This story was written in response to the FitzSimmons Network Rom Com Challenge. Much thanks to LetterToElise and Amanda Rex for beta-reading.
"I don't know," Hunter sneered. "I have a bad feeling about this."
"C'mon, you know we could use another player," Mack insisted, impassive. "I'm tired of wasting my evenings waiting for you to respawn."
Both men were standing side by side in front of the flat-screen TVs with their arms crossed over their chest, surveying the far corner of the store where Shield Tech's repair booth stood.
"It's just, he looks so…"
"–lonely?" Mack suggested.
"–weird," Hunter finished at the exact same time, with a slight grimace of unease.
Mack rolled his eyes. From where they were standing, they could see the booth's occupant glancing nervously in their direction, aware of their scrutiny. It had been a few months since Leo Fitz had started at Shield Tech. The clients loved him. Not only could he bring any electronic equipment back to life, but the rumor was spreading that he didn't stop at fixing things– he improved most devices he was handed, too.
Still, the staff remained wary of him. He did look a bit odd, with his nerdy-patterned ties and his stuffy suit jacket while the other staffers wore polos and slacks. In addition, the curly mop on his head was one missed hairdressing appointment away from bursting into a full-blown afro. He didn't talk much, and when he did, no one could tell if he was joking or not. For the most part, he kept to himself and rarely left his booth, much to everyone's unspoken relief.
Hunter shook his head. "Oh, come on!" he hissed. "Have you heard him talk to himself? I'm pretty sure that he's a serial murderer."
"He's a nice guy," Mack countered confidently. "Just, you know. Maladjusted."
"I would rather avoid having him readjust me into a lampshade, is all I'm saying."
Mack straightened, towering over the shorter man, and raised an eyebrow. "I'll protect you."
"Turbo, my man!" Mack's voice must have sounded ominously cheerful, because Fitz seemed to recoil slightly toward the back of his booth. "Do you have any plans later on tonight?"
Getting a hold on himself, Fitz gulped and rolled his chair back toward his visitors. "Why? Do you need your carburetor fixed again?"
"No, no," Mack gestured placatingly with his hands. "Hunter and I were planning to play some Halo. Do you want to join?"
"With you guys?" Fitz looked entirely taken aback. "Mmh. Sure. Sure, that'd be… sure."
"Do you know how to play?" Hunter piped in from behind Mack's imposing form.
"Yeah." Fitz shrugged. "Yeah, I play online, sometimes."
"We're gonna play in the store," Hunter supplied with a hint of defiance.
"Great," Fitz replied automatically, before he seemed to think it over, furrowing his brow. "Is it… Are we allowed to do that?"
"Absolutely not," Hunter replied cheerfully.
"Yeah," Mack said at the exact same time.
"Oh." Fitz glanced to one, then the other. "Well, sorry, but I gotta tell Melinda about this." He watched, straight-faced, as both men's expression soured, before he cracked a smile. "I'm kidding. Just kidding. This sounds great. I'll see you guys tonight."
"If he kills us both," Hunter muttered as he and Mack walked back to their respective sales stations, "I'm gonna freaking kill you."
Fitz had to admit, playing Halo in the store after hours was pretty sweet. There was the little thrill of the forbidden of course, but they got to use the biggest screen in the place, the one clients kept gaping at but never, ever bought. They even used the oddly comfy, fluffy poufs from the children's aisle, and the top notch ergonomic and improved controllers that cost nearly as much as the console itself, taking the experience from great to decadent.
Mack and Hunter were not bad players, but Fitz had been playing in a pretty competitive guild several nights a week for the past six years. He'd determined early in the evening that he'd better let himself be shot at regular intervals so the guys didn't feel bad and, hopefully, would let him join again.
He still wasn't sure why they'd thought to invite him. They rarely talked during their shifts and, if Mack had always been reasonably friendly, Hunter seemed as wary of him as most of the other Shield Tech employees. The fact remained that they had asked him to tag along, unprompted, and he was secretly thrilled about it. Shy and grumpy, Fitz had few real life friends.
As the evening progressed and empty beers began piling up at their feet, the conversation grew easier, more fluid, although, to Fitz's dismay, it kept veering back to one subject only.
"I asked Elena out," Mack said a propos of nothing as he opened another bottle.
Hunter almost dropped the remote. "Elena? From Security?"
"Yup," Mack confirmed with a lopsided smile.
"She hates his guts," Hunter stage whispered for Fitz's benefit, while his eyes remained glued to the screen.
Mack's easy smile turned into a self-deprecating smirk. "She's warming up to me."
"Did she say yes?" Hunter insisted, his tone wry.
Mack's smile grew blinding as he answered, "Nope."
Fitz couldn't help but grin at Mack's admission and Hunter's ensuing loud snort.
"It's okay," Mack chuckled, shaking his head, his smile never faltering. "I always knew it was an uphill battle. I'll win her over, eventually."
"That's what I used to say about Bob," Hunter said ominously. "Run, my friend. Run before it's too late."
Perhaps sensing Fitz's curious stare, Hunter turned back to clarify, "Bob is short for Barbara. My ex-wife."
"Oh." Fitz nodded in understanding.
"Don't believe a word Hunter says about her," Mack warned. "She's great."
"The greatest psychopathic demon-spawn, maybe," Hunter countered, before he turned to Mack and muttered, "traitor."
Mack rolled his eyes and opted to ignore his friend entirely. "What about you, Fitz? Any lucky lady?"
Fitz winced slightly. He'd been hoping, albeit faintly, that the focus of their chatter wouldn't turn to his love life, or absence thereof. He wasn't a great liar. When he'd first started working the repair booth, he'd tried to stick to the Shield Tech Employee Handbook, but he could barely look customers in the eye when he told them that yes, their piece of crap electronics were worth his time and their money or that buying a ridiculously overpriced DVD player-recorder in the age of Tivo was a good investment. Thankfully, no one had seemed to mind once he'd started telling it like it was. In fact, customers seemed to like him more for it.
"Mmh, yeah– sure. Lots," he tried unconvincingly. To his dismay, he could feel his ears growing hot. "I really get around," he added, wincing at the sheer idiocy of that statement.
"Anyone we know?" Hunter pressed.
"Probably not," Fitz replied, shrugging stiffly. His posture was rigid with unease, something Hunter picked on immediately.
Mack glanced warily at the pair. "Come on, guys, are we here to play or what?"
"You don't look too sure." Hunter narrowed his eyes at Fitz.
"Hunter," Mack said warningly.
"Look, man. If you're into dudes, that's cool with us. You don't have to pretend to be someone you're not alright? Hell knows, I envy your lot sometimes. I'm pretty sure no guy could ever be as evil, manipulative, twisted–"
"I'm not gay, alright?" Fitz exclaimed before rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hand. His entire face felt hot now, his embarrassment obvious to anyone watching. "I just–" He sighed as mortification set in before he even tried to explain. "I don't have an ex. I never– I mean, there were a few girls I liked, and I tried to tell them how I felt but I guess they didn't feel the same way, so…"
"Wait a minute." Hunter's eyes widened as comprehension dawned. "Are you a–"
"Hunter!" Mack barked.
"–virgin?!"
"It's okay. It's gonna be okay. They had a few drinks. Surely they'll have forgotten by morning," Fitz told himself as he stared blindly at his bedroom's ceiling in the dark, his covers raised up to his chin. "And even if they don't, they wouldn't tell anyone, would they?"
Hunter had been very interested in Fitz's admission. Possibly too interested. He'd immediately followed up with a barrage of questions, each more tactless than the last, which Fitz had refused to answer, on principle. Hunter had also mentioned that things made a lot more sense now, whatever that meant.
Mack had looked desolate and apologetic, but every attempt he made at changing the subject was conscientiously ignored by Hunter until Fitz finally announced that it was getting late and it was time for him to go. He'd ridden his bike in a state of frenzied panic all the way home, pedaling like a maniac and earning a few outraged honks from drivers as he zigzagged his way between lanes, muttering words of self-reassurance under his breath.
Fitz didn't sleep a wink that night, his brain wide awake and stuck in a loop of unspeakable panic.
The next morning, his entire body felt heavy and stiff as he rode back to the mall. "No one will say a thing," he muttered to himself as he chained his bicycle in the bike parking just outside of Shield Tech's outside entrance. "Even if they know." Surely people were too polite, too civil to point out such a thing to his face.
And yet, people were staring, Fitz found as he passed the automatic doors. Some of them were staring and whispering at the same time.
Fitz cautiously crossed the store in the direction of his booth, keeping his fingers crossed that he could make it all the way there without having to engage in an actual interaction, when Gareth, the jerk from the Extended Warranty department, surged unexpectedly from the hipster headphones aisle.
"Is it true, Fitzy? Are you really unpopped? How sweet." Gareth was smirking viciously, waving his cup of irish-smelling coffee at him. He pointedly sneered in the direction of Fitz's crotch. "Use it or lose it, kid."
"That's out of line, man." Mack's booming voice sounded irate, but Fitz was too crestfallen to even look in his direction.
It was a fight or flight situation.
Fitz bolted out of the store, running as fast as he could, running for his life. What he hadn't expected, unfortunately, was that Hunter was a much faster runner than he was, or that Hunter would run after him in the first place.
"Come on, mate," the Englishman shouted after him, sounding barely short of breath while Fitz was definitely hyperventilating. "Gareth is a jerk. Ignore him. We all do!"
"I hate you," Fitz panted, turning random lefts and rights, hoping against all hopes that he might somehow lose Hunter. "I have to quit now! I likedthis job."
"Oh, come on. You don't have to quit. No one will say a thing about it again. Mack will make sure of that."
"I think–" Fitz stopped abruptly and slid down to his knees, clutching his chest. That was more running than he'd done over the past decade combined, and he felt appropriately sick. "I think I'm having a heart attack?"
Hunter was next to him in an instant, clutching his wrist and surveying him attentively. After a beat, his mouth twisted in a tight, lopsided smile.
"Nothing a cold one can't fix," he announced, clapping on Fitz's shoulder. "Come on."
"But how– how did it happen?" Hunter asked, a look of genuine concern on his face.
"How did it happen?" Fitz repeated with a grimace, unsure how to even begin answering the question. He took a gulp from his beer and winced slightly– it felt weird, drinking at 9AM, but Hunter had been adamant this conversation couldn't be held over cappuccinos.
"Yeah. How. You're a good looking guy. Surely there must have been... occasions."
"Not really," Fitz shrugged self-consciously. "See, I was a bit of prodigy. Graduated from high school at age thirteen. Went on to have a PhD before I turned 17. I wasn't exactly a social butterfly, and there were never any girls my age around– if there had been, I was too achingly shy to talk to them, anyway. And older girls, they didn't look at me like that. I was small and nerdy, looked even younger than my age."
"Wait. How did a prodigy with a PhD go on to work the repair booth at Shield Tech?"
Fitz huffed a deep sigh. "A combination of bad luck and bad temper, I guess. I was a promising young engineer, but I could never get along with anyone I was paired with. I guess I'm better left alone."
"I don't believe that," Hunter stated earnestly.
"I like working the repair booth," Fitz confessed with a small grin. "I like making poorly-designed devices a little less infuriating."
"Fair enough." Hunter raised his beer and took another large gulp. "So you like fixing things, that's fine. But you can't possibly like being– I mean, don't you feel lonely?"
Fitz felt himself grow defensive. "Hey, I live a very fulfilling life, okay? I have friends– lots of friends. From the guild, mostly, but–" He paused, raking his fingers through his hair. "I collect things. Action figures, comics and– and monkeys."
Hunter waved him away. "That's all great, man, whatever floats your boat, but–"
"Look, what I'm trying to say is– I've kind of accepted the fact that it isn't happening for me."
Hunter looked taken aback. He set his glass on the table and crossed his arms over his chest, thinking.
"How old are you, Fitz?" he asked after a few beats, eyeing him curiously. "23? 24?"
"28," Fitz corrected between gritted teeth.
"Alright. And you're ready to spend the next 50, 60 years on your own? With nobody to kiss or cuddle or bicker with? No one's hand to hold when things get shitty?"
That gave Fitz some pause. His mouth opened and closed hesitantly as he tried to work out a reply. A lifetime of loneliness– now, that was a prospect he'd never even dared to consider.
"Because sex is fine and all, but that's not nearly all there is to this, y'know?"
"I–" That was not something he'd expected to hear from Hunter, of all people.
"See, when she didn't make me wish I was dead, Bob–" Hunter paused to swallow another large gulp, his eyes roaming over the ground. When he spoke again, his voice sounded both sincere and a little despondent. "She was the best thing that ever happened to me. The most fun I've ever had with anyone. And I don't mean in the bedroom. Although that was certainly fun, too."
"Do you miss it?" Fitz asked timidly. "Being married?"
Hunter remained silent so long Fitz thought he'd chosen to ignore the question entirely. "Course not," Hunter said at long last, sounding miffed. "I'm not masochistic."
They drank in silence for a few moments, each lost in depressing thoughts of looming solitude, until Hunter squared his jaw and slammed his palm to the table decidedly, making Fitz jump.
"Look, man," Hunter started, his expression growing more serious than Fitz had even seen him. "I'm sorry for putting you on the spot like that. I really am. But I'm gonna make it up to you, alright?"
"You don't have to–"
"See, all you need is a little guidance–"
"–you really, really don't–"
"–from someone who's been around the block a few times–"
"Hunter, please–"
"It's decided, then!" Hunter grinned as he raised his nearly empty pint, gesturing for Fitz to do the same. "Leopold Fitz, I'm gonna help you get laid."