A/N's: It's been so long since I updated this that I thought I'd bring out another chapter! (also, what would you guys think about a Halloween special for this fic?)
Side Note: poor Lance has become the Neville Longbottom of this story. And if anybody's confused, everybody's around about twelve or thirteen in this chapter, basically the last year before college/high school.


Next hits the ripe age of puberty, all childish petulance and mood swings and body hair in extra places. The children of the village do not escape this unfortunate event, and any who have any semblance of a brain dive for cover when Fitz or Jemma engage a fight while in one of those moods.

"Don't write so hard, the noise is drilling a whole through my head," Jemma will snap irritably from across the room.

"Good," Fitz will shout back. "It might improve it somewhat."

("did you hear what that ignorant toad said?" jemma will whisper furiously to skye, pressing so hard the lead of her pencil snaps clean off. "he insulted me!"

"how dare he," skye agrees, giving the boys dirty looks, looking fiercely terrifying with her tom-boyish fashion.)

...

With a new school year comes new pupils, and the students are undeniably curious when a new girl shows up on the very first Monday of term. The newcomer is blonde, and full of swagger as she kisses her brother on the cheek and waves goodbye. There's something undeniably cool about the way she holds herself, and jaws are dropped across the room.

"I know we said no girls allowed in our group," Lance says, "but do you think we could make a little exception?"

"No way!" Familiar figures push past them, Jemma with her hair swaying behind her and Skye sticking her tongue out at the boys as she waltzes past. "Us girls are already low on numbers. She's going to be our friend."

And that was how the story of The Friendship War started.

...

Throughout the days, both Jemma and Fitz try desperately to win over the heart and affection of the new girl in town. They quickly learn that her name is Bobbi Morse, that she comes from a fairly wealthy family of four, along with her younger brother Dion Morse, and her two parents. They learn her favourite colour is red, they learn that she not only takes martial arts in her spare time, but dance and swimming lessons as well.

"How did you learn all this information?" Fitz says incredulously, having accidentally stumbled into the girls' conversation on his way to the loo.

Jemma hoists her chin up and takes his sceptical look all in stride. "I did my research," she tells him, smug as always. "You should try it sometime, Leo. That's how I actually pass my school assignments."

"Ouch," Triplett winces.

"Burn." Mack nods in agreement.

"Not helping, guys," Fitz hisses to the posse of boys gathered behind him. He saves his death-glare to go with the lecture later, instead sizing Jemma Simmons up with a look that says 'i'm far better than you, so you need to get a check on yourself immediately'. "Wow, I didn't know you studied, Simmons. I should have known you'd need the extra help."

Jemma's mood sours. He's hit a sore spot, and he's enjoying every single minute of it. Education and intelligence is a high number in her carefully mapped books. "Why don't you go play on the playground, Fitz? Studying is for big kids."

"Studying is for people who can't retain the information in their heads," Fitz recites - which isn't technically true, but a little white lie never hurt anybody, right?

"Come back and have this conversation when you see your test results," Jemma says lightly, twirling a piece of hair around her fingers in an exaggerated fashion. Beside her, Skye pops her bubble of bright pink gum to prove her point. "Bet I scored higher than you."

For a moment, Fitz is furious. Then, "Well, you might want to revisit question thirty-five. The answer was A, not B."

"That's not right, I double-checked the - hang on, did you look at my test results?! Leopold Fitz, that's cheating!" she yells after him, but Fitz and his friends are already scampering off towards the playground, high-fiving each other as they kick a ball around the court.

...

Bobbi Morse is no easy cookie to crack, the kids find out after innumerable attempts to sway her onto their side.

"I heard that your dad works for Shield Enterprises," Jemma gushes one morning, when the rain is pattering against the windows and they're supposed to be finding the perimeter of a swimming pool.

Fitz, always seeming to slide in at the perfect times, leaps up to sit on a desk, much to Jemma's obvious distaste. "I heard that your dad owns Shield Enterprises," he remarks, grinning as Jemma's frown deepens.

"That's not true," Bobbi laughs as she files the correct numbers neatly in her book. "But he does work there. That's why we moved over here."

"You live down the road from me," Jemma says quickly, in an attempt to bring the conversation back around. "I saw the moving truck. Me and mum were going to bring around some cookies, but... we burnt them."

"Only you could burn cookies, Simmons," Fitz snorts, trying to hide his amusement.

"Only you could burn toast, Fitz," Jemma retorts, instantly sharp as quicksilver. "Don't think I've forgotten about The Jam Incident."

"That was an accident and you know it!" he protests.

"Sorry," Bobbi cuts in, looking slightly apologetic. "But do you think you guys could.. argue somewhere else for a little bit? I really need to get this work done."

"Sorry," Fitz mutters easily, sliding off the desk and retreating.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," Jemma spits out rapidly, a deep blush colouring her cheeks as she all but leaps out of the way. "Fitz is really just quite a horrible influence."

"A horrible influence?" Fitz splutters, all attempts at being polite to Bobbi forgotten in his hurry to retort with something indignant and witty. "Are you even listening to yourself, Simmons? We were doing perfectly fine here until you decided to come along and ruin everything?"

"Oh, please," she scoffs, like the mere suggestion of her being rude is the most absurd thing she's ever heard. "I was talking to her first, thank you very much. We were actually getting along very nicely until you decided to come and push your nose into everything. Isn't that right, Bobbi?"

They both turn when there's no answer, eyebrows knitting in confusion when they spy nothing except an empty seat.

"I think she got bored of your arguing," Mack snickers to himself.

"Shut up, Mack."

(well, at least they've agreed on something for once)

...

"You know the new girl, Bobbi?" Triplett asks, sliding into a seat next to the others boys with his lunch tray. He's got one of those looks on his face, one of those looks that means he's got the latest school gossip and can't wait to share it with everybody else.

"Do I ever," Lance sighs, all glazed eyes and eager ears in the way that comes with middle school crushes. The rest of the boys have no clue what he's talking about, for crushes are unfamiliar to them as snow in summertime.

"Whatever, Lance." Fitz wrinkles his nose at the other boy's dreamy look, instead stealing a cookie from Mack's tray. "What about her, Trip?"

"Well, apparently Lance's heart eyes scared her off. She's hanging out with Jemma and Skye now," Trip says nonchalantly as he peels open the lid of his yoghurt. "Ugh, mom forgot to pack me a spoon again. Do you guys have any spares?"

"What? I can't believe she would do that," Fitz splutters in outrage, trying to signal devil eyes to the girls across the lunch court, even though they're sitting with their backs to him. "It's all bloody Simmons's fault. Sticking her nose in places she's not supposed to. Now she's gone and charmed another girl to add to her group."

He huffs and tries not to blatantly sulk at the table. It's not like he's particularly mad at the fact that Bobbi's declined their friendship (she can make her own choices, after all, he's not the boss of her), but more angry at the fact that Jemma had outdone him yet again. Honestly, does she not stop at anything to get what she wants? How is Fitz supposed to be smug when she's flaunting off her winnings all the time?

"We need to devise a plan," he announces finally, leaning forward to portray more seriousness to the situation. "One that will finally show Jemma Simmons who rules the playground."

Mack digs through his lunch box. "Here, Trip. I have a spare spoon."

Fitz drops his head to the table with a soft thunk.

("enough with the spoons, guys! we have very important business to discuss!"

"can't it wait for a little bit? my yoghurt's getting warm."

"you guys are bloody useless."

"love you too, man.")

...

Several weeks after Bobbi had joined the dark side, Fitz finds a delicately folded pastel envelope in his bag. To his surprise, his name is embroidered in a neat handwritten font, decorated with stickers and various other girly things. It's so distinctly her that he knows the letter is from Jemma even before he opens it.

Still, what he's surprised to find is a totally different expectation. Because, written in a tiny scrawl, is an invitation to Jemma Simmons' birthday party.

Part of him thinks 'aren't we a little too old for birthday parties now' but the other (bigger) part is on red alert, thinking through all the possible circumstances that could possibly prompt Jemma into inviting her worst enemy (or arch-nemesis, if you will) to her birthday.

Could it be a prank? Maybe her parents forced her... or maybe she wanted more presents. This, of course, makes him scowl. He tries to keep it to himself, but everyone knows the Fitzs aren't the richest family on the block.

Fortunately for him, he's saved the trouble of over thinking, because the know-it-all herself is stepping out into the hallway with a sunny smile and the air of importance.

"What's this?" He waves the letter at her accusingly.

Jemma gives him one of her trademark smug smiles. "It's a birthday invite, Fitz. Have you ever gotten one before?"

"Yes," he scowls, "but not from you."

"Don't worry. It wasn't by choice."

"There goes my hopes, dreams and aspirations," he says sarcastically. "What if I don't want to come? My birthday is only twenty-seven days after yours. I might be planning my own party."

"Then don't come," Jemma says, airily. "No one's making you."

Bobbi and Skye pops out of the classroom behind Jemma, and the trio grab their bags and walk down the hallway, but not without a parting look from Skye herself. Bobbi shoots him one of sympathy, but that quickly turns to disgust upon spying Lance, who's rushing up to join Fitz cluelessly. Fitz refrains from sighing heavily.

"Well, that confirms my theory."

Trip pops out of nowhere. "Since when did we have a theory?"

"And what's this theory?" Lance blinks.

"That you lot," he stares accusingly, "scared Bobbi Morse away."

"Us lot?"

"How is it our fault?" Lance says incredulously.

"Because..." Fitz scrambles for an explanation, but faced with two sceptical eighth year boys, he's forced to give up and resort to childish tactics. "Just because, alright? I'm the ringleader. I'm the one invited to Simmons's birthday party, and I'm going to set her straight."

Trip and Lance exchange looks, and Mack and Grant arrive, looking torn between amusement and sympathy.

"Didn't you hear, Turbo? The whole class has been invited."

"Did you really think Jemma Simmons would invite her worst enemy to her birthday party?" Grant raises an eyebrow.

"I'm invited to everybody's birthday parties," Fitz defends.

Lance coughs. "Not Bobbi's." He's met with glares from all around. "What? I'm just stating the truth!"

"Hunter?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

"Okay."

...

The day of Jemma's party is annoyingly sunny, with not a cloud to be seen and sunshine spilling through every open crevice. Still, that doesn't stop him scowling as his mother forces a present into his hands and packs him off to the party with a rather embarrassing kiss on the cheek and a wave goodbye.

He's always known Jemma was wealthy, but he doesn't think it had ever hit him until this moment, when he stands outside the party. Because it's her house, but it looks more like a mansion to this lanky little boy with his scruffy shoes and his untidy hair. Balloons hang on the postbox, a sweet scent of cotton candy floats through the air, and suddenly he realises why he was told to bring his togs, because he can see the beginnings of a glistening blue pool out the back.

There's a thin, pretty woman at the door with Jemma's eyes and smile, and she leads Fitz inside and through to the backyard with an air of excitement. "You must be Fitz. Oh, I'm so glad you could make it, we've heard a lot about you."

Fitz is almost too surprised to file that in his blackmail box (almost), but soon enough he's greeted by the sight of kids splashing and laughing and milling around the pool. Everyone's in swimming gear but so is Jemma, and wow, he forgot girls went through puberty too.

"Oh, Fitz," Jemma greets, wringing out her wet hair. "Enjoying the party?"

"Um.. yeah?" Fitz frowns, because is he dreaming, or is Simmons actually being nice? He should really repay the favour, but he's been doing this for so many years that it's almost a force of habit - "Do you actually have any friends, or did they just come for the pool?"

Jemma's eyes narrow. "I have more friends than you have curls, Leopold."

And they slip back into the rhythm again, easy as breathing.

(he doesn't stop to consider the possibility of them becoming friends. after all, the idea is simply ridiculous. in every world, every universe, this is what jemma and fitz are supposed to do. they're supposed to bicker and fight and make each other cry, because that's the rule. and lord knows jemma simmons like following the rules)

...

Fitz meets up with the rest of the crew once they all arrive, and as much as Fitz loathes to admit it, he actually has fun. They snicker when Skye fails miserably at Pin the Tail on the Donkey (even Jemma has to fight a smile), make awed noises as Mrs. Simmons brings out a beautiful cake, and Fitz grudgingly sings Happy Birthday under his breath, but even so Jemma leans closer as she's handing him a slice of cake, smile wide and infuriating.

"What were you saying, Leo?"

He scowls at her. "Happy birthday."

She blinks, tilting her head innocently. "Sorry, come again?"

To any bystander she looks like a perfect little princess, but Leopold Fitz knows better, and he grabs the plate from her. "Happy birthday, Jemma," he says loudly, earning a few wide-eyed stares from the kids who know of their rivalry (so, basically everyone).

"That's all I needed to hear," she calls triumphantly after him, because he's already marching off towards his friends, balancing the cake precariously, because if he has to endure Jemma's birthday party torture, he's going to at least take advantage of the food.

"Wow, man," Trip shakes his head, pretending to be disappointed, "I thought you hated Jemma Simmons."

"I do! Simmons is the worst, most annoying, arrogant, annoying toerag ever to grace the Earth!" he grumbles, stabbing a fork into his cake.

The crew stare doubtfully at him, until Grant says, "You've been reading Harry Potter again, haven't you?"

Fitz sniffs. "So what if I have?"

Grant, Mack and Trip exchange looks. "No reason," Mack says. "Just... no. Never mind."

And Lance, obliviously; "At least the cake is good."

And that, Fitz can't disagree with.

...

Later, when the sky is darkening and the sun is casting it's golden light on the Simmons Estate, Fitz sits on the edge of the pool, feet skimming through the water, smiling as he watches Skye, Trip and Lance have a water fight, throwing balloons and floaties and various other pool accessories at each other. By the barbecue sit Bobbi, Grant and Mack, chilling with drinks and hot dogs and talking to various other irrelevant classmates that Fitz has never been bothered to remember. Raina something or other? And Lincoln? Whatever.

It's only just hit him that no one's actually fighting for once, when a figure sits down next to him, her own feet dipping in the water. She's sitting a considerable distance apart from him (after all, who knows what disease he'll contract if he touches her), but the form and the honey-brown hair is unmistakable all the same.

"Simmons."

"Fitz."

He frowns at her suspiciously. "What do you want?"

He's expecting some sort of ridiculous request, a snide remark, a sarcastic retort. Which is why he's so surprised when she simply says, "Nothing."

"Jemma Simmons doesn't want anything?" Fitz snorts and looks up to the sky. "The pigs must be flying."

"Ha-ha," she says dryly. "I'm being serious."

That catches his attention. In all the years Fitz has known Jemma, he's seen her as many things. He's seen her taunt, seen her smug, seen her happy, god, he's even seen her cry. Jemma Simmons! Crying! But he has never, not once, seen her like this, all soft and earnest and like a proper, real, human being. He wonders if this is what she's like when she's with her friends, and then immediately banishes the thought, because Fitz cannot be wondering about Jemma, unless it's on what way to best her next.

"Well.. why are you here, then?" he tries.

She shrugs, pool reflection bouncing off her curls. "I don't know. All my friends are busy, and I didn't want to disturb them. I feel like.. I feel like I'm always taking up their attention. So I just decided to.. leave for a while."

"So I'm your last choice?"

Jemma raises her eyebrows at him. "Like you'd be my first."

He recognises that voice, and he immediately feels more comfortable. Banter is fun, banter is easy, banter doesn't leave him with a million confused questions. "No, low-life Leopold Fitz is too poor and too annoying for the holy Jemma Simmons."

"That's not what it's about," she says suddenly, and there it is again, that niceness that's so unfamiliar to him. It doesn't feel right, but.. it doesn't feel wrong, either.

He frowns at her. "What?"

"Money. It's not about money. I know you think I think that I'm better than you because I have more money, but it's not about riches."

She's avoiding his gaze, staring down with such a concentration at the water that he thinks it might start smoking and burning at any minute. Unexpectedly, he finds himself grinning.

"I know. It was always about besting than each other at everything, right?"

Neither of them look at each other, but they can both tell the other is smiling.

(weird. since when did leopold fitz know how jemma bloody simmons's mind work?)

Jemma nods, and they sit in silence for what seems like eternity. Then Skye yells for Jemma to come and help her with the foam noodles, and Jemma gets to her feet.

"Bye, Fitz."

Those two words are the sweetest things she's ever said to him, and he's left gaping open-mouthed after the impossible girl that is Jemma Simmons.

...

The next day, Jemma Simmons is freshly thirteen and as obnoxious as ever, and Fitz is left wondering if he'd dreamed the whole scenario up the night before.

(he hadn't)