This story takes place near the end of Fitz and Simmons first year at the Academy.

Agents of SHIELD belongs to its superhero creators and ABC and Marvel :D. They get a hazah for making this show, seriously it's the best.

I posted this in two chapters because it was really long and I figured it was easier to read that way. This way if you want to read part of it one day and the next part another or something you can without having to scroll through one big block. (It's an experiment so please feel free to tell me if I am wrong on this, I just know what I find easier.)

/-/-/

The Postman was evil, he was sure of it. Simmons didn't believe him, she hadn't seen it yet, but she would.

It started a few months ago, near the beginning of his second semester. His friendship with Simmons was spring-leaf new, a flower budding through the mid-January snow. What a gorgeous flower it had turned out to be, his favourite flower, colourful and sweetly scented like lilacs. Simmons had blossomed in his heart and become his best friend in the entire universe (he was counting Asgardians and the like in this too) and, even though she was wrong about the postman, he still thought she was the smartest person in the Academy, perhaps even the smartest person in the entire world (she'd chide him for his imprecision if she ever knew he thought that, there was no way to accurately measure it, but he was sure it was true).

He was getting off track though. It all started at the end of February.

/-/-/

February 28, 2006

Simmons was suppose to meet him at his dorm but she was late because of the snowstorm. It was bloody cold but still not cold enough for him to wear that hat she'd knitted him. He didn't have the heart to tell her, but Simmons knit about as well as Hermione Granger did when she was making hats for those house elves. And unlike Dobby he wasn't obsessed enough with clothes to wear it anyway.

The postman said his name was Joe (a likely story) and struck up a conversation with Fitz. At the time, it had seemed innocent enough, but looking back Fitz realized he'd been scoping him out.

He knew Fitz was a student at the Academy (even the postman there had top level security clearance, he handled some sensitive documents. Couldn't anyone see how that that was a serious problem?!) and he asked Fitz what he was working on. He and Simmons were working on micro-drones with the ability to crawl across the surface of liquid water, light enough to be held up by the surface tension, but he wasn't going to tell a complete stranger that, so he made up a fanciful story about a gun that shot giant balls of sticky goo at enemies (which agents Lincoln and Dunham actually created a prototype for the next week, they must have overheard him and stolen his fake idea, the pricks.) 'Joe' then asked him about his grades and was impressed at how high they were. He said Fitz had a bright future ahead of him and wondered if he'd ever considered working for anyone other than SHIELD.

"You mean like NASA or the CIA?" he'd asked, confused.

'Joe' had smiled at him and replied. "Something like that."

Warning sign number 1.

Fitz had casually answered no, unaware of the postman's sinister intentions.

/-/-/

March 7, 2006

Over the next couple of weeks, 'Joe' had met up with Fitz almost every day. 'Accidentally' running into him each morning when he delivered the post and asking him questions about his work and his progress. Interrogating him actually.

"So are you still working on that goo-gun?" He asked that chilly spring morning, grinning as he handed Fitz his mail (a letter from his mum and a coupon for the new shawarma restaurant down the street, he'd have to take Simmons sometime, it was two for one).

"Nah, we've moved on," Fitz told him absentmindedly, going through the menu.

"Oh, to what?" he inquired cheerfully, foot darting between the door and the frame as Fitz tried to close it.

He shifted his attention from the food to the postman. "Er... we're still brainstorming," he replied, uncomfortable. The man was nosier than... a nose. A nosy nose at that.

"Need any ideas smarty-pants?" he kidded, winking.

"We have a few assignments on the go at the moment," he let him know uneasily, unsure as to exactly how secret the man's secret security clearance went. Was he actually allowed to be asking these things?

"Anything interesting?" he pressed, keeping his wide grin.

"Not really," Fitz admitted. First year assignments weren't challenging enough for him and Simmons. It was the reason they had side projects, the reason agent Weaver was considering moving them ahead a year.

"Well maybe it's time to jump ship then," he suggested, winking again and Fitz caught a flash of a tattoo as he swiftly pulled up his sleeve. It looked like an octopus or maybe a squid? Something with several tentacles. Were those heads on the end of them?

"I'm happy here," he said firmly. "If you'll excuse me, I'm having company and I need to clean up."

"Of course, you'll want to look nice for that lady friend of yours." Yet another wink. Did this man have a winking compulsion or something?

"We're just friends actually," he let him know quickly, ears a deep shade of red.

In hindsight, that should have set off a cacophony of alarm bells in Fitz's head. The shady man had Simmons in his sights, Simmons. The poor thing was so sweet and friendly she'd probably get into his tinted-windowed black van if he told her there was something mutated to dissect. She'd probably think that that was where all the blood splattered across the walls of the vehicle had come from.

Even at the time he found it strange and had decided to warn her about 'Joe', just in case he set his nosy nose after her too.

/-/-/

March 14, 2006

"I'm telling you Simmons, he's too friendly," Fitz insisted, flipping the pages of the Simmon's textbook The History of SHIELD. (His was somewhere under a sour smelling pile of laundry which was shoved beneath his and embedded with air-fresheners.) It had to be in here somewhere.

"Some people are just friendly Fitz," she told him dismissively before taking another bit of her shawarama. "This is delicious," she added, smiling warmly at him. "It was very nice of you to get me one too."

He nervously eyed the stack of paper on his dresser which hid his small army of coupons. He'd gotten one every day since the start of the month. The shawarmas were excellent, but the man who sold them was almost as pesky as 'Joe' and Fitz had decided he was going to start throwing them away. He couldn't tell Simmons though, she wouldn't understand.

"Yeah... good," he replied slowly. "But they're bloody expensive," he improvised.

"How much were they?" she inquired, sounding guilty. Damn it, now she was going to feel bad. He needed to work on his on-the-spot lies.

"You don't need to worry about it," he assured, smiling cheerfully. "I'm happy to treat you. We'll just go someplace else from now on OK?"

"Alright," she smiled back. "Thank you Fitz, that's very sweet of you."

Now he felt guilty.

His guilt was soon forgotten, however, scattered like dandelion seeds on a windy day, when he flipped to the next page of the textbook and found what he had been searching for.

"Aha!" he exclaimed. "That's it! That's what 'Joe' has on his arm." His hands drew air quotes as he spoke the postman's name.

"Fitz I'm sure Joe is his actual name," Simmons sighed, setting down her (actually very cheap) shawarma onto her plate and moving to see what he was looking at.

"Hydra?" she asked sceptically. "You think Joe is part of Hydra?" She laughed, "Fitz, Hydra is gone. They fell over half a century ago."

"Then why does he have a tattoo of one on his arm?" Fitz demanded, annoyed that she didn't believe him.

"It was a Greek myth before they took it to use as their symbol," she pointed out reasonable, tilting her head at him and raising her eyebrows like he was being silly. "Does Joe's tattoo have a skull in it?"

"No," he admitted grudgingly. "But Simmons he's nosy. He won't stop asking questions."

"He's probably just being friendly," she guessed (guessing wrong).

"I think he wants to recruit me," Fitz pressed. "

"Fitz that's ridiculous," she insisted.

"He's asked about you too," he fretted.

"Really? What did he say?" she wondered curiously, not at all nervous or suspicious like she should have been.

He blushed. "Oh... just... stuff..."

"What sort of stuff?" she asked conversationally.

"You know," he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. "Just wanted to know who you were. I told him you were my friend," he informed her, watching her reaction.

"Well that isn't right," she grinned impishly at him and his ears burned. "I thought I was your best friend," she teased to his relief (relief right?).

He chuckled at her. "I can't tell him everything," he joked, lightening at the easy humour in her expression. "He is working for the enemy."

She rolled her eyes, laughing. "Eat your shawarma before it gets soggy you silly paranoid over-spender."

"The things you make me do," he jested, laughing with her.

It felt right, being around her. It made his little room at the Academy feel like home. Simmons was quickly becoming an incredibly important part of his life, but she didn't believe him about 'Joe', and he realized it was up to him to gather up the evidence against the man so he could protect his treasured friend from his dastardly plans.

/-/-/

There is a reference to the science fiction series Fringe in this story. It is the names Dunham and Lincoln. They are agents who work for Fringe Division in the other universe.

The shwarama's are kind of a reference to the last scene of the Avengers :P.

Also Fitz's opinions on things are not necessarily my own haha. (I dunno if we diverge in this story, but we do sometimes when I write him.)