recalibrating for a moment. ]

I'm just glad you're here. [ alive, though he could mean flush against him in a B&B, too. Another kiss, then, quick, with a nip at her bottom lip on the way out, before he adds — ] With me. [ — against her mouth and steps forward, walking her back toward the bed. ]

[basques]

[ there's a lot she couldn't have predicted -- the world as they know it in shambles only a small part of it, but Leo Fitz and his sweet Scottish lilt, the scruff at his jawline, how soft his eyes always are when he looks at her. completely unanticipated, and that doesn't happen to Natasha very often. She likes how she is around him, how everything else feels less important, less rushed, less frantic, and right here, right now, she's certainly not taking it for granted. She knows from her own intel that his team is mostly intact, which is probably why he'd hopped over to Wales to see her without question. ]

Where else would I be? [ Anywhere else on the globe, likely, but she's where she wants to be, leaning back in against him, licking into his mouth, familiar now. She feels the backs of her knees hit the edge of the mattress and sinks down, pulling him with her, open palms easing down his sides as she lets herself settle onto her back, Fitz over the top of her. ] I like where I am now. This spot? It's a good view.

[ Her hands lift to cup his face, thumbs soft beneath his eyes, letting out a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh that she almost doesn't mean to, tension leaving her body in increments. ] We're going to hole up here for a few days and we're not going to think about anything else but this. Deal?

[retravel]

[ His team may be intact in some respects — but its heart turned to dust along with its heads (Hill, Fury). He comes only because it's Natasha who calls, because Leo Fitz will go to the end of time, to the ends of the earth, and further still, if someone he cares for is waiting on the other side, miraculously intact despite the 50/50 odds of her survival. Just being with her makes his breathing even out, focus narrowing to this room alone — to her soft features, which he thinks rarely arrange themselves in the patterns that he sees, at least for other people.

Fitz lets his hands wander, languid touches down her sides. They have time. ]

[ One side of his mouth hooks into a smile, pleased by her the compliment. ] Your view could be better. [ like his, from above, knees bracketing her. He tilts his head, watching and waiting as she relaxes, confirming that this is what she wants. ]

Deal. [ He leans down for a peck, stubble catching her jaw as he shifts to kiss the corner of her mouth after. Where else would either of them be, honestly? In the war room, puzzling the mechanics, working on something, anything to fix this. Their wheels all spin and spin and spin, no traction to ground them. It's not the sort of problem you can simply reverse engineer, even with some of the brightest minds remaining at the table. ]

Just you and me. [ a promise. ] But I dunno how we'll pass the time.

[ said in a sly tone that suggests the opposite. ]

[basques]

[ It should probably be a little disarming, how easy it is to fall back into bed with Fitz, how Natasha doesn't always think twice before she tosses him a text on her current burner phone, expertly cautious with location and security but not necessarily with her feelings, at least when it comes to him. Her soft spots are few and far between, the current placeholders being held by Steve Rogers and Fitz, employing that brand of quiet loyalty she's adapted after a few decades of a distrustful existence. Childhood had not been kind. Friends had been shallow or nonexistent.

But here, it's safe and it's an alien feeling, extra foreign now that half the population of the galaxy has been wiped out with the snap of two fingers. Nothing feels secure, and yet this -- it feels like they're the only two people on the planet. ]

I can think of a few ideas. [ Punctuated by her thighs tensing easily, entirely self assured as she wraps her legs around him and tips him over, rolling him onto his back, perching up on his hips, weight settling on her palms at either side of his head. ] Wish you were wearing that tux again. I'd really like to take it off you right now. [ One hand lifts to start working on the buttons at the front of his shirt, shrugging up one shoulder, nonchalant. ] But this works, too.

[retravel]

[ He follows the momentum, breath hitching as she settles over him. Excited, not entirely surprised. He tips his head back, giving her space to pop the topmost buttons and work her way down.

They've done this before. ]

[ mouth tugging to one side, ] Could wear one tomorrow. [ Automatic, as his hands smooth up her thighs. Tomorrow, as if that's a given. Just them for a few days, after all, fragile yet secure in the aftermath. ] Take you on a proper date. [ which he'd once worried would bore her but now knows she finds a bit novel, like most of his ordinary, romantic inclinations. His eyes flick back to her mouth. ]

Get you back out of that dress. [ Well, in then out, but his mind's skipped ahead — 'cause he'd been quick to get to his knees and underneath the cascading fabric, once they'd stumbled into their flat after that first mission.

Calloused fingers work on rucking up her turtleneck, skimming the muscled flat of her stomach and just barely dipping into her waistband. ]