Post Nulcear Dystopia. Post Fall of New York A/U. The Avengers kicked Loki back to Asgard but the nuclear damage was cataclysmic to the infrastructure.
the last few AOS episodes have been dark and depressing so I thought I'd write crack to cheer me.
YEAR 2 FNY
A nervous Jemma Simmons sat on the edge of the exam table. She was clad only in the very stylish paper exam robe and she was chilly. And nervous, so she kicked her feet. Uncontrollably, feeling like a small child. There was a knock on the door and she forced herself to smile as she permitted the doctor to come in.
It was a female doctor, so it wasn't that bad. Well, not as bad as it could be.
"Hi, I'm Nina Silvestri," the grey haired doctor tersely explained. "I'll need to swab you."
Jemma nodded and opened her mouth. The swabbing was done quickly and efficiently and then Dr. Silvestri asked her to recline to continue her exam. To her grateful surprise, Nina didn't blather, didn't give her the party line, instead she was quiet and efficient.
"Almost over," the doctor assured her and then she requested that Simmons sit up. "Do you need a few minutes?"
Simmons shook her head.
"You'll be notified in a few weeks. I hope you have a good match," the doctor said.
"No doubt I'll be seeing you in within a few months," Simmons quipped in a failed attempt at being cheerful. Her smile failed and her lip quivered.
"Have a tissue," the doctor offered.
"How was it?" Fitz asked as he met her outside the doctor's office.
Instead of answering, she leaned into Fitz, needing his physical support as she regained her composure. He held her until she shook her head and pulled away.
"She was kind and professional. Good swabbing technique," Jemma announced. At Fitz's head shake, she continued in a very flat tone, "I'll find out in a few weeks."
"I've been swabbed too," Fitz assured her. "Maybe…we''ll be a genetic match."
"Odds are poor," Jemma, ever the biochemist, protested.
"Doesn't matter, he'll just have to accept FitzSimmons as a package," Fitz fiercely stated. "Let's go back to our room. We'll live vicariously and have tea and bikkies. I have a package of your favorites."
"How?" Jemma asked. Bourbon biscuits were, at most, a fond memory of happier times.
"Trade," Fitz explained. It wasn't quite the truth, but close enough. Simmons didn't need to know exactly how he had acquired them.
Left unsaid that was he had procured them specifically for today, as he knew that Simmons would be in the need of cheering after being Swabbed for her genetic code.
The notification came swiftly, and Simmons left her lab with Fitz close behind her. They went back to their small flat and Simmons sat on the couch. Fitz sat next to her and she leaned towards him, once again in need of his support and comfort.
"No matter what, we'll always be FitzSimmons," Leo assured her before she opened the notification. She read the letter that detailed her indenture to producing future generations and then she dropped it to the floor.
"Are we compatible?" Fitz asked.
"No," she said in a very shaky tone. "They're all of the Nomenklatura; Level seven at least and I'm to meet them in three days on a group introduction. One's an eight. The other FOUR…. FOUR… are Sevens. You'll come with me."
It wasn't just a request. It was a desperate plea for support
The five male agents, some there willingly, some not so much, one marched off under gun point to the greet n' meet, were standing next to the bar. Each of them had at least one drink, and several were working on drink number three.
"I feel sorry for that poor girl," John Garrett announced. "She'll be overwhelmed by all the sheer masculinity and testosterone in the room. I hope she doesn't swoon."
Jasper Sitwell coughed a laugh, while Felix Blake rolled his eyes. Phil Coulson said nothing, as was his new norm, but Grant Ward flushed.
"What's the problem, Blake? You don't want to drop trow to help produce future generations?" The irrepressible John Garrett continued even while Blake's countenance appeared to darken. "Coulson, if Blake starts throwing punches, I'll take him, he's coy but scrappy. I'll let you have Jasper. Just don't let the glare from his head blind you."
Blake sniffed his disgust, "Typical Sagittarius."
"What about me?" Grant Ward asked as he hated being left out.
"You can hold Phil's and my jackets." Garrett decided. "If any of ZombieCoulson's body parts come off, you get to pick them up and keep them safe so we can reattach them with super glue. Jasper. Intel?"
Even while a not amused Phil Coulson smacked John Garrett on the back of his head, Jasper removed his glasses and shook his head. "You know it's not permitted for us to pry."
"Phil! That hurt," protested John. "When you rose from the grave after three days, you left your sense of humor in the ground."
That earned Garrison another smack to his head, this time by a lightning fast Jasper Sitwell.
"Spit it out, man," Blake growled. "It's not fair that only you have the intel. I see you dressed to impress." While Blake and Coulson are in their suits, Garrett and Ward are wearing their usual fatigues, Jasper is wearing jeans, sweater and sharp black leather jacket.
"Sci-Tech, twenty five, not from America," Sitwell dutifully reported.
As the only male in the room who was under forty, Grant Ward brightened until Phil Coulson spoke. His voice was quite rough as he contributed his intel, "Jemma Simmons."
"The Simmons of FitzSimmons." Blake stated.
The men deflated, pondering what the exact relationship between Fitz and Simmons was and what it might mean.
"Looks like we're getting matching bookends," quipped Garrett.
"It's a package deal?" asked Ward.
"Least you'll be warm at night with one on each side," Jasper quipped. "It will be helpful when the power goes out when the grid fails."
"Lads," John Garrett said in a very passable posh British accent. "Her IQ is higher than all five of ours combined. You know what that means, don't you?"
He paused, savored the blank looks on the four other men, and then continued, "Experience and treachery beats youth and pretty boy looks every time. Ward, just pack up and go home. You too, Jasper. Leave her to the two old men and Zombie."
Phil smiled, as only Garrett was brave enough, stupid enough and secure enough to call Coulson, Zombie, to his face. Phil's indulgent smile caused Garrett to turn towards Coulson. "Hey! Zombie smiled. And your face didn't fall off."
"It cracked though," Phil dryly admitted. He tapped his nose. "Did my nose fall off?"
Coulson had hoped by laughing at his trauma, he would lessen its hold on his soul and shattered psyche. Hasn't worked yet, but still he tried.
Blake snorted a laugh while Sitwell and Ward looked horrified.
"Though I hope she doesn't mind that experience comes with a few scars," admitted John as he adjusted his turtle neck.
"Ready?" Fitz asked before she opened the door to the bar.
Simmons bit her lip and nodded her head. Her hair was down and curly, and she had struggled to find a proper outfit that was smart, sophisticated plus had a little dash of sex.
"You alright? You didn't eat today," prompted Fitz.
"Thought I'd sick up," she admitted. Actually she had spent the entire day on finding a proper outfit and reviewing the questionnaires to determine who she might be meeting. Who was the one that thought cuddling skin to skin on a Sunday morning was a lovely way to waste the day away? Who liked motorcycles, which one played acoustic guitar?
"This is neutral territory, remember," he assured her. "You're coming here to meet them, put faces and names to their questionnaires. There's a group date later on this week."
"This sounds like a bad reality show I once saw, back before the infrastructure went arse over tit," she protests. "Was it called 'The Bachelorette'?"
"I prefer 'Dr. Simmons and her Boy Toys'," quipped Fitz.
She was still smiling when she opened the door to reveal her Boy Toys. To her horror, none of which could be properly described as Boy Toys, but instead, Men.
Phil Coulson,
Level 8. Nicknamed Zombie, Coulson the Undead, due to his death during the Fall of New York. He had been resurrected somehow, but rumors were that whatever had been brought back from the other side wasn't Phil Coulson. His face was expressionless but he nodded once when she looked at him. He was… fifty?
John Garrett.
Specialist. Level 7. Hard core Shield agent. Plus he had a wicked sense of humor, and he was older than Coulson. He looked her up and down, and smiled even while he readjusted his turtle neck.
Jasper Sitwell.
Level 7. Field agent. He was forty? Maybe? He nodded also when he realized that she was looking at him. Supposedly, he was a bit of Lothario, leaving a string of broken hearts behind him. He was smug, and wearing a leather jacket, so he was a bad boy.
Grant Ward.
Level 7. Specialist. Cheekbones to die for, but prickly and that was being kind.
Felix Blake.
Same age bracket as the others. Reputation for being a nasty bastard. He raised his glass to her when she looked at him.
She smiled at them, and realized that she was feeling shaky. Very, very shaky when she realized, a new, that she had to choose one of these men to be the father of her children and spend the rest of their lives together. Then her eyes rolled back in her head and she fainted.