Disclaimer: No owning of the S.H.I.E.L.D.

Author's Note: Takes place pre-T.R.A.C.K.S.

"Ravenclaw." FitzSimmons answered simultaneously. Fitz sometimes wondered if the "in-sync-ness" of FitzSimmons ever perturbed anyone on the team.

"Well fine. That was a gimme, but what about everyone else?" Skye asked as she leaned on the Bus's bar from the bartender's side, pointed her beer at the two scientists, raised her eyebrows, and shook her head like it was profound question no one had thought of. Without missing a beat, Simmons responded. "Gryffindor." "Duh." Fitz added meaninglessly as he took a swig from his nearly empty bottle. Skye made an exacerbated noise as she polished off her beer. "God this is so boring." She let her head fall with a gentle 'thunk' on the bar's top.

"Now wait a minute. You can't just start a conversation and not properly finish it." Fitz said. "Ugh," Skye replied, "Clearly you two have all the answers already so it's no longer a conversation. It's just a lecture that I didn't realize I was stepping into. Stupid Skye, when FitzSimmons are involved, there are no questions, only lectures."

"That's not entirely true." Simmons began. "If we had all the answers, then I would not be asking you, what house are you in?" Skye's head popped off of the bar. "I thought I was included in 'everyone else'," Skye made finger quotes around 'everyone else,' "Are you telling me I don't belong in Gryffindor?" There was a brief moment of silence, broken only when Fitz crawled over the bar (the beers were finally hitting him) and rummaged about. A mischievous smile was plastered across his face as he slowly stood up, a bottle of Scotch in his hands.

"Oh Fitz." Simmons clucked disapprovingly, "I don't understand how you can drink that stuff." "This, my dear Simmons…" Fitz was perched himself on the bar top and leaned close to Simmons, "…is the nectar of the gods." He held the bottle behind him and Skye slipped it out of his hands to begin pouring two glasses.

"Ok." Skye handed Fitz a glass as he slid off of the bar top. Simmons rolled her eyes. "New topic. Why have I never heard anyone call you Leo?" It was like a sudden Ice Age had descended within the Bus. Fitz's demeanor immediately changed and he visibly stiffened, glass halfway to his mouth. "Don't call me that, evar." The Scotsman took a large gulp of his Scotch, nearly draining the glass in one go. Simmons looked at Fitz, concern deep in her eyes.

The little voice in the back of Fitz's head was telling him he was being unfair to Skye for reacting as poorly as he did, but he didn't care. The only thing in life Fitz truly hated with every fiber of his being - was being called Leo. When he was introduced as 'Leopold Fitz' at the Academy, Simmons had been holding his hand, and he had anticipated those two names to be said together. But being caught unaware, it left him vulnerable to the onslaught of repressed memories and the indignation boiling beneath his skin.

It wasn't so much an awkward silence, but an uncomfortable silence; the kind where it almost physically manifested itself as a shroud covering the room. "Wow. Turned this night super awkward didn't I? Simmons," it was noticable how desperately Skye was trying to make the uncomfortableness go away, "you must bring the happiness back. And to do that," Skye was visibly scrambling, "You must…" she shoved her untouched glass of Scotch under Simmons' face, "drink this Scotch!" Simmons' nose wrinkled in disgust when Skye placed the glass by her, but she peered over at her closest friend and realized that she had to do something to take his mind off of the dark place he had entered. So Simmons grabbed the glass and let the smoky, amber drink slide its way down her throat, burning as it went. She devolved into a coughing fit which caused Fitz to smile. He knew how much Jemma hated Scotch and he appreciated that she was willing to drink it in the hope that it would cheer him up. And it did cheer him up and the mood once again returned to its earlier levity.

"Well if you two are going to attempt to drink that swill all night, that I shall bide you both a good evening." Simmons said as she pushed the offending glass across the bar as she stood from the stool. "Well dear sweet lady. We shan't offend your delicate sensibilities with our foul mouths and nasty drinks." Skye curtsied, "please have a pleasant evening, devoid of the festive libations. Mr. Fitz," Skye turned to the curly haired man, "I do believe it is that hour that gentlemen must retire to the billiards room for a cigar and a night cap."

Simmons sighed. "Where, exactly, do we have room for a billiards room, Miss. Skye?" Skye peered around the room. "Clearly it's over there." Fitz was next to Skye, bottle of Scotch in hand, gesticulating towards to cargo ramp. "My dear…" Fitz was suddenly confused if he should refer to Skye as Miss. or Mr. She clearly began the dialogue referring to herself as a gentleman, but Simmons had called her Miss… "…friend (that's safe and not awkward). Miss. Simmons, we do beg your pardon for our leave but it surely no place for a lady of your, refinement and stature." Fitz added a little bow for good measure.

"You know, I don't think we've ever really hung out together, just you and I." Skye poured herself another drink. The drawing room (it has initially been the billiards room but the SUV felt more like a drawing room) felt crowded to Fitz who was far more comfortable in the cold, open, expanse of a lab. It was almost, too intimate, for Fitz. He used to tell himself he didn't need anyone else; but more than anything he was scared because he knew he needed someone badly, someone to save him. Needing someone meant that he was never quite good enough being himself. Being this close to someone meant he would have to share his weakness. And Skye had lied to them once. Rather he responded, "I believe you're right. I wonder why that is?"

"I guess it's because you're either in the lab working or with Simmons. I mean," Skye finished off her glass, "the fact that the both of you are literally called one name, where does someone like me fit in?" Fitz had felt that same feeling of longing; longing to belong, to matter to someone. He might not have been good at reading people, or understanding when to just stop talking, but he saw that pain deep down. The same pain he felt whenever he was referred to as 'Leo.' "That's your problem Skye. I don't know why you haven't realized it yet, but you're part of the bloody team. FitzSimmons can't exist now without Skye. It's like," Fitz's head was swimming as he tried to think of a good metaphor. Simmons was good at this kind of stuff.

"It's like, when you marry the motherboard to the optic drive. Sure you could separate them, but they wouldn't function - they can't function – without the other. And when you went off with Miles character," Fitz jabbed his finger at Skye. This was something he had always meant to talk (confront) Skye about. "You hurt us. Jemma is the only friend I've ever had. And then you came, and we were friends, and then you pick this guy, who you lied to us about, to go, be with him…" Fitz was rambling and he didn't know where he was going with this, but it sure felt good to let it all out.

"Listen, Fitz." Skye could tell Fitz was venting and really, he had no point, yet the fact that he pointed out that she had hurt THEM, made Skye feel guilty. "No, I'm not done." Fitz felt the words slipping easily out of his mouth now. "You've always had to rely on yourself. I've never been able to protect or take care of anything. Even when the one thing I care most in life literally jumps out of a plane going hundreds of miles an hour, and is plummeting to her death, I'm still standing on the plane, fumbling with gear." Images of Simmons, falling out of the back of the Bus as he looked helplessly on pressed their way to the forefront of his clouded mind. The Scotch helped keep them from gaining their sharp focus, but he could still remember the look in Jemma's eyes as she came to peace with herself and resolved to do the selfless act to save everyone.

"Fitz," Skye placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Fitz looked at her, embarrassed for being himself and letting just a small part of his insecurities out in the open. "I have a hard time with this whole 'trust' thing. I've HAD to rely on myself only, because getting close to people has just hurt…" Skye stopped briefly, holding back tears. "I've been passed around, family to family, like a hot, rotten, potato. I am sorry about the Miles thing though. He reminded me that I was wanted by someone. Not that I wasn't wanted by you guys but let's face it, we've never had a heart-to-heart, or trusted with friend stuff…" Skye trailed off. A silence fell between the two of them. The only noise came from the whisky stones clinking in their glasses.

"Fair enough." Fitz said finally. "I want to tell you something I've only trusted Jemma with so far." Fitz sucked in some air, hoped he wouldn't puke just at the memory of his dark days, "I had, some, issues, as a kid. Abuse..." He trailed off into another silence. That's about as far as words could take him without the darkness overtaking him, even as drunk as he was. Fitz worried he had said something wrong because Skye was looking at him, an eyebrow raised. Trust needs to start somewhere, Fitz thought. Skye seemed to be scrutinizing him, though scrutiny was a hard emotion for a drunk person to pull off. Rather, she rested a hand on his shoulder; no additional words needed to be spoken. Silently, tears traced little rivers down Fitz's cheek. He didn't feel like saying more, but Skye's silent reassurance implied he didn't have to.

A few moments passed in silence before Fitz spoke again, scrubbing the now dried tears from his cheeks, "Now your turn." Skye paled a bit (although that could have been from the copious amounts of alcohol consumed). "This thing, friendship and trust, it's a two-way street. I told you a secret, now it's your turn to tell me one." Fitz carefully poured himself and Skye another glass, seeing as how he was wavering dangerously back and forth in his drunken state. "I'm…I belong in Hufflepuff." Fitz was drunk but could quiet clearly see she was trying to use humor to deflect a major part of her uncomfortableness. "Mm…no go Skye. Hogwart's house, no matter how lame, is not a secret." Skye sighed and sipped her Scotch. Fitz felt indignation wash over him, he had told her something only his mum and Jemma knew. Angry, he made a move to leave the vehicle when he heard Skye. "Argh. You Brits are so infuriating. I'm…not gay BUT," this pause left Fitz literally on the edge of his seat, "I may have a thing for Simmons."

Apparently Fitz and Skye had fallen asleep in the back of the van. Simmons had found them there, an empty Scotch bottle and two empty glasses festooning the seats. She sipped her tea as she roused them both. Skye, looking thoroughly disheveled and hung over, trudged grumpily off to her pod. Fitz, also looking like he had a debaucherous night, accepted some a cup of tea his best friend had made for him. "How do you feel now in the light of day? Regretting the shenanigans?" Simmons queried. "Nevar," a large grin spread across Fitz's face, "I convinced Skye to tell me a secret." No matter how badly his head pounded, or how badly he felt like dry heaving, he had formed a new, deep connection with Skye. It was different than his connection with Jemma. But from now on, the two of them were undoubtedly close friends.

Simmons was extremely curious about what kind of information Fitz had pried from the notoriously cloistered hacker. And as bad as she was at lying, she was even worse at hiding her feelings. Fitz's grin (if it was possible) spread even wider as he recognized the intense curiosity with which Simmons was almost pleading to hear, and maybe (perhaps he was reading too much into things) he saw a little bit of hurt. But it was their secret and she trusted him with it, "She's a Hufflepuff."