AUTHOR'S NOTES: Here's the next chapter! For now this is all, but I'm definitely planning to write some more in this little AU, so keep an eye out for that.
...
The next day, he's back at four again. At this point, Jemma really shouldn't be surprised. Maybe he's going to make it a thing. She knows some people who stick quite closely to schedule, like Audrey Nathan who only visits on Thursdays and Fridays, and Raina who lingers by the romance section every Tuesday, and Melinda May who drops off Coulson's keys every Saturday. But there's never really been anyone who arrives exactly at a specific time without fail.
Wildly, she wonders how he does it. Maybe he has a watch and he times himself. Maybe he waits outside the library until precisely four o'clock. Or maybe, she chides herself, he's just a normal person who happens to finish his work or studies or some sort of business right at the perfect time to visit the library at precisely four in the evening.
Nevertheless, this time she's ready when he enters. No being lost in studies, no being distracted by troublesome children (as cute as they are, they really are a handful).
She waits patiently while he chooses a book, clicking away on the computer and trying to pretend that she's not texting Bobbi and Skye as she sits behind the counter. Eventually he draws up to the counter, and she's flashing him a smile before he can open his mouth.
When he sets his book on the counter, she can't help but raise an eyebrow curiously at him. "Do you have a child, Mr Fitz?"
His eyes widen almost comically and she has to fight the heavy urge to laugh, instead picking up the book and tapping impatiently at the computer. "Just a bit of light reading, then?"
"I must've picked up the wrong book," he mumbles, and then she really can't stop the giggles as she passes The Cat In The Hat back to him. He leaves rather hurriedly that day.
"Weird one, isn't he?" Lance grins from his side of the desk, flicking through his phone and doing probably everything but his job.
"No," she disagrees, shaking her head. "Just shy, I think."
"Whatever you say, princess," Lance scoffs.
...
For the next week, every four o'clock Fitz stops by and picks out a new book. She starts to notice the little things, like the fact that he always wears a tie on Wednesdays, and Sundays is apparently when he shaves because on Monday he always shows up looking like an eight year old girl - Lance's words, not hers, she thinks he looks perfectly fine.
Often, she'll be working on something and Lance will poke his head back and announce that her friend is here to see her. She'll roll her eyes and swat at him but go to cater for Fitz anyway. Honestly, she's just saving him from Lance's terrible servicing skills.
Gradually, she'll pick up on an extra thing or two about him as the days run past. He's left his mum to move to America, he has a rather unhealthy obsession with monkeys and he's actually rather clever.
It's on a rainy Thursday afternoon when he stumbles in again, muttering curses under his breath and shaking rain from his jacket. She fights the urge to laugh and instead settles for leaning her elbows on the desk and grinning at him from behind her hands.
"Hello, Fitz. Left your umbrella at home?"
"I don't have one," he grumbles and she raises her eyebrows at him in surprise.
"You don't have an umbrella?" she echoes incredulously. "But everybody has an umbrella somewhere!"
"Yeah, well I don't," he admits, and she can't help but roll her eyes at him, fumbling under her desk.
"Here." She pulls out a pale polka-dotted umbrella that was a gift from Coulson (a rather strange one, come to think of it now) and sets it on the desk with a smile. "It's mine. You can borrow it, if you'd like."
He blinks at it in bewilderment, and she has to stifle another laugh again. "I can't," he protests.
"I don't mind, honestly," she insists, hoping her voice is as genuine as she's intending it to be. "You can use it. I've got some friends picking me up after work today so I'll barely be getting wet anyway."
He gives her a startled look for a moment, before shaking his head abruptly and pulling a face. "No, really. I can't! It's too girly," he complains, and she rolls her eyes at him.
"Just take it, Fitz." It's clear the topic's not up for discussion, even though she's openly laughing at him now. "Honestly, who's going to visit the library at four if you end up catching hypothermia in this weather?"
He grumbles under his breath but eventually grudgingly takes the umbrella, and she smiles at his retreating figure as he whines something that sounds suspciously like, "is there a bloody butterfly on this?" and leaves the building. It's only after that she properly realises that he'd never even issued a book out.
...
She hadn't been lying about her friends coming to pick her up. Right when her shift's just about to end, Skye saunters into the library like she owns it (and techincally she does, if Coulson ever decides to pass it down to her - an unlikely story) and slings herself over the front desk like it's her birthright.
"C'mon, Jemma. Bobbi's waiting in the car. Let's go," she whines, and Jemma rolls her eyes fondly at her.
"You sound like Lance."
"Hey!" comes an indignant call, and Lance pops out of nowhere. He raises his eyebrows at Skye and leans an elbow on the table, changing his attitude suddenly. "Can I come along?"
"Stay away, Lance," Jemma warns, gently stowing away her papers and grabbing her bag. "She's taken."
"What's taking you so long?" asks a new voice, and Bobbi Morse enters the library with a jingle of car keys. Immediately, Lance's mouth drops open in such a comical look of surprise that Jemma and Skye have to avoid meeting each other's gaze so as not to burst out in loud fits of giggles.
"Bobbi?" he splutters with an aghast expression.
"Hunter," Bobbi remarks coolly. "Ready to go, guys?"
Skye looks like she wants to stay and watch the drama unfold with a bowl of popcorn, but Jemma's more merciful and instead scoops up her bags with a hidden smile. "Of course. Where to?" Disbelieving looks are sent from both of her friends, and she laughs suddenly. "Right. Silly question. The usual place, then?"
"You bet, Jemma."
("Hang on-" Lance yells after them.
She's pretty sure they all take great pleasure in ignoring him.)
...
Later, when they're seated at their usual table (a private corner by the window) with drinks spread out in front of them and a bowl of chips to snack on, Skye leans forward with a mischevious look and taps the top of Bobbi's bottle with a cheeky smile.
"So, what's the deal with you and Mr Cowboy?"
"Divorce," Bobbi answers simply, pulling a face and downing the rest of her bottle as if to make a point. "Second one, actually."
This information isn't new to Jemma, who's heard about the she-devil ex-wife stories on constant repeat, but it's still funny to watch Skye's surprised expression, so she laughs anyway.
"What about you?" Skye queries, one eyebrow raised in a way that makes Jemma suspect that she's slightly tipsy. "Anything interesting in your exciting job at the library?"
Jemma rolls her eyes (there's been a lot of that lately). "Honestly, Skye," she smiles, shaking her head in a strange mix of exasperation and fondness that only comes with longterm friendship. "It's not that bad. The people are nice and your dad pays well. There are worse ways to go. Besides, you can't look at me like that. At least I actually live in an apartment."
"Hey, the van is by choice!" Skye retorts defensively, while Bobbi snorts and Jemma throws her a knowing look. "Besides, don't you want something better in life? You've got, what, two PhD's? It's time to do something about it, Jemma. I'm sure hanging out with Lance and chatting to little old ladies is fun, but don't you want a little something more in life?"
At this, Jemma frowns and makes a little noise of disagreement in the back of her throat. "Ah - actually, Skye, it's not just little old ladies visiting the library. There's plenty of other customers, such as Seth, Donnie and Callie, or Mike and Ace, or Fitz-" She freezes immediately when Bobbi and Skye exchange glances, and she looks from both suspiciously. "What? What is it?"
"Nothing," Bobbi remarks. "Just, Fitz is a new one. We've heard about all your other visitors before, why not this one?"
"Something to hide, Jemma?" smirks Skye.
Not unexpectedly, she blushes and scoffs at both her friends. "Don't be ridiculous. It's because he's new around here, I think. Quite nice, but very quiet."
Skye laughs and shakes her head at Jemma, but Bobbi pauses, frowning as she taps her finger on the table contemplatively. "Hang on, I've heard of a Fitz before. Oh - yes! Curly hair, blue eyes, Scottish accent?"
She blinks in surprise, but nods. "Yes! That sounds just like him! A bit shy, isn't he?"
"Aw," Skye coos playfully, but Bobbi looks like she's lost in thought yet again.
"But Fitz isn't exactly shy, Jemma. Sure, he's can be quiet when he tries really hard, but when he's with Mack it's like the noise multiplies. You touch one of his projects and suddenly you're hit with a Scottish explosion."
"That doesn't sound like him at all," she muses. "Maybe he doesn't like me very much."
"That's impossible," Skye snorts. "You're like the freaking sun from the tellytubbies."
"Oh, that really boosts my morale, Skye."
"You know it does."
...
The next day, she tries not to study him too closely, but the analytical part of her mind takes over and she finds herself frowning at him from the other side of the desk when she's positive he's not looking (which is really quite hard, his eyes don't stray often) in an attempt to puzzle him out. Unlike most of the other daily visitors, Fitz doesn't reveal all too much about himself. Even after several weeks, she really doesn't know anything about him, even though she's positive she's spilled enough about her own life to write a full-length novel.
It's normally her who starts up conversations with a cheerful smile, so she's slightly startled when it's him who, ultimately, makes the move that seals the beginning of an unforgettable friendship.
He gives her a small smile while she's attempting to work the machine and renew his book, gesturing to the ever-constant pile of assignments. "What're you working on?"
"Oh, this? It's just for.. for school," she says vaguely, trying not to bite her lip and give the game away. Not that there's anything wrong with attending the Academy, of course (she loves it, actually), but it's a rather.. prestigious school, and she's been given quite a few evil glares at the mention of it. She's learned to keep her mouth shut and stick to basics. But Fitz seems friendly enough, she reasons, and rather different and surely it won't matter if- "Can you keep a secret?" she blurts out.
He blinks at her in confusion, but he nods.
"I go to the Academy," she rushes out before she can lose courage and look like an idiot (which she probably already does, but that's completely besides the point). "You know, that famous one? I don't normally tell people this because it makes me seem kind of posh or I feel like I'm rubbing it in, but you seem nice enough and don't tell anybody but I'm actually the youngest to pass through, which is really rather exciting, I mean, breaking recorded history and everything."
For what seems to be the longest time he just stares at her, and suddenly she feels incredibly foolish and returns back to staring adamantly at the computer screen with an embarassed flush. Then he makes a small noise that might be shock in the back of his throat, and she's drawn to look at him again.
"Hang on," he mutters, frowning and looking at her with widened eyes. "You're Jemma Simmons?"
"Um.. I might be?" she squeaks, too surprised to say anything of sense.
"I go to the Academy as well," he says several minutes of shock later. "Leopold Fitz? Uh.." he scratches the back of his neck almost nervously, "second youngest in history, I think?"
She's left speechless for a moment, before she realises that she's on her feet and smiling excitedly at him. "Yes! I knew I recognised you somewhere! You're in engineering, right? Your designs are genius! I mean, engineering is not my field of exercise but I certainly know enough to tell that you're incredible!"
He's blushing now, but she's far too excited to care that she's embarrassed him. Besides, it's true. She's seen his work, marvelled at it from afar (and even on occasion smiled to herself as she thought up something to compliment his design). Really, she's just amazed that she hadn't recognised him before now.
"Yeah, well, you're Jemma Simmons," he counters. "You're brilliant. Aren't you messing around with dendrotoxin?"
"Well, I wouldn't call it messing around... but yes, it's terribly fascinating."
"Yeah, well I had an idea for this thing.. and I think the dendrotoxin would be a perfect fit with a few modifications and adjustments to fit the device. I've been meaning to track you down for ages now, but I didn't really know who you were, and.."
Before she knows it, she's beaming at him. "So it's a date, then?" And heartbeats later; "I mean, professionally of course."
And so, at precisely 4:06PM on a cloudy Friday evening, two geniuses strike up an extraordinary friendship in a friendly little library somewhere in America.
("Told you he was starstruck. The two nerds in a library. It's practically a modern Romeo and Julia."
"Take that hat off, Lance, and then we'll speak."
"No way, princess!"
"And it's Juliet, by the way!")
