Chapter Text
Jemma is seven when Fitz first walks into her fifth grade classroom. Like her, he’s three years younger and six inches shorter than everyone else. Like her, he’s moved to the States from the U.K. and speaks with a British accent (and though his is decidedly more Scottish, it still reminds her of home). Like her, he holds himself awkwardly, holding his limbs as closely to himself as possible, tiptoeing around everyone to ensure he doesn’t draw attention to himself. Like her, he’s too smart for his own good.
She follows him around like a duckling who has been imprinted by his face. He doesn’t encourage her, but he doesn’t exactly discourage her either. Even so, Fitz mostly prefers to play football with his cousin, Lance, who is the same age as them but still in the second grade.
Jemma is okay with this. She just sits on the sidelines and digs through the dirt. She loves digging through the dirt on the field. It’s soft and damp and smells like green, even though it’s brown. It’s not like the dirt at the park by her house, which is coarse and dry and polluted with bits of twigs and jagged shards of rock. Jemma smiles widely as a new friend burrows out of the dirt to greet her. She scoops it up in her hands and scrambles to the end of the field.
“Fitz!” she shouts, running up to him with one cupped palm covered by the other. “Look!”
Fitz pauses and walks to the sidelines. “What is it?”
Jemma opens her palms and thrusts her hands forward to show him. “It’s a roly-poly!”
Fitz grimaces and recoils. “That’s gross!”
Jemma frowns. “It’s not!”
“Oi!” Hunter shouts from the goal post. “What’s the holdup?!”
Fitz looks at Jemma apologetically. “Gotta go.” He takes off running, dribbling the ball between his feet.
But at school and in class, Fitz sticks to Jemma like she’s his only friend - mostly because she is. This is especially true when they turn eight and move on to middle school, while Hunter stays behind to start third grade. Fitz starts to cling to Jemma as fiercely as she clings to him because everyone else around them is changing rapidly. The boys’ voices deepen, the girls grow little bumps on their chests, everyone is starting to grow extra hair all over, and they’re all getting a bit gossipy and territorial and it’s all a bit frightening for them.
So instead of eating lunch in the cafeteria, they sneak their sandwiches into the back corner of the library and study or play cards or look through the comic books that Fitz brings from home even though he’s not supposed to.
“Okay,” Jemma whispers, signalling that she’s done reading the page.
“You’re not taking enough time to appreciate the illustrations,” Fitz complains. He turns the page anyways.
Jemma leans a little closer to him so that their temples are practically touching. “If you could have any superpower in the world, what would you want to have?” she asks.
“Super strength,” Fitz answers immediately. He’s always hated being the skinniest and the smallest and the weakest.
Jemma wrinkles her nose. “How boring.”
Fitz chooses to ignore her assessment. “What would you want?”
Jemma mulls it over for a few moments. “Teleportation.”
“Yeah?” Fitz asks, surprised. He thought her superpower of choice would have been to be the most knowledgeable of know-it-alls. “Why?”
“I could visit my grandparents in Sheffield whenever I want,” Jemma tells him. “And I could take you to visit your dad in Scotland.”
“I doubt my dad wants to see me,” Fitz mutters. Jemma ignores him.
“And then we could go all over the world!” Jemma exclaims. She wraps her fingers around Fitz’s forearm. “We could see everything there is to see! The pyramids, the Great Wall - we could go to the panda breeding facility in Chengdu and play with all the baby pandas!”
“What about the monkeys?” Fitz reminds her.
“Of course!” Jemma assures him, quite magnanimously. “We will visit every single monkey.”
Fitz likes Jemma best when her enthusiasm for the world bubbles over - when her eyes light up with curiosity and her nose crinkles in excitement and her grin stretches across her entire face. It’s contagious and she makes him a bit more excited to be alive.
“You’re my best friend,” Fitz tells her without thinking.
Jemma’s smile stretches even wider. Moving quickly, like a hummingbird flapping its wings, she leans forward and presses a light kiss to Fitz’s cheek.
Fitz grimaces. “Gross!” he protests, wiping the kiss off with the palm of his hand. “What’d you do that for?!”
Jemma looks at him as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Because you’re my best friend, too.”