Author's Note: Wow! I just want to tell everyone that I am humbled by the overwhelmingly positive response to this story! The FitzSimmons ship really has the nicest people! If you know anything about my writing, you'll know that I try to post every weekend. You guys are so nice that I'll try to post the next chapter a little earlier, but no promises. Thank you for every review, favorite, and follow. You guys are the best! My recommended listening for this chapter is "Kentucky Rain" by Elvis. Enjoy!
It took a bit of cajoling, but in the end, Simmons ended up squeezing into the battered, smoke-scented backseat of a taxi with Fitz while Adam drove their luggage back to the house. Simmons had a viable hypothesis as to why he was spending the holidays with her family – he'd said his parents were on a business trip in Germany, but she knew for a fact neither spoke a word of German – and she was dreading the moment when she'd find herself alone with him. She would happily put it off as long as possible.
Besides, she knew Fitz didn't care for Adam, and she could hardly blame him. Adam wasn't a bad man, not really, but his personality fell chiefly on the line between outgoing and obnoxious. Furthermore, she knew Adam came across as a bit of a ponce, having not finished college and all that – she could only imagine Fitz's reaction when he learned what Adam did for a living. Speaking of…
"Fitz, do you follow rugby at all?"
He grimaced. "Not really, no. I mean, my parents always mention it in their emails and such, but honestly, I never got into it. My little brother is on the Edinburgh Crew, though, if that means anything to you."
It didn't, really, but she mentally checked rugby off her list. "Good. Just never mention it to my father, especially whilst in the kitchen."
"Does he not like rugby?" Fitz queried, awkwardly adjusting his long legs. Even without their luggage, the dingy taxi was cramped and uncomfortable.
"He loves rugby – that's the problem. He'll start yelling and gesticulating and foaming at the mouth the seonc you mention it. He made my aunt cry last time she visited – poor thing accidentally tried to change the channel during his game."
Fitz looked a hint apprehensive at that, so she gently touched his sleeve with the tips of her fingers. They were neither of them prone to take comfort in physical touch – memories of bullies from high school were still too fresh after all this time – but she knew he would accept the gesture when she offered it.
"You'll do fine. Er, what do you know about Elvis?"
"Are those the blokes that made the fox song? Or did you mean the American one?"
"Do me favor – don't mention Elvis to my mother. She thinks he's just the 'greatest living creature from across the pond.'"
"But isn't he dead?"
"I think she's still in denial about that, honestly. She was mad about him when she was a girl and she's mad about him now. Your appalling lack of reverence for the King would probably give her an aneurism."
"We certainly don't want that."
"And don't ask to change the music. No matter how many times we have to listen to 'Blue Christmas.'"
Fitz drew a sloppy X across his heart before sticking out his pinky finger. "I swear on my newest copy of The Principles of Engineering, I won't say a word."
Simmons paused, twisting her hands in the material of her sweater. Her gran had made it for her two years ago – the last Christmas they'd spent together before she passed away. It was an ugly thing, to be sure, but it was warm with wool and pleasant memories. "One last thing…please, please try to get along with Adam. Knowing my mother, we won't be able to get rid of him easily."
Fitz brightened just a little at the mention of the word we. "Why do you say that?"
"Because my mum is the one who set me up with Adam in the first place."
If Fitz could only use one word to describe Mrs. Simmons – and he probably wouldn't use more than that, as descriptive imagery had never been his forte – he would probably go with "vibrant." Everything, from the Christmas sweater with red and green flashing lights, to her platinum-blonde hair in a tinsel-wrapped bun, to the way she threw herself out the door to welcome them, screamed that this was a woman who lived passionately and loved deeply.
"There's my little Lizzie!" she cried breathlessly as she wrapped her tiny arms Simmons. Fitz watched the exchange with open bemusement as he paid the driver. Lizzie?
Though Mrs. Simmons couldn't have been a centimeter taller than her daughter, she still managed to lift her off the ground and swing her in a circle, much like Adam had done at the airport. Despite the annoyance that surged at the memory, Fitz felt a small, warm glow in his stomach. It was clear that Simmons came from a close-knit and loving home, which explained her sweet and guileless disposition. For the first time since the airport, Fitz actually felt excited about this trip, if only because it would help him further unravel the more mysterious aspects of his friend.
"Jemma Elizabeth Simmons, I cannot even begin to express my disappointment that you sent poor Adam back all by his lonesome with your trunks. Where are your manners?"
Simmons gave her mother a fond smile before wriggling out of the embrace. She hauled Fitz forward by the arm and quickly explained, "Sorry mum, there wasn't enough room. This is Leo Fitz, my friend from University I've been telling you about."
Fitz felt another warm spot at that, knowing it showed in the rush of blood to his cheeks. That was a much more proper introduction than the one she'd given to Adam. And really, it was her mother's opinion that mattered more, right?
"Nice to meet you, ma'am," he offered, sticking out his hand to shake. He was caught completely off-guard when she eschewed his proffered handshake and enveloped him in the same bear hug she'd given Simmons.
"Oh, what a sweet little thing you are! Oh, Jemma, why haven't you brought this darling home before? Oh, just look at this face!" Mrs. Simmons set Fitz down to grab at his cheeks. He felt himself flush again – even his own mother wouldn't have given him such an effusive welcome.
"Mum, don't strangle him! For heaven's sake, I've told you plenty of times why he's not been able to visit. Just like I told you plenty of times he was coming to stay for the holidays."
Mrs. Simmons finally (thankfully) released Fitz, looking shocked at the censure in her daughter's tone. "Of course I knew he was visiting, love. There's no need to get your knickers in a twist."
Simmons rolled her eyes scathingly. "You deliberately withheld that information from Adam."
Mrs. Simmons looked highly offended. As poor as he usually was at interpreting emotions, even Fitz could sense some strain underneath the happy front of homecoming.
"Well, you can't fault an old woman for her memory. Right, Leo, dear? It must have just slipped my mind."
"Don't insult my intelligence, mother. I know well and good why you invited Adam, and I know why you didn't tell him about Fitz. Please, listen when I tell you: Adam and I are truly finished. It's not going to work."
Mrs. Simmons' smile seemed much more forced now. Fitz shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, wishing he'd grabbed the Night-Night gun out of his bag before Adam left. At least he'd have something to do with his hands.
"I'm sure I've not the foggiest notion what you're talking about. Come, then, Lizzie, let's get you and your friend settled. Though I don't know where he'll sleep, what with Adam in the guest room. I suppose there's always the couch."
Simmons sighed and shot an apologetic look at Fitz. Let me fix this, her expression seemed to say.
"Mum, either Adam can sleep on the couch or Fitz can have my room. I can't believe for a minute you'd be willing to act so inhospitably towards my best friend that you've just met."
Mrs. Simmons locked eyes with her daughter. They seemed to be having some silent battle of wills, and Fitz was undeniably frightened by the tension. He'd long since accepted that Simmons was a force to be reckoned with, determined without being stubborn, and she always emerged victorious from their little tiffs in the lab. However, he was starting to see which particular side of the gene pool she'd inherited the trait from.
Mrs. Simmons finally looked away. "I suppose Adam won't mind moving to the couch. He's not one to complain about little setbacks, after all."
Fitz frowned, certain that was meant as a jab at him, but then Mrs. Simmons smiled her brilliant smile again and looped her arm through his. "Now that that's all settled, let's head inside, shall we? It's monkeys out, and I've got supper in the oven." Mrs. Simmons proceeded to drag him towards the house that crested the top of the hill – the taxi had refused to drive up the narrow, winding incline – while Simmons lagged behind, visibly drained by the whole thing.
"So, Leo, how do you feel about Elvis?"
Simmons unpacked the last of her clothes, tucking the final shirt neatly into the drawer. Her mother had pulled Fitz into the kitchen and browbeaten him into accepting a mug of hot chocolate. Elvis soulfully crooned about the rain in Kentucky over the ancient cassette player, while her mother fixed supper and waxed poetic about her love for the singer. Fitz had seemed safe enough, for the moment, so she'd slipped away to greet her father and arrange her things. She'd been disappointed by the lack of snow upon arriving, but the inside of the house was stuffed to the gills with decorations, just as she remembered. The life-size models of Santa and his elves were crowded about the fireplace, pinecones were crammed into every nook of every room, and the Christmas tree stood proud and tall in the corner of the den. The only room that had survived the Yuletide explosion was Simmons' childhood bedroom.
The room hadn't changed much since she'd left for New York nearly seven years ago. The walls were a pale yellow, the blanket atop the bed a faded but warm orange. It was an undeniably juvenile room; the only signs that someone of intellect once resided here were the stacks of Laboratory News peeking out from under the bed and the poster of Carl Neuberg hanging on the opposite wall. The room had been designed by her mother, and these small touches were the only representation of Simmons' true personality.
"Hasn't changed a bit, eh, Jems?"
Simmons spun around quickly, cursing herself for not hearing Adam's approach. He was blocking the door, too. No escape route, unless she used that teeny tiny vial of gamma hydroxybutyrate that was probably still in the top dresser drawer…but that would be unethical. She sighed, resigning herself to the conversation she knew was coming.
"You've changed, though." Adam moved into the room, and Simmons was relieved he didn't try to shut the door behind him. "You've grown up, Jems."
Simmons tried not to flinch when he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled with his usual disarming charm.
"I should certainly hope so. It's been almost a decade since the last time I saw you."
Adam's smile turned sad. "I know. I miss you. I know you write when you can, only…"
Simmons blinked in surprise. "I've not been writing to you!" She blushed, instantly reprimanded by the accusation in her tone.
Adam nodded thoughtfully. "No, you've not been. But your parents know how I feel about you, and they've tossed me a bone a time or two. Don't be mad, though. You know how your mum loves a good romance."
"We're not a romance of any qualitative level, Adam."
"You can't really mean that, Jems. We dated for four years! You were the first girl I ever dated, the first girl I ever kissed…the first girl I ever loved."
His eyes were sad and mournful, and Simmons couldn't help the slight softening in her heart. Adam had always been a good friend to her, even if his feelings were poles apart from hers. "Adam…"
"And I still love you, Jems. Time and distance, they haven't changed my heart one whit. When I heard you were coming home with another man – "
"You said mum didn't mention Fitz!"
"– I knew I had to act. I can't lose you, Jems." Adam suddenly dropped to one knee.
Simmons wasn't sure what she had expected from this chin wag with Adam, but it certainly wasn't this. "Are you absolutely daft? Adam, I don't know what you think you're doing – "
"Jemma Simmons, I'm doing what I should have done years ago. I should never have let you leave Newcastle, and I don't want you to be the one that got away. My precious, glimmering Jem – will you marry me?"
The silence that echoed through the house after her shrieked refusal sounded very loud indeed.
Again, I apologize for any misused slang or incorrect cultural representations. See you in the reviews!