Chapter Text
Dr. Leopold Fitz, +1
The invitation had been sitting on his desk for weeks.
At first he had honestly believed it was a joke, a prank set up by some of his colleagues. But then he overheard a few people discussing it in the canteen. A big gala to celebrate the launch of the latest Stark Industries division, and top scientists from all over the globe were being invited.
Once Fitz realized the event was, in fact, real, he moved on to thinking there had been some kind of mistake. Who was he, a Level 4 engineer working in S.H.I.E.L.D. Sci Ops, to be included among the world’s most prevalent scientific minds? It made him laugh just to think about it.
“Please, of course you’d be invited!” Simmons said matter-of-factly when he expressed his doubt. “It’s no secret that your work has been brilliant recently, they were bound to take notice.”
He’d asked one of his superior officers if this was even allowed. Wasn’t it some sort of conflict of interest? But the officer had brushed it off.
“Stark is a consultant for S.H.I.E.L.D. There will be other agents there. Don’t read too much into it. Just go, have a good time. I’ll bet the food will be incredible.”
Simmons had asked him nearly every day whether or not he was planning on attending.
“It’s such a wonderful opportunity!” she’d chirp whenever he replied that he wasn’t sure.
“I’m not planning on leaving S.H.I.E.L.D., Simmons. I’m perfectly happy where I am.”
“Of course, but think of everyone who will be there. Think of all the people you could meet! Scientists whose work we studied at the Academy, and you could ask them anything you wanted! There’s no need to be nervous.”
But it wasn’t the prospect of walking into Stark Tower and facing a room full of powerful scientific leaders that was making Fitz nervous. It was the pesky little +1 on the invitation that had caused him to experience a low level of panic every time he happened to lay eyes on the small square of paper.
And now the event was tonight. He had to make up his mind. Sitting at his desk in the lab, Fitz turned the invitation over and over in his hands, watching as Simmons adjusted her digital microscope with one hand and jotted down notes with the other.
All at once, the answer came to him. Really, he mused, it had been in front of him all the time. He stood suddenly.
“Simmons.”
“So, are you going or not?” said Simmons without looking up from her microscope.
Fitz shifted uncomfortably. Simmons straitened up and looked at him expectantly. Even through the goggles she was wearing, Fitz could see her raised eyebrows.
“Uh…yes. I think I am. I mean, it would feel like kind of a waste not to.”
Her face broke out into a wide smile.
“Oh, Fitz, that’s great!”
“Yep. Yeah, I think it’ll be good. But uhm, there is one thing.”
She tilted her head slightly.
“The, uh, the invitation said plus one. As in me, plus one. Leopold Fitz, plus another person.”
“Oh, that’s—”
“So you’re coming too, of course.”
For once, Jemma Simmons was at a loss for words.
~
Every article of clothing she owned was laid out on her bed. Jemma had put on at least a dozen outfits, and just when she thought she’d found one she liked, she would notice some flaw that, in her mind, deemed it unacceptable to wear to the gala.
Of course Fitz would wait to the last minute to invite her. If only she’d had more time to prepare! She could’ve bought a new dress, gotten her hair done—something. But no, in typical Fitz fashion, he’d blurted it out at the last possible minute.
Finally, she settled on a skirt and top that she didn’t completely hate and set about fixing her hair. There was a knock on her door.
“Not a good time!” she called, pulling down her attempt at an up-do in frustration.
“It’s Bobbi.”
Jemma smiled and went to open the door. She had very few friends at work, other than Fitz. Even at the Academy she’d been too absorbed in her work to save much time for socializing. But just now, Jemma was sincerely grateful to have Agent Bobbi Morse as a friend.
“Perfect timing,” said Jemma as she pulled open the door. “What do you think?”
Bobbi stepped inside and looked her up and down.
“Is that really what you want to be wearing when you meet Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries, let alone Iron Man himself?”
Jemma plucked at the hem of her skirt.
“I quite like this outfit—”
“Absolutely not. Come on.”
~
By the time Jemma emerged from Bobbi’s room half an hour later, she barely recognized herself. She stepped carefully on her way to Fitz’s room, trying not to fall over in her heels. Although she wasn’t looking forward to wearing them all night, she had to admit the effect was striking. Paired with the black cocktail dress Bobbi had loaned her and more makeup than she’d ever worn in her life, and she felt like a different person—in the best possible way.
Jemma smiled to herself as she reached Fitz’s door. Thinking about her appearance wasn’t something she normally did. It felt nice, just this once, to play dress-up.
She knocked and opened the door slightly.
“Fitz?”
“Bloody hell…”
He was standing in front of the mirror, fiddling with his tie and turning to observe himself from different angles.
“Stupid monkey suit. Would probably look better on a monkey, actually. That’d be adorable, wouldn’t it? A cute little monkey wearing a—”
“You look wonderful.”
Fitz stopped scrutinizing his reflection and looked up, gazing at Simmons. He shook his head slightly as if not quite sure what he was seeing.
“I…uh…thanks. You look—wow. You…is that a new dress?”
“Bobbi lent it to me.”
“It’s—you, er, look nice.”
Jemma rolled her eyes, but felt her cheeks burning in a not-unpleasant way.
“Thanks, Fitz.”
He glanced once more in the mirror and smoothed his hair.
“Shall we?”