A/N: amandajbruce and I decided to do a Christmas exchange. I gave her a prompt and she gave me one in return. We set a minimum goal of 1,000 words. This story will exceed that. It shouldn't be more than three chapters with maybe a short epilogue, so subscribe if you're curious to see how this all plays out. Special thanks goes out to Eclectic Muse who beta'd in Amanda's place. Check out her stories, she's a fantastic author.
CHAPTER 1
"I look like a trollop," Jemma said, planting her hands on her hips and turning to face Bobbi and Skye. The purple crinoline of her skirt swished and crinkled with her sharp movement.
"I don't know what that is," Skye replied, stepping forward and grabbing Jemma gently by the shoulders and rotating her back toward the mirror. "But if it's a Sugar Plum Fairy, then yes. You look like a trollop." She twisted a strand of Jemma's hair in her fingers and hooked it upward to the mess of curls that sat atop her head. She motioned for Bobbi to pass her a hairpin. Bobbi complied and Skye opened it with her teeth, then pressed it into Jemma's hair, causing Jemma to wince from the pinch.
"Beauty is pain," Skye tsked, stabbing a second pin into Jemma's hair and securing the last of the errant pieces. Bobbi tossed the remaining pins into a container and secured the lid.
"This is such a terrible idea," Jemma moaned, nervously pressing her hands against the creases of her dress.
Bobbi tucked the container into her makeup bag. "You were the one that wanted to dress to impress. Don't blame us."
Jemma glared at her friend's reflection in the mirror. "You're not helping."
SciTech Corp was holding its annual Holiday Extravaganza Gala and while, under normal circumstances she avoided mindless parties where scientists mingled, desperate for attention from developers, this party was different. This year the SciTech program guide had advertised that her favourite author, the elusive and mysterious Leopold Fitz, was going to be in attendance.
While his novels never made it to any of the bestseller lists, he was far and away Jemma's favourite author. She'd long admired the way he artfully wove scientific themes and inventions into spy adventures and she was never sated, always clamouring in anticipation for the next installment. When she'd discovered that he was going to be at the Gala, she couldn't have purchased her ticket fast enough. She would finally get to see, for the first time, who Leopold Fitz really was. Even if she had to dress up in a Nutcracker themed costume in order to do so.
No one except, she assumed, S.H.I.E.L.D Publishing, had ever met Leopold Fitz in person. Certainly there were rumours about what he looked like or where he lived, but none seemed to really fit with the image of him that she had in her head.
She'd once asked Skye to do a little digging through her hacker channels, but even she'd come up empty. The best either of them could find was that he was largely believed to be a recluse who lived in a darkened cabin near the swamps of Citrusville, Florida. The one interview that his publisher had released made him sound like he hated technology, which Jemma refused to believe. Leopold Fitz's novels exalted the beauty of Scotland as if he'd lived there and his characters fluidly used cryptotechnologies that were light years ahead of what most companies were even imagining or beginning to develop. There was no way the same man who wrote about a character from Perthshire who used technospheres and von Neumann Probes to outsmart his enemies, loathed technology.
No. Jemma was fairly certain that Leopold Fitz was a physicist. Or at the very least had a PhD in some scientific field.
"She's thinking about him again," Bobbi said, popping a sugar candy she'd torn from their gingerbread house into her mouth. "She's blushing."
"I'm not blushing," Jemma murmured unconvincingly as her face grew hot. "It's all the makeup. There's too much glitter," she added leaning toward the floor length mirror. "I look ridiculous."
"You look gorgeous," Bobbi corrected. "Unrecognizable. But gorgeous."
She tilted her head toward her friend. "Unrecognizable?"
Skye choked on a laugh. "You said, and I quote-" she held up an imaginary tea cup between her fingers,"'There are never any men smart enough, nor handsome enough to warrant my time!' Who cares if they know that you're the Jemma Simmons? You're only going because you want to see your author crush."
Jemma rolled her eyes. "I do not have a crush! And I do not sound like that!" She hated it when Skye imitated her; her version of an English accent was terrible and Jemma had certainly never held her tea cup with her pinky in the air. "Furthermore, I don't see how wearing an inordinate amount of makeup is going to make Leopold Fitz pay attention to me. A man should be attracted to my mind, not my looks."
"Think of it as a front door," Bobbi advised, approaching Jemma and resting her arm over her shoulder and giving her an affectionate squeeze. "At least give your author a reason to stop and want to get to know you."
She stared at her reflection. "I still think it's too much," she said, reaching for a loose tendril.
"Don't touch," Skye warned, swatting Jemma's hand away from her hair. "I will not have you messing with my creation."
"You know you could skip the Gala and let me introduce you to Hunter's friend," Bobbi offered, releasing Jemma.
Skye gave her a horrified look. "You're not setting her up with one of Hunter's friends!"
"You've never even met him! He's perfectly nice when he wants to be. Normal too." She made a face. "Well, normal-ish."
Jemma reached for her coat and glanced back at her friends. "Be nice you two. Or I won't tell you how it went."
Skye's eyes widened. "You're not wearing that are you?" Her nose wrinkled at the sight of Jemma's coat
Jemma looked down at her brown, perfectly normal and completely functional coat. "What's wrong with my coat?"
"It doesn't exactly go with your dress."
"So?"
Skye raised one eyebrow, undaunted, and Jemma knew that if she continued to press the issue that the discussion would devolve into one about Jemma's overuse of patterns and feminine ties and she didn't really have time to engage in an argument.
"What did you have in mind instead?" she asked, relenting and tossing her coat onto the sofa.
Skye grinned smugly. "Bobbi, get the brooch."
Jemma shook her head, her eyes widening in protest. "Not the brooch."
Skye's snowman brooch was one that had been given to her as a young girl by a nun at St. Agnes Orphanage. Sister Maggie had found it lying in the snow next to the bassinet that held the light-up Baby Jesus. When a foster family had agreed to take Skye into their home for Christmas, Sister Maggie had pinned it to Skye's coat, telling her that it brought good fortune to whomever wore it.
"You know it'll bring you luck," Skye insisted. She opened the closet and began to riffle through the coats, eventually settling on a white faux fur wrap. "And maybe you'll end the night making out with your author."
Jemma blushed and shook her head, willing the betraying redness to fade from her cheeks. "Brooches can't have luck," she retorted, taking the wrap from Skye. "And I won't be making out with someone I've just met." She rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous!"
Skye fought a smile as she helped Jemma position the wrap on her shoulders. "You say that now, but mark my words: you'll be thanking me tomorrow morning." Bobbi reappeared from Skye's bedroom and handed her the brooch. She carefully pinned it, hooking the two ends of fabric together so that it didn't hang open and would shield her from the cold night air. "There! All set."
"Go, or you're going to be late," Bobbi added, pushing her toward the door. "And if you change your mind about Hunter's friend- ow!" Bobbi rubbed the spot on her arm that had just been elbowed and glared at Skye. "What was that for?"
"Forget her," Skye advised, ignoring Bobbi and patting Jemma lightly on the back as she held the door open for her. "Have fun and do things that Bobbi would do."
"Skye!" Bobbi cried out. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Jemma laughed as Skye closed the door behind her and while she waited for the elevator to the lobby, her fingers reached instinctively for the snowman brooch. Even though she believed that a person made their own luck, Jemma couldn't help but hope that Skye was right; she wanted more than anything to finally meet Leopold Fitz.
…
Jemma leaned against the wall of the elevator car, willing herself not to lose her temper as a young boy, clearly driven by an excessive amount of candy canes and cola, pressed the buttons for each floor as he jumped up and down and screamed for Santa. His parents seemed beside themselves, shooting Jemma apologetic looks as the elevator door opened over and over with every floor.
The Gala itself had been a complete waste of time. She'd gone purposefully to meet Leopold Fitz and had expected him to be the main attraction at the event. Instead, she found a tiny booth in the farthest corner of the room with a plastic table and a small stack of his novels ready for sale. But there was no Leopold Fitz to be found. When she asked around no one even knew who she was referring to. It quickly became clear that she was the only person who even cared if he showed up. When she finally managed to corral the Gala's organizer, Christine Weaver, the woman had given her an odd look before radioing someone on her headset and then reporting that Leopold Fitz's publisher had called and cancelled. Supposedly, his plane had been delayed due to bad weather over Atlanta.
Out of sheer curiosity, Jemma had checked the flight delays and cancellations out of Atlanta on her phone and found nothing. There wasn't a hint of bad weather in the local forecast and all earlier flights had left on time.
To make matters worse, Bobbi had been correct about her makeup. Skye had made her up to be completely unrecognizable so she couldn't even fill her time answering questions about her latest invention: a rechargeable tactical unit that blinded opponents with a flash of over 800 lumens. She would've even addressed her difficulties in finalizing her non-lethal bullet prototypes if she'd been asked.
But no one even offered her a passing glance.
Her phone buzzed and she pulled it from her purse.
[Skye]: Are you making out with him right now? Am I interrupting?
Jemma sighed, both annoyed with herself for getting her hopes up and with the boy whose screams had gotten decidedly louder. At the 18th floor she seriously considered exiting the elevator car and taking the stairs, but as she made a move for the door, a man entered with a very familiar book held casually in his hand.
She came to a startled stop and the doors to the elevator closed behind him. The man glanced casually at the floor selection buttons and after noticing that each had been chosen, he shook his head with resignation and carefully maneuvered his way past the flustered parents and tucked himself into the opposite corner of the car to Jemma.
She couldn't help but study him. He was roughly her age and had thick, sandy blonde hair and the slightest shadow of a beard. His suit jacket gave the impression that he was an academic and she wondered if he was coming from the Gala before she realized that his lack of a Nutcracker-themed outfit said otherwise.
His eyes met hers and mortified, she blushed furiously, dropping her gaze immediately to her phone in a guilt-ridden attempt at dodging further interaction.
[Jemma]: He didn't show. Plane delayed.
After pressing send, she dared to look up again and sneak a second look at the stranger. A small smile tugged at his full, pink lips when their gazes met again and she couldn't help but grin shyly in return. It'd been a long time since she'd found someone even remotely attractive and her heart skipped seditiously at the thought.
The boy began a screaming rendition of the 12 Days of Christmas, jolting Jemma from her thoughts. The man widened his eyes with exaggeration and tilted his head, motioning toward the family as he mouthed "what is happening?"
She snorted and immediately slapped her hand against her mouth to stifle any further incriminating laughter as the family turned and glared at her. Her shoulders shook from the effort and she could see him struggling similarly.
Thankfully, the family exited the elevator on the 14th floor and she could, at long last, breathe an audible sigh of relief.
"That bad, eh?" he asked with a lightly faded, Glaswegian accent.
She shrugged non-committedly and against Skye's earlier warnings, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. There were really no words to describe how terrible her night had been.
"Were you at the Gala?" He curiously inched his way closer toward her and she noticed a faint blush to his cheeks that she thought was endearing.
"It's just that you're dressed awful fancy," he continued, without allowing her a chance to reply. He motioned to his own face, his finger swirling aimlessly and, she suspected, nervously. "Glitter and all that. Unless that's how you normally dress. In which case-" He stopped short, the tips of his ears turning a dark red as his gaze fell to the ground. He stepped backward and turned to face forward. "Never mind. Forget I said anything."
Jemma found the stranger to be oddly intriguing and she watched him with interest. She couldn't deny the pulse that throbbed through her; she was only human, after all.
Nor was she blind to a perfectly symmetrical face.
"It's fine," she said, measuring her voice so that he understood that she was untroubled by his question. "I was at the Gala, actually."
The logical part of her whispered that much of his appeal was probably due to the familiar book that he held in hands; she'd never come across someone who'd actually read anything by Leopold Fitz, much less Dragons of the Loch.
She turned abruptly in place so that she faced him; she couldn't let the opportunity pass her by.
"You can't possibly have read that," she said a touch too pointedly considering she'd meant to sound casual mixed with comical. She winced at her own words as the man looked at her confused, or perhaps even slightly taken aback.
"Sorry?"
"Your book," she clarified, attempting to sound gentler, friendlier. The man instantly blanched at her effort. "Dragons of the Loch," she pressed, her fingers twitching anxiously at the edge of her purse. "I just mean that I find it hard to believe that you've read that."
"Oh!" he exclaimed with marked relief and realization. "What makes you think that I haven't read it?"
She shrugged, fighting a smile as the doors opened and closed for the 8th floor. "Experience. I've literally never met another person who's even heard of Leopold Fitz, much less read his work. I'd hoped to meet him tonight, but it didn't work out."
"Him?"
"Leopold Fitz."
His nose wrinkled. "I think he prefers Fitz."
Jemma made a noise in reply that was something between a scoff and a laugh. "In any case," she said with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, "how can I be sure that you're not just carrying it around to give the appearance of good taste?"
When his mouth crooked to the side in a smile, she wished Skye had been there to witness it. Her roommate was often teasing that the only class Jemma must've failed in school was flirting. As if there were actually courses on flirting.
The man ran his hand along the stubble at his jawline and looked down at the book. "Well, I can assure you that I have read this book and all of the others."
"Even Dawn of the Perthshire Man?"
"Even that." He chuckled amicably. "It was terrible, wasn't it?"
Jemma shook her head. "It wasn't," she said honestly as the doors opened and closed for the 2nd floor. "It wasn't terrible. Not at all. But I will say that his description of anaerobic organisms on eogaian planets was a bit flawed. They don't need free oxygen in order to survive."
His mouth fell open as he jerked his head with surprise. "You're a biologist?"
"Biochemist. I dabble a bit in Xenobiology as well," she admitted proudly. "But I have a PhD in Biology and Chemistry."
His mouth opened and closed wordlessly as the doors to the elevator slid open again. When they didn't immediately close, Jemma glanced away from the stranger and realized that they'd finally reached the ground level.
Disappointment curled in her stomach and she looked to the man, struggling to find the right thing to say next.
"Did you want to walk-"
"Are you doing anything?"
"- for a bit. I'm just headed home."
She hiked her purse up her shoulder, trying to reign in the awkward tension that had suddenly crept between them. She could feel a blush creeping up the back of her neck and she knew that if she didn't seize the opportunity, she'd later regret it.
"I live at Maple and Cherry. It's not far," Jemma explained hurriedly as she slowly exited the elevator and skillfully avoided his gaze. "Would you be interested in walking me home?"
"Ye-yes. Definitely." When she dared to glance up at him, she noticed that he was smiling broadly and her heart skipped at his obvious eagerness.
"Good," she said, her own lips quirking upward as they stepped out into the cold air. An excited chill ran the length of her back and she tugged the wrap tighter over her shoulders and arms, her fingers catching lightly on Skye's snowman brooch.
"Were you disappointed that he didn't show?" the man asked, motioning with the book in his hand. "To the Gala, I mean."
She shrugged. "My friends dolled me up like this because I was meant to meet him," she admitted without thinking.
"Really?" he asked, his curiosity evident.
"They think I fancy him."
His eyebrows rose and she could see from the corner of her eyes that he was working his lips contemplatively. She worried briefly if maybe she'd said too much; scared him off before they'd even reached the first crosswalk.
"Do you?" His voice was a soft, stunned whisper.
"I don't think so?" she admitted with a shrug. "I mean can you really fancy someone you've never met? I don't even know what he looks like!"
He nodded. "I'd heard he doesn't want people to know who he is. Probably hates galas and getting dressed up for no reason." His free hand rubbed at the back of his neck. "He probably has a hunched back."
Jemma laughed and he looked at her, bemused. "My friend said the same thing," she explained. "But I don't think so."
"No?"
"I do think he's handsome though-"
"Handsome?" His voice pitched with surprise.
"Well, pasty, maybe."
He straightened defensively. "Pasty? 'Cause you're so sun-kissed?"
"It's not like that!" She shook her head and smiled genially in an attempt to minimize her unintended insult of their favourite author. "It's because I think he spends his time in a lab. Probably in Scotland. He's always writing about Scotland." She nudged him gently with her elbow. "He was probably your neighbour and you didn't even know it."
"Yeah, wouldn't that be something?" he muttered.
"I think he's smart too. Probably a physicist. Or maybe an engineer."
He reached out, his hand hooking into her arm and stopping her in place. His blue eyes were wide with wonder and surprise. "You think he's a physicist? What makes you say that?"
"The inventions his main character makes," she replied, hoping that her face didn't betray the tightness she felt in her chest at his touch. "He's practically a digital age alchemist. Everything he writes about I think must be possible. I imagine that he's created them all in a lab somewhere. They're too important to not have become a reality." Jemma's gaze fell to the ground. "In truth, I think I probably wanted to help him make them a reality. That's probably why I wanted to meet him. Why I imagine him to be something more than just a hunchback who lives by himself in a Florida cabin."
His hand dropped from her arm and he started to walk again. "You're incredible," he muttered with a shake of his head.
She jogged to catch up. "How'd you mean?"
There was a pause as he considered his answer. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips. Finally he turned his head toward her, decisive. "I've made them."
Jemma shook her head with confusion. "Sorry?"
"The inventions. All of them. They exist. Well," he paused, "sort of."
Jemma stared in disbelief, nearly nicking her shoulder on a mailbox in the process. "You made the inventions from the books?"
He nodded, looking away.
"All of them?"
"All of them."
"The drones? The mouse hole? The full spectrum goggles? Even the femtosecond laser tech?"
"They're not perfect," he admitted, sheepishly. "I haven't found-" He shook his head as if clearing a thought. "I haven't been able to perfect them. There's someone that I think can help, I just haven't been able to work up the nerve to ask."
Jemma was stunned. "You should ask him! I can't fathom anyone saying no."
"We've never met, to be honest." He gave a deprecating shrug. "I imagine she's very busy. Besides, she's far too important to be interested in the work of some little-known inventor."
Jemma couldn't help but notice how he'd corrected the pronoun that she'd used. A spark of disappointment shot through her; she wished she could see his inventions. She was interested.
"You don't know that," she insisted coming to a stop.
He turned. "I don't," he agreed. "But is it worth the feeling of rejection if she refuses?"
Jemma had no reply for him; she understood implicitly the sting of having someone tell you that something you'd long dreamed possible wasn't possible.
The silence stretched between them with Jemma wanting to hang on to every last second. Finally, when he moved to continue walking, she reached out to stop him.
"This is me," she said, pointing over her shoulder.
"Ri'." His face fell and she wondered if he was as disappointed as she was that their walk had come to an end.
"The walk was probably too short," she added softly, a hint of humour to her voice as something inside of her tugged with want when he took a step toward her.
"Probably," he replied, his lips quirking.
"I live too close to Stark Tower, I think." She stepped forward, further narrowing the gap between them and his eyes darkened in response, sending her gaze dropping to his lips.
His jaw tightened and she wondered selfishly if he was contemplating the same thing she was. She sucked in a nervous breath and silently chastised herself for the raw desire that surged through her for the man that stood before her. He was basically a stranger; she'd only met him less than an hour ago. She didn't even know his name.
Yet, she felt almost magnetically drawn to him.
"I should go," she whispered at long last. What she was saying directly contradicted what she was feeling. Jemma didn't want to say goodbye, not yet anyway.
He nodded slowly, as if he too was in a daze and unwilling to leave her. "You should," he said, his voice thick.
Her breath hitched in reply, her control beginning to unravel. He reached for her, his hand grazing her jaw. She couldn't bring herself to move. She didn't want to.
Then, almost without warning, his head dipped and claimed her mouth. If he hadn't stolen what breath Jemma had left, she'd have gasped with surprise. Instead, she whimpered contentedly, her arms wrapping around his neck as his hands shifted toward her hips, drawing her close. The corners of his book dug into her back.
He kissed with a confidence she hadn't expected and it made her want him more. Her body thrummed with desire and she longed to touch more of his warm, inviting skin. She arched against him, modesty long forgotten as his lips slid against hers and his hand sunk lower.
"Come upstairs," she panted against his mouth, her fingers settling at his jaw where she felt his muscles move as he considered her offer.
Without responding, he kissed her again and she very nearly dragged him into the nearest alleyway to have her way with him. With a man she'd only just met.
As his lips traced a path toward her neck, realization dawned on her. "I don't even know your name," she whispered dimly, a smile pulling at her lips.
He rested his forehead against her shoulder, his breath just as laboured and uneven as hers was. When he finally lifted his head and looked at her, he seemed pale in the moonlight.
"You're never going to believe me," he said with a nervous, throaty chuckle.
"Try me."
He drew in a shaky breath. "It's Fi-"
"Jemma?" A shrill, English voice called out into the darkness. "Darling is that you?" Jemma's head snapped to the side and she practically pushed the man away from her, tearing something from her dress in the process. Caught unawares, he stood behind her, cowering abashedly in the shadows of the building. "It is you! Edward, look! She's just gotten home; we've just caught her."
"Mum? Daddy?" She threw a quick, apologetic glance over her shoulder to the man whose name she still didn't know. A man she'd just finished snogging very publicly. Hopefully her parents hadn't seen...
He ducked his head shyly, the confidence she'd seen seconds ago suddenly gone. "What are you doing here?" she asked, turning back toward her parents, shocked by their unexpected arrival.
Her mother placed a quick kiss on each of Jemma's cheeks. "We were in the area and decided to see if you wanted grab a late dinner."
"Your roommate- the one with the funny name," her father waved absently in the air, "said you were out at a gala."
"Skye? Yes," she said. "I was. At Stark Tower for the SciTech Gala." She spared a glance over her shoulder and found that the man had disappeared. Her heart sunk. "It was some holiday thing," she continued, distracted.
"Barbara said you wouldn't be home until later," her mum noted, oblivious to the shift in Jemma's mood. "Did things not go well?"
"What's that on your face?" her father asked, interrupting, swiping at the corner of Jemma's eye with his thumb. "Is that glitter? Bloody hell, Jemma! You look like a trollop!"
"The gala was fine," she replied, her voice terse as she batted her father's hand away. "And it was a Nutcracker theme. I'm meant to be the Sugar Plum Fairy."
"Well, you look ridiculous."
"Almost unrecognizable, really!" her mother added.
"Did you want to come upstairs for a bit?" Jemma asked, ignoring their comments and walking up the stairs to her building. "I'll wash it off and then we can go for supper."
As she held the door open for her parents who'd followed her back into the building, her mother leaned in toward her. "Who was that boy you were with?" she whispered. "You're not dating someone, are you?"
Jemma shook her head. "I'm not dating anyone," she replied, a touch defensively. "He was no one important."
.:TO BE CONTINUED:.
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