"I knew he was real," Jemma sighed into her phone.
"It's not that I didn't think he was real," Skye protested weakly on the other end of the line.
"Really?" Jemma laughed. "I'm fairly certain your insistence that Trip was the only Number Six indicated that you didn't actually believe that I met someone."
"Okay, in all fairness, Lance had given you a lot, and I mean a lot, of drinks that night, okay?"
Jemma dodged a couple walking on the sidewalk and hopped over a track of slush that was working its way to a storm drain so as not to damage Skye's boots. She'd never hear the end of it if anything happened to them. "Yes, that's true." She paused as she came to their block. "What do you think I should do now?"
"Stake out the building? He's got to come back eventually," Skye joked.
"Yes, but they said it's every few months. He paints other places in between." She sighed again, but this one was more out of frustration than anything else. "I'm going back to the bar tomorrow to see if I can still get an interview with the owner. He wasn't there tonight. If the building across the street belongs to him too, maybe he gives Number Six permission to paint there?"
"Well, yeah. He has to if the guy keeps coming back, right?"
Jemma climbed the stoop up to their building and let herself in. "Yes. I looked into the different places where abandoned buildings have been painted on before, but I wasn't looking for art that only appeared in the rain. I wonder why he paints like that?"
"It's eye catching," Skye pointed out. "I mean, if an artist wants to get noticed, everyone's going to be checking out the magic paint."
"It's not magic," Jemma huffed, climbing up the stairs, and then went into an explanation of how the reaction worked, but by the time she got to their floor, she could tell Skye was tuning her out. "Besides," she added, key turning in the lock to their door, "I think he tries to stay under the radar, or he would be painting on things other than abandoned buildings. It's not technically illegal to paint images on city owned property as long as it isn't offensive, not covering up important information, and not advertising anything. If there's some sort of message of positive expression, he wouldn't get in trouble."
"And what is the positive message of your portrait on a building?" Skye's eyebrow was quirked and her curious expression was aimed at Jemma as she opened the door.
"That's not city property," Jemma shot back, closing the door behind her with a click and disconnecting their call. "It doesn't really matter what he paints there as long as he has permission from the owner."
"And so, it all comes back to the mysterious bar owner," Skye mused "What's the name of the bar? I can always see if the property owner is publicly listed. Stuff like that's supposed to be public record."
"The Monkey's Uncle," she answered, discarding her belongings on the table on her way to Skye's side. "Odd name for a bar."
Skye snorted as she plopped onto the couch, pulling her feet up underneath her and putting her computer in her lap while Jemma took a seat next to her. "Right, cause you Brits don't go with the weird things like the celery stalk and the cannon ball." Jemma rolled her eyes and prepared to retort, but Skye was already typing. "All right. Let's see what we've got."
Next to her, Jemma was staring at the picture she had taken on her phone. She still didn't understand how someone could make her look so pretty when they were only working with one color of paint. It shouldn't be possible.
"You didn't tell me how working with Lance at the bar went," Skye prompted as she typed.
Jemma shrugged. "Fine, I guess. It's a pretty busy place. I'm surprised Bobbi was able to get them to agree to let her use half the space for speed dating, to be honest. It was packed. The staff seems nice. A couple of kids. Lance." Jemma made a face at that when Skye looked over at her. "He's actually a good bartender. Flirts with the younger crowd that's just starting to legally buy drinks. Gets them to buy more. Trades sarcastic comments with the regulars. I can understand why he basically runs the place. Even if he is a moron." Jemma shook her head. "I'll never understand Bobbi's taste in men."
"I don't think she's after his conversation skills." Skye laughed and turned back to her computer, fingers moving rapidly over the keyboard. It didn't take long for her to track down the owners, even if Jemma felt like it was something of an eternity as she leaned over her shoulder to look.
"There are three people who own the bar?" Jemma asked incredulously. "Lance made it seem like it was just one."
Skye shrugged. "Looks like it's family owned. Two of the names are the same. N. Fury, L. Fitz, and L. Fitz." Her lip twitched in amusement when Jemma narrowed her eyes. "You want to call every L. Fitz and N. Fury in the phone book and find out why they weren't there tonight?"
Jemma groaned and leaned back into the couch.
-o-
The next evening, Jemma and Skye were flicking their way through her clothing, having decided that she couldn't exactly wear the same dress from the night before since the other employees would comment on it. Well, Jemma was flicking through hangers in her closet, sliding them carefully to one side. Skye, on the other hand, was throwing things on the bed, pairing them up, then shaking her head, and throwing them back into the closet, where they inevitably landed on the floor.
"Skye!" Jemma yelped when the third blouse in a row suddenly hit her and draped itself over her shoulder.
"Oh. Sorry." Skye offered up a smile when Jemma turned around to face her. "Wasn't paying attention?"
"Right." Jemma rolled her eyes and put the blouse back in its rightful spot.
"Jemma, I gotta ask. Why do you own so many things that cover you up? Since I've known you, you've only worked in an industry that relies on tips and – "
"I prefer to earn tips for my impeccable service."
"You've got a great shape. I'm not saying show up to work in a bikini or anything. Just, you know, let your skin breathe in those dimly lit places in the late night hours - where drunk dudes will pay twenty bucks for a beer if you smile at them the right way."
They both laughed and Jemma moved on to the shelves along the left side of her closet.
"Jemma Simmons," Skye whistled as she bounded up to her, having spotted something hanging, nearly hidden, next to the shelves. "Is this a corset? Do you actually own a corset?"
"It was part of a Halloween costume," Jemma remarked off hand, pushing it out of the way.
"Okay, but seriously? You should wear it."
"I'm not wearing a corset to a job interview!"
"Jemma, it's at a bar!"
"Yes, it's a bar. Not a strip club!"
Jemma held up what was, in her opinion, a tastefully modest, plain black t-shirt with a scoop neckline that would give just a hint of cleavage. Skye groaned in response and held up the corset, shaking it for good measure.
Knocking on the front door interrupted their argument.
"You expecting anyone?" Skye asked as she skipped out of Jemma's bedroom, corset still in hand.
"No? You?"
Jemma followed her at a slower pace, still holding on to the black tee as well, but Skye was shaking her head. Not even bothering to check and see who it was, Skye opened the door slowly, and before Jemma could get eyes on the visitor, her roommate broke into a wide grin.
"Hey," she said softly, and Jemma tried not to laugh at how Skye's entire posture relaxed as she let Trip into their apartment. It was like something in Skye just melted when faced with him. "Not that I'm not ridiculously happy to see you, but what are you doing here?"
"I guess you forgot that I'm not on call today? We were gonna grab drinks?"
Skye's face fell and she sighed. "I did. Jemma's having a wardrobe crisis."
"It's not a crisis." Jemma waved her hands. "Go. Have fun. I'll be fine."
"So you're Jemma," Trip said smoothly, reaching out a hand to shake hers. "Sorry, we keep missing each other."
"It's nice to meet you," Jemma responded, shaking his hand eagerly. "Anyone that makes Skye look like that," she said, pointing as she extricated her hand from his to highlight Skye beaming at them, "should come over more often."
"Jemma," Skye hissed, her cheeks warming. She waved the corset threateningly.
"Oh, God. I'm not wearing that," Jemma snapped back, trying to grab the garment from Skye's hand.
Trip easily pulled it from Skye's grasp and held it up. "Where are you going that this is an option?" he asked with a laugh.
"Jemma has a job interview."
Trip's eyebrows shot up to his hairline, though he kept his face otherwise perfectly straight.
"For a bartending position," Jemma explained hastily. "And I'm wearing this," she added, holding up the t-shirt in hand.
"Yeah… you should probably save this for after you get the job and want to get some extra cash out of the regulars." Trip handed the corset over to her.
"Huh. That's a good point," Skye agreed.
"For the last time," Jemma muttered as she stalked back to her bedroom to change. "It was part of a Halloween costume!"
"Then why'd you keep it?" Skye shot back.
Jemma didn't have an answer other than that it had cost her a nice chunk of her paycheck and that the stitching in the design was too pretty to let go. She sighed and changed quickly into jeans and her t-shirt. She had tried looking like some sort of upscale barmaid the night before, and she'd never even run into the owner. She didn't care what Skye thought at this point, she just wanted to get the interview over with and find out who was painting her face on buildings in the city.
When she emerged into the living room, Trip and Skye were waiting by the door and Skye was opening a container of shortbread cookies for him.
"You never took these with you last night," Skye explained. "I figured you wouldn't mind if Trip tried one."
Jemma shrugged. "Lance did say I should bring them. That his boss liked them. I'll take a container with me tonight."
"Lance? I know a Lance. Kind of a tool," Trip told them before he bit into a cookie. "Is this Scottish shortbread?" He swallowed with a grin. "Where are you applying for this job?"
Trip listened to Jemma's story as they walked, his grin growing wider with every piece that she added to it. When she finished telling him about the job interview and the painting and everything before, he shook his head, and tangled his fingers with Skye's. "I should have agreed with you. She should have worn the corset."
"What?" Jemma asked. "That is not appropriate job interview attire." She clutched the container of cookies to her middle as they approached the bar. She looked across the street, but all evidence of her portrait on the building was gone without the rain uncovering it.
"You two said this guy had a number six on him. But I was number six. And neither of you thought it would be a good idea to ask me why someone else was wearing my number?"
"Ohmigod!" Skye smacked Trip lightly in the chest. "You know him! You know who he is!"
She was up on her toes, bouncing in front of the door while Jemma stood there, frozen to the spot.
"You know him?" she asked more quietly.
"He's a friend. A good friend." Trip nodded. "The bar's kind of a hangout for the guys at my station. And the guys dared me to do the speed dating set up. I couldn't actually stay the whole time. I was on call. So… I asked him if he could cover for the last few tables for me because I didn't want anyone to be left out." He shrugged apologetically.
"Such a gentleman," Skye joked.
"That's against the rules," Jemma cut in. "He wasn't vetted by Bobbi's background checks."
"Oh, and you two were," Trip shot back with a smile. "I'm pretty sure Skye called me directly instead of going through my dating profile."
"Fair enough," Jemma agreed. Skye was still bouncing excitedly, looking back and forth between them.
"So, who is he?" Skye pressed.
Trip chuckled and opened the door for them.
"I think I can pretty much guarantee you will find him tonight."
The two women walked through the door, and Jemma wanted to ask more questions, but Callie was in front of her with a tray of drinks and wide eyes the instant she was over the threshold.
"Thank God, you came back today! We're slammed and Donnie's in the back because one of the freezers stopped working and Seth never showed up for his shift again and Lance is biting my head off! Please help? We can split tips!"
"We'll just grab a table. You can get to us when you get to us," Trip said, smoothly taking Jemma's belongings from her and finding an open booth with Skye. Skye shot Jemma two thumbs up on the way. Jemma didn't know if she was comforted by them supporting her search for Number Six or if she was self-conscious that they were going to be watching her wait for another job interview.
"Look, I know you're not technically hired, but you were great, and you put Lance in his place last night, and Nick seems to like you, so you're basically a shoe-in. Please. It's like… call backs for an audition or something. You're already on the short list!"
"Okay," Jemma laughed. "What do you need?"
"Three shots of top shelf tequila, two rum and cokes, the cheap stuff, a pitcher of the light beer we've got on tap tonight, and five hard ciders. I'll drop these off, and then come grab them." The look Callie gave her as she walked away was nothing short of someone whose prayers had been answered, and Jemma shook her head in amusement.
And Lance had thought they had enough people.
She snuck around to the side of the bar while Lance was busy with a group of customers and began lining up Callie's drinks. He didn't even notice she was there until she and Callie had got them loaded on trays and a line of guys at the bar had started giving her their orders.
"Jems!" Lance called to her as he passed her by for a stack of shot glasses. "I'm sorry about yesterday. I wasn't laughing because – "
"Don't worry about it," Jemma rolled her eyes at the customer in front of her, a guy in a navy uniform who winked at her.
"What time do you get off, sweetheart?"
"Oh, she'll probably close the place down," Lance said, his tone light and teasing, but his eyes flashing a warning. "I wouldn't wait up for her."
"Lance!" Jemma laughed as the guy took his drink and walked away with a scowl. "What-"
"Trust me, Jems. He's not your type." He grinned at her, and it was the same kind of smile Trip had been sporting when he was listening to her story. She had a distinct feeling that they both knew something she didn't, but she was too bogged down in drink orders to worry about it at the moment, so she just elbowed Lance in the side and moved down the line.
It was another 30 minutes before she even made her way over to Trip and Skye with a pitcher of beer and two glasses.
"Thanks, we were starting to think we'd never see a waitress," Skye teased her.
"I'm sorry!" One of Jemma's hands nervously played with her necklace as she glanced around the bar. "I don't know how they run this place when there only ever seems to be three employees. It's always so busy."
Skye waved a hand dismissively while Trip poured her a glass. "Less people working means more tips for you. You'll be fine. The staff seems to like you. How can the owner turn you down?"
Trip, who had been starting to sip from his own drink, sputtered into it and tried to hide a chuckle.
"Is there something wrong with it? Callie said it was one of the house brews, a little citrusy, that you would like it." Jemma anxiously stepped closer to the table and grabbed the handle of the pitcher, looking into it like the amber liquid would give her answers.
"No, it's good!" Trip chuckled again. "I think Skye's right. It's gonna be fine."
A large bag plopped down onto the surface of the table just before a body slid into the side of the booth opposite Trip and Skye.
"Yes," Bobbi said, nodding her head. "Another successful match made. What are we drinking?"
"I'm pretty sure we did all the work," Skye shot back, sliding Bobbi her glass while Jemma began rattling off all the information about the beer Callie had given her.
When Jemma was finished, Bobbi nodded her head again and took a sip before sliding it back to Skye.
"It's good."
"I'll grab a glass for you," Jemma said with a smile and turned away just in time to hear Skye ask Bobbi what she was doing at the bar.
"Lance called me. He said Jemma was coming to talk to the owner. You're not going to believe this…"
But Jemma didn't hear the rest of the conversation as she entered the throng of customers. She spotted a familiar face sidling up to an empty bar stool and sliding into place.
"Hello, Nick!" she said brightly, dropping a fresh glass onto Callie's tray with an instruction to send it over to Bobbi, as she walked up to the regular. "Your usual?"
"You've worked here one night and you already know my usual?"
"I happen to have an excellent memory." Jemma leaned forward on the bar with a grin.
"I'm feeling adventurous tonight. How about you make me one of the classics?"
"What would you like?"
"Surprise me."
Jemma studied him for a moment, her head cocked, before she nodded and set about mixing him a drink. When she presented it to him with a flourish, he took an exaggerated sip and nodded his own head in approval.
"I cannot remember the last time someone made a decent sidecar." He slid a twenty across the table to her.
"I'll get your change."
"No need. Consider this part of your audition. I got an in with the owner." He raised an eyebrow at her in challenge.
"Okay." Jemma grinned again. "What do you want me to make next?"
-o-
Between Nick's requests for a bevy of classic drinks, which he then passed on to some of the people at the bar around him, and keeping up with the regular orders sent her way by Callie, she almost forgot that she was supposed to be meeting the owner to see if she could actually work at the bar.
Until she heard a familiar voice from the other end of the bar as it moved closer to her.
"Nick, stop badgerin' my staff."
"She's not staff yet. She's auditioning." Nick took another sip from his new drink and smirked.
"Ah, ye must be Hunter's friend."
Jemma held her breath as she turned around. After hearing the accent that she had begun to suspect her inebriated mind had invented, she expected the face she found there, but it still startled her into letting out nothing more than a squeak. He was there, in a grey t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans, a few days stubble on his chin, and the brightest blue eyes she'd ever seen.
The owner's mouth dropped open slightly and his eyes widened, but he recovered quickly, though his cheeks were still stained a bright pink. "Yer lookin' fer a job, then?"
"You," Jemma finally breathed through the word. "You -" she tried to get the rest of the words out as she understood Trip's smile and Hunter's weird reaction to the flirting man in uniform now. She couldn't make herself say anything else though, and she turned her head slightly to catch Nick's eye as he hid a smile behind his glass. Her eyes darted over to where Bobbi, Skye, and Trip were watching her. Skye smacked Trip on the shoulder, probably upset that she hadn't thought to ask him about Jemma's situation, again.
"Erm," his fingers grazed her arm, urging her to look at him. "Would you like to speak in my office?"
"Your office?" Jemma echoed. "Yes. Your office. Of course. Because this is your bar."
Neither of them spoke as he led her through the crowded side of the bar, fingers looping around her wrist without hesitation to make sure they weren't separated. When they reached the corridor off to the side, it was quieter, only one or two people traveling through to the restrooms, but they kept going to a door at the back marked Employees Only and through it to a set of stairs that led them up another hallway.
He didn't let go of her wrist the entire time, but Jemma didn't care. She was pretty sure the press of his fingers into her skin was the only thing keeping her certain she wasn't hallucinating this entire thing, that Lance wasn't pulling some sort of elaborate practical joke on her.
"So…" he began, finally releasing her wrist as they approached a door that he had to unlock. "You're a friend of Lance's?"
"No. Not exactly. I mean, I suppose we're friends. Very casual friends." Jemma shook her head as she stammered. "I'm really more friends with his wife. Ex-wife. Bobbi."
"Right." He practically hit his head on the door when he finally got it unlocked and open, ushering her through. "The speed date organizer. I remember."
"Yes."
The both stood awkwardly inside his office for a moment, and rather than look at him, Jemma glanced around at the piles of papers and folders - there were delivery notices, receipts for purchases, lists of components needed for a complicated looking brewery system - they were everywhere.
"You should really think about setting up a filing system," she remarked offhand, then winced.
Maybe you shouldn't be telling him how to run his business, Jemma. Looks like he's keeping pretty busy.
"Yeah. I haven't, uh, spent much time here the last few days."
Her gaze landed on him as his cheeks colored a deeper shade of pink and he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. She had been prepared to grill him, to find out if he was some sort of stalker, but he was so adorably embarrassed that she couldn't even really tease him about it.
"I imagine," she tried, deciding to stop beating around the bush since he knew that she had seen the picture he painted across the street, "that hobby of yours keeps you pretty busy outside of the office."
"Yeah," he agreed, smiling shyly at her, "sometimes, ye get a picture in yer head and it just won't go away."
Jemma nodded and pursed her lips together to keep herself from smiling back too widely before she held out her hand. "Jemma. Simmons." Her voice sounded formal, but she softened it with another smile.
"Fitz," he told her as he gripped her hand and shook.
"Just Fitz?"
"Leo. Leopold, really, but no one calls me tha'. Fitz is… better."
"Fitz, then." He didn't let go of her hand, and she felt her pulse jump. She wasn't entirely sure if a job offer was still going to be on the table, and she wasn't entirely sure if she cared anymore either. Except that she really did need a job or, knowing Skye, her roommate was going to be doing something illegal to pay next month's rent.
"Hunter tells me yer a great bartender. And that yer not half bad at waitin' tables either."
"Oh. Really? I almost expected him to tell you I was rubbish."
Fitz grinned and slowly let her fingers slip away as he dropped his hand to his side and leaned against his desk. "Nah. He seems to like ye. Dunno why if yer friends with Bobbi. Can't stop complainin' about tha' one." He gestured to the chair, but Jemma shook her head and stayed on her feet. She was too antsy to sit now. "He said ye make a mean shortbread too."
"Oh." Her mind flashed to the container sitting in a booth with Trip and Skye.
"Scottish shortbread."
"I like to bake," Jemma said with a shrug, but it was her turn to blush.
"Ye have any professional experience at it? Friend o' Nick's owns a bakery up the street. I think he's an investor in it as well. Could put in a good word for ye there."
Jemma's smile began to drop. Maybe she did still care about the job. "May's you mean? I don't… you don't want to hire me? But," she hesitated, "you said Lance told you I was great." She took a breath and her words started to speed up just as Fitz began to explain.
"It's not that I don't want to hire ye -"
"And Nick likes me. He's an investor?"
"It's just that it might cause problems."
"And Callie and I work well together."
"Now tha' everyone's seen the paintin' and I don't think Lance will -"
"She's been having me make her drinks instead of Lance."
"-keep my secret anymore."
"I really need a job, Fitz. And bartending tips are so much better than I would get in a bakery."
"It's jus'... it's a conflict of interest."
"Please."
They both took a breath and stared at one another for a moment.
"A conflict of interest?" Jemma echoed. "What kind of interest?" She took a step forward with just the hint of a smile on her face.
"Jemma, I painted ye on the side of a buildin'." His lips twitched in amusement.
"Callie doesn't know it's you. I imagine the rest of your employees don't either. And from what I hear, you might as well fire Seth anyway. He never shows up for work. Callie and Donnie are reliable, but they can't work seven full shifts a week. You need someone else. Honestly, you probably need three more people, at the very least. How does this place survive with so few employees, Fitz?"
"Lance-" Fitz started, but Jemma had taken another step forward and was now inches away from him.
"Lance can't do it all." She cocked her head to the side. "And he doesn't strike me as the kind of person who actually would do it all... I'll get Bobbi to make sure he doesn't say anything! I promise!" She leaned forward, holding her breath as she watched him swallow uncertainly.
"Well… I suppose we could start ye out a few nights a week on a trial basis." He let out a shuddering breath as his gaze darted down to her lips. Jemma was still afraid to breathe. "Until I can hire a few more people."
"Really?" Jemma bounced up on the balls of her feet and threw her arms around him. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear.
Fitz cleared his throat and eased her arms from around him as he tried to take a step back from her, but bumped back into his desk, causing a stack of papers to slide across the surface and bury his desk calendar.
"Oh!" Jemma jumped back from him, his fingertips still on her arms. "I'm so sorry. That was completely unprofessional of me, wasn't it?" He shoved his hands in his pockets and chewed on his lip in thought. Jemma's fingers played with the hem on her t-shirt for something to do. "I don't - this has never really happened to me before?" She shook her head. "I've never met someone that I, well, you know… and then found out they were my boss. I don't - I'm not entirely sure - what exactly do we do here?"
"No. I think it's my fault really. I mean, I painted the picture. And - erm…" Fitz seemed to not know what else to day. Jemma shifted her weight from side to side, and when Fitz shifted his position as well, another stack of files fell.
"Oh, for goodness' sake," Jemma muttered, and she moved around him to begin picking them up and place them into slightly more manageable stacks. Fitz did the same on the other side of the desk.
"All right," he began, "this is temporary, yeah?"
"Excuse me?" Jemma narrowed her eyes in his direction.
"The job, not," he hesitated before waving his hands around haphazardly as if that was supposed to give her an indication as to what he meant. "I mean, I guess this could be temporary as well, I don't know." He exhaled in frustration. "Lance said that you were just looking for something for now, until there was something better suited?" He shook his head. "I don't mean-"
"I understand." Jemma nodded, saving him from his blundering. This particular job was supposed to be temporary. She did have goals beyond tending bar. She swallowed and focused on the task at hand to avoid the lump that was forming in her throat. She shouldn't be upset. This would give her money while she was looking for something else. It would be fine. "Yes, temporary. I'll be looking for a more permanent position while I'm working here." She picked up a pen she found under his stack of files and placed it into the large coffee mug that looked like a monkey holding a banana. "And, erm, how long? That is," she added after seeing the puzzled expression on his face, "how long do you think it will be before you hire on enough extra help for this place? I could stay until then?" And get to know you better… Jemma didn't put a voice to that particular thought.
"I did have a couple more people interested, so… A few weeks?"
"So, we'll say a month?" Jemma offered, heart pounding in her chest. "I have a month to find another job." And a month in which I cannot, under any circumstances, date my boss.
"A month." Fitz agreed, holding out a hand again, his grin back in place as he bounced on the balls of his feet.
Before Jemma gripped his, she countered, "I do have a condition though."
"Yeah?"
"I want to make as much as Lance. He's probably better with your female customers, but I feel that's only fair since I can make drinks twice as quickly as he can."
Fitz laughed. "Deal."
-o-
