"A bowtie? Seriously?"
Fitz reached up reflexively to tug on the material, unsure why he felt so self-conscious all of a sudden. He'd never worn a tux before, not a real one at least. Although it wasn't terribly comfortable (and although it took him a lot longer to tie the knot than he would've liked), Fitz had actually thought he looked fairly decent when he'd left his bunk a few minutes earlier. But that notion was quickly abandoned when he saw the rest of the men gathered around the Holocom in their attire, in addition to Coulson's skeptical expression at his accessory choice.
"Bowties are cool," he murmured weakly, fiddling with the ends as he avoided all of their gazes. "Besides, it's not like I'm actually going in or anything."
"Personally, I think it's great," Hunter told him. Fitz didn't hear any sarcasm in his voice, but there was hardly any way Hunter was actually being serious.
He was about to just take the thing off altogether when Coulson stepped around the table and held out his hands. In a way, having the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. retie his bowtie for him was probably one of the most embarrassing moments of his life. But it didn't take long, and Coulson wasn't condescending, simply focusing on tying the material in front of him. When he was finished he gave Fitz a pat on the shoulder, and Fitz didn't see a trace of pity in his eyes. "You look good, Fitz."
Fitz gave him a nod, hoping Coulson would know how thankful he truly was, even if he still felt like an idiot. Coulson returned the nod before glancing at his watch. He stepped out into the common area, looking off in the direction of the cargo hold with his hands on his hips. "Where are the girls?" he muttered. "We have to be out of here in five."
Before he could change his mind, Fitz stepped through the comm room doorway. "Sir, I was wondering if maybe I could talk to you about something?"
Coulson was tapping his foot now, looking back and forth between his watch and the stairwell. "What is it, Fitz?" he asked distractedly.
"Er…well, it's just…I mean, I know I'm not, um…" Fitz paused, trying to gather his words together. "I know I'm not exactly how I used to be, but I was thinking…or, I-I mean I was hoping, I guess, that maybe you could consider putting me back in the field?" Coulson turned his head to look at him, and Fitz powered through the speech he'd prepared. "It wouldn't have to be anything major, I suppose, but I just, er…well, I appreciate what you've been doing, trying to include me on the ops and all by taking me along sometimes. But Skye actually does most of the work with the security, and I just kind of sit around mostly. I mean, she asks me to do stuff sometimes, and that's really nice of her and all, but I know she just does it to make me feel like I'm actually doing something, and not-"
"I'm gonna stop you there, Fitz," Coulson interrupted, and Fitz couldn't quite read the expression on his face. "Look, I'll tell you what," he sighed, briefly glancing over Fitz's shoulder into the comm room. "If everything goes as planned tonight, then we'll talk. But right now we've gotta focus on the mission, okay?"
"Y-yes, sir, of course," Fitz stammered, his face burning as he stared down at his shoes.
Miraculously at that moment, he heard footsteps coming in from the back of the common area, and he was more than a little relieved that the attention would no longer be focused on him.
"Sorry, sorry," Skye said breathlessly, hobbling into the room wearing heels that were so high they logically shouldn't have given any kind of structural support whatsoever. The small black dress she was wearing was hardly any better either, and Fitz vaguely wondered how her legs weren't freezing. He felt cold just looking at her. "Sorry, we're here now, and-" She stopped talking all of a sudden, probably realizing that she was alone. "Simmons," she sighed, closing her eyes before she spun around. "Come on, hon. Get in here."
There was a long pause before a response was heard, and when it came it sounded like some kind of low whine mixed with a "No."
Skye rolled her eyes, but there was a smile on her lips. "We're gonna fail this mission and it's going to be all your fault if you don't get your ass in here right now."
"Skye-" Coulson began quietly.
But she held a finger up to her mouth, silently telling him to be quiet. And sure enough, Skye's threat was enough for Jemma to finally step into the room, trying to cover her face with one hand while she held her other arm across her torso.
Fitz had known Jemma Simmons for over a decade. And never in all that time had he ever seen her wear a dress like the one she was wearing right now.
"Damn," Trip said as he stepped out of the comm room. "You girls are gonna make the rest of us look bad."
Skye beamed over at him. "Aww, thanks, Trip," she said, turning so that she could pull Jemma further into the room. "So what does the husband think?"
Fitz was so baffled by her question that it took him much too long to realize what she was talking about. But Coulson actually spoke up before Hunter did. "Well, the director thinks that he doesn't remember approving these outfit choices."
Skye gave him a smirk. "Well, that's too bad, boss. Because we've gotta get going, don't we?"
Coulson's mouth remained in a tight line as he looked between the two of them, and in the end he just shook his head. "This is the last time I'm putting you in charge of wardrobe," he said, pointing to Skye. "Trip, are we ready for takeoff?"
"All set to go, sir," Trip replied, heading towards the cockpit. "Everyone get locked in. Wheels up in three."
Fitz didn't realize he hadn't moved from the same spot until after Coulson and Trip had both left the room. And he also didn't realize where he'd been staring until she gave him a small smile. "I like the bowtie, Fitz," she said quietly, pointing to her own sternum, where the rose pendant he'd made for her birthday one year gave him the only indication that it actually was Jemma standing in front of him.
He wanted to return the comment, perhaps say something nice about her hair, or how he liked the red dress that happened to fit her just a little too well, or maybe something about how the color in her lips made her skin look like porcelain. There were plenty of things that Fitz felt would be perfectly all right for him to say under the circumstances. But all he managed to get out was a small "Thanks" as he scratched the back of his head.
Fitz wanted to smack himself, and that was even before he saw Skye giving him some kind of death glare. But just then, Hunter came out of the comm room and leaned against the door, taking in the sight before him.
"Not bad," he shrugged. "You know, for a girl who grew up on a farm."
Jemma's eyes grew wide, and she briefly glanced back at Fitz. "How'd you know I grew up on a farm?" she asked slowly.
"Oh, God," Hunter laughed, lowering his face to cover it with one hand. "I was completely joking."
Jemma's cheeks turned pink. "Of course you were," she scoffed. "I should've known."
"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-"
"Oh no, I don't know why I should've expected anything else, really."
Hunter was still laughing. "God, you're not an Oasis fan, are you?"
"You know, I think I'd rather wait out the flight downstairs," Jemma smiled sweetly. "You all can have fun with the southern fairy up here."
Hunter's mouth hung open in shock as he watched her descend into the cargo hold. "Did she just call me a southern fairy?" he asked in astonishment, turning to face Fitz.
Skye sat down on one of the sofas and fastened the safety restraint. "I'm so confused right now," she muttered. "Must be a British thing."
Fitz tried to hide his smile as he took the seat next to her. "An English thing, actually," he said quietly, watching Hunter take an armchair by the window while continuing to mumble to himself.
"So," he heard Skye say, feeling her nudge his shoulder. It took Fitz a second to refocus his attention on her, and when he did he suddenly wondered why the hell he'd thought it would be a good idea to sit next to Skye right now. But he could feel the plane starting to take off, so he couldn't escape until they'd at least reached cruising altitude.
"Uh…" Fitz replied, wishing he had a Rubik's Cube or a notebook or something he could use to look at other than the expectant grin of the girl next to him. He ended up settling for playing with the edge of his tuxedo jacket. "So…what?"
He didn't even need to look at her to know that she was rolling her eyes. "Come on, Fitz," she scoffed. "Simmons looks smoking hot and you know it."
Fitz felt a sudden drop in his stomach, and he wasn't entirely sure it was because of the plane. "Uh…I-I mean that's…well, it's-it's not…um…you know-"
"Look, I know, Fitz," Skye assured him with a sigh. "You're not like that or that's not how you operate or…whatever. But do you honestly expect me to believe that you don't think she looks pretty right now? Like not even a little bit?"
He was so confused by Skye's question that he didn't have time to think about his answer before the words were out of his mouth. "She's always been pretty."
For a while, all Fitz heard was the sound of the plane engines humming in the distance. He didn't look at Skye right away, because he was afraid that she wouldn't understand. But when he finally did glance up at her, she had a small smile on her face. Only it wasn't a teasing smile like he'd expected, and he didn't think she even looked that surprised.
"That was a good answer, Fitz," she said softly, unfastening her safety restraint and heading towards the comm room. "You should tell her that one day."
Fitz remained seated, the irony of her words cutting into him.
If only she knew.
