Archive of Our Own

But when she did a quick scan of the place and saw that she didn't recognize a single person, it kind of felt like she just walked into a bar. 

"Are you joining us for dinner?"

"Huh?"

Jemma turned towards the voice and found herself face to face with the hostess, who apparently was still waiting for the answer to her question.

"Oh, I'm meeting someone," she answered. "A guy."

And was he here? He should be? She scanned the room again, sure that she must have just missed him.

"Why bother?"

"Hmm?"

The hostess cleared her throat. "Nothing, sorry. For dinner?"

"Actually," she said, "I think I'll just wait for him at the bar."

Jemma was sure that the hostess mumbled something in return, but it was hard to focus when she was so worried about her hair, her makeup, and her choice of cardigan. A person only had one chance to make a good second impression.

It was more difficult to look for him when she grabbed her bar stool, since she couldn't be too obvious. That's why she almost missed it when the barkeeper asked what he could get for her.

"Oh, nothing! I'm meeting someone."

She was worried he'd be put off by that, but the bartender only smiled at her.

"Oh yeah? You got a hot date?"

Jemma willed herself not to flush.

"Well, I don't know if you would call it 'hot,' I mean, this guy, Mack, and I have only been out the one time and—"

"You know Mack? Mackenzie?"

Jemma's mouth dropped. "Yeah."

The bartender shook his head. "Mack isn't coming in tonight. Did he, uh, did he forget he said he'd meet you here?"

It was the look of pure, unadulterated concern on the bartender's face that made Jemma hold up a hand to stop him.

"Oh, no, when I said I was going to meet him here, I didn't actually mean I was meeting him," she explained, though the bartender only seemed more confused. "It's more of a broad term. A wide interpretation of the phrase."

The bartender nodded. "Okay, well, I can call him for you."

"No!" 

Jemma found herself trying to hurl herself over the bar to stop the man from picking up the phone, but she must have been dramatic enough to catch his attention, because it seemed to do the trick.

"It's totally unnecessary," she assured him. "I just, I was in the area, and I thought . . ." She turned to rifle through her purse. "I mean, I know he likes to come here, so I thought I'd swing by to return his . . ." Where was it? Oh, for the love of . . . there! "This pen! It's his pen, and he left it, so I thought, you know, that he'd want it back."

She put the pen on the bar with a triumphant flourish, but he only blinked at her with hands on his hips.

"Yeah, okay," he said, picking up the pen, "I'll get it to him." She was about to protest when he brought the pen closer to his eyes to read the branding. "Cal Zabo, DDS."

"Hey," she said, defending herself against his raised eyebrow, "I'm not going to decide what is or isn't important to someone. It would be wrong of me, in fact, to deny a plethora of possibilities with no factual evidence."

The bartender only frowned at her. "Yeah, except, it's not even his dentist."

"Oh yeah," she shot back, "and who is?"

The man folded his arms. "My mum."

It wasn't until his unamused glare pierced her very soul that Jemma realized that the gig was up.

"I'm Jemma," she admitted, "I went out with Mack last week, and I just . . . I thought if I ran into him that he would . . ." She dared to look up into his eyes, was suddenly able to look at the situation from his perspective, and was mortified. Here she was, some crazy girl stalking his friend. What ever made her think this was a good idea? "I don't know," she continued, "I've . . . I'm just going to go."

She was determined to make a clean break when the bartender caught her by the wrist. She looked down at his hand, and it instantly retreated.

"Sorry, I just . . . wait a minute, okay? Just hang out here for a bit, and let me buy you a drink. Just one drink, okay?"

Jemma took another cleansing breath and cursed that fact that it didn't help. 

"I'm Fitz, by the way," he said, "just, just give me two seconds and we can talk, alright?"

He ended up mixing her drink in record speed, but he wasn't able to talk to her until the bar was closing.

"Look," he said as he gathered up empty bottles. "you seem like a nice girl, so I'm just going to be honest. Mack is never going to call you."

Jemma scoffed at him. "Oh really? How do you know?"

"Because I'm a guy," Fitz said, "and that's just how we do it."

Jemma narrowed her eyes at him, taking in his mop of curly hair, ill-fitting t-shirt, and adorable baby face. The idea of him blowing off a girl was laughable, but luckily for him, she had been raised to show restraint.

In most cases, at least.

Jemma folded her arms and leveled a challenging gaze at him. "He said it was nice meeting me."

"I don't care if he said that you're his favorite female since his mum and Sif. It's Occam's razor. If he waited a week to call you, then he's not going to call you." She furrowed her brow, and he sighed at her. "Occam's razor is—"

"No, I know what it is, it's just . . . the simplest explanation isn't the only possibility. Maybe he called me, and my phone didn't ring. That happens sometimes! Or he lost my number, or he went out of town . . ."

"Or maybe," Fitz posited with a finger in the air, "he didn't call because he has no interest in seeing you again."

She stared at him for a second, stung, before she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Well, yes," she said, "but my friend Akela met this guy, Mike. And he almost literally disappeared off of the face of the Earth, but then he showed up a year later, and it turned out that he had been kidnapped by a drug cartel. Kidnapped, Fitz! And now they're together and they're disgustingly happy!"

"And I'm happy for them," Fitz countered, "but she's the exception. The rare exception! Are you seriously going to blame it on kidnapping anytime a guy doesn't call?"

"Okay," she allowed, "but what if I'm the exception?"

Fitz pinched the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. "No, you're not. You're the rule. If a guy doesn't call you, he doesn't want to call you!"

She glared at him. "Really?"

"Yeah!"

"Always?"

"Always." He looked at her and winced. "Look, I work in a bar. I know what blowing off a woman looks like. We would rather lose an arm out a city bus window than tell you that you’re not the one. We are quite sure you will kill us or yourself or both—or even worse, cry and yell at us. So, just trust me when I say that if a guy is treating you like he doesn't care, he genuinely doesn't care. No exceptions. He's just not that into you."

Jemma took a second to mull that over and was surprised to discover that his barbs didn't sting. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more things seemed to slot into place. How had she never seen it before?

And as strange as this night had turned out, the strangest part of it came from Jemma's own lips. 

"Thank you."

Fitz furrowed his brow. "Thank you?"

"Yeah," she said, smiling for the first time that evening. "You've given me a lot to think about."

Jemma sped into the office the next morning with a binder in one hand and a mug of tea in the other, and for the first time in her life, she was almost late.

"Whoa," said Bobbi, "are you okay?"

Both Bobbi and Daisy sprang from their desks and were at her side before she knew it.

"Oh," she said, doing her best to wave it off with tea in her hand, "I stayed up all night."

"Please say that you were working on the heat fixing article," pleaded Daisy.

"Well, that's done—basically done—but that's not what I was working on. I've been thinking about all the guys I've dated and—"

"Jemma," said Bobbi. "what's going on with your hair?"

Daisy frowned. "I think you have a mini muffin in there."

"Here," said Bobbi, "let's get Jemma out of the hallway before people see her like this."

Jemma let them guide her into Bobbi's cubicle, unmoved even as they picked through her hair. "I think I've figured it out. You remember Nick, who disappeared on me after a month, but then Audrey from music and the arts told that story about that guy who disappeared on her and came back a year later?"

Bobbi cocked her head. "I thought Audrey was in accounting."

"No; music." Jemma shook her head. "Anyway, Audrey was the exception, not the rule, and we have to stop listening to these stories, because the rule is that guys who bail don't care about you very much. We can't think we're the exception because we're not the exception."

Daisy folded her arms. "Okay."

"Okay, remember that guy I was so excited about in college that finally asked me out and then stood me up, and then I stalked him for the majority of 2004? Or Jasper, who broke up with me every Friday so he could have his weekends free? We keep dating these jerks, but we let them string us along because someone tells us a story about how they know someone who knows someone who dated a jerk just like mine, but then he changed and they're married. But that's the exception, and we're not the exception. We're the rule."

Jemma smiled as she finished her explanation, pulsing with success and adrenaline, but Daisy and Bobbi only blinked back at her, seemingly unmoved.

"So you're saying," said Bobbi after a pause, "that if I hear a story about a girl who got married to a guy, and then they broke up, but they got back together and are happily married again, that's the exception."

Jemma could practically hear a choir singing. "Yes!"

"But the rule is," continued Bobbi, frowning, "the rule is that it's called a break up because it's broken, and guys like Hunter who are with girls like me are never going to actually end up getting married again."

Jemma found herself looking at Daisy, who was looking right back at her, and they turned to Bobbi in unison.

"No!"

"And that," said the guy that was probably named Will, "is why you never drink and fly."

Jemma wasn't sure if her laughter came from nerves or genuine amusement, but a quick glance to her right met Daisy's glare. She decided it must be nerves. 

"Well, ladies," he said, "I have to go back to work."

Jemma furrowed her brow. "But just said that you can't drink and fly."

"Being a pilot is more than just flying," he said, flashing her a smile. "I have a lot of paperwork I have to catch up on." 

"You have to go back to work after happy hour?" Jemma gave him what she hoped was an adorable pout. "What's so happy about that?"

That's when he winked at her—actually winked at her as he threw back the last of his drink. "I got to meet you. And I'd love to call you some time. Do you have a card?"

Jemma had to keep herself from squealing as she rifled through her purse to retrieve her card, taking extra care to wink back at him when she deposited it into his hand. 

"Great," he said, putting the card in his pocket and producing another card, which he placed in her hand. "And here are my digits. It was nice meeting you, Daisy." He nodded at Daisy, then winked at Jemma again. "And I look forward to hearing from you."

Jemma was about to revel in the butterflies in her stomach when she realized something, and the flutter stopped.

"Wait a minute," she said, getting off her barstool to catch up with him.

"Hmm?"

"Sorry, it's just," she started, taking a breath, "are you going to call me, or am I supposed to call you? That was somewhat vague."

Will (she'd slyly double-checked his name on the card earlier), smiled. "We'll be in touch."

He turned to leave, but she stopped him with a hand on his elbow. "Sorry, but you did it again." She took a breath in and out and forced herself to smile. "Why don't we just say that you'll call me? That way we can just eliminate all this nonsense."

Will cocked his head to one side, wished her goodnight, and walked away.

"Jemma," admonished Daisy when Jemma returned to the table, "please don't Facebook stalk him."

Jemma drew her mouth into a thin line. "I won't." She turned to look Daisy in the eye and was frankly offended by the disbelief written on Daisy's face. "I'm really not this time! And I'm not calling him. If he wants to call me, he'll call." To prove her point, she tore the card up. 

"Wow," said Daisy, "this is a whole new side of Jemma Simmons. That Fitz must have made an impression on you."

"I know," Jemma admitted, "I was really hoping he'd be here tonight to help me." 

"Oh, really?"

Jemma scoffed at Daisy's raised eyebrow. "Not like that. He gives good advice."

"And what, he works here at The Hub?" Jemma nodded, and Daisy narrowed her eyes. "Is he hot?"

Jemma had to think about that for a moment. Fitz, with his overgrown curls and stained t-shirt, was a far cry from someone like Will, but it seemed wrong to simply dismiss Fitz out of hand. "He's handsome," she eventually said, "but I promise you, it's not like that."

She was dimly aware that Daisy mumbled something under her breath, but she was distracted when the man himself appeared.

"Fitz!"

She only wanted to give him a wave across the room, but Fitz put down his dish bin and joined them before Jemma knew what was happening.

"Hey," he said, "it's good to see you."

"You have good timing," Jemma teased.

"Oh?"

Fitz's eyes flicked down to the shreds of paper on the table, then back up at her.

"A guy just gave Jemma his number," Daisy explained, "and she says she's going to wait for him to call." 

The pride seemed to glow in Fitz's eyes. "Good. She should make him do the work."

"Well," countered Daisy, "I think it's kind of nice that he gave her his number. It gives him some accountability. If he forgets to call her, she can call him."

Fitz shook his head. "He wouldn't forget to call her."

"Well," said Daisy, clearly mulling it over, "maybe not, but what if he loses her card or something? I mean, come on, Fitz. This is the twenty-first century. If a woman can be the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, she can give a guy a call. Or ask him out! I asked Grant out, and we've been dating forever!"

Jemma rolled her eyes, "It's been six months."

"I . . ." stammered Fitz, "I can't . . . I don't . . . Okay. A few years back, I was at this sandwich festival, yeah?"

Jemma stared at him. "Sandwich festival?"

"Yeah," Fitz answered, "a sandwich festival. I had a sample of this perfect sandwich, okay? Prosciutto, buffalo mozzarella, and this pesto sauce . . . thing? It was the best thing I ever tasted, but when I went back home that night and I wanted to order another sandwich, I realized that I'd forgotten the name of the restaurant. So I dialed fifty-five restaurants until I found the right one. And that's just what I did for a sandwich. If he wants to make it happen, he'll make it happen, and you shouldn't make up any excuses for him."

"So what," said Daisy, "we're just supposed to wait around for the phone to ring?"

"No!" Fitz shook his head so violently Jemma was half-afraid it would fly off his shoulders. "Go live your life! Go to places you like to go, and do whatever it is you want to do. That'll only make you more attractive."

Daisy opened her mouth to speak when her phone rang, and she had to excuse herself to answer it. Jemma took the opportunity to look Fitz over from head to toe, only stopping when Fitz took a step back.

"What?"

"Fitz," she said, "how is a guy like you still single?"

Fitz pointed to his chest, and then looked over each shoulder. "Me?"

Jemma chuckled. "Of course you! You're this dating guru, after all."

"Oh," he said, fidgeting, "well, not really. I mean, I can tell you when a guy's not interested. And girls, too, because they never . . . are."

"Well, what if I could help you with that?"

He took another step back. "Excuse me?"

"I just . . ." Jemma pursed her lips. "You're being so helpful to me, and I'd like to return the favor. So what about this: you help me learn how to drop guys, and I'll teach you how to pick girls up. Deal?"

She reached out her hand, and after a little hesitation, he took it.

"Deal."

Jemma was more pleased with herself than she could say. The first thing to go, she decided, would be the hair.