A/N: I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.
They were children when they found each other, infinitesimal in the grand scheme, a pair of lonely anomalies sitting still on a racing planet.
By the time Leopold Fitz was 17, he had his first Ph.D.
He might've gotten one sooner. If mum hadn't needed me to be the man of the house. Or if he hadn't spent years ditching class to comb the junkyard for spare parts with his best friend Doug. In Fitz's defense, that wasn't usually his idea - Doug constantly wanted to take stuff apart and blow it up - so he really couldn't be blamed if they got up to some monkey business. In fact, without Fitz to run quality control, Doug probably would've singed off a lot more than his eyebrows long ago. So as it turned out, Fitz was kind of a hero. Not that he was bragging.
His teachers back then didn't seem to care what he was up to either. Yeah, not until mum marched down to the school, report card in hand. Then suddenly it was, "Oh, your son shows such promise, if he'd only apply himself," and as always, Fitz was the one who got in trouble. How was that fair?
Fitz thought he applied himself fine. Who else had built a toilet-scrubbing robot at age 12 to avoid getting his hands dirty? Who'd taken first place in the science fair every year he'd entered? Well, except for that mess in '98. Hmmph. Politics. It wasn't like the device didn't work… it just worked a little too well. He supposed he should thank the school board for overlooking the damage to the auditorium. Still, easily a blue-ribbon invention. Damned popularity contest.
No, Fitz stretched his brain to capacity every day, devouring textbooks on circuit boards and Euclidean space and fluid dynamics, teaching himself so well that his public-school desk promptly became a prison. He wasn't lazy; he just didn't need to diversify his potential by wasting time on Moby Dick. And how could he have failed English? I speak the Queen's bloody English!
So when he'd taken his college entrance exams early and been offered a scholarship at MIT, he didn't hesitate. Sorry, mum. Just as he'd skipped school in his youth, Fitz was eager to trade the stifling environment of his small neighborhood for a daydream of measureless opportunity in the States. And when S.H.I.E.L.D. had tracked him down at an engineering expo, to discuss his latest invention and lend a hand with the patents, he felt a bit like a long-lost brother stumbling into a family reunion. After a lifetime of rushing through childhood, Fitz wondered if he'd finally found a place to play.
By the time Jemma Simmons was 18, she had her second Ph.D.
She'd been one of those precocious babies who stacked the blocks instead of chewing on them, who chimed out a delicate melody when other babies were banging the xylophone against the floor. Her parents took her on leaf walks in the double stroller, planted a garden with a "Caterpillars Welcome" sign, and taught her that "geology rocks." Good one, dad! They filled her costume trunk with spacesuits and tiaras, stethoscopes and swords. Together, her family illustrated Pompeii with baking soda and vinegar, flew homemade tetrahedral kites, and concocted a majestic spectrum of Easter egg dyes.
And the books. Oh, the books. With her family's ample library to choose from, it really was no surprise that Simmons became a lifelong learner. She'd discovered them as soon as she could grasp the pages, and never looked back.
Once Simmons reached adolescence, she'd all but outgrown the Mentos and Coke rocket launches that delighted other teens. Not quite, though. Explosions are thrilling! She'd been running her own experiments in her bedroom lab for years, using her parents' connections to obtain rarer and rarer components. Eventually, she had to stop asking, for fear they would be put on a government threat list. After that, whenever she watched films Simmons secretly sympathized with the evil mastermind. Poor fellow; all he wants is to develop his mad science in peace.
So when she'd earned a place at Cambridge, six years ahead of her peers, it had felt as natural as the turning of the seasons. For all her family's support, their lively enrichment of her studies, she knew she needed to continue her journey of discovery among the best professors academia had to offer. It's not that far, mum, please don't cry. She still saw them two weekends a month, got cookies in the post and sent back letters replete with photos and excitement.
And when S.H.I.E.L.D. had found her at a medical conference, a few hours after she'd assisted her mentor with a presentation on their new biochemical compound, Simmons' ingrained curiosity got the better of her. I could minor in Extraterrestrial Biology? That evening, she walked to her car with her arms full of brochures and her head full of possibilities. Simmons was grateful every day for her upbringing, but if she was being honest, her success to that point had been a joint endeavor among those who shared her name. This was a blessing of a different color. This could be a life of her own.
A/N: So I have this story pretty well planned, and it'll probably be the longest thing I've done. The background / characterization might sound a little familiar, given the number of Academy and Fitzsimmons fics floating around, but I'll try to mix it up when they get into class together.
Thanks to PurifiedDrinkingWater for the character of Doug.
For my take on Fitzsimmons' very first interaction, check out my one-shot, Bubbles.