Happy New Year, everybody! I hope you all have a fabulous 2015 full of love and happiness and all of your OTPs becoming cannon. As a kick-off, I give you a College AU featuring drunk FitzSimmons (YAY) Enjoy!
(p.s.-just a forewarning that I am completely clueless when it comes to sciencey things)
000
Jemma Simmons has never been one for festivities. She'll take a nice, spacious, quiet lab over a loud, overcrowded dance floor any day. So it should be no surprise when she immediately declines Skye's invitation to a New Year's party at the Alpha Delta Phi house.
"Come on, Simmons! Let loose for once!" Skye calls from the kitchen, making herself a whatever's-in-the-fridge sandwich.
"No, thank you," Jemma says from her place on the couch. "I'd much rather stay here and finish this book! Besides, it's already past midnight back home so I really have no reason to celebrate."
"That is a bullshit excuse and you know it," Skye says, gesturing for Jemma to move her legs and make room for her on the couch. The Biochemist, however, is too engrossed in her novel to notice, so Skye settles for sitting on her legs.
"Ow!" Jemma yells, squirming out from under her. "A simple 'move' would have been nice!"
"Whatever," Skye says, biting into her sandwich and promptly spitting it out and yelling "This is terrible!" Jemma rolls her eyes fondly at her friend. "Anyway—party's at eight, so that gives you plenty of time to put on something sexy."
Jemma marks her place in her book and looks up, a slightly annoyed expression on her face. "Did it ever occur to you that I might have plans this evening?"
Skye raises her eyebrows in disbelief and laughs. "Are you serious? Jemma "Never leaves the dorm except for class" Simmons has plans?"
"As a matter of fact, I do!" Jemma responds, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes. Is it really that hard to believe?
"And what exactly are you doing? E-mailing your professors and asking for your assignments for the next three months?"
"No!" I did that yesterday, Jemma thinks, but after a second of consideration elects to not say anything.
"Then please enlighten me on—" Skye stops short, studying her best friend before breaking out into a rather terrifying smile. "You're going to see Fitz, aren't you?" Jemma's cheeks immediately flush scarlet and she starts stuttering about science and a mutual lack of interest for social outings and it's not what you think, Skye. Really, it's not! "I knew it!" Skye cuts her off, "You and the little dweeb are totally hooking up!"
Jemma chokes on her own breath. "Hooking up? No, no, no, no, nothing like that! I'm helping him with a project!"
"Uh-huh," Skye says, crossing her arms and smiling smugly, "Sure you are."
"Honestly!" Jemma defends herself. "He's created a design for a non-lethal gun. It's really quite genius actually, but he's still trying to figure out the whole non-lethal part and you don't give a damn, do you?"
"Not one bit," Skye says, jumping up from the couch and moving to throw her failed experiment of a sandwich in the garbage. "Honestly Simmons, you should just bring him to the party. Your little Nap Time Gun can wait."
"It's called the Night-Night Gun!" Jemma yells after her, and Skye turns around and gives her a look indicating that she's seriously worried for her mental health right now, "And that's not…that's not what we're officially calling it. Anyway, I promise I'll go to the next party with you. But we want to get this done before next semester so we can present it to our professor."
"Why, so you can get another PhD?"
"No," Jemma responds, and Skye crosses her arms and gives her famous 'I call bullshit' look. "Partially."
Skye laughs, shaking her head and checking her phone for the time. "I'm going to head over to Trip's dorm. We're having some pre-party drinks. Are you sure you and Fitz don't want to join us?"
"Positive as a proton."
"Simmons, you know I'm allergic to science jokes."
"Just get out of here," Jemma says, picking up a stray pen from the floor and throwing it at her roommate.
"Okay, okay!" Skye says, picking up her purse and heading towards the door. "Happy New Year!"
"Yeah, you too," Jemma says as the door closes behind Skye. She sighs and picks her book up, resuming reading. She doesn't have to be at Fitz's place for another hour.
It's one of the best books she's read in a long time, full of romance and philosophy and talks of causation. One of her professors recommended it to her and though she was wary at first (romance these days is very poorly written) it ended up immediately making her top-ten list. After what seems like two minutes, her phone begins to buzz.
Jemma saves her page in her book and picks up the device and involuntarily smiles when she sees that it's Fitz, then screams and nearly throws the phone at the wall when she sees the time—almost an hour after she was supposed to arrive at his dorm room.
"I'm a terrible person," she says apologetically after she hits the answer button.
"It's alright. I know you've probably got your nose stuck in a book." This isn't the first time she's been late to something they've planned due to reading and he's certain it won't be the last.
"I'll be over in two minutes," she says and hangs up. She rushes around the room to grab all of her stuff and then all but sprints out. When Fitz opens the door to her, she's sweaty, out of breath, and holding up a bottle of champagne.
"Peace offering," she says, winded. Fitz smiles, moving to the side and motioning for her to enter.
"Put it in the fridge," he says as he grabs his blueprints for the Night-Night Gun and spreads it out on the floor. "Where did you manage to get that, anyway?" Fitz asks as Jemma moves to the kitchenette. "The legal drinking age is twenty-one."
Jemma blushes as she puts the bottle of champagne away. "Well…Skye insisted that every college student needs one and—"
"Jemma Simmons!" Fitz cuts her off, a bewildered expression on his face. "Don't tell me you—"
"Got a fake ID!" Jemma finishes, embarrassment and excitement and regret all evident in her voice. "I know! It's crazy and stupid—"
"And illegal—"
"—but the drinking age here is absolutely ridiculous and I should be able to order a beer whenever I damn well please!"
Fitz laughs loudly, shaking his head as he opens his laptop and pulls up his notes for the Night-Night Gun. "Unbelievable. My lab partner, the criminal."
"Oh, as if you're so innocent! Let's not forget what happened on Grant's birthday!"
"I thought it was a regular brownie! And don't act like you didn't have one either, Miss 'I like following rules and doing what's expected of me'!"
"It was a party, Fitz! Did you honestly expect me to just sit there, completely sober?"
"Yes, in fact I'm quite surprised you didn't bring a book!"
At this point, neither of them can contain their laughter. Occurrences like these have become routine for them—fights that aren't really fights. It's been this way ever since they transcended their simple lab partner status and became the inseparable pair that's known across campus as FitzSimmons.
"So," Jemma says, sitting next to Fitz on the floor and looking down at the blueprints spread between them. "The Night-Night Gun."
"Ah, yes," Fitz stutters, snapping into science mode. "Here is a list of tranquilizing chemicals that I've considered for the bullets," he hands Jemma his laptop before sighing and running his fingers through his curls—something he does when he's completely stressed out. "I've tested each one out on a computer simulator and none of them have worked properly. Either the effects don't last nearly long enough or they end up killing the subject."
"Well," Jemma says as she scrolls through the list of chemicals, "It's a good thing you used a simulator and not our actual classmates." She studies the list for a few more seconds before an idea pops into her head. "Have you tried dendrotoxin?"
Fitz becomes extremely curious. "No, I actually don't think I've ever—"
"Heard of it," Jemma finishes for him. "That's because it's very rare and they don't just give it out willy-nilly. You have to have at least two PhDs, pass an extremely thorough background check, and have gone through a series of highly intensive training classes before you can handle it. If given to the wrong person, it could end up as a deadly weapon, so they're extremely selective about who they give samples to."
Fitz briefly wonders who "they" are before he realizes the flaw in her plan. "That sounds great, Jem, just one problem—neither of us have two PhDs and there's no way in hell we can handle another series of classes on top of our current work load."
Jemma beams at him. "Luckily for us, we don't have to worry about that. Professor Coulson has contacts in the science department of S.H.I.E.L.D. so he should have no problem getting us a few samples. Now, pull up that simulator you were talking about," Jemma says, handing the laptop to Fitz. After a couple of clicks the program is up and he's setting up the simulation.
"How much do you think is needed?"
Jemma bites the nail of her right index finger, an adorable yet terrible habit that she has for whenever she's deep in thought. "Let's start with .1 microliters."
It was a lucky guess because the simulator shows that with these circumstances, the victim of the Night-Night gun will be out for approximately half an hour (slightly more or slightly less depending on weight), which is exactly what Fitz was aiming for when he first came up with the idea.
"Yes!" Fitz yells, flopping down onto the floor because after months of late nights spent on research and failed experiments, he's—they've—finally done it.
"You're a genius," he says, staring at the ceiling.
"And you're a drama queen," Jemma laughs, extremely amused by his current position—sprawled out on the floor, eyes wide and breath heavy, as if he's just barely escaped from a near-death situation.
"That I am," he admits, sitting up and scratching his head. "Well, that took about—"
"Twenty minutes," Jemma finishes.
"Gotta admit, I was thinking about twenty-five."
"Hmm, it was fifteen for me," Jemma sighs, scooting closer to her best friend. "What shall we do now?"
He doesn't miss a beat. "Watch embarrassingly scientifically inaccurate movies?"
"You read my mind."
By the time they've found the movie and prepared the snacks, it's nearly 10:00. They settle down on Fitz's bed, his laptop hooked up to the TV and a bowl of popcorn in between them. They're about halfway through Jurassic Park before they decide to stop (because really, it's just painfully inaccurate on so many levels) and break out the champagne.
"There are some plastic cups in the cabinet next to you," Fitz says as he opens his refrigerator.
"Plastic cups?" Jemma scoffs, "Leopold Fitz, we are classy University students and as such, we will drink straight from the bottle." Fitz shakes his head, hiding a fond smile.
"As you wish."
And so they take the bottle back to his room, setting up a timer on the television so they can count down to the New Year while taking turns sipping on champagne and sharing stories of isolated childhoods and family holiday traditions.
"You know," Jemma slurs out, more than a little inebriated. "I never understood the big deal about New Year's. I mean, woopdy-fucking-doo! The Earth has made another cycle around the sun!"
"Oh, but how could you not see the beauty of it?" Fitz mocks, in no better shape than his best friend. "It's a time for new beginnings and opportunities and self-made promises that are broken within a week." Jemma cackles, burying her head in his shoulder.
"You're always so grumpy, Fitzy," she says, poking him in the face. "And it's rather adorable."
Fitz's cheeks flush bright red. "Is it now?" he asks.
"Absolutely. You are quite handsome, now that I think about it. Symmetrical face, low body-fat percentage…plus we have obvious compatibility—it's a little bit scary, really, how well we fit together," she says, tracing designs on his arm with her index finger. Fitz has to remind himself how to breathe.
"Jemma Simmons," he smiles down at her, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're flirting with me."
"That's because I am, you stupid lump," she replies, looking at him and giving him that smile. The one reserved specially for him, when they're up late just like this (though sober, most of the time) cuddled on his bed with Doctor Who playing in the background, talking of dreams and fears and theories of superior beings in the universe, much like the characters in her novel. But this time it's different—there's something else in her eyes, and Fitz can't help but hope that this means their love for one another will develop into something more than just philia.
"Jemma—" he begins, but is quickly cut off when she suddenly sits up and slaps (rather harshly) her hand to his mouth.
"Look at that," she says, pointing to the television. There's less than a minute to go before the New Year.
"Any last messages for 2014?" Fitz asks.
"Yes," Jemma says, smiling brightly. "Fuck you." And they both laugh uncontrollably. They settle down after a few seconds, electing to just stare at the timer as it counts down.
45…44…43…
Then Jemma starts singing softly, "Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and auld lang syne…"
And in that moment he swears that Jemma Simmons is absolutely perfect. Even her singing voice, which is slightly off key and slurred due to intoxication, is enough proof for him that God and angels do indeed exist, and she's their gift to him.
"For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne," he finds himself joining in, even though his voice is nothing short of terrible. Still, Jemma gives him one of her earth-shattering smiles. "We'll take a cup o' kindness yet, for auld lang syne…"
10…9…8…
It's almost time now, and between their fogged minds, their hopes of success for the New Year, and their genuine happiness to be with each other, they find themselves stumbling over and forgetting words, so they settle for just laughing and humming to the tune.
3…2…1…
Cheer erupt from outside. All throughout campus, there are sounds of noise-makers and poppers and fireworks, and Jemma and Fitz erupt into a fit of giggles as they hear the smashing of a bottle followed by a 'Dude, what the fuck!' right outside their door.
"Happy New Year, Fitz," Jemma says, sitting up so she's right in front of him, staring at those impossibly blue eyes.
"Happy New Year, Jemma."
And it's crazy how in-sync they are. How they manage to close their eyes and lean in at the exact same moment, their heads filled with the exact same thought.
Finally.
Jemma sighs in content as she feels his lips moving against hers and leans forward, pushing him further into the bed. She moves to straddle him, using her knees to support her weight on either side of him. His hands go to her hips and he breaks the kiss to just stare up at her and smile, because he has absolutely no idea how such a wonderful woman could look at him like that, like he hangs the moon and stars. But then again, he's not about to complain.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, there is a part of Jemma that's screaming at her to wake the hell up, that this is her best friend that she's snogging and their relationship could potentially be ruined because of this, that she needs to stop now while things are still relatively innocent and they can just blame it on the alcohol in the morning without it being too awkward. But as she looks down at Fitz, just looks at the monkey-obsessed moron, she knows that that'll never happen. No matter what happens between them, they will never stop loving each other—romantically or otherwise.
And New Year's is, after all, about taking chances, so that's exactly what she'll do. And before she can convince herself otherwise, she moves her lips to his neck while using her hands to undo the buttons on his shirt. I can regret this in the morning, she decides, though deep down she knows she won't. This is the right decision. He is the right decision.
Yes, Jemma thinks as suddenly she's being flipped onto her back and Fitz is conducting an experiment on just how many different ways he can make her squeal, A very happy New Year, indeed.
000
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