A/N: Chapter two here and this should start to put things into perspective. Each chapter will be a 'what if' style chapter, all the different ways the Fitz and Simmons could find each other and with that in mind, I present you with this...
The Boy With The Blue Eyes
New York, 1927
The first thing Jemma noticed about the mechanic was his blue eyes that seemed dimmed in the garage lighting. The second thing she noticed was how afraid he seemed. Not surprising, she though, especially faced with these brutes.
Opening the car door, Jemma Ward didn't bother waiting for one of her husbands 'assistants' to help her down from the car; instead, rearranging her skirt around her and checking that her headband and shawl were in place, she strode over to where Grant's right hand man stood.
"Mr Kaminsky! You are terrifying the poor boy-"
"Man, actually," the mechanic interrupted, standing taller and furiously wiping motor oil off of his hands and onto a rag which he quickly put in his pocket before looking down.
"I'm sure you are," Jemma laughed, looking the mechanic up and down, noticing the slight accent he held. "Well then, Mr Fitz, all I have heard for the past week is how good you are with your hands, care to prove that hypothesis for me?" Jemma asked, flirting slightly, enjoying the blush that spread across the man's ears and cheeks.
"I, um, well, I could give it a try. If you'd like."
"That would be wonderful, Mr Fitz. Grant can't quite seem to keep out of trouble you see and our cars don't quite work as well riddled with bullet holes."
"Course not, Miss."
"Mrs, actually," Jemma corrected. "No matter, I will see you tomorrow, 10 o'clock, on the dot."
Clearing his throat, the mechanic finally looked up, taking in the sight of one Jemma Ward properly for the first time, "Tha'll be fine Mrs Ward, I'll make sure the garage is cleared for the day."
"Perfect! Well, Mr Fitz, I'll look forward to seeing what you can do-"
"Fitz," the man interrupted her.
"Excuse me?"
"Well, you corrected me earlier so I thought you should know, Mr Fitz was my da, I'm jus' Fitz."
"My apologies, Fitz," Jemma smirked before returning to the car. The engineer was certainly interesting enough.
The next morning, Jemma was dragged through the alleyways of New York in search of Fitz's mechanic shop buy Grant Ward, head of the Red Skull mob. Ward had fought his way to the top, using his grandfather's status as a Dead rabbit member to take what he wanted.
Finally, after twelve wrong turns they found the modest shop, tucked away from prying eyes.
"Jemma, sweetheart, why don't you introduce me," Ward shouted, sauntering in and picking up odd parts, turning them in his hands before dropping them onto Fitz's work desk. Jemma had seen Grant use this intimidation tactic before, striding around as if he owned the place, make the other man feel smaller and leave before anyone could ask any questions.
"Grant, dear, this is Mr Fitz-"
"I thought I told you I wa' jus' Fitz," the engineer laughed, looking up at the brunette and smiling.
"But that would be polite, would it, sweetheart?" Ward boomed, "Anyway, Fitzy, time for you to get to work. Fix the cars and I'll pay you, don't fix them and, well, let's not find out, shall we?"
Turning quickly, Ward gestured for two of his followers to bring in the cars, moving them over to an empty work area.
"Now I have to be going but I'll be leaving Walters and Cain here, just as a precaution, you understand? I'll be back by five; I hope you'll have something to show me by then. Be good," Ward warned, smiling and pulling at Jemma's shawl before walking away, lighting up a cigarette.
"Righ' then," Fitz spoke up, clapping his hands, breaking the silence left behind, "S'pose I'd best get started then."
By twelve, the henchmen Ward had left behind began growing restless, wandering aimlessly from the door to odd tools dotted around the work area.
"You two don't have to stay here, you know. There's a speakeasy jus' round the corner if you wanted," Fitz called out, watching the way Waters was all too ready to bolt. Cain however seemed a little more reluctant to leave, instead looking over to Jemma.
Giving a slight nod, Cain smiled, pulling his partner along with him and out of the door, leaving Fitz alone with Jemma.
"You okay?" he called out, startling the young woman.
"Yes, why do you ask?"
"Well, you keep rubbing your neck like that when you think no one's looking," gesturing to the hand on her neck, Fitz cocked his head. "You don't have to tell me anythin' of course, jus' thought you might wanna talk about it. You seem sorta lonely."
"Ha, as if I had the chance!"
"What's that s'posed to mean?"
"Nothing," Jemma tried to backtrack, "It's just, well, they hardly leave me alone. Always watching me like, like a-"
"Bird. In a cage."
"Yes," Jemma sighed, smiling. "What about you, don't you ever get lonely, there's no one here."
"Yeah, I mean, I like what I do so I don't worry about it but it nice. To talk to someone," putting down his wrench, Fitz wiped his hands before walking over to his bag beside Jemma, pulling out a thermos, "You want some? It's not anythin' illegal, I promise. Jus' tea."
"I'd love a cup, I haven't had real tea in a long time," Jemma spoke, taking the cup that was offered to her and taking a sip before coughing. "And that is nothing like real tea! What did you do to it?" She laughed.
"Nothin', what d'you mean?"
"You ruined it with all that sugar!"
"Well I'm sorry, your highness but this is all I've got," Fitz laughed, watching Jemma's face contort as she tried to swallow the sickly sweet drink.
"Well, perhaps next time you should do better."
And he did. For weeks, Ward kept sending work Fitz's way and Jemma stayed, watching as he worked, often talking to the machines, improving them and offering to teach her the basics. As time passed, Jemma struck up a friendship with the mechanic
"So where are you from then?" Fitz asked, adding spoon after spoon of sugar to his tea, watching as Jemma screwed up her nose.
"Originally, England."
"I thought I heard an accent!" Fitz crowed, laughing, eyes lighting up.
"Well you're not one to talk are you? You're Scottish aren't you?"
"I was, moved here for work with my Da. Then he passed away and I never went back."
"Why not?" Jemma asked, sipping at the tea and leaning in.
"Couldn't afford it, still can't. That's why I'm doin' this; I'm savin' up to buy a ticket back home. I'll whatever I can to get back, to see the sunrise over the hills jus' once more."
Staring down at her cup wistfully, Jemma couldn't help the sad smile that broke free, "That sounds wonderful, Fitz. I hope you make it."
"Me too, you could go back too."
"I left England a long time ago. My parents died and a business man took me in. He was a wonderful man, took care of me and clothed me, brought me to America and tried to keep me safe as best he could."
"What happen to him, if you don't mind me askin'."
"Grant killed him. He wanted to marry me and Mr Coulson said no," looking up, Jemma watched the mechanic's face, waiting for the look of horror that she was used to receiving after telling her tale. But Fitz, instead of being repulsed moved forward to take her hand.
"God, Jemma, I wish I could help you but I-"
"You just called me 'Jemma'."
"I did? I'm sorry Mrs Ward, it won't happen again," Fitz apologised, pulling away from Jemma until she stopped him.
Reaching out, taking a hold of Fitz's arm, Jemma smiled. "I'd like for you to call me Jemma, Fitz."
"You sure?" Fitz asked, worried he'd overstepped his bounds.
"Positive," Jemma beamed, moving to drink the last of her tea.
The banging from the work shop was what had woken Fitz and expecting the worse, the young mechanic picked up a monkey wrench and ran to throw open the door.
What he found there was worse than any thief or thug he'd imagined.
Instead, standing in the rain with a split lip, a ripped dress and with several visible bruises forming was one Jemma Ward, crying.
"Can I come in?" she asked, gesturing for Fitz to put down his tool when he didn't move.
"Yeah, course. God, Jemma, what happened?"
"There was another woman and Grant got mad and oh God, Fitz he was cheating on me," Jemma cried, reaching out to hold onto the mechanic.
Wasting no time, Fitz quickly wrapped his arms around the petite brunette, whispering well-meaning words and trying to choke back his anger that anyone would hurt the woman in his arms. "C'mon, look at me," Fitz asked, pulling away to dry Jemma's soaked cheeks, "God, you look a mess."
"Thank you," Jemma laughed, knowing that Fitz's outburst wasn't meant to hurt her.
"No, I just mean that we need to get you somewhere safe. We could call someone-"
"Fitz, no."
"Jemma-"
"Fitz, I can't, "Jemma begged, tears rolling down her cheeks once again, "I can't leave him, he'll find me and kill anyone who got in his way and I can't let him do that. Fitz I can't," Jemma trailed off before breaking down in front of the mechanic.
"What if I could take you somewhere that he wouldn't find you?" Fitz whispered, watching as Jemma slowly looked up.
"There's no use in trying, he'll-"
"Come with me," Fitz interrupted, letting go of Jemma to run and fetch his old toolbox that he kept beside his bed. "This was my Da's and everythin' that means anythin' is in here. All my letters from my Ma. Pictures of family. Your scarf and these," Fitz finished explaining, pulling out two tickets to England. "There's a ferry that leaves tomorrow night, come with me."
"I, I don't know what to say," Jemma stuttered.
"Say yes, come on Jemma. I can't leave you, you're the only friend I have here-"
"You're my only friend too."
"And I can't leave you, I- I… I need you. Beside me. Always," Fitz rushed, letting the words fall out, unrehearsed.
"Fitz, I can't," Jemma protested weakly.
"Yes you can, here, this one's for you. Either come with me or sell it and run; I just want you to be safe and happy. Please," he begged, watching Jemma's face for a sign.
Opening her mouth to respond, Jemma felt her heart fall as instead of hearing her own voice, all she heard was Grant yelling her name.
"He's found me, I knew he would, oh God-"
"Jemma, breathe, go. Run, pack and come with me, please," Fitz begged, taking a hold of the young woman's shoulders, forcing her to focus. "Come with me, I'll take care of you."
Taking a deep breath, Jemma looked up, looking into Fitz bright blue eyes, "Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow," Fitz smiled, "Six o'clock, dock 19."
"I'll be there," Jemma smiled, moving forward to press a brief kiss to the mechanics cheek before running, eager to pack and start a new life.
Sighing and smiling, Fitz lifted his hand to his cheek, touching the spot where Jemma had kissed him. "She'll be there."
The next morning, Jemma sat by Ward throughout breakfast, ignoring her churning stomach and the pain from the bruised he'd left on her the night before.
"Are you well, dear?" Ward Asked, voice sickly sweet.
"Fine."
"Wonderful, well I'd best be going; perhaps you'd like to read the paper?" Ward laughed tossing the new paper to her and watching as she read through the headlines until she stopped.
Barely breathing, Jemma tried to understand the words in black and white before her: YOUNG MECHANIC FOUND DEAD. Looking up, seeing the smirk on Grant's face as he left, Jemma knew that the boy with the blue eyes wouldn't be meeting her at the harbour that evening and worse yet, she knew why.
A/N2: I had to bring back Kaminski and the idea of having Ward as a mob boss and Jemma in 20s attire was too good to pass up. Anyway, please let me know what you thought, I have a few ideas of how I'd like this to go but I'm open to suggestions.
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