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Chapter Text

August 19th 2003

Fitz was sat under a bridge, all his earthly possessions surrounded him, including his note and sketch books, the envelope with his exam results in and his rucksack full of the bare essentials. And tucked into his pocket, a photo of him as a baby with his mother. It was his sixteenth birthday and seventh night on the run, and his sixth night on the streets of London.

Now that he was sixteen, he could (in theory at least) book into a hostel or hotel, but without any ID he doubted anyone would believe his age. And he didn’t want to draw attention to himself, the last thing he wanted was to be sent back home. Not that his father had bothered to report him missing, as far as he could tell at least. He certainly hadn’t been able to find any articles about himself when he had checked at the library computer the day before.

He wasn’t sure whether he was hurt that his own father seemed to have taken no interest in his running away or relieved that it meant no one was after him. Perhaps he hadn’t even noticed he was gone yet, what with the drinking... His father often failed to notice the passage of time.

But there was no point dwelling on the past, least of all his father. He clipped his sleeping bag and pillow onto his rucksack and set off to find a busy street where he could set up.

Once he was satisfied with his spot, he laid his sketches out in front of him, pinning the corners with small rocks along with the sheet of paper that read ‘£15 per drawing, custom portraits for £10’.

His drawings were all of different scenes in London, full of people going about their day on the city streets, brief case or shopping bag in hand. Others were of the cityscape, or a view of Big Ben, the London Eye, anything that might appeal to a tourist.

Yesterday he had managed to sell four drawings and two portraits. One had wanted a caricature, which really wasn’t his strong suit, but he needed the money and the lady had seemed pleased with the result.

He had sixteen sketches left and once they ran out, so would his money. So, while he waited for any customers, he started to gently sketch out the scene in front of him, whilst keeping one eye out for police so he could make a quick getaway if needed.

By noon his sketch was finished but so far no one had even approached him, really he needed better signage, but that was rather difficult, given the illegal nature of his business. He just needed to earn enough money to buy a suit and a few nights in a hotel, and then he would be able to start applying for real jobs.

He returned to a sketch he had started the day before, this time a view across the Thames, his hands ached from all his drawing and his mind begged for something more stimulating. He longed for a design to sketch out or some equations to solve, anything other than drawing out another stupid sketch of London.

But right now, his knowledge of maths and physics, and his love of designing were of little use to him, what tourist wanted to buy a blueprint of a non-existent drone? He continued to draw as everyone around him ate lunch, either popping into café’s, eating outside at the restaurants, or chomping down on sandwiches as they walked.

He did his best to ignore them, but his stomach continued to rumble. He had enough money for lunch, but he was trying to get by on one meal a day and preferably at a soup kitchen in order to save money and get himself off the streets as soon as possible.

As he drew, he couldn’t help himself from transforming the London view into one of a futuristic setting, covering it in his technological predictions of the future. Once he was finished, he tore the paper out and added it to his collection in front of him, it didn’t exactly fit his theme, but hopefully it wouldn’t hurt.

He stood up to stretch his back and arms, he threaded his fingers between each other behind his back, stretching hard enough to generate a crack, before rolling his shoulders. He was hungry and his whole body ached from sleeping in shop doorways and spending all his day’s hunched over drawing.

He dropped his hands in front of him and rolled down vertebra by vertebra to touch his toes and stretched both his back and legs. He took a deep breath whilst folded in half and was about to slowly roll back up when he heard a voice from in front of him. “What’s this one of?” A brunette girl, probably about his age, asked.

“Uhhh, it’s just… it’s like sci-fi… my prediction of what London will look like in the future.” He mumbled. “Just a silly sketch really.” He said, growing flustered, she was really rather pretty, and he was not used to girls even giving him the time of day.

“I like it.” She said with a wide smile.

“Oh… thanks.” He said, his cheeks flush.

“Jemma! Come back here please.” A woman called.

“Sorry.” The girl, presumably Jemma, cringed. “Mum, I’m just looking at his art.” She called back and turned back to face him. “So what are these drones for?” She asked pointing at the picture.

“Uhhh, these ones are delivery drones, that one is for surveillance, ‘big brother is watching’ and all that, this one here is carrying out an inspection on the structural damages to this building here. And these ones are just kids playing with them, like kites, y’know?” He rattled off, encouraged by her smile that only grew larger as he spoke.

“I’d love to see them up close, if they were real of course, they look amazing.”

“Uhhh… well I have blueprints in my sketchbook, if you wanted to see?” He asked awkwardly.

“Jemma?” A man called this time, presumably her father.

“Just one more minute!” Jemma called back, sounding a little frustrated. Her mother came up to them and pulled on Jemma’s arm and whispered something in her ear, he couldn’t make it all out, but it sounded like she was telling her to be careful, his scruffy look didn’t exactly scream ‘trust me’. Jemma shook her off and whispered something back but Fitz couldn’t hear any of it. “I’d love to see your blueprints. I’m Jemma by the way.” She beamed.

“I’m Fitz.” He mumbled as he turned around and picked up his sketchbook, opening it up to the pages at the back where he kept his designs.

She let out a little squeal of excitement. “You did this?” He nodded. “Mum, look at this?” She said and shoved the sketch book in her face, shortly followed by the man he assumed was her father, who had been making his way over and warily eyeing him up.

“These… these are very good.” The man said, his face shifting from one of distrust to surprise.

She yanked the sketch book back from her parents and examined the blueprints again before plying him with question after question, engaging his brain more than he’d been able to since long before he ran away. She was truly incredible, he had never met someone so smart and so beautiful. He couldn’t help himself from staring at her lips as she spoke.

“So… you ugh, you a bit of a scientist then?” He asked once she was satisfied she knew all there was to know about his designs. She let out a little pearl of laughter and her parents chuckled, making him wonder what he had said wrong.

“If you count PhD’s, in biology and chemistry, as ‘a bit of a scientist’ then yeah.” She said with a smile as his mouth dropped.

“What?” Suddenly he felt very self-conscious about having rambled on about his stupid drone ideas for nearly half an hour. “How? How old are you?” He managed to ask, despite his shock and awe. Her parents shuffled backwards, giving them privacy to talk but close enough to keep an eye on him.

“Fifteen.”

“Fifteen?” He choked out, she was younger than him and had not one but two PhD’s, he could only dream of ever being in a position to even get one. “How is that possible?”

“I skipped some school years and advanced pretty quickly…” She said modestly.

“Some?” He muttered, more like ten to fifteen years’ worth.

“What about you?” He looked at her in confusion. “Surely you skipped some years too? I can recognise a fellow genius when I meet one.” He shook his head.

His father had always dismissed his teachers when they suggested moving him up a year or putting him in an advanced class, refusing to see him as anything other than an idiot. “Really?” She asked in disbelief.

“Wasn’t allowed, I asked but… it never happened.” He said moodily, he didn’t want to remember that part of his life.

“Oh… okay.” She looked a little flustered and her mother gave her a look that he couldn’t read. “So what year are you in?”

“Just finished S4.” She gave him a quizzical look, clearly not familiar with the Scottish school system. “Fourth year of secondary. Just sat my Standard Grades this summer, like your GCSE’s.”

“How’d you do?”

“Alright in my maths and sciences.” He mumbled. In fact, he’d done better than alright in them, but his abysmal results in everything else filled him with shame. He’d never been able to concentrate in any of his lessons, they were all so boring, he’d sit there and read a university textbook instead. And his teachers had let him, they knew his situation, his frustration with being stuck in school when really, all he wanted was to be at university. Even his maths and science classes had bored him to tears and he’d finished his exams for them all in well under the allotted time.

It had been the need to get his results that had kept him at home for so long, initially he had wanted to go as soon as school finished, but life would be hard enough without his birth certificate (which his father had hidden somewhere), let alone without proof of his grades. So he’d hung on until he got them and the second they were in his hand he made his move.

“Just alright?” She asked, he just shrugged, not wanting to talk about school anymore. “Can I ask you a personal question?” He shrugged again and her parents eyed her warily. “What are you doing here?”

“Jemma!” Her parents said in chorus in embarrassment from where they stood a few metres behind her.

Ignoring her parents he answered, “Showing you my blueprints.” He said knowing that wasn’t what she meant. She scowled a little, clearly not appreciating his joke. “I’m just… trying to sort my life out.” He mumbled.

“By selling sketches on the street?” She asked sceptically. “I mean you’re what, my age? Shouldn’t you be at home, I assume somewhere in Scotland?”

“I’m sixteen today.” He said, ignoring her other question. She was starting to ask more questions than he was comfortable with.

“It’s your birthday?” She asked, her face awash with pity. His jaw tightened, he didn’t want pity from anyone, especially not the girl who was living a life he could only dream off. “Mum! Dad! It’s his birthday, can he join us for dinner?”

Her parents stepped forward and looked rather awkward. “Dinner is still a few hours away, love, and we need to get back to our shopping, I’m sure he has plans anyway.” Her father said, what he meant was he didn’t want to bring some homeless kid to dinner with them, and fair enough really. “Anyway, we’ll be on a tight schedule, what with the show at seven-thirty.”

Jemma tried to change their mind and soon a small argument broke out. Fitz wanted the earth to swallow him up. He looked around him awkwardly, wanting to look at anything other than the people arguing in front of him. As he turned around his eyes caught on the tell-tale fluorescent yellow of a police high visibility coat.

He froze for just a moment, trying to calculate how long he had before they saw him. In a rush, he gathered up his drawings and shoved them in his notebook to keep them safe. “What are you doing?” She asked as she looked up from her argument to see him packing up.

“I… uhhh… I have to go, the police…” He said gesturing to them over his shoulder. “My business isn’t what you would call legal…” He said and awkwardly ground his teeth together.

A look of disappointment covered her face. “Oh… I wanted to keep talking with you.” She said referencing his drawing. “Do you need to go?”

He was just gathering the last two sketches when he heard the police call out to him, it was the same two who had spotted him two days before and chased him out of Covent Garden, he’d had to jump a fence to lose them. “Gotta run!” He said, grabbing his rucksack and pinning his notebook close to his chest before he took off sprinting, hoping his hungry body would take him as far as he needed to get him to safety.

“Hey! Your book?” He heard her shout, but he had already put two shops between them and was making a beeline for an alleyway he had scouted out earlier. He heard the girl’s mother call out to her and could hear footsteps behind him, surely the police couldn’t have gained on him that fast?

He chanced a look round and to his surprise Jemma had taken off after him. For a brief moment he slowed in surprise before catching sight of the officers again and resumed full speed. He turned a corner in the alley and climbed on top of some wheely bins and launched himself over the fence. To his surprise Jemma followed him over the fence, she was faster and more agile than she looked.

“What the hell are you doing?” He asked as he stopped for breath.

“Returning your sketches, what does it look like?” She said as she held his book out to him.

“It looks like you’re incriminating yourself!” He whispered. Was this girl out of her mind? Before she could respond he heard the police reach the alleyway behind them and on instinct he grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the gap in the fence that led to another alley.

The alley backed onto a park and he threw his bag over the park fence before squeezing between the bars, he tugged on her arm and she followed him into the park. He led them to some bushes and pushed his way in between them until he found the spot he had slept four nights previously.

“They can’t see us from here.” He panted, letting go of her hand. He threw his backpack down and suddenly realised how this might look from her point of view. Slowly he backed away from her and tried to make himself look as none threatening as possible. “If you go out that way it will bring you out to the main bit of the park, the police shouldn’t be after you if I’m not with you.”

“Oh… right…” She said, looking disappointed. “It’s just I wanted to discuss your other blueprints.” She said holding his book out and pointing to his other designs on the pages behind his drones.

“What?” It was out of his mouth before he could stop it. Did this girl have no sense of self preservation, for all she knew he could be dangerous? “I just mean, we just ran away from the police and I led you to a hideout in the bushes and you want to discuss my designs?”

“Yeah, they’re interesting.”

“What about your parents?” He asked.

“I’ll send them an SMS, tell them I’m safe and will meet them at the theatre this evening.” She said with a shrug and pulled out a mobile phone.

“And they’ll be okay with that? I don’t need the police after me thinking I kidnapped you or something.” Fitz said, not believing for a second the people who didn’t even really want her talking to him earlier would be okay with her having run off with him. She just shrugged. “Aren’t you scared? I could be some deviant sexual predator?” He was a little worried about her lack of any discernible fear.

He knew how dangerous London could be first-hand, especially for someone as young as them. He had already been mugged at knife point, had a man and two women proposition him for sexual favours and another try to get him to be their drug mule, and he’d only been there a week.

“You don’t look scary.” She said with another shrug.

“Looks can be deceiving.” He said with a frown.

“Are you dangerous?” She asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No, no of course not.” He spluttered out, shaking his head vehemently. “But others out here are. You shouldn’t trust strangers here.”

“I’ll call my mum, okay? Would that make you happy?” She called her mother, who sounded less than pleased with her daughter’s decision but somehow Jemma managed to convince her, on the condition that she would call the police if she didn’t meet her for their dinner reservation at six. “So can you tell me about your robot designs or not? Unless you didn’t really draw them?” She said with a teasing smile.

He huffed. “Of course I designed them.” He unclipped his sleeping bag from his rucksack.

“What are you doing?” She asked, for the first time seeming a little taken aback.

“I was just going to put in over the log, so you didn’t get mess on your dress.” He said awkwardly, realising her concern. Not that the sleeping bag was big enough for anything more than himself, and barely even that. But she didn’t know that, she just saw a stranger in a secluded part of the park, shielded by bushes, getting his sleeping bag out for no apparent reason.

“Oh. Okay.” She said and joined him on the fallen tree after he had placed the sleeping bag across it.

“Thanks, by the way. If I’d have lost this… it would have sucked…” He said as she opened his sketch book up again. Sucking was an understatement really, the book held so many designs that he had poured many hours into, not to mention having to buy another sketch book to draw on would have cost money he couldn’t really spare at the moment.

He spent the next hour or so walking her through the rest of his designs. “I don’t understand, how does someone as smart as you not get accelerated through school?” She asked in disbelief after he had shown her his design for an invisibility shield.

“I just didn’t, okay?” He said trying not to get annoyed with her, he didn’t want to ruin what had otherwise been a great conversation. And he wasn’t really mad at her, she was just the person asking questions and bringing up old hurt.

“But I don’t understand. What are you even doing here? You clearly have so much potential, so much to contribute to the world. And here you are running from the police because you’re selling art illegally on the street.” She said looking a little exasperated with his answer.

“Shouldn’t you be getting to your dinner?” He asked despite knowing it was only just gone four.

“I’m sorry, I’m being nosey… It’s just, I don’t understand. You’re clearly a genius, inventive as well. How did you end up here?”

“Not all of us have parents that take us on theatre trips.” He muttered through a tight jaw. “Look, it’s been great talking to you, but I think I should take you back to your family now.”

“Join us?” She asked. “For dinner? We can’t get you a theatre ticket this late, but I’m sure we could make our table for three a table for four?”

“No, no, it’s fine, I’ve got a date with the soup kitchen anyway.” He joked, but she just looked sad again. “Really it’s fine, I’ve got a plan, this is just temporary. I don’t need any pity okay.” Her face fell again at his response.

“It’s not pity. I want to help you, you deserve better than this.” She said softly. But what did she know about what he deserved? She didn’t know him, not really.

“Where are you eating? I can take you to the tube station or walk you there, I don’t mind.” He said, determined to get her back to her family as soon as possible. He wasn’t used to people talking to him, let alone asking such personal questions. She frowned but told him the name of the restaurant and pulled out her map of London from her bag, pointing to it. It was about an hour’s walk away but there was a tube station nearby too.

“Why don’t we walk? I promise I won’t ask any more personal questions. How about I tell you about my PhD work?” She asked, and with an offer as tempting as that he had no choice but to agree.

Hearing her talk about her PhD’s was like nothing he’d ever experienced, he’d never had the opportunity to discuss such high level concepts with someone who knew their subject so well. He was truly blown away by her intelligence, he felt like he was having a private lecture by one of the world’s greatest minds, and with two PhD’s under her belt already, perhaps he was.

“What are you going to do next?” He asked, the logical next step would be to teach and continue her research with a university but at fifteen that seemed unlikely.

“Ummm… I’m actually going to America in September to continue my studies over there.”

“Really? Where?” He asked in amazement.

“Uhhh… I can’t really say.” She said with an embarrassed smile. He gave her a confused but amused look. Of course, the super genius was off to some top-secret scientist boot camp. “What about you? Do you want to go to university?”

“One day… yeah. Just not quite sure on the how yet.” She nodded knowingly, but he got the impression someone who had had the opportunities she’d had couldn’t really understand at all. She opened her mouth to speak but seemed to think better of it and closed it again.

They arrived at the restaurant with forty minutes to spare. Jemma tugged on his arm and led him to a bench opposite the restaurant. “Wait with me until my parents arrive?” She asked. He nodded his head and sat down on the bench. After a few uncomfortable seconds of silence, she spoke again. “So what else are you into? Outside of drawing, maths and science?”

“Uhhh… I like football, I- I uhh… I like the look of video games, but never played one myself or anything. I read a fair bit of sci-fi I guess. Not that I’ve got any books at the moment… I had this Lego set, that I loved, always building it and taking it apart. But I- uhh… I lost that.” Or more accurately his father had got sick of him building the same car again and again so had thrown it in the fire. The more he spoke the more he realised he was sounding rather boring and stupid. “What about you, do you even have time for anything relaxing?”

“I like reading too.” She said with a smile. “I’m particularly partial to some Jane Austen.” Fitz nodded, although having never read any Austen he couldn’t really comment on it. “You’ve never read any have you?” He shook his head guiltily. “You should, they’re good, even for boys.” She said with a teasing smile. “My dad and I watch Doctor Who together, he watched it as a kid and loved it. It’s kinda old and cheesy sometimes, but I like it. And anything I’m doing with my dad is great. We do a lot of star gazing together too.”

“That sounds nice.” He hoped his smile hid his flair of jealousy, there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do to have a father that wanted to spend time with him. Really, he’d settle for a dad who could just tolerate him.

“Oh Jemma, thank goodness you’re okay.” The sound of Jemma’s mother put an end to their conversation. Both her parents gave him a wary look. And really he couldn’t blame them, he knew he looked a sight, unkept hair, wrinkled and slightly dirty clothes.

He probably didn’t smell too great either, what with not having had a shower in a few days, deodorant could only cover up so much… And next to Jemma, well… he must have looked ridiculous, she was in a beautiful summer dress, hair styled into beautiful curls that seemed to disobey the laws of physics, and her make up elegant, all in all she looked bloody stunning, and he looked homeless. Which of course he was.

“Can Fitz join us for dinner?” She asked, ignoring their worried looks. Her father gave him a hard stare and Fitz felt like running just to be out from under his gaze.

“I don’t think so love.” He said calmly. “Come on, let’s go in for dinner.” Jemma looked disappointed, but whether she actually liked him or just saw him as a charity case, he couldn’t tell.

“Well… goodnight. It was lovely meeting you Jemma.” He turned around but she grabbed his wrist.

“Wait.” She said and leaned in closer to him. “We’re staying at the Piccadilly Westend. If you come by tomorrow morning before nine, we’re going to the British Museum tomorrow, you could join us?”

Fitz looked anxiously at her parents. “I have a feeling they would have something to say about that…”

“Fitz can join us at the museum tomorrow, right? It’s open to the public, he doesn’t need a ticket or anything.” Jemma said with an innocent smile.

“Well… I suppose so, yes.” Her mother said, looking like she would much rather have said no.

“I’ll ummm… I’ll think about it.” He mumbled before slipping off, leaving them to their family meal.

Chapter Text

Fitz spent the rest of the evening trying and failing to draw her from memory while he ate at the soup kitchen. None of his attempts did her any justice. As he drew, he thought about her offer, he desperately wanted to join her at the museum, but how could he? He would stand out like a sore thumb. He was an embarrassment.

After he had eaten, he wondered around looking for a place to sleep, wanting somewhere quiet enough that he could sleep but not so quiet that if anything happened no one would hear him calling for help.

He found a shop doorway that satisfied his needs and hunkered down. Once again, he pulled out his sketch book and started trying to fix his previous attempt at drawing Jemma. He was so focused he didn’t notice the group of men approach him until one kicked him. “Hey kid! That’s my doorway.” One guy said, he slurred his words and his movement sloppy. The man pulled out a knife and Fitz knew that was his cue to run for it.

“Sorry. Sorry, I’m going, it’s yours.” He shoved his sketchbook and pencils back in his bag and started to roll his sleeping bag up.

“Leave them.” The man with the knife threatened motioning to his belongings. In an instant he made his decision, he grabbed his sleeping bag and backpack, leaving only the pillow and ran for the gap between the men and the wall.

He had been hopeful that in their inebriated state he’d be fast enough, but he should have known better. One grabbed him and punched his middle. The punch caught him right in the solar plexus, knocking the breath right out of him. He buckled at the knees and as he gasped for breath, they ripped his sleeping bag from his arms. The man with the knife approached him and Fitz pulled his own measly pocketknife out of his pocket. The man kicked his hand hard, causing his knife to fly out of his grip and skid across the street floor. “You really shouldn’t have done that.” He growled. Fitz swallowed, summoning all his strength and tried his hardest to channel his fear, instead of letting it over come him. He spun around, ready to stand up and run, but was caught by another punch, this time to his face.

For a moment the world span and all he could hear was his own heart pumping. Then another hard kick from one of the other men met his stomach and then again his face, causing his nose to gush with blood, before the man with the knife approached, playing with the knife in his hands with a menacing smile.

Fitz had one thought in his head, that he could not die today. Not after meeting the most amazing girl in the world, not after finally having escaped his father. He swung his rucksack out, holding on to the strap, and knocked the men back. There was a sudden sharp pain from his arm, but Fitz couldn’t focus on that, not when he finally saw a way out. Thanks to their drunken state his rucksack had been enough to stun the men and Fitz got up and sprinted away as fast as he could.

Once he found a main road, he let himself look behind and to his relief they were nowhere in sight. He collapsed against the side of a building and gasped for breath. His whole body shook with fear and all he could see was a mixture of the man with a knife and his father coming at him with his fists ready to hit him. He was still trembling when he heard footsteps coming up from behind him, without turning to see who it was he took off running.

Breathing while running, with his nose streaming, was causing him some problems. He gasped for breath through his mouth, tasting his blood as it trickled over his lips and into his open mouth.

He headed to the only place he could think of, Piccadilly, in hopes of finding Jemma’s hotel. It was gone 10pm when he finally found it. He didn’t know what theatre they had gone to nor how long they would be, he just hoped he hadn’t missed them.

Knowing he would be turfed out of the lobby or doorstep of the hotel he sat himself down on the opposite side of the road. His stomach and face ached, and his arm stung. Finally feeling safe from danger, he risked a look at his arm to find the knife had sliced clean though his clothes and cut his arm, it wasn’t bad, but it was still bleeding and had been aggravated by the running. But his most pressing concern was to get the nosebleed under control, which was still gushing down his face.

He had been sat there for half an hour or so when he heard her, talking to her parents about the show they had just seen. “I still can’t decide if my favourite is ‘One Day More’ or ‘Do You Hear the People Sing’.” She said as she walked between her parents. Her parents both laughed and offered their favourite songs.

Fitz didn’t know what to do, he didn’t particularly want to reveal himself to her parents, they might want to take him to a hospital or tell the police about the attack, but at the same time he couldn’t lose his only opportunity to get help. Slowly he stood up, mentally preparing his argument for why he couldn’t go to hospital. Both her parents were looking straight at the hotel while Jemma glanced around, seemingly not wanting to miss anything, even in the low light. Fitz seized his opportunity and waved his good arm, hoping to catch her attention. She saw him and tilted her head in confusion. “I’m just going to stay out here a few more minutes, just want to enjoy the fresh air for a bit.” In the light from the hotel, he could see her parents give her a confused look but they both accepted what she had said.

“We’ll see you in the morning for breakfast then, eight o’clock?” Her father asked as he gave her a kiss on the cheek. Jemma nodded and waved them both goodbye before running across the street to meet him.

“What are you doing here?” She asked as she approached him. She held her bag to her side, ready to swing it in attack if she needed to.

“I need some help.” He whispered, trying not to sound as pathetic as he felt. He stepped forward so that he was illuminated fully by the streetlight and Jemma’s face shifted from confusion to one of horror. He must have looked quite the sight, face and clothes covered in blood from his nose bleed and dirt from being on the ground.

“Wha- what happened?” She asked, her voice quiet with shock.

“Just some guys. But… they took my pillow and sleeping bag. I- I don’t know what to do.” As he spoke his voice broke and tears slipped from his eyes.

“I can call your parents, there’s a payphone inside?” She offered, her voice was kind and sweet, but her proposal felt like a bucket of ice being poured over him.

He shook his head and more tears fell from his eyes. “No! Anything but that. Please?” She looked at him for a moment before opening her handbag up and getting out a bottle of water and some tissues. Carefully she approached him and gently cleaned the blood off his face as best she could. Her touch was gentle but still every press of the wet tissue sent pain coursing through him and he flinched away when he couldn’t tolerate anymore.

She examined him and frowned. “I need to get you inside… but I don’t know how. If anyone sees you… looking like this… well they’re going to ask questions.”

“You don’t need to do that.” He said quietly. He didn’t really know what had made him seek her out, other than the fact that she was the only person who had shown him real kindness since he had arrived in London. He certainly hadn’t expected to be smuggled into a hotel.

“Well I can’t leave you out here like this can I?” She said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Pull your hood up… and hold your bag in front of that bloody patch.” She said pointing to the largest patch of blood on his front, where the nosebleed had run off his face and onto his jumper. “Yeah… that’ll do. We’ll take the stairs, no one really uses them, will you be okay walking two flights of stairs?” She asked with concern.

Fitz couldn’t help the chuckle that came out of him, despite it sending another wave of pain though his stomach and ribs. “I ran pretty much all the way here from Camden.” Jemma didn’t seem to find it funny and instead just looked at him in concern.

“Right… well come on then.” And with that she pulled him across the road and led him through the hotel. He caught sight of himself in a mirror and in the light of the hotel, he looked half dead, blood everywhere, mixed with dirt and dust. Jemma led them through the corridors, avoiding people as best they could and somehow, they made it to her room without anyone stopping them. She slid her room key in and opened the door, pushing him in with a shove as she heard another door open. She scurried in after him, apologising. “Sorry! I thought it was my parents.”

“It’s okay.” He said as he took the hotel bedroom in. It was pristine, he felt like his mere presence was making it dirty.

“Let’s get you out of these clothes and see what we’re dealing with yeah, I’ll get my first aid kit.” Fitz wasn’t sure what to be more surprised about, the casualness of her request for him to undress or the fact that she brought a first aid kit with her on her trip to London.

“Make a habit of patching up runaways?” He asked when she emerged from the bathroom with a rather large first aid kit.

“Maybe.” She teased. “Now come on, take this off.”

“Err… no. I don’t think I should.” Fitz said self-consciously.

“How can I examine your wounds if you’re stuck in this?” She asked. “Honestly, there’s no need to be self-conscious, I’ve worked on lots of cadavers before.”

Fitz frowned, unsure whether to take offence or not. “That’s not what I mean. It’s just… I’m afraid I probably… well stink.”

“Would you like a shower first?” She asked and Fitz could feel his face light up at the suggestion. “I’ll get you a towel and a bag for your dirty clothes.” She said with a soft smile. “When you’re done, I’ll do my examination.”

The shower was the best of his life, piping hot and high pressured, a dream compared to the one he’d used at the homeless shelter a few days before. In the shower he examined his wounds in the reflection of the glass shower screen. The cut on his arm was deeper than he had first thought, and still bleeding, while his stomach was mottled red. As the water washed over him the dried blood on his face disappeared and he could better see the damage to his nose. There was a distinct bend to it that had not been there before, that along with the swelling and dark bruises forming under his eyes led him to one conclusion. His nose had broken when one of the men had kicked him in the face.

Once all the dried blood was washed away, he ran soap all over his body and hair, relishing in the fruity smell. Every movement sent waves of pain through him and the water stun his cuts, especially his injured arm, but he was more than used to having to keep moving even when every part of his body screamed in pain. Finally, he turned the shower off and dried himself with the towel, avoiding his bleeding arm as much as possible. He had no clothes to change into as he had left his bag outside and the unused bathrobe that hung up would get covered in blood from his bleeding arm if he put it on. Which left him with one option. Going out in his towel. Feeling incredibly exposed he opened the door with his towel wrapped around his waist. Not only was he going out with his top half exposed but he would be revealing how skinny he had got in the last week, not that he hadn’t always been slim, but his ribs now showed in a way that made him look rather malnourished, not to mention he was at risk of her seeing scars he’d rather she didn’t.

Jemma spun around from where she had been organising her first aid supplies and let out a small hiss of shock when she saw him and his mottled stomach. The look of worry was quickly replaced by once of professional indifference though and she called him over to sit on the stall in front of the desk.

She ran her hand along the cut on his arm before taking out a sterile wipe and cleaned the cut and dressing it. “I’m going to straighten your nose. This might hurt a bit.” She said after she had moved on to examine his nose. He winced a little as she set his nose back in place but more in anticipation than the actual pain. She then took out an instant ice pack and pressed it to his nose gently. “Hold this in place.” She directed before moving on to examine his stomach. “What are these?” She asked, her hand hovering over an older green bruise that ran along his side.

“Uhh… that’s from a few days back, s’nothing, really.” He mumbled through the ice pack.

“And these?” She asked as she examined his back. He had hoped she wouldn’t look there, what with his new injuries being on his stomach.

“That’s nothing.”

“They look like-” They were the unmistakable scars of where his father had beaten him with his belt.

“I know what they look like.” He bit out, regretting his temper immediately. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s- it’s okay, I- I don’t think you have any broken ribs or anything, thankfully. I’ll just rub some ibuprofen cream on these bruises and then you can get dressed again. Sorry I can’t do more.” As her cool hands rubbed the cream into his stomach, he couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath that sent another wave of pain through him. Her hands slid up and down his torso, causing his skin to pimple with goosebumps. Despite the pain he couldn’t help but relish her gentle touch. His breathing grew shallow and he closed his eyes, willing his body not to give away how sensual he was finding the situation. He’d barely even held a girl’s hand before, let alone have one rub cream all over his front. Mentally he started listing the digits of pi to give his mind something different to focus on. “Take the ice pack off for a minute and I’ll rub it into your face as well.” He nodded and pulled the ice pack away, holding it to his stomach instead. Gently she ran her finger over the bruises around his eyes and nose. It was only when she ran her fingers along his lips that he realised they too hurt and must have been caught either by the punch or kick his face had received. 

When she was done, she handed him some paracetamol and a glass of water. He swallowed the tablet and Jemma handed him his bag before disappearing off into the bathroom to wash her hands. Hurriedly he dug out a clean pair of boxers and shimmied them on under his towel, ignoring the pain the movement caused. She returned before he had found any other clothes and stared at him as he rummaged through his bag for the single clean top he was sure was in there. He knew he had run out of clean trousers, he had only been able to fit two pairs in his rucksack, but he was sure he still had at least one clean t-shirt left.

“You can sleep here if you’d like?” Jemma said. Fitz looked up from his bag in surprise. She was worrying her bottom lip and chewing on it slightly.

“I… I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Fitz answered. Every fibre of his being wanted to collapse onto the bed in front of him, but he knew he shouldn’t.

“Well where else are you going to go?” Jemma said placing her hands on her hips.

“That’s not the point. I don’t want to get you in trouble with your parents, and quite frankly I don’t want to get in trouble either.”

“You won’t, I promise, they won’t even know.”

“I’m starting to think it should be me that’s scared of you.” He joked.

“I don’t think you should be out on the streets, without even a sleeping bag, especially on your birthday.” She said softly. “And I can help if you have any complications with any of your injuries.” The soft smile on her lips destroyed his last bit of self-control.

“I don’t have any clean clothes, other than my boxers that is.” He mumbled as he continued his futile search for a clean top.

“Well sleep in your boxers and tomorrow we’ll get you some clean clothes.” Fitz eyed her warily. “It’s a big bed, plenty of space for both of us, we won’t even notice each other.” Fitz sighed, he was exhausted, in pain and he was being presented a bed for the first time in a week.

“Okay.” His said in defeat. “Where should I hang my towel?” He took his towel off self-consciously and hung it where she directed him.

“You did get some dinner, right? Because I can order room service.” Jemma asked fidgeting her hands.

“Yeah, I did.” He said with a crocked smile, he wasn’t used to people being so concerned about his needs, it made his stomach twist, but in a pleasant way. Of course, he was still hungry, but room service would show up on their bill and no doubt get her into trouble. Unfortunately, his stomach’s growl gave him away.

“I can order something?” She offered. “Honestly, it’s no big deal.” The offer was beyond tempting, his mouth watering at the prospect of food, well-cooked hotel food too, not soup kitchen food… He started to shake his head, but his stomach rumbled again and Jemma picked up the rooms phone.  She ordered them a pizza and then headed to the bathroom, coming back out with the robe he had left in there before. “Here put this on.” She said with a gentle smile and then flicked through the tv channels. “Anything you wanted to watch?” Fitz shook his head, completely dumbfounded by the change of direction his evening had taken. “There’s not much on… what about Bridget Jones’s Diary?” Fitz shrugged, he’d never seen it before but Jemma’s face told him she wanted to watch it so he was happy with whatever she wanted.

They ended up sat on her bed, Jemma in her pyjamas and he in his boxers and robe. The film was already a little way through, but Jemma happily caught him up. The film was fine, but he couldn’t concentrate on it, not when the most amazing girl in the world was sat next to him on the bed. As he sat next to her, he couldn’t help but wish he could draw her again, what with her being right next to him and all, have a memento to prove this wild night had really happened. “Jemma?”

“Mmhhm?” She asked, not taking her eyes off the tv.

“Would you- it’s fine if you say no, but… would you mind if I drew you?” He asked awkwardly. To his relief Jemma just blushed a little and happily accepted. He had just finished his outline when there was a knock on the door that sent him hiding behind the bed, despite the agonising pain.

“It’s just the room service.” Jemma said with a chuckle after looking through the peephole.

Every bite sent pain searing through his nose and rest of his face, but he was so hungry he hardly cared. While he ate Jemma chattered on about the show they had seen and her families plans for the rest of the week. It turned out they were in London until Friday, they were having a family holiday before she went off to America to continue her studies, after London they were going to travel around America until her birthday in September when she would start her studies. She remained shady on the details of her studies in America, which just made him more curious.

It was all going really well until she asked where he was from, not that he minded answering that specific question, it was more that he was worried about what else she might ask if the conversation shifted onto him.

“Glasgow.”

“What’s it like? I’ve only ever been to Perthshire before, on holiday.”

“Eh… it’s pretty hit and miss. Where I’m from, Castlemilk, it can be pretty rough… There’re nice bits too though, not that I saw ‘em much.” Fitz said in between mouthfuls of pizza.

“Do you miss it?”

“I miss having a bed to sleep in and access to a kitchen and bathroom, that’s pretty much it.” There was something about her, something that made him think, maybe, just maybe, he could tell her more, tell her what home was really like. “I miss my mum… But that’s not related to… my current situation… she died when I was six.” He said carefully, he never spoke about her, all he had were pages of memories written in his notebook. He’d written about her when she’d first died, written everything he could remember about her and had copied them into every subsequent notebook he’d ever had. Writing the memories down felt like he was keeping a small part of her alive.

For some strange reason he felt himself reaching for his notebook and before he knew it, he was showing her the pages of memories and small sketches, her face drawn from memory, her favourite scarf or jumper, quotes he’d read from her books that had reminded him of her, anything that made him think of her ended up in there. The first half of his notebook was completely taken up with his memorial to his mother, the second half full of calculations for all his designs.

“This, this is lovely.” Jemma said as she read through the pages of notes and looked through his drawings. “What’s- What’s this page?” Jemma asked and Fitz fought the urge to rip the book out of her hands. The page she had found was sandwiched between his mother’s section and his calculations. It held dark drawings and scribbled, images of angry faces, of clenched fists and belts mid whip. Along with angry quotes from his father. ‘You stupid boy!’, ‘Why couldn’t it have been you and not your mother?’, ‘If you don’t shut up then I’ll kill you.’, ‘Why can’t you just be normal, why are you so fucking stupid?’. He wasn’t sure why he wrote them down, sometimes it seemed to help, to vent in some way.

“It’s-” ‘It’s nothing’, he wanted to say, but that would be a lie, and he didn’t want to lie to the girl who had just patched him up and given him food. “That’s why I left…” He let her piece the rest together, if it wasn’t obvious enough from the scars on his back…

“Your… your dad, he’s the reason you didn’t get moved up in school?” She asked, eyes full of pity, or perhaps it was empathy?

“Yeah…”

“Your dad sounds like a right old bastard.” She said after a moment. Fitz couldn’t help but chuckle, the curse sounding so foreign coming out of her mouth.

“A bawbag who’d skelp me for anything an’ everything.” He muttered, and really that was putting it lightly. His father was the devil incarnate as far as he was concerned. Saying it out loud, admitting to someone what his father was like, well it was terrifying but also a little liberating.

“I’m going to figure out a way to help you, get you into university or something, I have connections.” She said in a rush as he tidied up after his meal.

“Jemma, you’ve already done more than enough. I’ll be fine, you don’t need to worry about me. I have a plan.”

“And that is?”

“Sell my art until I can afford to stay somewhere cheap, buy a suit and then get a job.” He said simply. Jemma looked at him, completely unconvinced by his plan. And really he had to agree, he knew it was a long shot, but he didn’t know what else to do. “Okay, it’s not a great plan, but I am making money, I think I can do it. Just hopefully before winter sets in.”

“Well, I can put in a call if you’d like me to.” Jemma said, clearly realising he didn’t want any more charity. Once he had cleaned up the meal he gently climbed back onto the bed and resumed his drawing, a small smile settling into his face as he focused on drawing her, letting the tension from their conversation fade away.

As the film drew to an end, he had the beginnings of a decent drawing. He turned it around and showed her, the beaming smile on her face warmed his heart. “It’s not done yet, but uhh… I think it’s coming along nicely.”

“I love it.” Fitz blushed and chewed on his lip as he smiled awkwardly.

“Could I borrow some toothpaste?” He asked, he was more than ready for bed after the long day he’d had. To his amazement not only did she supply him with toothpaste but the hotel toothbrush as well so he could give his teeth the first proper brush in a week. After five or so minutes brushing his teeth and combing through his hair with the hotel’s complimentary comb, he returned to the bedroom. Jemma looked up and stared at him with an expression he couldn’t read. “Which side did you want?” He asked. She pointed to the side nearest the door and he awkwardly got onto the bed, careful to stay on top of the duvet.

“You can get under the covers, if you’d like?” She said with a soft smile.

“Err… okay. Thanks.” He’d never so much as had a sleepover and had spent the last week trying to keep away from people while he slept, so sharing a bed with a beautiful girl not only felt foreign but went against every instinct he had developed in the past week.  As he got under the covers she watched him, or perhaps she was looking at his injuries, he wasn’t sure, but he was finding the whole thing very confusing. “Thank you for everything. I promise I’ll get out of your hair in the morning. You won’t have to deal with me again.”

She furrowed her brows as she climbed into bed next to him. “But what about the museum?” She asked, visibly hurt. It was Fitz’s turn to frown now. Did she really want him to spend tomorrow with her? Him?

“Uhhh… you… you still want me to come along? Even after all this? After I’ve ruined your evening?” He asked, this girl was completely barmy, she might be a genius, but she was also completely mad.

“Of course.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re interesting, the most interesting person I think I’ve ever met.”

Fitz shook his head dismissively. “You don’t even know me.”

“Well I’d like to, if you’ll let me?” The look in her eyes sent a shiver down his spine and once again he found himself begging his stupid, teenage, hormone riddled body to not embarrass him.

“I’d like to get to know you too.” He said before his brain could over think and come up with a million reasons for why he was no good for her.

She smiled and leaned closer, crossing into what was definitely his side of the bed. “Happy birthday Fitz.” She said and kissed his cheek, careful to miss his injuries, before retracting back to her side of the bed with a bashful smile. “Goodnight.” He’d known her not even a day but he already wanted to lean back in and kiss her… was that what she wanted? She was letting him sleep in her bed and had just kissed him on the cheek, did that mean something? But what if she was just being kind, and he’d misread things, he didn’t want to scare her or make her feel uncomfortable, besides, his whole face ached, now was not the time to kiss someone, no matter how much his body wanted him to. So instead, he settled into bed, trying to find a position that didn’t make his injuries hurt more.

“G’night Jemma.” He said in a hushed tone as he finally found a comfortable position.

Chapter Text

When he woke his entire body ached; with great difficulty he rolled onto his back and stretched. As he carefully stretched and inspected his injuries, he thanked every deity he could think of that he had not woken up to any embarrassment from his nether region. Jemma lay asleep next to him, she seemed to have shuffled closer in her sleep, not that he minded.

He wasn’t sure how, but she managed to look even more beautiful with her hair ruffled and spread all over the pillow. Girls had never been that big of a distraction before, sure he’d noticed them (but they certainly never noticed him) and found some of them attractive, but they all thought he was a complete freak, and had made that beyond clear to him. And when even the prettiest of girls made their dislike for him so obvious it acted as a fairly big turn off.

But Jemma, well Jemma was beautiful and intelligent, more intelligent than anyone he’d ever met, and she’d invited him to stay the night, carefully tended to his wounds and then she’d kissed him. Okay only on the cheek, but still. What would have happened if he had leaned back in and kissed her? Would she have kissed him back? Would he have mucked it up? He certainly didn’t know what he was doing in that department… And all this was assuming she even wanted him to kiss her. Perhaps she was just this friendly to all her friends, or perhaps her academic focus in life had limited her socialisation and she was simply as clueless as he was about how to act, and she was simply trying to be friendly.

Oh, but what if she wasn’t? What if she had wanted him to kiss her senseless? To take her in his arms and- who was he kidding? He wouldn’t know what to do… But he was a fast learner, maybe she would let him figure it out? Or show him what to do, show him where to touch her…

And there went his fleeting luck in not waking up to any issues downstairs… Although this one was completely his own fault. In an attempt to hide his bodies betrayal, he tried to sit up. As he leaned forward his abdominal muscles screamed at him to stop and he let out a low groan of agony before sinking back in to the bed in defeat.

Instead, he bent his knees to cover up his embarrassing situation. But even moving his legs sent a rush of pain through his stomach and once again he let out a pained whimper.

“What are you doing?” Fitz froze at the sound of Jemma’s voice, slowly he turned his head and looked at her, flush with embarrassment. How long had she been staring at him? Surely not long, he had only taken his eyes off of her when he had realised he had a situation to deal with. Which meant either his movement or noises had woken her up. She raised her eyebrows, clearly wanting an answer, but all Fitz could do was stutter out gibberish. Her face was one of quizzical amusement, but she seemed to let it go. “Did you want to use the bathroom before I use the shower?”

Bollocks, Fitz thought. “Err no I’m fine…” He muttered.

“Okay.” She said as she got out of bed and walked over to his side of the bed where the bathroom was. Fitz let out a small sigh of relief. “Oh actually, let me check your injuries over before my shower.” Jemma said and turned around, her hand on the duvet before he could react.

“Wait no!” He yelped as she pulled the duvet back. For a split second her brows furrowed in confusion before she caught sight of his boner. Her face went slack and her mouth hung ajar. Fitz brought his hands down to cover himself as best he could and screwed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry.” He murmured in embarrassment.

“No, no. This is my fault. I didn’t think, I’m so sorry.” She said as she dropped the duvet, allowing him to pull it back over himself. Fitz started to apologise again but she interrupted him. “No really, I didn’t think, I’m sorry. Really though, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about, nocturnal penile tumescence is perfectly normal, healthy actually, shows you have good hormone levels and penile function …” She trailed off as if only catching what she was saying after it had rushed out of her mouth. “Anyway,” She said awkwardly. “I’ll just have my shower and then we can check your injuries.” She said and spun back around and into the bathroom.

Fitz was mortified, although more than a little relieved that she had assumed it was morning wood and not the result of his own overactive imagination. The one bonus was that the embarrassment of the situation, along with some mental maths, meant that his situation was quickly sorting itself out. With a great deal of effort and pain he pulled himself up so that he was sat up and reached out for the ibuprofen cream on his bedside table where Jemma had left it and started to apply it to his stomach and face, if the bruises on his stomach were anything to go by, his face must look a mess. His stomach was mottled with red and purple bruises that were tender to the touch, even with the feather light pressure he was using to rub the cream into his sore skin.

It took more concentration than he cared to admit to not imagine that it was Jemma rubbing the cream into him again, and once again he found himself using mental maths to stop himself getting over excited. Honestly what was wrong with him, he had never had this kind of problem before? He had prided himself on not being as sex crazed as the idiots in his classes. But put one beautiful genius in front of him and he was as bad as all the other perverted guys he knew. And he hated those guys, always objectifying the girls in their classes, slapping their bum’s whenever they saw an opportunity or catcalling them from the bus stop. Or simply discussing in explicit detail, for all to hear, all the sexual acts they had got up to with their latest conquest.

Fitz sighed, he would not become one of those sex obsessed idiots. He would show Jemma all the respect and dignity she deserved both in person and in his brain. And that meant not letting his hormones get the better of him, he was a smart young man, that should be perfectly within his capabilities.

When she came out of the shower, she was dressed in a beautiful floral blouse which had a v neck collar that sent his mind to places that a respectful man’s really shouldn’t go. He had to concentrate very very hard on mentally reciting logarithms of base e to distract himself. “Are you okay?” She asked. He nodded awkwardly. “It’s just you look a little funny.”

He wondered how much his lust and attempted distraction was visible on his face. “It’s just the pain, it’s not great.” It wasn’t a lie, but it probably wasn’t the only reason behind whatever look he had on his face.

“Right yes of course. Let me get you some more pain killers.” Once she’d given him some more paracetamol she inspected his injuries and cleaned and redressed the cut on his arm. “So… I don’t think the museum is an option today… what with…” She motioned to his face and he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and as suspected he looked like he’d been hit by a bus. He had black eyes, a swollen nose, busted lip and split skin along with grazes from the impacts. No wonder his face hurt so much. And it answered his earlier ponderings, Jemma was not into him, she just pitied him and his mashed up face.

“It’s fine, you go, I’ll sort myself out.” He told her, not wanting to inconvenience her any more than he already had.

“Oh.” Her face fell. “I… Have I done something wrong?” She asked.

“What? No, of course not.” He spluttered out.

“It’s just you keep trying to leave every chance you get.” She said, avoiding his eyes. Could it be that she actually wanted to help him? Didn’t pity him or feel obligated to help? No one had ever wanted to take care of him before, not since his mother had died anyway. His own father had found him an annoying burden at best and a punching bag to take his frustration out on at worst.

“I just don’t want to impose on your holiday. You keep helping me, and I really appreciate it but I don’t want to be a burden or get you in trouble.”

“I want to help you because I like you, and I think you deserve better than you have and I have the means to help, to better your circumstances.” She said with a tenderness that he didn’t deserve. She was making it very difficult for him to not fall head over heels in love with her. “Fitz let me help you, please?”

“But it’s your family holiday?” Fitz said, unable to comprehend what she was saying.

“And I’ve had lots of them in the past and I’ll have more in the future.” She said coming to sit next to him on the bed where he still sat in just his boxers. “Let me at least get your clothes dry-cleaned and… I can tell my parents I don’t feel well and they can go to the museum without me, we’ve been before, anyway.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“I know, but I want to.” She said, putting her hand over his. Why this beautiful, genius wanted to help him and spend time with him, he really couldn’t fathom, but someone was showing him kindness and who was he to fight against it?

“Thank you.”

Jemma spent the next few minutes calling her parents room to tell them she felt ill, not ill enough to make them worry, but ill enough that she had reason to stay in bed instead of go to the museum. After that she called the reception desk and arranged for his clothes to be dry cleaned and then she ordered them room service, a full English breakfast. His mouth was watering just at the thought of it. Jemma offered him an oversized t-shirt from the science museum she usually used to sleep in, so that he wasn’t stuck in just his boxers all day and she even joked about removing her blouse or jeans so that they were even. To which he had just spluttered, and she had giggled.

There was a knock on the door and Fitz went to open it expecting it to be room service, as his hand reached for the doorknob, he heard the voice of Jemma’s mother through the door sending him hobbling back to Jemma. “It’s your mum!”

“I know, get in the bathroom!” Jemma exclaimed in a hushed whisper. “Just coming Mum!” Fitz grabbed his backpack and neatened his side of the bed before dragging himself into the bathroom as fast as his injured body could. He did not need her parents jumping to conclusions. Six agonising minutes later Jemma opened up the bathroom door. “Coast is clear.” She said with a conspiratorial smile. “And breakfast is here too.”

They tucked into their breakfast, Jemma had ordered only one so as not to draw suspicion from her parents if they examined the bill, but it was huge and plenty big enough for the two of them. After breakfast they brushed their teeth next to each other, which felt bizarrely domestic for two people who had known each other less than 24 hours. And then to Fitz’s delight, Jemma got her laptop out and was able to show him her theses.

The rest of the morning was spent discussing her work and Fitz even found himself able to offer insight from an engineering perspective that she seemed to appreciate. “Did you want lunch yet?” Jemma asked.

“Uhh… I’m actually rather full. My stomach’s got used to one meal a day. You can get something though if you’re hungry.” He offered. Jemma ordered up a small cheese sandwich and a J2O for each of them and while she ate, he got his sketch book out and continued his portrait of her. Adding in details like the exact curve of her lips and the myriad of freckles that peppered her skin. He could happily draw her all day if the pain in his stomach hadn’t been so bad. “I think I need to lie down… my stomach is killing me and sitting up’s not helping.” He said reluctantly and put his sketchbook down and retreated to the bed. He felt beyond awkward, lying on his back with nothing to do while she finished her sandwich. “What’s at the British Museum? It’s just I’ve never been.” He asked, wishing he had had an uneventful evening last night and had been able to join them all at the museum. Although in all likelihood he wouldn’t have had the courage to show up. So perhaps getting the living day lights beat out of him had at least had the bonus of bringing them together again.

Jemma joined him on the bed, sitting up against the headboard. With one hand she hesitantly touched his hair, gently working her fingers through his curls and scratching his scalp. “Is this alright?”

Fitz swallowed and nodded. It was more than alright, it was more pleasurable than he cared to admit. When was the last time someone had touched him with such tenderness and affection? He couldn’t remember, but he wasn’t about to turn her affections away. However it also confused him more, was this something friends did? Were they even friends yet anyway?

Other than asking him if what she was doing was alight, Jemma completely ignored the fact that she was giving him a tender head massaged, instead she began to talk him through all she could remember about her previous visit to the British Museum, all the exhibits from across the world and throughout history. It was truly fascinating, although a little disturbing that one nation had acquired so many important historical objects from across the globe. “We’re right old bastards, aren’t we? Pillaging our way through the world and then putting their sacred things on display for our own benefit, never once thinking we should give them back to those we stole them from.” He said dourly.

“You know I hadn’t really thought about that, but you’re right. I wonder if they want their artifacts back?”

“Probably, but you know the English, finder’s keepers and all that.” He said with a cheeky grin.  

“I don’t think Scotland can claim innocence on the atrocities of colonialism.” Jemma chided in good humour.

“Eh… probably not… never paid much attention to history though, so I for one can claim ignorance, and believe my nation innocent.” He said with a slight chuckle.

“Why not?”  Jemma asked, the humour gone from her voice. “Why didn’t you pay attention to history I mean, it’s so interesting?”

“My school experience was not like yours, alright?” He said a little defensively, Jemma’s hand froze in his hair, and he softened his tone as he continued, not wanting to upset her or scare her away. “I just sat in a corner with my textbook and my teachers left me to my own devices.” To his relief, she went back to gently playing with his hair and scratching his scalp. So, while everyone else learnt about World War Two for the third time in S1, I was sat there learning De Moivre’s formula. In general school just bored me to tears.”

“Well that settles it, when you’re well enough to go out and about, I’m taking you to The British Museum and I’m going to make it interesting and make sure you enjoy yourself.” Jemma said with determination.

Fitz felt his heart flutter and his stomach twist, she was making plans for their future, he knew the practicalities of such things would render her plans useless, but for today he could pretend, today was a little slice of paradise. If he ignored all the pain that was. “I did want to go today, you know? Just ‘cause school’s boring doesn’t mean I think history is. It’s just how my teachers taught it. They’d spend a whole lesson on thing’s I only needed a few sentences on, waste of bloody time.”

“Well I’ve been told I’m an excellent teacher.” She said, Fitz would have sworn there was a flirty tone to it but when he turned to look at her, her face was the picture of innocence. Jemma kept talking about all the interesting things she had learnt at school and Fitz closed his eyes, listening in contentment. His whole body hurt, more than he could remember ever feeling before, and that was saying something for someone with his familiarity to pain, but his mind, well he was happier than he could ever remember.

He wasn’t sure when, but at some point he must have fallen asleep because suddenly he was trapped in the moment between wakefulness and sleeping. He couldn’t move and all he could see was the group of men that had attacked him. Had he imagined his time with Jemma? Had it all been a dream crammed into a brief moment of unconsciousness caused by his attackers? No, he was still in the hotel room, but where was Jemma? Had they hurt her? He tried to shout but his body wouldn’t let him, all he could do was let out a whimper of a groan, which just made the men laugh at him more. He kept fighting his frozen body, desperate to call for help but unable to open his mouth. One of the men grabbed him and started shaking him by the shoulders and he tried to scream again. His mouth opened and finally a scream broke free.

The man shaking him violently transformed into Jemma, gently nudging him awake and the other men revealed themselves to be the wardrobe, desk and bedside table.  He gasped for breath, he could feel his rapid heartbeat, each one was a punch inside his chest. “It’s okay, Fitz, you’re safe, it’s okay.” She whispered in hushed tones. Slowly his brain caught up to reality, it had been a dream. He was safe. “It’s okay.” Jemma murmured and ran a hand gently through his curls again.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled and realised there were tears in his eyes. He went to scrub them dry but flinched at his own contact, his tender eyes reminding him of the reason for the nightmare in the first place. Jemma gently ran a tissue under his eyes, mopping up his tears without causing him any additional pain and then returned her hand to his hair.

“Nothing to apologise for. It is just your brains way of processing trauma.” She said calmly. His heartbeat remained rapid, although now it was because of Jemma’s proximity, she lay on her side, propped up by her arm, while her other hand gently ran over his hair and the few areas of his face that weren’t covered in bruises. She was looking at him but Fitz couldn’t meet her eyes, he wasn’t sure he would be capable of good and respectful thoughts if he did. So he stared up at the ceiling, focusing on getting his body to calm down after the dream had caused such a rush of adrenalin.

Once he got control of his breathing again Jemma’s hand disappeared from his head and Fitz had to fight his instincts not to turn his head and try to follow her hand as she gently removed it from his hair. They lay in silent for a while before Jemma spoke again.

“You know you can trust me, right?” Fitz turned to look at her, confused by what she was asking him.

“Yeah.” He trusted her far more than he knew he should, they’d only just met and he’d fallen asleep in her presence twice, if that didn’t show her he trusted her he wasn’t sure what would.

“Then why don’t you- It’s just… you can tell me your real name, I won’t go to the police or anything.” She said softly. Fitz frowned in confusion. “You’re not telling me Fitz is really your name? Who calls their child Fitz?”

“Oh… No, no. Fitz is my last name.”

“Just Fitz? Not Fitzgerald or Fitzwilliam or something?” He shook his head. “Well, you can still trust me with your first name. I won’t tell anyone.”

Fitz smiled as much as his injured face would allow him to. “I didn’t give you my last name because I don’t trust you.” He said with a soft chuckle. “I just hate my first name.”

“Well now you have to tell me!” Jemma beamed with a teasing grin.

“Only if you tell me what the deal is with this secret American thing.” It had been driving him more than a little crazy, what was she going to do that was so secrete, surely the FBI didn’t recruit sixteen-year-olds?

Jemma let out a slight whine. “That’s not fair. I would tell you if I was allowed to. You’re just choosing not to tell me your name.” Fitz raised his eyebrows, intending on looking rather smug with himself, but the movement just made him wince and he probably looked rather pathetic. “I don’t have any more pain killers. I can go find a pharmacy, if you like?”

“No!” He said a little to forcefully. If they only had today together, he didn’t want to waste it on a pharmacy run, he’d already wasted so much of it sleeping. “I… I just mean, you don’t need to waste your time on that. I’m fine.”

“You wince every time you open your mouth or move.” She said with a tone that made him feel like he was being told off.

“M’fine.” He said, doing his best not to wince while he spoke.

“How about I go get you some painkillers and find us something to entertain ourselves with while I’m gone, kill two birds with one stone.” Jemma said, clearly not buying his act.

“Like what?”

“A deck of cards or something.” She said as she got off the bed.

“What games do you know? I don’t know any…”

“How about I teach you poker?” She said cheerfully as she put her shoes and a jacket on. She walked up to the door and pulled it open, ready to go, but turned back to him before she went through. “If you’re really lucky we can play strip poker.” She said with a cheeky grin and dashed out before he could even respond. Fitz could feel the flush in both his northern and southern regions. She couldn’t just say things like that and leave the room…

That had to have been flirting though… Surely? He wasn’t that socially inept, was he? He was already down to his boxers and her oversized t-shirt. That had to have been deliberate. But what if she actually wanted to play strip poker? He would no doubt lose terribly and well that would just be embarrassing. He was already far from being appropriately dressed. And really, as much as she made his nether regions excited, he really didn’t want to strip in front of her. He wanted to be able to take her out on a date, a picnic or something, wonder around the city, show her the spots of beauty he’d found during his week here and just in general sweep her off her feet. And then at the end of the date, if it had gone well, he’d lean in and kiss her goodbye.

But all that was a fantasy, she was here on holiday with her parents and soon she was off to America, and he was a homeless runaway, what business did he have taking her on a date? Even if she did seem to be flirting with him, she surely didn’t actually want him to take her out on a date. Maybe she was just bored? Or maybe she wanted to get some… experience before she went off to whatever it was that awaited her in America. Either way, it was all making him rather tense.

His brain was a mess, one moment he was fighting his brain, trying to stop it fantasising, about Jemma, about the impossible, the next he was panicking over if she actually was implying she wanted to do… something. He was barely comfortable holding a conversation, let alone doing anything with her, although… perhaps he would figure it out, it was all biology after all…

Or what if she had just been making a silly joke, thought it was funny because it was such a preposterous idea… Maybe she was just as socially awkward as him, just better at hiding it, and this was what she thought of as a funny joke? There were too many variables, and it was stressing him out.

By the time she arrived back he had gone around in circle after circle trying to decipher what she really meant. When she came back in though, she made no mention of strip poker, to the point he almost wondered if his hormones had made him imagine it. Instead, she set up a game of Go Fish, saying it was a simple starter game for him to learn.

It was a little awkward to play lying down, occasionally he would drop his cards onto his chest, but other than that he had a fun time.

“You’ve really never played cards with anyone before?” Jemma asked mid-way though their second game.

“I think I remember my mum playing snap with me when I was a wee boy, but certainly not anything since she died.” He said awkwardly. He really didn’t want pity, especially not from her, but when he said depressing things like that, well what else was it going to elicit?

“Okay, well then we can make up for a lack of sixteen years’ worth of card games.” She said affectionally (and amazingly, without a hint of pity), before asking if he had any eights. He handed all three of them over with a groan and she smiled gleefully at him.

After Go Fish she checked that he felt up to sitting at the table so they could play some more games and she taught him Spit, Casino and Gin Rummy. He was getting the hang of the games pretty quickly and soon he was just as likely to win as she was. His victory dances were somewhat inhibited by his injuries but the pain didn’t stop him gloating.

Finally, she taught him Beggar Your Neighbour, a game without any strategy, but it was still fun, especially when it was him on a good run and he ended up winning the cards and doubling the size of his deck. And then there was the impossibly adorable look of victory Jemma shot him every time she won some cards, which made up for the sting of losing that round.

“You are one hundred percent cheating!” Jemma light heartedly accused after he played a particularly good run of cards.

“I am not!” He defended, it wasn’t his fault that he had won the last three rounds and she was left with just a handful of cards.

“With all those cards you should be running into loads of barren patches!” Fitz just shrugged and smiled smugly. The smile was wiped off his face however when he ran into said barren patch and Jemma managed to turn the game around and back into her favour.

“Who’s cheating now?” He teased as she won yet another set of cards. She just cocked her head and shrugged, beaming from ear to ear. Five minutes later and Jemma was dancing triumphantly in front of him. “Just a game of luck anyway, I won more of the skill based gamed than you did.” He said, knowing that fact would wind her up something rotten.

“I was just going easy on you.” She said but they both knew it wasn’t true. “How’re your bruises?” She asked as he stretched out on his chair, stifling a wince.

“Painful when I move and sore when I don’t.” He answered honestly. Honesty wasn’t something that came naturally to him, not because he was a liar, but because he’d never had anyone to trust before.

She bit her lip. “I don’t think there’s much more I can do for you, maybe a warm bath will help... We can put more cream on but really you should go to a doctor, they can prescribe some stronger pain relief.”

“I’m fine really. I’m used to it anyway.” He said with a shrug. Sure, it hurt, but he could cope, no need to go to the hospital or anything. Jemma clearly disagreed; her face fallen into a frown, but she didn’t push it.

“Okay.” She said reluctantly and got up to get the ibuprofen and newly bought arnica cream.

“Y’know, I’m surprised a proper scientist like yourself bought arnica cream. Wouldn’t have thought you’d take any note of homeopathic stuff.”

Jemma shrugged. “There’s evidence that it can help, so I don’t see why a ‘proper scientists’ can’t use it. Now take off your top.” She said in an authoritative tone that sent a shiver down his spine. He wanted to protest; he didn’t need her to rub the creams in but the look on her face told him it was pointless. So as gently as he could, trying to disturb his sore torso as little as possible, he tugged the top off. “Were you always this skinny?” Jemma asked as she examined his bruises, her light touch sending another shiver down his spine.

“Uhhh… not quite this skinny, no.” He said awkwardly.

“You know the average sixteen-year-old should have nearly 3000 calories a day? Sure, you’re a little on the shorter side, but still, you’re clearly not eating enough.” He couldn’t tell if Jemma was trying to educate him or tell him off, but either way he didn’t like it. Of course, he knew he wasn’t eating enough, he wasn’t an idiot.

“Yeah well, not all of us are that lucky.” He said and pulled away from her touch, finishing rubbing the cream into his stomach himself.

“I’m sorry, I- I didn’t mean to upset you. I just- well isn’t there somewhere that can help you? Didn’t social services ever do anything?”

“My dad’s a very convincing storyteller when he wants to be.” He huffed. “Look, I don’t want to talk about this.” Why was she ruining it? The day had been lovely, why ruin it with talk of things that didn’t concern her.

“I’m just worried about you. What if we hadn’t met yesterday? Where would you have gone?” She asked, ignoring his desire to drop the topic.

“I don’t know, but it wouldnae been your problem.” He scowled, his accent thickening with his frustration. “Just drop it alright.”

“How can I? How am I supposed to just go about my life knowing this is what you’re facing? I don’t just go about inviting every homele-” Jemma froze as she heard her mother call for her the other side of the door.

“Jemma? Who are you talking to in there?” Her mother asked as she knocked on the door. “I know we said we wouldn’t use the key but-” Before Fitz had a chance to even think, Jemma’s mother was in the room, looking in shock between Jemma and himself, currently only wearing his boxers. “What the hell is going on here young lady!”

“Fitz got attacked last night and I’ve been helping him with his injuries, that’s it. I swear.” Jemma said so fast it almost sounded like a single word. She held the creams out to her mum and pointed at the first aid kit on the side where she had left it last night. Her mother looked critically over both of them, carefully examining his bruises and cuts.

“Well looks like you’ve helped him as much as you can. So if you don’t mind Fitz, I’d appreciate it if you got dressed and left my daughter alone.” She said with a fiery voice. Fitz nodded and pulled the top back over his head before realising the rest of his clothes were still with the hotel dry cleaning.

“I took his clothes to the dry-cleaning services, that’s why he’s not got much on.” Jemma said awkwardly.

“Well go and get them. Now.” Jemma gave him an apologetic look before scurrying off down the hall. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I don’t ever want to see you again. If you so much as touched her, I will have the police after you in a flash.”

“I swear I didn’t do anything.  We just played cards all day.” He pointed to the table with their cards still out, ready for another game.

“And what about that?” She said angrily, pointing to the bed which, thanks to his accidental nap, looked like it had had two people sleeping in it.

“I-I-I… I did sleep here but I promise, I-I didn’t touch her.” He stammered, he felt about as fearful in her presence as he had with the men the night before.

Her mother looked him up and down again, clearly trying to assess if she thought his injuries would have stopped him getting up to anything with Jemma. “You should thank your lucky stars it was me that found you and not her father.” Fitz just swallowed hard and nodded. They waited in awkward silence until Jemma finally arrive with his bag of clean clothes, he pulled out some jeans and socks and pulled them on as fast as his aching body would allow. Then he shoved the bag into his rucksack, along with his books and hurried away from Jemma and her terrifying mother as fast as his poor legs would carry him. He didn’t even so much as glance round, too afraid that her mother might come after him or change her mind and set the police on him.