It finally happens on a brisk Saturday afternoon, walking the streets of Washington DC, arms intertwined, and laughing about something neither of them can remember.
"Say, give an old man a hand?" The rattle of a cup, the meager smile, the hoarse voice, the smell of whiskey. The man draped in clothing that doesn't fit sits on a couple of blankets, looking up at them, leaning against the wall. He extends his hand, shaking the cup again, and when Fitz and Jemma pause, the crowd parting around them, he shifts onto his knees and gives them another toothless grin.
Fitz and Jemma share a glance, and untwining her arm from Fitz's, Jemma reaches into the pocket of her coat.
"Promise me." Jemma says, giving the man a few dollars with a slight smile. "That you won't spend it all on alcohol."
The man tips his hat, bringing the cup to his chest. "Thank you, ma'am. Sir."
Fitz nods, Jemma waves, and they walk away.
They've managed a couple of steps before they hear the rattle of the cup again, and the hoarse voice asking someone else.
"Sir, can you spare some change?"
"Fuck off."
Jemma stops, and grips Fitz's hand tightly. Anger grows in the pit of her stomach, and she's inhaling and exhaling, inhaling and exhaling, shakily, trying to keep a lid on it. The scarf wrapped around her neck is suddenly unbearable, and she quickly loosens it.
Fitz stops, heart pounding in his chest. Fear grows in the pit of his stomach, and he's inhaling and exhaling, inhaling and exhaling, faster and faster and faster-
His left hand begins to shake, and he shoves it into his pocket.
Finally, he holds his breath and - squeezing Jemma's hand as tight as she's squeezing his, feeling like he might be sick - Fitz turns around and meets his father's eyes.
They're exactly like his own.
At first, it seems that Alistair doesn't know who he is.
Fitz can see it, the way Alistair halts in front of him, narrowing his eyes and cocking his head slightly to the left, pursing his lips.
Then comes the change- the eyes widening, the smile emerging, the head thrown back with laughter and then shaking back and forth in disbelief. Fitz can only stare as Alistair recognizes him as his son
"Leopold? Is that really you?"
I'm gonna be sick, Fitz thinks.
He manages a nod, and manages not to lose Jemma's hand as Alistair pulls him into an embrace, rocking him back and forth, patting his back. When Alistair finally lets go, he holds Fitz away at arm's length and shakes his head yet again.
"My son! I can't believe- look at you! You're a man now! - My, my! And who is this beautiful lady you've got here?" Alistair laughs, dropping his hands from Fitz's arms and putting them on his hips. "I can't believe my son is with such a gorgeous woman!"
Fitz quickly glances over at Jemma who is smiling through clenched teeth, and clears his throat.
"Da," Fitz says, although the word rolls strangely off his tongue. "This is Jemma. My wife."
"We must go to dinner at once, dear boy, I want to know everything about you."
He throws his arm across Fitz's shoulders, and leads him away.
Jemma still holds on to Fitz's hand. Holds on tight.
(Not that he could've let go, anyway.)
At first, Alistair didn't even recognize him, so it isn't a surprise to Fitz that he's so oblivious about the way Jemma looks at him.
It's more of a glare, really. She glares at him as they enter the restaurant, maneuver their way to a booth, and sits next to Fitz, close enough so their shoulders touch. Fitz places a hand on her knee, and she blinks, turns to him and gives him a tight-lipped smile.
Alistair leans forward, linking his fingers on the table.
Jemma returns to glaring at him.
"So what do you-"
"Hello!" A waitress cheerily interrupts Alistair, handing out menus. "Can I get you folks anything to drink?"
"No no, I haven't touched a drink in years, dear." Alistair laughs, waving his hand dismissively.
"Leopold?"
"No, thank you." Fitz faces the waitress.
"I'm fine too, thank you." Jemma adds.
The waitress leaves, and Alistair opens his mouth to speak.
"Are you even gonna ask how mum is?" Fitz says, a hint of a shake in his voice.
Alistair lets out a breath and leans back, nodding.
"Alright, I guess I deserve that." He clears his throat. "So, how is she?"
Fitz blinks. "Good. She's good."
"I am sorry about that, Leopold." Alistair suddenly leans forward over the table, causing Fitz to flinch back. "I'm sorry I didn't take you with me. That I left you without a father-"
Jemma breaks her silence with a short laugh, shaking her head.
"You leaving was the best thing you've ever done for him."
Alistair narrows his eyes. "Excuse me?"
Fitz turns to face her. "Jemma-"
"I know you, Alistair Fitz." Jemma lowers her voice, spitting his name. "I know who you really are. Charming. Thoughtful. Manipulative. But you can't hide. It comes out, eventually. How ugly you are. You put people down because it makes you feel big. But you're just a small, small, ugly man."
Alistair begins to laugh, but when Jemma doesn't move and Fitz stays quiet, he ceases.
"Now listen here, girl," he growls, jabbing his finger onto the table and leaning towards Jemma. "I trust you take good care of my boy, but you don't get to talk to me that way." He turns toward Fitz, raising his voice. "You're letting your wife speak for you, Leopold?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Fitz notices the waitress pause, a pitcher in her hand, turning around to walk away quickly. He blinks, looking at the table, and reaching up to rub his forehead. He sees his shaking hand, and brings it back down to his lap.
"Fitz is a doctor." Jemma leans forward, until she and Alistair are nose to nose. "He did that, without you. He's brilliant, and kind, and caring, even though you did nothing but make him think he wasn't. And here you are, sitting there, lying to yourself by thinking you care about him?" Jemma sits back, crossing her arms and lifting her chin. "You disgust me."
Alistair suddenly stands up, zipping his coat, huffing.
"You married quite a girl, son." Alistair fumbles with his pocket, and slaps a business card onto the table. "Call me when she's off her period."
Jemma begins to stand, slamming her hands on the wood, but Fitz grabs her arm, shaking his head.
Alistair leaves, walking briskly, never glancing back.
"I'm sorry."
"Oh, Fitz." Jemma rolls over, reaching out and combing his hair with her fingers. "Why are you sorry?"
"That I let him talk to you like that." Fitz closes his eyes and lets out a breath. "That I didn't say anything."
Her lips are on his, then his cheek, then his forehead. "I'm sorry I said something. It shouldn't have been me."
Fitz keeps his eyes closed, tilts his head, and finds her lips again.
"But I don't know," he says between kisses, "how to say what I feel."
He opens his eyes to find hers looking at him. She smiles sadly.
"Well, when you do, you know how to find him."
Somehow, that's not reassuring.
He's not angry when there's a knock on the door, and it's Daisy, holding grocery bags in one hand and a pack of beer in the other. He knows that he should be, though. Angry. He should be furious. It's no coincidence that Daisy's come a couple of days after him seeing his dad, and only a few minutes after Jemma's left for the gym.
"You knocked," he finally says.
"Don't get used to it." Daisy pushes past him, making her way towards the kitchen. He follows her as she lifts the bags onto the counter and sets down the beer. Turning around, she flashes him a smile, lifting her arms for a hug. "Hey you."
He can't help but laugh, folding into her embrace. "Hey, Daisy."
She gives him a pat on the back and lets go, brushing a strand of hair away from her eyes.
"Come on, we're making dinner."
Four beers in, Daisy's carving out the peppers as Fitz is mixing the ground beef and the rice on the stove, and he finally manages to say something.
"Jemma told you."
He glances up and looks back, only to see her shrug.
"Jemma tells me everything." Daisy pauses, looking up and pointing the knife lazily at him. "And I mean, everything."
He rolls his eyes, turning back towards the pot, letting the steam and the smell of tomato sauce hit him.
"But she told you," he says, blinking. "About him."
"Yeah. She did. And I love you, but Alistair sounds like a dick. 'Call me when she's off her period.'" Daisy snorts as Fitz turns around to see her ruthlessly digging out the seeds. "What a sexist loser."
"Yeah." Fitz turns back to the stove again, gripping the spoon tightly.
"It's actually kind of funny." Daisy continues.
"Yeah."
"In a completely non funny kind of way."
Fitz stirs the pot silently until Daisy sighs.
"I'm glad Jemma told me, and totally set this up, but I wish that you would've said something to me first."
Fitz quickly looks back.
"Why?" he asks, trying to read her.
Daisy sets down the last pepper and takes a swig of her beer.
"Because I love you, dummy. And I hate that you're hurting." Daisy sets down the beer and leans forward, hands on the table. "Not to mention I've got my own Daddy issues, remember? We both grew up without fathers. Even if you did, technically, have a father, he wasn't really one at all. I know, on some level, how you're feeling. I know it sucks, and I know that the last thing you want to do is to talk about it." Daisy picks up the knife and carves out the pepper. "But it helps."
Fitz turns the knob to simmer. "I thought I didn't care anymore. That I didn't need any closure, or whatever." Fitz moves over to the fridge, avoiding looking at her.
"What do you think now?"
"I think I was wrong."
Daisy hops up from her seat, carrying over the cutting board and standing next to Fitz as he spoons the rice and beef into the peppers.
"Do you wanna hear what I think?"
He lets out a curt laugh, glancing at her as he fills the last one. "Do I have a choice?"
"No." she says. "You don't."
Daisy's hand touches his arm, and he stops.
"I think that I could tell you anything," Daisy begins. "I could tell you what you want to hear, which is that you can move on and never see him again, or I could tell you what you don't, and that's that you have to see him and confront him. But you know what? It wouldn't matter." She squints her eyes and pokes his chest. "You have the choice, Fitz. Nobody can make that for you, except for you. It's your choice to make. But that doesn't mean that you have make it alone."
Daisy reaches over and begins placing the peppers on the tray.
"I'm scared." Fitz whispers.
Daisy pauses, and meets his gaze. "That's okay. It's okay to be scared. You don't want to get hurt again." She opens the bag of cheese and pours it on top, then takes the tray, steps around Fitz, opens the oven and puts it in. "And if you do - get hurt, I mean - then Jemma won't be the only one to make him regret it."
She flashes him a grin, and he can't help but grin back.
After dinner with Jemma and Daisy, he excuses himself to make a phone call.
Leo? Is that you?
Yeah, it's me.
You called!
Yeah, I did.
…Is everything okay? Is Jemma alright?
Yeah, Mum, she's fine.
Oh, good. Give her a kiss and a hug for me, would you?
Always.
…Leopold. What's the matter?
It's… nothing. I just… wanted to hear your voice.
You're full of shite, love. But I appreciate it.
And I don't know if I ever said it, but I wanna say thank you. Thank you for being you, and for loving me even when it was hard.
Oh, darling. It was never hard.
…
...
Okay, well. I have to go. I love you.
I love you too, Leo.
Okay.
And if you ever want to talk about what's bothering you—
I know, I know. You're here.
Always.
He hangs up the phone, takes a deep breath, reaches into his pocket and dials the number on the business card.
Daisy said he didn't have to be alone, so he isn't going to be.
He tells Daisy and Jemma as they're eating dessert that he's set up the meeting with Alistair for Wednesday afternoon, in the park.
"Of course I'll be coming with you, Fitz."
He shakes his head. "No, you're not, Jemma."
Jemma stops carving into the carrot cake and glares at him, gripping her fork and knife in her grasp. "I am your wife."
"And I love you." Fitz reaches over the table to touch her hand. "But I don't know if I'll be able to restrain you this time if he says the wrong thing. And you know he will."
Jemma narrows her eyes at him and then relaxes, Fitz leaning back into his seat. "Fine. Then Daisy will go, right?"
Sitting at the head of the table, Daisy chews, swallows, raises her glass and nods, taking a sip.
Fitz shakes his head again. "Sorry, but no, Daisy."
Daisy shrugs. "It's okay. You really wouldn't be able to hold me back."
She takes another sip of milk, leaving her with a faint line of white across the top of her lips.
Fitz glances back at Jemma, taking a bite out of his cake.
It's delicious.
Fitz waits on the bench underneath the tree, hands in his pockets, watching as his breath turns into mist. It's quiet, and he finds that's exactly what he needs.
"Leopold! Son!" Alistair laughs, pulling Fitz off the bench with a handshake and then an embrace, thumping his back. "I knew you would call."
He glances next to Fitz, and puts on a grin. "I see you declined to bring your wife, but nonetheless brought another beautiful woman for me to meet! And who might you be?"
May crosses her arms, glaring at him.
"Leopold," Alistair says, turning back towards Fitz. "What is with all the women in your life?"
"I wa-want to say a few things to you." Fitz finally says. Alistair stares at him for a moment, and then sits on the bench.
"Fine." He huffs, pulling his jacket closer around him.
Fitz blinks, opening his mouth, unable to get the words out.
"Well? What is it, boy? Out with it!" Alistair grumbles.
"I want to thank you."
Alistair freezes. "…What?"
"I-" Fitz inhales and exhales. "I want to thank you."
Alistair chuckles, looking around and shifting in his seat. "For what?"
"I've dealt with a lot of shite in my life. People using me, people pretending to care about me, people making me feel like I'm not smart or good enough or worth anything." Fitz swallows. "People like you."
"Leopold-"
"So, I want to thank you. For leaving. It's taken me a long time, but I've realized that was the best thing you've ever done for me, as your kid. I used to wonder why I wasn't enough to make you stay, and it made me think you were right about me all along. Now I realize, actually being with people who love me and care for me, that if I wasn't enough to make you stay, then you didn't deserve me."
Alistair stares at Fitz, and Fitz stares back.
(May looks on at Fitz, and smiles slightly.)
"I don't want you in my life, and, frankly, I don't need you." Fitz finishes. "I'm worth more than you ever made me feel, Alistair."
Fitz crumples up the business card and throws it into the trashcan, turning towards May.
"Jemma made brisket for dinner. You staying?"
May nods, but bends over towards Alistair, who is still sitting perplexed on the bench.
"I know how to kill a man in two hundred and thirty seven ways," she says, and drops her voice even lower to add: "And that's only with my bare hands."
May straightens up and pulls on her gloves.
"You know how much I love Jemma's brisket."
Fitz laughs, and they turn and walk away.
.
"I'm so proud of you." Jemma says, eyes shining as he walks through the door. She gives him a kiss and wraps her arms around him. "So, so proud."
"Thanks, Jemma." He holds her tightly and buries his face into her neck. Safe.
May closes the door behind them, and Jemma steps away. She slings her arm around Fitz's shoulders and leads him through the house towards the dining room.
Daisy's sitting in front of a computer, the light from the screen reflected on her face. When he enters the room, and she looks up and sees him, she stands up and wipes her eyes with a flick of her hands. Fitz laughs, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a microphone.
"Some hacker you are," he says.
Daisy half laughs, half sobs, reaching up to wipe her eyes again.
"Come here. " Fitz beckons with his hands.
He rubs her back as they hold each other and she sniffles. He closes his eyes to try to stop himself from tearing up, too.
"You, Leopold Fitz." Daisy whispers. "You deserve to be loved."
Fitz thinks of his mum. He thinks of Coulson, Mack, and Elena and then he looks around at Jemma, May, and then back to Daisy.
"Yeah," Fitz replies. "I am."