Soli Deo gloria
DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Agents of SHIELD.
This is a fanfic for Emma, who's watched every episode of AoS with me, and loves Fitz-Simmons almost much as Fitz-Simmons loves each other. Merry Christmas, Emma. :)
"Do you think, if we become agents, they'll put us in the field?" Fitz asked Simmons, his tone anxious.
Simmons bit the end of her pencil, a habit she delved into quite often now that finals were upon them. "Well, we won't be trained to be field agents. But perhaps on occasion, they might need our expertise. Why do you ask, Fitz?" she asked curiously.
"'Cause I think being killed by the enemy out on the field would be better than this," Fitz said seriously.
It was dark outside the windows of the S.H.I.E.L.D. study hall. Only a few students remained in its confines, too haunted by thoughts of failing to give in to the slumber their exhausted classmates weakly gave in to. It was darkly lit, only spotlights of study lamps giving it any illumination. Fitz-Simmons sat at a table alone, their laptops showing off the shadows beneath their eyes. All around them were countless textbooks thrown open to reveal heavy information—and a heavy hand with bookmarks and highlighters. Countless essays were open and papers ruffled and scribbled on, besides. It was a complete mess, a little world impenetrable for everyone except these two.
"Oh, Fitz. It's just Finals week. It's what every university and college student goes through before they go home for the holidays. Many agents before us have survived, or else they wouldn't be agents now," Jemma said. She smiled and added more reassurance by squeezing the top of his hand.
He hastily withdrew his hand, not liking the sudden zap of warmth it gave him. "That's an encouraging thought. I don't think it'll sustain me through the next three days of pain and anguish, though."
"If my cheerful encouragements aren't enough," Simmons grinned, "then our study routine will be."
Fitz nodded, knocking the end of his pencil on his forehead and trying to not watch Jemma bite the end of hers. "What's next on the schedule? Going over the molecular structure index cards or repeating the periodic table with the atoms' corresponding atomic and mass numbers?"
"That's all for my chemistry exams. What about your engineering class exams you have to study for?" Jemma went over the notes. She pressed her lips together and touched her thumbprint against a highlighted section. "Ah. Those study notes are at four-forty."
"See? We're doing your chemistry stuff right now. Wait, what time is it?" Fitz glanced at his watch. "It's only two-seventeen. In the morning." He rubbed a hand in his face and groaned. "For Pete's sake. I hate all-nighters, Jemma."
"I know, Leo." She sighed along with him and said, "Do you think that we'd be this stressed-out right now if we were in regular uni, instead of at S.H.I.E.L.D. academy?"
"You tell me. You're the one with the two PhDs." Fitz shrugged. "In regular uni, I was sort of a loner. I spent most of my time by myself. I spent hours on homework while my other classmates were playing football or gettin' a pint. Finals were never stressful for me." He breathed out deep and ran a hand partly through his thick curly hair. ". . . Until now." Obviously S.H.I.E.L.D. finals were more stressful than regular finals, with or without two PhDs.
"Usually I love homework—" Simmons said.
"Hermione," Fitz teased, his face beaming.
"Oh, shush, Fitz. Like I was saying, I love homework. I did so much in primary school and secondary school, and then in uni and graduate school. Here, it's so different. Oh, fascinating, but different. S.H.I.E.L.D. offers so many different new concepts and advanced technology that's never been seen or shown before in public, nevermind taught to me in a classroom. I mean, Professor Hall's chemical kinetics class would never be taught in a regular university. And what's what makes it so hard and yet so fascinating."
"Since it's so new and hard and stuff, of course we get to do our finals on it." Fitz threw down the paper he'd been rereading for the seventh time and sighed.
"It is hard. This is why S.H.I.E.L.D. is for the best and brightest only. Like you," Simmons said, smiling warmly at Fitz.
Fitz hoped the alien white of his laptop didn't show off his inevitable blush. "Hey, they recruited you, too." He smiled that crooked smile of his meant only for her.
Simmons smiled, and then that smile faded into something serious. "Do you think, when we graduate, they'll separate us?" Fitz straightened in his seat, the very thought so strange and terrifying that it was hard to just imagine the concept of it. "I don't know, like putting us in different divisions, or what if one of us goes on a field assignment and one of us oversees a lab, or—or—"
"Jemma." Now it was Fitz who put his hand on top of hers as a sign of reassurance. His voice was quiet. "They won't separate us. We won't let them."
Simmons smiled.
"Not to mention 'most everyone on campus calls us Fitz-Simmons and I find myself rather attached to that name," Fitz said. He almost didn't finish the sentence for Simmons had burst into giggles and it grew hard to control himself from doing the same.
"So am I." Simmons sighed—whether she was tired or frustrated or content was a mystery—as she turned back to her study. But instead of focusing on the text or breaking out their index cards for a mind break, she said, fiddling with the edge of her wire-spiral notebook, "Where are you going, for Christmas?"
"Home, to my mum." She loved his accent when he said that, that Scottish lilt. "Machenzi. I'll get to see the country, and the farm, and the hills. The fog over the fence at dawn, and the sound of the sheep baaing. I can wear my scratchy knitted wool stockings and listen to the Queen's speech on the tube while Mum bakes mince pies." He had a far-away look in his eye, looking past the fortified walls of the study hall all the way back on his mum's farm.
"That sounds beautiful, Fitz," Simmons said quietly.
"And you, Jemma? Back to London and your flat with your parents?" Fitz prompted her.
"Yes. We'll go shopping on Christmas Eve and pop crackers and have a Christmas roast. I hope I get a pink hat this year. Last year it was this frightful black one," Simmons said, laughing.
Fitz watched her for a second and wished away all thoughts of finals and technical problems, of Hall breathing down his neck with his scrutinizing eyes, of his uncertain future with S.H.I.E.L.D. and the horrible notion of Fitz-Simmons being pulled apart. He instead imagined Jemma in the loving arms of her parents, celebrating Christmas in holly-decorated rooms full of the smell of pine and peppermint, with the radio softly playing some lolling, droning Christmas classic in the background.
He imagined him and her alone after finals had left them well alone, and talking face-to-face, and then noticing, just by chance, the sprig of mistletoe dangling an inch or two above their heads.
"I hope you get your pink hat, Jemma. Send me a pic when you do," Fitz said.
"Only if you do the same," Simmons said, holding up a finger and looking him squarely in the eye.
"Sounds fair," Fitz agreed.
A quiet grew between them; both of them wanted to remain in the world of their native countries' Christmases, and perhaps entertain the idea (only to themselves in their heads, of course) of someday having the other be a part of those Christmases.
"I suppose we better get back to studying," Fitz said reluctantly.
Simmons showed more energy as she straightened. "Yes, of course. We're falling behind schedule." She handed him the three-inch high pile of index cards and faced him. Clearing her throat, she said, "Let's begin."
Fitz glanced at the first card on top of the pile, with basic information and then extra notes written in Simmons' neat cursive on it. "Hydr—"
"Hydrogen, with an atomic number of one and a mass of one-point-zero-zero-seven-nine amu, is the lightest of the elements and is the most prolific of all Earth's elements, natural or lab-made—"
"I don't even see why you need me, if you've got it all down. You can recite it like a speech off the script," Fitz sighed, putting the cards down.
"No! Of course I need you, Fitz. I can't do this alone," Simmons protested, even as he turned his eyes away from her.
"Yes, you can. You're the most brilliant person I know." And Fitz meant that. It wasn't sarcasm.
"But I can't do this without you. Without you, I get nervous and—and flustered, and Fitz. Fitz. Don't let finals bum you out and make you worry." She took his hand. "We can do this, together."
Fitz thought this over, and then glanced at their hands. Despite her brilliance and two PhDs, she needed him. Her eyes told him as much as her words.
"Together, then," he said.
Simmons smiled, and the next few hours played out just as they'd planned them—except for the part where their quick cat-nap turned into a two-hour one.
"Fitz-Simmons!" some classmate hollered.
Fitz opened his eyes, blinking. "What is it?" he asked, even as he felt the pain in his back. Sleeping in a chair had too many cons.
"Hall's finals on kinetics is in five minutes!" the classmate called, pointing at her watch.
Fitz cursed under his breath and turned to Simmons, whose head lay comfortably against his shoulder. As much as it pained him to waken her, he rubbed her shoulder and whispered, "Jemma, Jemma, wake up. We've got a finals in five."
"Hmmm? What, Fitz?" Simmons murmured.
His pain was doubled. "We've got a finals in five. We've got to get up."
"Finals? Finals in five?" Simmons sighed as she straightened. She pushed sleep-ruffled hair out of her eyes and said, awake and alarmed, "Finals in five!"
"Finals in five. Let's do this," Fitz said determinedly.
Somehow those two grabbed enough notes and knapsacks and papers and pencils to have the sufficient supplies for the taking on of their many, many finals, and got to their classroom, in four minutes and seventeen seconds.
Three days later, they met in the study hall. All alone, they met face-to-face.
"All A's," Fitz said.
"Same." Simmons grinned.
They threw themselves into their hug, embracing the other entirely. One of Simmons' feet couldn't touch the ground. Fitz kept them solidly down. While there wasn't any mistletoe or the slightest hint of a kiss, this was more than Fitz needed.
"I think we've earned ourselves a cup of tea before we head to the airport." Simmons let go of him and held out her arm. "Shall we?"
"How could I say no to that face?" Fitz interlinked his elbow with hers, and the two walked, bundled up for the outdoors, to the nearest coffeeshop. And Jemma leaned her head against Leo's shoulder, with a sigh of contentment.
MY BABIES.
Thanks for reading! (Review?) MERRY CHRISTMAS!