This story takes place a week after the events of 1x06 F.Z.Z.T. Agents of Shield belongs to it's super awesome creators and ABC and Marvel.

Disclaimer: Cortexiphan is not real. Your food is not going to kill you. (Probably, what do I know? I've never met you're food.)

"Fitz no," Simmons said firmly, removing the box of strawberry pastries he had placed in the cart and reuniting it with it's twins on the shelf.

"Oh c'mon Simmons!" he protested. "I think I can chose my own food."

"Apparently you can't," she said absentmindedly examining a box of granola bars.

He frowned at her and returned the box to the cart.

"You aren't buying those," she insisted, taking them out again. "They are filled with cortexiphan."

He raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms stubbornly. "So? That sounds delicious."

"Do you know what cortexiphan is?" she demanded exasperatedly, putting down the granola bars and matching his pose.

"Food colouring? Some unnecessary additive the government doesn't want us to know about? Something you're making up to get me to eat more vegetables?" he guessed.

"Because, I am such a superb liar," she scoffed and rolled her eyes as he said the last one. "And me telling you other food is filled with dangerous substances is the only motivation that could possibly make you eat vegetables. That they are filled with essential nutrients to keep you healthy would never cross your mind."

"Simmons it's fine," he asserted, overlapping her final statement. "Stop worrying about me. I'm more likely to die getting shot by a bad guy than by eating a pastry."

She tilted her head and glared him a patronizingly. 'Of course I have to worry about you,' she thought, 'you make horrible decisions.'

She decided that, perhaps, he'd be more likely to make good ones if he had all the information.

"Cortexiphan is a large organic compound which can build up in your brain," she told him matter-of-factly, "and negatively effects motor function, memory and decision making. Like alcohol, it can pass through the blood-brain barrier. Rats given cortexiphan were six times more likely to develop Alzheimer's, dementia and psychosis. They also were four times more likely to develop cancer within their lifetime."

"Then why the hell would anyone put it as an ingredient in food?" he asked skeptically.

She shrugged and shook her head, "The hell if I know."

He appeared to consider what she had said for a few seconds.

"Still eating it," he declared, placing the box back in the cart.

"Uuhhg!" she exclaimed removing the box, "Fitz!"

"Simmons you don't understand," he complained, watching it longingly as it was returned to the shelf. "These are the best strawberry pastries. They are perfectly flaky and the strawberry filling is just right; not too tart and not too sweet. They're amazing."

"What does it matter how good they taste if they're going to kill you!?" she shot back, wondering how someone so intelligent could be so incredibly stupid sometimes. "You can have anything else in the store, anything! I'll even buy it for you, just please, please listen to me about the pastries."

His face set into a stubborn frown, eyes narrowed. "Do you remember how you said I saved your life last week? You told me I gave you hope when you didn't have any."

"Yes, of course, you were very brave. Thank you." she replied impatiently, not sure where he was going with this.

"And remember how I said you didn't owe me anything? I told you, 'that's just what we do, we look out for each other.'"

"Yes..." she answered slowly.

"Well I changed my mind," he informed her, "you owe me strawberry pastries."

Simmons burst into laughter, she couldn't help it, his argument was so ridiculous.

"It's isn't funny Simmons," he grumbled, looking offended. But it was.

He waited agitatedly for her to stop, tapping his foot and gazing around nervously to see if anyone was watching.

"So, you're saying," she managed when she could breath again, "that because you helped me stop an alien virus from turning my brain into a baked potato, I'm suppose to let you fill yourself up with poison which is going to destroy yours? Do you realize how absurd you sound?"

"Well...I...I mean..." he stammered, sounding slightly less confident.

"Here's me returning the favour," she declared. "I'll make you some less toxic strawberry pastries on the Bus, ones which won't irreversibly damage your internal systems. How does that sound?"

"But-" he began.

"Fitz please, just do this for me," she interrupted, uninterested in whatever other ludicrous argument he was about to put forth. "I don't want to lose you to strawberry pastries when we're fifty five. Everyone will be gathered around your tombstone, somewhere nice with lots of trees, and some estranged relative will ask me 'how did poor Fitz die so young? I thought he wasn't doing to bad, except for the secret agent thing-"

"They probably won't know I'm a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent," he interjected but a small smile had formed on his face and she could tell he was holding back a laugh.

She grinned back at him, "'Poor Fitz was doing so well," she continued, "he lived such a risk free life and always ate all his vegetables. What happened to him Simmons?' And then I'll have no choice but to shake my head sadly and reply 'strawberry pastries, strawberry pastries are what happened,' and they'll shake their head as well and reply, 'too many wonderful souls have been lost to the tyranny of strawberry pastries.'"

They had both erupted into giggling by the time she finished and people walking past with their groceries were giving them strange looks. Neither of them of them noticed though.

"Alright fine," he agreed, still chuckling, "I'll let you make me some of your own strawberry pastries."

"Excellent," she cheered brightly, "So glad you're finally thinking clearly."

"Well I was actually thinking about Skye," he said, surprising her.

"Skye?" she asked, confused. What did their friend have to do with strawberry pastries?

"She's always eating my snacks," he explained.

'You're always eating her snacks you mean,' she thought but she let him continue.

"And it's one thing for me to risk my life but let's say she found a box of the pastries in my stash-"

"She'd eat them and possibly get sick." Simmons finished.

"Yeah," he nodded, "and that would be another wonderful soul lost to the tyranny of strawberry pastries."

"We can't let that happen," she proclaimed.

"No we can't," he agreed, pushing the cart away from the shelf. "C'mon Simmons, let's go find some strawberries."

Fun Background

Thank you! to everyone who read, liked, or reviewed my other stories. You are all wonderful souls.

The Fringe reference in this story is cortexiphan. Cortexiphan (I have used this reference previously) is a drug used in the (fictional) series to give children super powers. (Though with mixed, sometimes horrible results.) It does affect the brain and it does kill adults who were not exposed to it as children so I thought it fit.

This is, like a number of my stories, a spinoff of the conversation in Audio Commentary. It is also based of a conversation I had with notapepper.

Don't worry, Fitz doesn't really think Simmons owes him anything, he just wanted pastries. They save each other's and their teammates save them (and vice versa) so often they know it's just how things are.

I may write another chapter in which Simmons actually makes the strawberry pastries (and not so spoiler: of course they are better than the boxed ones!)

I got inspiration to write parts of this by looking up quotes by Simmons and Fitz (yay internet). Simmons storytelling ability was based off her creative cover story in T.R.A.C.K.S. (Does anyone know why the tittle is an acronym?)