This is the Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. take on the swell rom-com that is 2004's Wimbledon. The characters belong to Marvel and the plot is inspired by the film (with some minor to major tweaks to better suit Fitz and Simmons) so credit must be given to both. This sucker is unbetaed so apologies for any egregious or barely noticeable errors.

"Fresh grass, new state of the art netting, long-wear chalk. I think you'll find our courts to be quite satisfactory Mr. Fitz."

The look on the elder man in front of him makes Fitz slightly nauseous, the eagerness a bit overwhelming considering how much he himself is dreading the prospect of spending even one day on the Kensington Country Club's, "fresh grass."

He glances across the green expanse at the 6 pristine tennis courts, varying degrees of retired men and women tapping neon balls back and forth, and lets out a defeated sigh at the image. He can hear Mr. Edmunton chattering on about the sprinkler system and feels his heart quicken as the sight in front of him is replaced with one that his mind is conjuring: him in his tennis whites, after fifteen years on the circuit, feeding ball after ball to an endless supply of club members three decades his senior.

"…ladies are really looking forward to having a new tennis director."

Fitz can't stop the grimace from crossing his face, inwardly and outwardly blanching when one of said ladies catches his eye across the green and shoots him a particularly disturbing wink that lasts nearly three seconds. He ducks his head down, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans, giving another small sigh as he trails behind Edmunton and continues on with the tour.

They make their way through the rest of the admittedly impressive grounds before the older man gives him a beaming clap on the back and offers to walk him back to his car. Fitz does his best to return the other man's smile, doing just enough to convince Edmunton that it's genuine without straining all 26 muscles to do so. When they reach the little silver coupe (one of the few splurges Fitz made while in his financial prime) the stout man turns to him with a raised eyebrow and an expression that immediately clues Fitz into what's coming.

"Now Leopold, may I call you Leo?"

Please don't.

"Oh… well I actually prefer Fi…"

The other man barrels over him before he can finish his sentence and Fitz realizes that Leopold and Leo are certainly more suited for a posh English country club than Fitz.

Yet another reason to steer clear.

"Leopold, we desperately need a tennis Director and we'd very much like you to be our man… but we can't hold the position open forever you see."

The man peers over his spectacles with a hinting look and Fitz nods his head sagely to match Edmunton's seriousness. "Yes sir, I understand completely."

It's silent for a moment as the other man peers speculatively at him and Fitz once again shoves his hands in his pockets to prevent them from twitching. The older man returns the nod, patting his stomach twice before continuing forward with what Fitz feels is an odd hybrid between a proposition and a low-grade warning.

"Now, I'm more than happy to keep it for you during the next few weeks while you're in London but… I can't on good conscience do so unless I know for certain that once you're out… you plan on actually taking the position. Otherwise we'll unfortunately have to look elsewhere."

Fitz feels a small pang of hurt and bitterness at, "once you're out," but pushes it down in favor of focusing on the fact that it's time for a decision. He closes his eyes and takes a steadying breath as his hand moves to rub at his neck before blinking them open and sighing. He feels his lips quirk upwards in the least believable smile he's ever mustered and says, "No need to look elsewhere Mr. Edmunton. You've got yourself a new tennis Director."

He extends his hand and winces slightly when the other man clasps it in both of his own, giving it an enthusiastic shake that rattles Fitz to his core. "Oh splendid! We can sign the papers once you're back for good then!"

Fitz can feel the bile rise in his throat again at the other man's words and has to consciously fight to keep it down. It's overdramatic, and he's well aware that being the tennis Director at one of Britain's most elite clubs isn't exactly something to be ashamed of, but Fitz can't help but thinking that when he's, "back for good," what he'll actually be doing is signing his life away for good.

Though, it's not as though he'll have many post-retirement options.

Very few people are looking to hire an incredibly intelligent former child prodigy who passed on academics in favor of becoming a tennis prodigy instead.

Fitz plasters on another small smile and nods his head, not wanting to disrespect or upset a man who's been nothing but kind to him, and resigns himself to the fact that once he's out, this will be his new life. He's about to open his mouth to launch into the obligatory thanks that his mother would be ashamed if he didn't vocalize, but before he gets the first word out he hears a nasally voice calling out behind him.

"Frederick darling! Who's this strapping young lad with you? Have you been hiding him from us?"

Fitz winces at the sound and winces again when he turns around to see the winker walking towards him and Frederick with a lascivious look that he finds to be rather terrifying. Edmunton of course throws his head back in boisterous laughter, evidently finding great humor in the woman's teasing comment, before thwacking Fitz on the back hard enough to cause him to stumble forward a bit.

"Oh nonsense, Mary! This is Leopold, our new tennis Director."

The woman stops once she's a foot away from them, peering at Fitz as though she's trying to place him, and he knows that it's only a matter of time before she does. "Well don't you look familiar. Hmm, Leopold… not Leopold Fitz?"

Her eyes seem to light up at the thought and the only person who seems more delighted by her observation is Edmunton, who puffs out his chest and turns to Fitz with a haughty look of pride. "The very one! Pro at thirteen, Davis cup winner at fifteen, a right national treasure back in his youth! And now he's got himself a wild-card draw for the tourney! Coming to Kensington the moment he's through!"

Mary raises a brow at this, expertly catering to Edmunton's desire to show off and clapping her hands in excitement over the news. She takes another step forward, Fitz having to do everything in his power not to follow his instincts and take his own step back, and squeezes his forearm while her gaze remains steady.

"Ah yes, Leo Fitz, boy wonder! Why, weren't you ranked fourteenth at one point?"

The familiar feeling of irritation over the inaccuracy of her guess flickers through him and Fitz gives her a terse smile before doing his very best to be polite while correcting her. "Ninth actually but…"

Mary cuts him off before he can finish, likely not hearing a word he'd said, and (thankfully) retracts her fingers from his arm to once again clasp her hands together with an excitement that Fitz feels should be reserved for occasions that actually warrant it.

"Oh and now you'll be joining us! How wonderful! Careful around Edith, Leopold, she quite likes a young gun in tennis whites."

She gives him a conspiratorial wink, another uncomfortably long one that has Fitz worrying her eye might actually be stuck like that, and then shifts her gaze. Her eyes rove over him and Fitz feels himself flush at her blatant staring, coming to the conclusion that Edith likely isn't the only one he should be careful around. Thankfully Edmunton breaks the tension, sexual on the old dame's part and wholly awkward on Fitz's, with a loud guffaw that he couples with another loud pat of his stomach.

"Ho ho, careful now Mary! Don't scare the poor boy off before his first day!"

Fitz finds himself entranced by the other man's sausage-like finger as he waggles it in jest at the woman before shaking his head and deciding that now is definitely the time to be going.

"Right well… Mr. Edmunton, thank you for taking the time to show me around. Mrs…" Fitz pauses slightly as a courtesy, waiting for the older woman to finish his sentence and regretting it immediately when she does what he thinks is her version of a saunter and once again squeezes his arm.

"Miss Robinson…"

You have got to be kidding.

"…unfortunately my former husband decided to run off with the pool boy, leaving me a lonely divorcee with more money and time than I know what to do with. I'll be seeing a lot of you Leopold… the club is like my second home after all."

He can feel her thumb rubbing along his forearm and with each stroke Fitz feels himself grow a modicum more nauseous and abundantly more red in the cheeks. Letting out a nervous bout of laughter, he hastily pats her hand, pushing it off his arm in the process, and backs away slightly with some stuttered excuse.

"Right. Okay well… I really must be going now. I promised my mother I'd pop in before heading out…"

"Oh a mother's boy. How delightful."

Fitz ignores Miss Robinson's purr and instead directs his gaze towards Edmunton as he clambers into his car with a wave. "Thank you again sir, I'll be in touch!"

He turns on the car the moment his backside hits the seat, revving the engine loud enough that he can block out most of Mary's shout, only (and thankfully) catching the tail end of it. "…surely you can stay a little longer! Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

He gives her a wry grin before pulling out of the parking space and driving away from the looming country club, throwing out one final shout behind him as he does.

"Wimbledon!"