Disclaimer: The only thing about Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. that I own is a Coulson Lives T-Shirt. I also happen to not own Notting Hill. All shows/movies and characters are copyright to their respective owners.
"I'm sorry, I didn't get down what magazines you're from?"
Now, how, just how, did Fitz get himself into this situation? A reasonably quick-thinking man, he had deduced that they must be holding interviews for Jemma's new film here. Unfortunately for him, the only reason he knew its name was the word Hydra emblazoned on the pamphlet he'd just been given by the press agent, who was now looking at him expectantly. Think fast, Fitz.
His eyes travelled wildly, searching for inspiration, before finally settling on a magazine on a table depicting a man atop a horse surrounded by a ridiculous number of dogs.
"Uh- Horse & Hound", he said, hoping his voice didn't come out to jittery.
The press agent seemed to buy it, though both she and the journalist next to him seemed rather bemused. Fitz was sure by now that this must be some misunderstanding, but he was much too proud to admit that. Besides, he was too far in.
Clutching the bouquet of flowers he was holding tighter, he said, "The name's Leo Fitz; I think she might be expecting me."
"I'll go check." The press agent bustled of, leaving Fitz to chat awkwardly with the journalist next to him, who now believed his grandmother was dying in an unnamed hospital down the road.
A week ago.
Leopold Fitz stood in his bookshop in Notting Hill, London with his assistant, tallying sales for the week. "And we're down 347 pounds," Fitz said with a sigh.
"Shall I, uh, go get you a cappuccino? Y'know, ease the pain a bit?" his assistant asked.
"Yeah. Thanks, Phil," Fitz said distractedly, now focussing on the complex mathematical equation he was working on just for the fun of it.
As his assistant slipped out, Fitz barely noticed the woman who walked in. But as he looked up again, he was sure he recognised her from somewhere. She had a lovely face, pretty enough to belong to an actress, though it was partially masked by a pair of stylish sunglasses. Great Scott, this girl reminded him of-
Wait. Shit.
Now, Fitz wasn't one of those gossips who followed the celebrity magazines to the letter and knew famous people from Azalea to Zuckerberg, but even he knew who Jemma Simmons was.
And he was 87.54 percent sure that the world's most famous actress was standing right here, in his little bookshop. Now, that was a story to tell his grandkids' puppies.
Just to confirm the other 12.46 percent, he called out, "Um, can I help you at all?"
"No thanks," said maybe-Jemma Simmons delicately. "I'll just look around."
"Fine." And damn, if the face that had peeked around the bookshelf wasn't that of Jemma Simmons, Fitz wasn't sure what was.
Fitz tried to keep himself from staring. But it wasn't everyday you got a famous person in the shop. He wondered if he could ask for a photo or an autograph. He decided it would be rude. Surely Jemma Simmons got enough of that. That's why she was browsing in some little corner bookshop in Notting Hill, far from prying eyes.
He noticed she was in the Science section, skimming through a biochemistry journal. Fitz decided to gather up his nerves and approach her. As he neared, he could feel sweat sliding obnoxiously down his palms, so he stuck them in his pockets.
"Excuse me," Fitz said, and she looked up from the page: an article headlined Conformational Stability and Catalytic Activity of PTEN Variants Linked to Cancers and Autism Spectrum Disorders. "Um, s-sorry to interrupt," said Fitz, beginning to stutter. "I was just- uh, I was just thinking, that might be a little too technical for you, uh-"
But then she spoke in a high, sweet voice that she must have stolen from a fairy princess or something. And Fitz was gone. "Thanks for your concern, but I am the one with the biochemistry degree here."
Now Fitz felt stupid. Of course he had to go make a fool of himself. He was glad his hands were in his pockets. "Oh- ah, well, um..." He seemed to have forgotten how to speak.
"Surprised I'm more than just a pretty face?" The pretty face in question raised an eyebrow.
Fitz's voice box then decided to work well enough to force a few words out. "'M very sorry," he mumbled. "I'll just... go. Over here." He shuffled away.
Jemma laughed and flashed him a smile. Her teeth were magnificently white, almost unnaturally so. He popped back behind the counter, and, seeing the footage on the security camera, stalked into the back room to get some wanker to get the book he was trying to steal out of his pants. When he returned to the counter, Jemma was gone.
Phil came in a minute later, two coffees in hand. Fitz took his half-strength cappuccino in hand and told him, "You'll never guess who was just in here."
Fitz's eyes scrambled over the Hydra pamphlet, trying to take in the plot of the film. However, he had always been better with numbers than words.
"Right, Mr Fitz? Come this way."
Fitz gulped and followed the press agent into a richly adorned room. "You've got five minutes."
As Fitz walked in, Jemma turned around.
"Hi," said Fitz.
"Hello."
"I'm sorry about not ringing back. The whole two names concept was totally too much for my flatmate's pea-sized intellect."
"No, it's a stupid privacy thing," Jemma said.
A press agent then walked in, and Fitz realised he was supposed to be interviewing Jemma about Hydra. Everything he read about it two minutes ago promptly flew out of his head."Everything alright?" the man asked.
Jemma nodded politely and seated herself on the couch.
"I'll just... fire away, then?" Fitz asked, following suit and gingerly sinking down onto an armchair opposite. At Jemma's small, encouraging nod he started, "The film was great. And I just was wondering, uh, if you ever thought of having more... horses. In it." It took Fitz a lot of resolve to stop from facepalming himself.
Jemma glanced at the press agent, who seemed less than pleased, and told Fitz, "Well we would have liked to, but it was obviously difficult, seeing as it was," she lowered her voice to enunciate her point, "set in space."
"Space- right," Fitz said, eyeing the press agent leaving the room. As the door slammed shut he turned to Jemma. "I am so sorry. I arrived outside and they thrust this thing in my hand and I didn't-"
"No, it's my fault. I thought this would be over by now," said Jemma. She shuffled a bit. "I just wanted to apologise for the kissing thing. I don't know what came over me and I just wanted to make sure you were alright with it."
"Yeah, it's absolutely fine."
A week ago.
After his encounter with Jemma Simmons, which Fitz still couldn't quite believe actually happened, he headed to the café to get himself another cappuccino (full strength this time) and Phil an orange juice.
On the way back to the bookstore he was simultaneously thinking about Jemma Simmons and orders for the store and his new mechanical design and Jemma Simmons when he ran straight into someone and managed to spill orange juice over the both of them.
Stumbling. A shriek. And a dampness on his shirt.
"Shit! Oh, I'm so sorry-" And then Fitz had to stop. Because if there was anyone whose fancy clothes he could have ruined with juice, it had to be Jemma Simmons. Still apologising profusely, he took the napkin he was holding and tried to wipe her shirt down.
Jemma jumped back and clutched her bags. "Get your hands off!"
Of course Fitz had to ruin any chance of her ever not hating him by accidentally trying to grab her boobs. "I'm so, so sorry. You know, I live just across the street. I have water and soap, you can get cleaned-"
"No, thank you, I just need to get my car back," she said, walking past him.
"I also have a phone," Fitz said, scuttling after her. "I'm confident that in five minutes we can have you spick and span and back on the street again- in a non-prostitute sense, of course."
Fitz shrunk under the glare she gave him, but was surprised when she said, "How far is 'just across the street'?"
"18 yards. I live right over there," he said, pointing across the road to a house with a blue door.
As Fitz let Jemma in, he was starting to regret his decision slightly. His prick of a flatmate Lance always left the place in a mess. "Come in- I'll just clean up a little." He moved some plates of the table in the hope it got the room looking slightly more acceptable, then directed Jemma upstairs to the bathroom. He then bustled about frenetically, trying to clear the table, cursing Lance as he did so.
She came downstairs as he was wiping it down, dressed in a sparkly skirt and a shirt that bared most of her midriff. Fitz tried not to gape. He failed.
He didn't want to keep her. But he also didn't want her to leave. "Would you like a cup of tea before you go?"
"No."
"Coffee?"
"No"
"Orange juice?"
There was that look again. Too soon. "Ah, probably not. Would you like something to eat?"
"No."
"Do you always say no to everything?" Fitz asked, hoping not to come off as accusatory.
A pause. "No."
Fitz nodded, wishing the mound of trash on the floor would swallow him whole.
"I better get going."
Fitz complied, showing her to the door. She turned to face him. Fitz got a little lost in her brown eyes before he remembered how to speak."It was nice to meet you," he said. "Surreal, but nice."
He showed her out, and just like that, Jemma Simmons was gone. "Surreal, but nice?" Fitz chastised himself as he began to unbutton his half-orange shirt. But before he could reach the second button, the doorbell rang.
Thinking it was probably Lance, who often forgot he had a set of keys, Fitz sighed resignedly and headed back toward the door. He was very pleasantly surprised to see Jemma Simmons outside.
"Hi," she said.
"Hi," he said. Don't get your hopes up, Fitz.
"I forgot my other bag." Of course.
He let her in and grabbed her bag from the kitchen, silently handing it to her. And then there they were again, standing awkwardly in front of his door.
Fitz didn't know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't for Jemma to wrap her free arm around his neck and press her lips to his. Hands glued to his hips, shocked, Fitz barely registered the pressure; all he could do was stand idly, eyes squeezed shut, as Jemma Simmons kissed him.
Fitz immediately missed the feeling as Jemma drew away and his eyes fluttered open. Jemma lingered in his space for a second before she drew away, looking as though she couldn't quite believe what she had just done either.
"It's probably best not to tell anyone about this," she said quietly.
"Right," said Fitz. "Well, I'll tell myself sometimes." And wouldn't he. "Don't worry, I won't believe it." Also true.
She smiled a little, and he let her out again, wondering if this whole day had really happened.
As the press agent returned to the room, he reminded Fitz that Jemma was also keen to talk about her next movie, which naturally Fitz knew nothing about.
"Any horses in that one?"
Finally, the interview was over. Fitz managed to score one last question. Here goes nothing. "Are you busy tonight?"
"Yes."
And then the next journalist was coming in and he was shaking her hand. "It was nice to meet you," said Jemma. "Surreal, but nice."
Fitz exited the room, ready to head back home and watch some superhero movies with Lance when he heard-
"Mr Fitz, Mr Fitz. If you'd like to come with me we can just rush you through the others."
Oh, come on.
Earlier that day.
Fitz and Lance were taking advantage of the lack of rain, sitting on the rooftop. Fitz sat on a chair, an engineering journal in hand. Lance lay sprawled on the ledge, inhaling cigarette smoke then breathing it out into Fitz's snorkelling goggles which he was for some reason weaning. Fitz made a mental note never to wear those again.
"Any messages today?"
"Uh, I dunno. Memory's gone completely- oh, there was one from your mum about the party tomorrow."
"Anyone else?"
"Absolutely no one else, mate."
Fitz tried not to look disappointed. After all, it had been a week.
"Oh, but if we're going for this obsessive writing down all the messages thing," Lance piped up suddenly, "Some girl named Jemma called a few days ago.
Bloody hell. "What did she say?"
"Well, it was genuinely bizarre. She said: 'Hi, it's Jemma. Call me at the Ritz,' and then gave herself a completely different name."
"Which was?"
"Absolutely no idea," said Lance. "Remembering one name's bloody hard enough."
Typical, thought Fitz.
A quarter of an hour later, Lance managed to remember the name after Fitz had spent the last five minutes making a fool of himself over the phone to the Ritz's receptionist.
"I don't suppose the name Flintstone would ring any bells?"
"I'll put you right through, sir."
And that's how Fitz, intending to drop by for tea, ended up interviewing the cast of Hydra for Horse & Hound.
The first cast member was a jovial looking black man who cheerfully shook his hand. Fitz guessed he probably expected him to know his name, and didn't ask. A card propped on the table was made out to Trip.
Fitz sat down awkwardly, wondering how he was going to interview a stranger about a film he hadn't seen. Trip (he presumed) seemed to sense his discomfort. He smiled gently. "Did you enjoy the film?"
"Yes, enormously," Fitz lied through his teeth. "Did you enjoy making the film?"
"Yes, I did."
"Any bit in particular?"
Fitz could see Trip was starting to get a little exasperated at this point. "You tell me what bit you enjoyed the most and I'll tell you if I enjoyed making that bit." Fitz was pretty sure he was onto him.
Come on, say something smart. "I liked the bit in space."
At least Trip seemed amused.
"Did you identify with the character you were playing?" Fitz asked a dark haired man.
The actor flexed his muscles uncomfortably. "No," he said curtly.
Fitz felt like he had offended him somehow. "Oh. Why not?"
"Because I'm playing a sociopathic traitor who ejected two of his former comrades into space."
"Classic."
"Is this your first film?" Fitz asked a teenager in a sweater that bore a legend, The Rising Tide.
She laughed. "No, it's my twenty-second."
Fitz figured he had to have seen at least one of them. "Any favourites among the twenty-two?" he asked.
"Working with Leonardo," the actress said proudly.
Fitz's knowledge of famous people failed him here. "Da Vinci?"
"DiCaprio," she said, like it was obvious.
"Of course," said Fitz. "And is he your favourite talent director?"
After wrapping the interviews, Fitz walked toward the exit, trying to decide which one had gone most horribly. He hoped Horse & Hound wouldn't catch any flak for this. Fitz couldn't afford a lawsuit.
"Mr Fitz!" It was the press agent again.
"Oh no."
"You got a minute?"
"No."
She glared at Fitz and beckoned him to follow. Resigned, he walked back down the hallway.
Fitz was surprised to see Jemma in the room he was let into.
She leaned on a chair, sweeping the hair she had pulled out of its ponytail over her shoulder. "So, the thing I was doing tonight- I'm not doing anymore." She flashed him a smile that Fitz was sure would melt both his eyes and his heart. "I told them I had to spend the evening with Britain's premier equestrian journalist."
Was she saying what Fitz thought she was saying? "I- I, well- are you sure? I mean, you're you and I'm just-"
Jemma took a step closer. "Let me tell you something," she whispered, so he had to lean in to hear her. "The fame thing, it isn't real. I'm just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to take her out."
Fitz' smile lit up his eyes. "Alright, then. What do you want to-"
Wait.
"Shit, I forgot. It's my mother's birthday, we're meant to be having dinner."
"Okay, that's fine," said Jemma. But Fitz couldn't take a movie star to dinner with his boring friends.
"No, don't worry, I'm sure I can get out of it," Fitz said distractedly.
"No, I mean if it's fine with you I'll be your date." Apparently he was going to take a movie star to dinner with his boring friends.
"You'll... be my date? To my old mum's birthday party?" he asked, just to confirm.
"If that's alright."
"Yeah, I'm sure it's alright. My friend Mack is cooking and he's generally acknowledged to be the worst cook in the world. But um, you could hide the food in your handbag or something." On second thought, or something sounded better to Fitz. Jemma's handbag looked very expensive.
"Okay," she said.
"Okay,' he said.
Fitz then realised how close together they were standing. He quickly shuffled back, then offered an arm to Jemma. "Shall we, Miss Simmons?"
Jemma threaded her arm through his. "I didn't know you were such a gentleman."
"Yes, well, when I have my foot out of my mouth so both are planted firmly on the ground, I am quite capable of both coherent speech and gentlemanly tendencies."
Jemma laughed as they walked toward the door. As they reached it, she gently disentangled herself. "I hope you understand," she told him. "You're meant to be interviewing me."
"Of course," said Fitz, opening the door for her.
Out on the street, Jemma pulled on her disguise and then immediately wrapped her arm back around Fitz's. It made him feel very warm inside, from both embarrassment and happiness.
"I've just realised, you've never told me your first name," said Jemma as they headed toward the bus stop. "Why do people call you Fitz?"
Fitz grumbled, "If you had my first name, you'd be hiding it too. I seem stupid enough already."
"Oh, come on, how stupid can it be?" Jemma made a pleading face. Luckily for her, she was irresistible.
"Leopold," muttered Fitz.
Fitz was surprised when Jemma didn't laugh. "May I call you Leo?" she asked.
"Only my mum calls me that, but if you must."
Jemma bumped his shoulder affectionately. "Alright, Fitz."
They sat down, side by side on the bench at the bus stop, watching the cars go by.
"Tell me about your degree." Fitz said. He was as interested in Jemma's brain as he was her looks- and her amazing personality and her talent and- oh, boy, he was too far gone already, wasn't he?
"Well, I always knew I wanted to be an actor," said Jemma. "But I also loved science in school, so I did a double degree. My knowledge of biochemistry was a real asset when I played Dr Carter in SSR.
"I've seen that movie!" Fitz said excitedly.
Jemma giggled. "What about you?" Did you go to university?"
"I'm actually studying part-time right now. Engineering," he said, to answer Jemma's curious look.
"Really? So you're not just a pretty face either."
Fitz scratched his head, flattered. Then an idea popped into his head. Probably a kind of silly thing to ask the movie star he was taking to dinner, but Jemma seemed like a real science nerd. It would be nice to talk to someone on his level."
"Actually, I'm a designing a weapon right now. Sort of like an instant tranquiliser. Non-lethal force, you know," Fitz said.
Jemma nodded approvingly, and then burst into laughter when he told her he called it the Night-Night Gun. "I'm sorry," she managed to get out between giggles. "That's- it's just so you."
"Anyway," said Fitz. "I have the mechanical design figured out, but I need some sort of chemical to actually shoot out of it. Unfortunately, I lack the knowledge of chemistry to-"
"Have you considered dendrotoxins?" Jemma cut across him. "An extremely small dose only would be needed, obviously, but it..."
And the two sat on the bench at a bus stop in Notting Hill, almost missing the bus from their constant geeking out. For Fitz, it felt surreal. Surreal, but nice.