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It was after Leo’s second birthday, after his silence stretched endlessly on, his mum and dad first realized something was off. It was evident his mind was keen by the way his hands were always busy. He constantly seemed to be sizing up the world like he was trying to take it apart and put it back together.
It was almost as if Leo found words superfluous, something he would master after they had proven their usefulness. “In his own time,” his mum reassured the doting father, finding comfort in the boy’s wide smile and easy manner, his soft blonde curls and the pink swell of his round cheeks. So they waited as the words slowly trickled out, celebrating each with the joy and laughter of a happy family.
***
Although Jemma Simmons spoke her first real word at 9 months, she had already become a champion of nonverbal communication. Her extreme perceptiveness was often the first thing new people noticed about her, the child who seemed to be keeping constant inventory of items and events, ever measuring and calculating. She stood before the world as a sponge, absorbing all it had to offer and relishing every moment.
A child of the upper middle class, her intellect was deftly attended to and baby Jemma found herself enrolled in the best programs to stimulate one’s cognitive development. Violin lessons at 3, science camp at 4, and it wasn’t long before she had a gaggle of sisters on whom to exercise her verbal prowess.
Grammar school was quickly deemed unnecessary (Jemma was reading the Daily Telegraph by age 4) and the best institutions and tutors were sought out to challenge her eager mind. Slowly, dolls and pretend became a waste of her talents, fading into the background, set aside in pursuit of more noble goals.
***
Leo was nearly expelled from school the year after his father died - not that he’d excelled academically before then, but his disinterest in anything to do with formal education had only deepened as his home life crumbled. Leo’s mother, lost in her own grief, was a ghost working longer hours to make ends meet and barely keeping it together. School just fell through the cracks.
To his credit, Leo loved learning. He was driven by the force of his own insatiable curiosity, reassembling and improving every electronic in the house, constantly piecing together new gadgets and devices. Bored with the primers his peers were reading, Leo was instead devouring the HVAC textbook he’d found in his father’s old workshop.
Eventually he stopped going to school all together. It wasn’t worth the daily physical abuse he suffered from his peers and he had long since stopped doing any class work.
After a call from the head of school, Mrs. Fitz found her son in his room - he’d taken apart the vacuum again.
“C’mon, love,” the mother cooed, pulling Leo into the warmth of her arms. They only had each other now.
***
Jemma Simmons lived for the Sunday crossword. Sitting at the table with her father, pen in hand (she’d been allowed to abandon pencil at age 6, when she’d first bested Merl Reagle) it was a rare moment of companionship.
Jemma told herself she didn’t need friends. Sure, there was a circle of intellectually gifted children with whom she often found herself ensnared, at enrichment camps and the like, but Jemma found they often fell into two categories: rich (spoiled) or socially challenged (unbearable), neither group held much appeal to her.
Even among her sisters, Jemma was the outsider. She had always been the one to lead, to forge the path, the other two following hand in hand behind her.
Jemma just felt . . . different. She tried to blend in, but after the lights came up and the movie ended Jemma would try giggling with the others about her favorite scenes, about which actors she found handsome - in the end always feeling like a fraud. She made references no one could place or followed tangents no one could see. Jemma hadn’t intentionally set out to be a loner, she only found she worked best on her own.
***
At the age of twelve, Leopold Fitz had fallen into a tolerable routine. His mother had worked out a deal with the local vocational school - not that they could afford tuition, but despite his past failings Leo had somehow won a scholarship. He solidified his reputation by applying his talents to upgrading and inventing gadgets for faculty members.
Nights were spent tinkering with some old electronic, the whirr of his mind cooled by hum of his mother’s sewing machine and the buzz of the radio. For her part, Mrs. Fitz spent most evenings adjusting cuff lengths or letting out waistlines to accommodate her rapidly growing boy, nimble fingers skillfully manipulating fabric without complaint.
When Leo was recommended for a summer robotics program at MIT, the idea was quickly dismissed. He was all his mother had, he couldn’t leave. It wasn’t until her tear filled eyes met his, pleading for him to accept the opportunity she had never been able to provide, that he realized his world could be larger than he’d ever dared to dream.
***
Jemma Simmons had been looking forward to her S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy orientation all summer. Of course she had received many offers, being a 17 year old recipient of two p.h.D’s, but the resources at S.H.I.E.L.D. in conjunction with the adventure suggested by their purpose had been immediately appealing. She’d spent the bulk of the morning combating the irritation of being fawned at by the various administrators and had now found herself thankfully in the pleasant company of the director, Agent Weaver, who was walking her around campus showing off the best sites. They had just begun discussing the new courses offerings when the older woman surprised Jemma by waving to an awkward young man across the commons, the urgency of her gesture indicating that she hoped he might join them.
He was about her size, his head a mop of untidy blonde curls, eyes scanning the ground and Jemma knew without introduction who he was. She had been repeatedly told that morning she was to be joined in her studies by another young prodigy, the two of them being the youngest accepted to the Academy in its history. It was welcome news, actually, the idea perhaps this time she might not be the only person being gawped at or singled out for her age - that she might not be alone. The boy in front of her, shifting restlessly in his oversized clothing and awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, looked like he was even less inclined to be impressed with the attention than she was.
“Jemma, this is Leopold Fitz. He’s an engineer starting this year at the Academy. I’m glad we ran into you, Fitz. It will be nice for you both to have someone close to your own age around, I’m sure. Would you like to join us on our tour?” Agent Weaver asked warmly. He shrugged wordlessly and fell into step behind them as Weaver continued explaining the better parts of the Academy’s history.
“Agent Weaver! Who do you have with you here?” The group was interrupted by the approach of a whiskered man in his mid 50s, his mustache rippling at every breath.
“Ah yes, Professor Sewall, have you met Dr. Jemma Simmons and Dr. Leopold Fitz? They are two of our new recruits for this year”
Sewall dramatically clutched his chest and stumbled back. “Leopold Fitz? I just read your paper on the evolving application of drone technology . . . And Jemma Simmons? Your contributions to stem cell research are infamous! And so young!”
Jemma put on the forced smile she usually reserved for these occasions and let her thoughts fade to the back as he continued blustering. It was only then she noticed the boy, Fitz, in the middle of an inconspicuous eye roll and sighing like he would rather be almost anywhere else. When he looked up and saw her smile, he shyly returned it, first bringing her attention to the soft blue of his eyes and the way his cheeks were slowly turning pink.
Hope bloomed in Jemma’s chest for the first time in years. Not rich (obviously, if his wardrobe was any indication) and not unbearable (his smile had been quite nice, Jemma thought she might like to see it again), perhaps Jemma Simmons had finally found a friend.
***
The eye roll had been unconscious, Fitz’s natural reaction to people who were wasting his time. That she had caught him, brown eyes filled with warm amusement, and smiled. The novelty of being smiled at by Jemma Simmons, brilliant scientist, ok, beautiful brilliant scientist - was immediately destroyed by distressed humiliation as he felt the hot red of his blush spread upwards from his neck.
His eyes fled back to the ground and he felt her attention move on. As Jemma fell into easy conversation with the two adults, Fitz couldn’t help but feel they might actually get on. She was remarkably close to him in age and he found himself getting caught up in her research as she explained her most recent endeavors, his thoughts peppered with modifications and applications he hadn’t the courage to share.
She’d noticed him at least. Now he just had to think of something clever to say.