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Fitz sits on his side of the booth, his arms crossed in front of his chest, watching Simmons finally come back to their table, two bottles of beer in hand.
He squints his eyes, observing the little swagger in her hips.
“Heeeere you go,” Simmons says cheerfully, sliding one of the bottles in front of him before scooting back onto the bench across from him.
Fitz keeps his arms crossed, looking at her sternly.
She wrinkles her forehead. “What’s gotten into you?” she asks, noticeably confused.
Fitz scoffs briefly and shakes his head. “The way you flirt is just shameful,” he remarks.
“Ex-cuse me?” Jemma replies indignantly. “Why would you say that??”
“Because, because,” Fitz stammers. Then he gestures towards the bar. “Because it’s so obvious.” He shrugs. “I mean, I didn’t even have to be there to know that you complimented her sexy haircut and her top hanging off one shoulder, and… and you twirl your hair…and lean forward to give her a good glimpse of your cleavage,” he adds, mimicking her movements.
“Leopold Fitz!” Simmons exclaims, her mouth gaping slightly ajar.
“Well, it’s true,” Fitz replies defensively. “And of course she loves every second of it.” He lifts his shoulders. “Why wouldn’t she? And I mean, it’s not surprising that you’d go for her, with her bad girl shenanigan attitude, and the emo haircut, and the boobs and bells and whistles and choker necklace and—”
He’s about to list more of the bartenders attributes, when Jemma interrupts him.
“Are you jealous because I was flirting with her and not you? Or because I was flirting with her and not you?”
Fitz stares at her in silence for a moment, feeling his heartbeat quicken. “You… you just said the exact same sentence twice,” he attempts a distraction.
“Yes, but emphasis was very different and you know it,” Jemma replies, seeing right through his diversionary tactic.
Fitz swallows, and frantically fumbles for his jacket lying next to him. “I think I should go,” he mumbles quietly, trying to scoot out of the booth.
“No,” Simmons says sternly and he stops mid-movement, his arse halfway lifted of his seat. “No you should not go,” she demands. “You should stay right here and give me an answer.”
He sits back down, defeated. “What difference does it make?” he asks, shrugging his shoulders.
“Can I buy you a drink?” she asks, and Fitz wrinkles his forehead over her non sequitur.
“You just brought us back two drinks,” he notes, gesturing at the bottles of beer on the table.
“Dinner?” she blurts out, leaving him equally confused.
“What?”
“Can I buy you dinner?” she elaborates.
He gestures behind himself with his thumb. “We had dinner earlier.”
She lets out a deep growl, and throws her head back, before looking back at him. “Oh for crying out loud, Fitz, you can’t possibly be that dumb.”
“Gee thanks,” Fitz mutters, sarcastically.
Simmons lets out an angry puff of air. “Are you jealous because I was flirting with her and not you?” she repeats her earlier question, staring directly at him.
Fitz wishes he could dissolve into thin air, but all he manages is to hold her stare and remain silent.
“I won’t drop this topic until I get an answer,” she announces sternly, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
“Why?” Fitz exclaims. “Why do you need an answer?”
She sits in silence for a moment and Fitz is half-hoping that maybe she will drop the topic after all, ‘cause there is no way this is going to end well for him.
“Because I like you!” Simmons announces, and Fitz has to concentrate for a moment to see if his heart is still beating.
“And if you admit that you’re jealous that I’m flirting with someone else, then I’ll stop doing that and instead… will direct my flirting towards you,” Simmons adds.
Fitz is quite convinced by now that this is a dream, or simulation. Yes, some kind of simulation one of their colleagues at Sci-Ops has somehow roped him into without Fitz noticing. Yes, that must be it! Or drugs! Someone had drugged him. It couldn’t possibly be what she had actually said.
“Me?” he mumbles, like in trance.
“Yes,” she replies, adding a little nod for emphasis.
“Me?” he repeats, pointing at himself in disbelief. “You want to flirt with me?”
She shrugs her shoulders. “Well, to be quite frank, I’ve tried flirting with you in the past, but apparently even though you consider my flirting techniques shameful and unsubtle… you’ve never noticed.”
He’s staring at her wide-eyed. “You’ve tried flirting with me?”
“I just said that,” she points out.
“You have?” It’s like his brain is non-existent at this point.
“Fitz!” she exclaims, rolling her eyes.
“And you… like me?” he asks, still unable to let her words sink in.
“How many times am I going to have to repeat myself,” Simmons asks, noticeably annoyed.
“Yes,” he blurts out, and apparently it catches her off guard.
“What?” she asks quietly.
“I was jealous,” Fitz admits, hoping his heart won’t actually jump out of his chest.
A smile flashes across her face. “Because I was flirting with the bartender.”
“Yes,” Fitz sighs. “And when you were flirting with that level three agent from Operations the other night. And when you went on that date with that lab tech… Millie something from Winters’ lab. And well… a few other times too.”
He stares at the table in front of him.
“Why didn’t you say something?” she asks, her voice warm and soft.
He looks back at her and shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t like being jealous,” he explains. “And I didn’t think it was my place to be jealous, considering that we’re not dating, and… I mean… I’ve liked you for a while now, but I had no idea that you liked me back, and… and…”
“So… the whole dinner idea?” she interrupts him, smiling widely.
“You’re sure about that?” he asks, still a little hesitant to accept his surroundings as reality.
She tilts her head. “I believe I’ve asked twice now.”
“Really sure?”
“Leopold Fitz,” she exclaims, “for the last time.”
“Yes, yes… okay,” he backpaddles, raising his hands defensively. “Dinner would be… would be nice,” he stammers, unable to hide a smile.
“Well then,” Simmons replies, grinning mischievously. “Now that that’s settled, you’ll have to excuse me while I tell Skye over there that she has played her role to perfection!”
She gestures towards the bartender and scoots out of the booth.
“Wait, what?” Fitz stammers. “You weren’t—”
“Well of course not,” she says as if it were obvious. “But the other night when I came here early while you were still finishing up your project, she asked me where my boyfriend was and so I had to explain to her that you were not—in fact—my boyfriend, and I may have mentioned my frustration over your incapability to notice my flirting and so she suggested that maybe more drastic measures were needed.”
His mouth gapes ajar, unable to respond, unsure whether to be angry or grateful towards the bartender and her devious plan.
“You can thank her later,” Jemma whispers seductively, and before Fitz can react, she places a quick kiss on his lips, and whatever brain cells had still been active shut down for the night.