Chapter Text
Twenty times. Jemma's newly-appointed lab partner had sighed twenty times in the last hour, and grumbled another seventeen. Her phone flashed 9:33pm; they had been working for seven hours straight. At this point, even her eyes seemed sweaty from wearing goggles all day, and, while she usually brushed off his behaviour as a side-effect of her presence in his (their) lab, the twentieth-first time he sighed hit a nerve. Her pen clacked in the granite counter, echoed on the sterile walls.
"Doctor Fitz," she called with a tight smile, "apologies if my company is so grating, but I do need your cooperation if we are to successfully complete this assignment. The faster we finish, the faster I'll be out of your hair."
He looked up, wide-eyed. "I didn't-- I'm not--", he paused, sighed (twentieth-second time). Grumbling some more, he took off his own goggles to pinch the bridge of his nose, the other hand clutching his waist backwards. "I'm just hungry. We've been in here for decades."
Being quite honest, Jemma wasn't very hungry herself, having gobbled down a protein bar during her last bathroom break. And, since she was in a honesty streak, Jemma had to admit she didn't like Doctor Grumpitz any more than he seemed to (not) like her. Not since the third time he interrupted her exposition during Professor Vaughn's lecture, to prematurely share observations she had planned to make at a later point, with the single evil purpose of one-upping her in front of a qualified audience. Bit of an arrogant arse too; as far as she knew, he didn't attend any gatherings and barely talked to anyone outside class.
To her dismay, they had been partnered up in Chem Lab -- a pet name for Advanced Experimental Chemical Kinetics, a class only her and five other students had the necessary prerequisites to take that semester. It was just her luck that one of them had to be Dr. Fitz, currently the proud holder of the second place in her list of most-annoying people (the unbeatable first was her A-Levels Physics teacher, who told her, at twelve years old, she should be playing with dolls instead of trying to wrap her pretty little head around the hard sciences-- after she had corrected him twice that week alone, and he insisted on the mistake just to annoy her). One way or another, Jemma needed Dr. Fitz at his peak performance if she wanted the top spot in that class.
It crossed her mind then that her usual (and usually only) competition was currently sitting across from her, massaging his belly and scribbling notes in a beaten up notebook. He still had a couple pounds of baby fat to shed, a pink face, and a mop of light curls stressing his young age. Maybe she could afford to slack. A bit. A teeny tiny bit.
"Would you fancy a sandwich, then?" she heard herself say, surprised to find out maybe she actually meant it. "There's a Subway two blocks down from my dorm, and it is time we finished for the day."
The stare she got in return was half worried and half astonished. A soft flush went up his neck and ears, and he opened and closed his mouth to answer, but no "yes" came out.
Once the lack of an answer got too awkward, she started collecting her notes and stashing them inside her messenger bag. Her mistake, really, to expect he would shake the hand she was offering, since he, well, hated her. All of their interactions so far had been strained, she was almost embarrassed for letting herself get her hopes up. The scholarly world was tough, doubly so when you were too young and too smart for your own good, when everyone else was just as smart, watching for your littlest mishap, why would this time be any different?
"I- I understand why you don't want to go, of course." She kept her hands busy with samples, the tinkle of the glassware distracting from the high pitch of her voice. "I only offered since you seemed a bit-"
"No! Yes-- no, I mean," he shook his head quickly. "I would lo--like, I would very much like to go with you. If you insist. For sandwiches. I'd like that."
She was definitely embarrassed when she gawked back at him.
"Well, then!" she said, after a couple of seconds of not knowing what to say. "I'll shelf the remaining test tubes and we can go, is that alright?", which got her a stiff nod and grin. Not big on words, that one.
Eight minutes, three awkward bumps and some strict following of lab safety procedures later, Drs. Fitz and Simmons were out of the building, through the cement walkways and staircases, in the direction of her dorm. It was a fresh Thursday night, the early bite of winter already in the air, and a light breeze blew strands of her now loose hair across her face. A slightly long but not unpleasant stroll expected them. He walked close by her side, eyes darting around the early partiers, the late crammers, the pebbles by the sidewalk, the cement buildings. Anywhere but her, really.
She hugged her upper arms and stared down at her pair of red high-tops. It earned her a glance.
"Cold?"
"Bit chilly, but no--," she was interrupted by him twisting to reach the zipper on his backpack. After some rummaging, he extracted a navy blue wool cardigan and thrust it at her arms, mumbling, "Here". It was soft in her hands, smelling like musky aftershave and burnt metal.
She thanked him and draped it across her shoulders, warmer inside and out. They walked on in silence, but Jemma hadn't expected any different. She wasn't sure what to expect, really, since, one, she hadn't planned for him actually taking her up on it, and two, the social protocols for outings with your nemesis were a little bit fuzzy.
The sub shop wasn't too crowded, and quickly enough they assembled their footlongs and secured a nice window table. Dr. Fitz wasted no time digging into his meal, a huge number that looked like he had asked for every topping and extra available. A more careful analysis revealed an unexpected but well thought out blend of meats and spicy seasonings, perfect to ward off the evening chill.
"You look different," he started. At her questioning glance, he waved his sandwich in the general direction of her head. "Your hair, it's always up when we're in the lab. You look, uhm-- different. When it's down," he said, shoving in another bite. "Girly."
"Oh," she answered, tucking a lock of said hair behind her ear, and suddenly the fake wood tabletop seemed very interesting. "Basic lab safety, really." He wasn't supposed to notice these things, he barely looked her way at all. "You don't want α-keratins anywhere near, say, an alanine-glycine ten-layer copolymer nanofibril blend..." Her pointed nod and raised eyebrow should've told him everything, but she marched on out of habit, used to put her extensive knowledge in layman's terms for just about everyone she met.
"Happened to me once, the crystalline structure-"
"Probably denatured, the secondary helix wrapped around the filament--"
"-- quick to interact, the semi-amorphous regions collapsed on themselves --"
"-- everything all gooey--"
"-- had to start over, from square one."
"-- ruined your work."
Jemma stared at him, brow knitting in a place between confusion and suspicion. Dr. Fitz simply shrugged, eagerly going back to his sub. She was tearing the wrapping for her next bite when he said, mid-chew, "I read your paper, the silk one. Quite brilliant work."
She couldn't stop the smug grin breaking on her face, or her heart's little victory somersaults. "Oh," she repeated, and, to her credit, she managed to dial it down to politely pleased. "You think?"
He nodded quickly, chewing. "Yes, I can see a number of uses, have you tried--"
"Definitely!" It was enough to light up her eyes, her mind. "The countless applications attracted me to--"
"-- lightweight Kevlar, field agents wouldn't have to--"
"-- operatives need to be light on their feet--"
"-- adhesive properties that could be used--"
"-- weaponry doesn't need to be lethal--"
"-- silly 'shoot first ask questions later' policy--"
"-- capture and keep valuable assets--"
"-- large-scale manufacturing would be impossible with current--"
"-- very delicate, precise weaving--"
"-- would have to use actual spiders, beastly little things--"
"-- certainly useful to replicate their properties--"
"-- could build something to do it for you--"
"Oh," fell from her tongue before she knew, tinged in an entirely different tone. A strange sort of giddiness fluttered in her stomach, tingling up her throat, down her arms. "You could?"
"Of course." He cracked a small and smug grin of his own, munching on the last piece of his concoction.
The silence stretched. She watched, nipping on her lower lip, as his fingers cleaned the breadcrumbs with a napkin. This had been the longest conversation they ever had, and she already wanted to push for more. But he was her rival, wasn't he? Should she be fraternizing with the competition?
Her hesitation lasted enough of three seconds.
"Dr. Fitz, I--"
"Fitz," he interrupted, hands tucked in between his thighs, finally looking her in the eyes. "Call me Fitz." The tug at the corner of his lips could almost be considered a smile.
"Fitz," she tried. Tasted like spicy chicken and the world clicking into place. "I have been working on another project that might interest you," she teased, and he perked up instantly. "It's a crystalline nucleation process..."
_______________________________________________________
Jemma gasped when her phone chimed, tinkling bells calling her back to Earth.
They had been talking for the better part of an hour, it seemed. Her pulse raced the entire time, still raced, she wasn't sure it would ever stop. She was giddy from the acknowledgement, from the way he took her ideas, spun them, threw them right back, multifaceted, better. From his enthusiastic nods when she pitched in an improvement or five to his gadgets, from the unabashed welcome to her opinions, from the sparkle in his eyes when he shared his own concepts. From recognizing he was her, mirrored.
It had been hard to keep up with him, and that delighted her more than anything else. Jemma Simmons wasn't one to back down from a challenge. And this time, she had honest-to-god lost track of the hours, of counting, of everything else but science.
Science and Fitz.
He glanced at the device in her hands. "Am I-- Did you have any plans?" He cringed. "Sorry if I kept you."
"No, not at all! I just-- I needed to be heading to bed right now," she justified herself, an apology wanting to tumble from her lips. "Consistent bedtimes optimize your circadian rhythm, restorative sleep happens--"
Fitz looked at her for a second, then shook his head quickly. "Uhm, okay. Let's head off, then." He sounded as disappointed as she felt, but grinned easily, and even-- dare she say--- cheekily? "Can't have you losing sleep over me, can I?
She rolled her eyes, "Oh, Fitz!"
Fitz laughed in surprise, and she couldn't help but laugh too, realizing she had never heard that sound from him before, light and free as butterflies. It died down, then, and they stared just a little too long at each other, the universe stopping to a pregnant halt. What to make of this? Who were them, now? What would they be?
His eyes flicked briefly, breaking the spell. He dropped his gaze to her sandwich, lying cold on the table with barely two bites on it. He licked his lips. "Are you still eating that?"