AUTHOR'S NOTES: Here's another instalment in my library au! I definitely recommend that you read ten million fireflies before you read this one, otherwise you might not get the significance of some things. However, if you'd rather just read this by itself that's perfectly fine as well! Also, I'd recommend listening to Electric Love while reading this, and that's what I listened to during most of the writing of this little fic.
At any rate, enjoy!
...
Jemma's just tapping her pencil nervously on the desk when there's a loud, exasperated sigh from the other corner of the library counter.
"Alright, princess," Lance declares, pushing back from the desk and swivelling around to face her with his chin in his hand like one of those ridiculous therapists in stereotypical rom-com movies. "Spill the beans."
"What beans?" Jemma asks nonchalantly, but her mind is racing and she's actually far too aware of what Lance is really going on about.
"Come on, are you really doing this?" Lance exhales deeply as if he knows everything happening in her life and is sure on how to fix it - none of which is absolutely true in the slightest. "You've been tapping that bloody pencil all shift now. I swear that if you keep it up for any longer I'll be forced to take a violent course of action that may or may not get me fired."
"Very funny," she returns dryly, although she does pause to flick at the cowboy hat that has now become a staple in his wardrobe, apparently. "I'm going to burn this hat, I swear. Or maybe I'll shoot it, like the Doctor and his fez?"
Lance frowns in confusion, and she suddenly remembers that Lance (unfortunately), is not a Doctor Who fan. Which is quite a shame, really, because most nights she finds herself watching the timelord's adventures alone with only a bowl of popcorn and a blanket to keep her company.
"What on Earth are you talking about?" After a shake of his head, he smirks triumphantly at Jemma. "Anyway, I've got you now! Changing the subject is one of the top ways to deflect a conversation that you don't want to have. Learnt that from.." Suddenly he shifts uncomfortably and she can''t help but roll her eyes at him heavily. "An ex."
"Of course you did."
"The point is, princess, you're hiding something," insists Lance, a devilish smirk curling his features (another tip he must have picked up from Bobbi, who can charm her way out of a jail cell and still look absolutely flawless).
"It's nothing, Lance," she repeats exasperatedly, rolling her eyes for what possibly could be the millionth time that day.. Still, that doesn't stop her voice pitch from going an octave higher and the way she turns away to hide an embarrassed flush. Because the truth is Leopold Fitz is coming over today to discuss assignments and projects and she's not entirely sure whether she should be terribly excited or terribly anxious.
Instead, she settles for an unhealthy amount of both.
...
Turns out it's more of the latter than the former, because she spends the rest of the evening worrying herself and fussing about the tidiness of the flat before Bobbi finally stops her in her whirlwind of cleaning.
"Jemma. I'm pretty sure you've adjusted that pillow about fifty times now."
"I know, and I'm sorry," Jemma admits unexpectedly, giving her room-mate an embarrassed smile as she falls back onto the couch with a sigh. "I'm just nervous. He was a child prodigy, Bobbi! He's one of the smartest students ever to hit the Academy. What if I mess things up? What will he think of me then?"
To her surprise, Bobbi grins and leans in to hug her. "He reminds me of someone I know, funnily enough." Next thing she knows, Bobbi's got car keys in her hand and she's heading out the door with a jacket, sunglasses and a few last words of warning for her friend. "Don't do anything Skye wouldn't!"
"That doesn't really narrow anything down!"
"Exactly."
The door slams closed. Jemma's all alone now, and although her friend's reassurance has helped to calm her down slightly, she still can't stop herself from checking the time fervently.
Fifteen minutes to go. It's going to be a long day, she can already tell.
...
Just when she's certain that the flat can't get any tidier, there's a knock on the door and she's scrambling to open it and offer him a (hopefully) welcoming smile. He looks the same as ever, dressed in casual attire but with an umbrella held awkwardly in his hand even though the weather's perfectly sunny.
"I thought I'd return it," he says sheepishly, and now she realises it's the umbrella she gave him once upon a time on a rainy weekday in the library, the ridiculously girly one that had made her giggle behind her hand back then. It's only when he's holding it up and it's swinging in his hands that she decides that she never really needed an umbrella anyway.
"You should keep it," she tells him teasingly, hoping her voice isn't as nervous as she feels. "It suits you."
"It's too girly," he complains, but he stops trying to give it back to her and instead drops it back to his side. Unfortunately, he's either rather clumsy or just having an extremely unlucky day because the umbrella unfolds and springs out with a loud snap that makes them squeal and jump back collectively (later, he'll tell her she screamed like a girl. She'll tell him he wasn't much better).
It's as he's apologising and trying to tie the umbrella back up again that all nervousness disappears, instead replacing itself with the laughter quickly bubbling it's way up, and she opens the door wide with a smile so wide she probably looks ridiculous. "Why don't you come in?"
"That's probably a good idea, yeah."
...
He sits uncomfortably at her breakfast bar, and she busies herself with throwing open a cupboard.
"Do you want something to drink? Or eat?" she queries, eyeing up the brightly coloured umbrella leaned neatly on the wall and narrowly avoiding tripping over a wire (Skye's fault of course, what with her bloody chargers and extension cords that she seems to leave all over the place regardless of what anyone says or does).
"Um.. I don't know," he says, clearly looking awkward and shy sitting in her brightly coloured kitchen, him with his curly hair and dark jacket against her painted walls and sunny décor (although he doesn't entirely look out of place either, not that she'd ever tell anyone that particular fact). "Do you have tea?"
"Who exactly do you take me for?" she grins, wondering why on Earth it's so easy to slip into playful banter when she'd been so nervous mere minutes before. "Does Earl Grey sound alright to you?"
"Girly, just like the umbrella," he grumbles, and for a moment she falters but then he hastily smiles out of the corner of his mouth. "I'm joking, Jemma."
"Oh." She can barely stop the sigh of relief. "Earl Grey it is, then."
"Sounds perfect."
And it really does.
...
Moments later, when they're both seated at the breakfast bar with mugs of meticulously made tea in their grasps and a plate of biscuits in between them (courtesy of her mum's baking, of course), she taps the side of her cup and tries not to stare at the folder tucked under his arm before she blurts it all out anyway.
"Are those your designs?"
"Oh, uh." He looks surprised, as if he hadn't been expecting her to notice them. "Yeah, they're just some scribbles. Nothing special, I just thought... yeah, I just thought I'd bring them along, what with you being the golden girl of Academia and everything."
Jemma flashes him a disbelieving smile and reaches tentatively out into the empty space that sits between them. "Could I see them? I won't say anything, I promise."
Fitz looks a bit nervous, but he draws them out and sets them on the counter and for a few minutes the flat is silent as she leafs through various sheets of paper, her eyes shining. "Fitz, these are amazing! This design is perfect and - hang on, I'm sure Professor Weaver showed this as an example in one of her classes?"
"Um, yeah. I think so, but it was adjusted a bit." To her delight he's quite possibly flushed pink, and she can't help but grin wider as she splays the papers out evenly to get a better look at them, poring over the work thoughtfully as she nibbles on a chocolate chip biscuit.
"That's an amazing achievement, Fitz! Where do you work, then?" she asks without thinking, finally sparing him a glance from the papers.
"Actually," he admits, shifting on his seat, "I don't have a proper job. I'm pretty much just studying at the Academy until I work out where to go from there. I've never really - I don't really think about my future very much."
To Jemma, who's always liked to plan out her future to the slightest irrelevant detail, she's not entirely sure what to say to that. "I'm sorry," she says genuinely. "I wasn't really thinking when I asked. I just assumed because you were so talented.." Eventually she tapers off into a light shrug, swivelling back and forth on the barstool almost like a little girl would do.
"What about you?" he asks, jerking her head up in surprise. "People talk about you all the time. Why are you working in a library? You could get a job in a lab anywhere you'd like."
It takes a moment, but she's smiling thoughtfully when she finally conjures up the right words to tell to him. "My mum's always been set on me having that white picket fence life that only happens in stories. You know, the two children, a nice husband and a pretty family house in the suburbs somewhere. I think she wants me to be a doctor or a lawyer, although she's never said anything." She pauses, convinced she's rambling, but he's still watching her intently like she's just become the most interesting person in the world.
"Yeah?" he urges.
"I don't think science was ever really a part of that plan," Jemma laughs lightly. "I know she's proud of me, but I still think she's holding out for that fairytale life. And I love my mum, but I want to focus on science. Study biochemistry, work my way up the chain, travel the world. I thought maybe having a sensible, normal job would help bring me to my mum's senses a bit. Tie me down, I suppose."
"I think you should do whatever you want." She's about to laugh when she sees his serious expression, and she tilts her head at him curiously.
"It's not that simple, Fitz-"
"I think it is," he shrugs. "Your mum loves you, right? Maybe you should.. you should just talk to her about it." At her questioning look, he suddenly looks embarrassed and avoids eye contact. "I mean, that's what I would do if I was in your situation."
Before she knows it, she's plucking up sheets of paper to hide her smile. "You really are something, Leopold."
(She laughs at his grimace.)
...
Halfway through studying, the conversations spirals until they're talking aimlessly, and one thing leads to another and all of a sudden now they're settling down on the couch together to watch the newest episode of Doctor Who (which is conveniently airing at just the perfect time tonight).
It turns out Fitz is less shy as time goes on, and soon she finds herself almost crying of laughter at something he's said during commercial breaks (although come to think of it, she can't seem to remember what was so funny in the first place). Somewhere along the line popcorn is retrieved and now there are popped kernels all down the back of the couch (and probably down her top too) but she just can't bring herself to care.
It's only when the credits start rolling and her cheeks hurt from laughing when she realises it's dark outside. Turns out he notices too, because in the next few minutes he's standing at her door with his papers tucked under his arm and looking sheepish about the mess he's left behind in her living room.
"It's fine," she tells him, still giggling at how ridiculous he looks standing out in the hallway with her girly umbrella in his hands and a half grimace, half smile stretching his features. "I'll bribe Skye with free internet until she helps me to clean up before Bobbi comes home, don't worry."
He grins at her, but it's only when he's turning away to leave that she calls out after him. "I had fun today, Fitz. And you really are a genius, you know."
He looks surprised and yet pleased, as if it's the last thing he's expected her to say. "Me too. I mean, had fun. Too. Here."
She laughs and rolls her eyes at his ramblings. "Okay, let me grab a pen." Moments later and she's back with a vivid marker, beckoning for his umbrella. When he hands it to her with a puzzled expression, she jots down her number along the inside of the fabric, signing her name underneath in the swirly writing that she saves only for her brightest ideas and most important papers. "There," she tells him proudly once she's finished writing, handing the umbrella back to him with a flourish and a sunny smile. "All the more reason for keeping the girly umbrella."
"I'll call you, then?" he asks hesitantly, and she resists the urge to nudge him playfully.
"Of course. By the look of your designs, I think we'll be able to accomplish a lot together."
He smiles at her and they exchange goodbyes, and she's left staring at his retreating back while he mutters something about directions and umbrellas and what Mack and Trip will think of him under his breath.
...
It doesn't take much to bribe Skye over to help tidy up the flat (and talk to as well, because now the flat seems much lonelier without Fitz or Bobbi in it), and she turns up with a laptop, two ice cream tubs and a ridiculous grin on her face.
"Bobbi told me about your date," she announces, breezing herself in without invitation and collapsing on the couch. Still smirking, she holds up the ice cream tubs and presses one into Jemma's hands before opening up her laptop. "I thought I'd bring ice cream to celebrate the occasion."
"You always bring ice cream," Jemma mutters, but she digs her spoon into the treat and nods appreciatively anyway. By now, Skye knows all her favourite flavours of ice cream. "And it wasn't a date, Skye. I found out that Fitz - you know, Fitz from the library? - goes to the Academy as well, and he's a genius! I thought I'd invite him over to discuss some projects and it turns out I was right! Do you have any idea how many things I've been meaning to try out?"
"Kinky," Skye snorts, and it's only at Jemma's flush and exasperated sigh that she finally stops and flashes a grin her way. "Aw, you know I'm just kidding, Jem. I'm happy for you, you know I am."
Jemma just smiles back and swirls the ice cream around. In some ways, it's impossible to be mad at Skye, not when she lives in a van and hogs all your internet and brings ice cream as a peace offering everywhere she goes.
"Hang on, is there popcorn down here?" Skye pulls a face, frowning down at the couch. "Do I really want to know what happened? Or should we just get started on cleaning already?"
"Actually," Jemma muses, thinking back to a promise of sorts. "I've got a phone call to make first."
("Mum? It's me. Something happened today, and.. I think we need to talk.")