A/N: I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.


This Simmons chick was handsy. Fitz didn't care for it in the least.

First she'd stolen the hat off his head - shades of primary school - and now she was dragging him along towards a set of cabinets built into the side wall. To be fair, his eyes were still a bit teary from gagging, so it was good she was there to direct him. 'She's harmless', he told himself, blocking out the clammy feel of her palm in his. The contact was repugnant, but not menacing, and Leo Fitz was not afraid of cooties. He'd be fine.

He kept himself from twitching when she moistened a cotton ball with some unknown solution and swiped it across his brow. How much do you trust this girl? She could be dousing you with acid. Well, that was a sinister thought. "I can't get ink poisoning from this, can I?"

She laughed at him - grating, like a kookaburra. "Only if you drank the ink, and loads of it. Don't worry… besides, the cleanser works perfectly. It's my own formula," she finished with a narcissistic flourish.

La-dee-dah. He resisted closing his eyes as she moved her fingers over his forehead, grazing his hair and transporting him back to bygone night-night rituals. He peeked at Simmons as she worked, her face perturbingly close, eyes the color of watered-down coffee and just as perky.

"All set!" Thank goodness. Now we can finally get to work.

"Brilliant. Where should I set up my stuff?" Fitz looked around the room. Every thought left his head when he finally spotted the source of that pungent animal stench. "Oy! What's this?" He wandered over to investigate.

"Oh, that's Kimberly and Tabitha's monkey trial. They're grad students. The girls, not the monkeys." Hilarious.

"Hi there, little lass…" One monkey, smaller and cuter than the rest, was sucking her thumb and looking up at Fitz with enormous eyes. There were four of them in a massive C-shaped wire cage, with a couple of separate enclosures sitting empty nearby. The runty one was closest to Fitz, two others a short way off slurping on fresh fruit. The fourth monkey wasn't nearly so adorable, with a scar across his left cheek, staked out in his own corner across the cage. Dish towel wrapped around him like a cape, he was smashing rocks onto dried peach pits and picking out the nuts inside.

"What species is this? I've never seen these before." Fitz wasn't obsessed or anything, but he knew his share of monkey facts.

"Ah!" Simmons sparked like a lightning bug. "They're Zakadel monkeys, native to Wakanda. They're named after a reality-TV contestant who discovered them a few years ago while filming an adventure dating show in the jungle." Her giggle floated through the air. "He was trying to set up a romantic evening, and kept wondering where his picnic had gone! Eventually he convinced the camera crew to help him catch the little devils in the act."

This one's always overflowing with information, like a sort of braggy waterfall. He wondered if it physically hurt her not to know something.

"As it turns out, Zakadels make wonderful research candidates because they share nearly as much genetic similarity with humans as chimpanzees, but they're a fraction of the size."

"So what are they being used for here at S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

"Oh, their brains are wired up with all sorts of sensors. Kibbles is a neuropsychologist."

"Who?"

"Kimberly. She and Tabitha are research partners, BFFs," she rolled her eyes at the term, "and a pair of utter morons. They like to be called Kibbles and Bits." Simmons' face twisted in a disgruntled moue. "It's an appropriate moniker." A-ha! She doesn't make friends with everyone, it seems.

"Wow, you really do not like these women. What, one of them steal your boyfriend? Ruin your blouse? Borrow your lipstick without askin'?" Fitz didn't have sisters, but he'd watched enough of his mum's "stories" that he could guess at what might make a pretty girl angry.

"More like they destroyed four months' worth of samples because they were having an 'impromptu dance party' in the lab, fueled by vodka," she scoffed. "Which they lied about! Luckily I was able to get a copy of the surveillance video."

"And they're still here? Why didn't you have them kicked out?" It was what Fitz would've done. Simmons evidently lacked the cojones for revenge. Spineless.

A smile flitted across her face. "We sorted it. I may not like them personally, but they owe me a favor now, and honestly, isn't that better than putting up with a new grad student I've never met?"

The crafty wench. Simmons was surprising him more and more. "Well, you won't have to worry about any alcoholic romps on my end. I'm not even allowed in the liquor store."

"Oh? How old are you?" Her tone was quizzical.

"18. Few months shy."

"So you're actually 17." Rude. "Funny, I thought I was the youngest at S.H.I.E.L.D. I'm 18."

"Bully for you." Actin' all high and mighty, just 'cause she can play the lotto.

Right then, Fitz felt a tug at his back pocket. He spun around to see the fourth monkey, the loner, cheekily holding his phone.

"You saucy bugger! Give that back!" Fitz made to grab the old Nokia brick, but the monkey - Pacino, I think, for the scar - held it out of reach, pointing imperiously at his bag of Funyuns. For Pete's sake. Why's everyone always after my crisps?

"I gotcha. Quid pro quo, is it?" He held out one crunchy ring.

"Fitz, you can't-"

Pacino plucked it out of Fitz's fingers but kept the phone, turning it over with his adorable hands. "Hey! A deal's a deal, you twocker!"

The blasted creature must've pressed a button, because Fitz's phone suddenly began blaring a ring tone - an energetic MIDI from some classic Nintendo game. Pacino screeched, then ran to the other side of the cage where his brethren had congregated and placed the phone up near the front. The sound attracted the other three, and they crowded around, passing it between them.

"Not again…" Simmons sighed and shook her head. "I'll get it."

She fetched a long rod with a scooped hook and used it to scrape the phone out through the cage bars. Meanwhile, Fitz noticed that Pacino had taken advantage of the distraction to grab as much of the others' food as he could carry, skipping back to his corner with an armload of nibbles.

Clever little rascal. Fitz got the distinct impression that the entire series of unfortunate events might've been staged from the start.

He decided he quite liked this monkey.


Simmons dusted off the phone and carefully removed the package of fried onion snacks from the counter near the cage. What seemed like a safe distance usually needed doubling, with these simian scoundrels. Their antics made her laugh, though. Zakadels were a lovable bunch.

"Here you are."

"Cheers." Fitz pocketed the phone, in the front of his jeans this time. "I take it this has happened before?"

"A few times. It's my fault - I didn't think to warn you before it all hit the fan."

"That's fine - it was probably the highlight of my day, gettin' mugged by the wee hooligan."

They smiled awkwardly at each other until Fitz went to unlatch his tech crate. "So should we…"

"Oh, no, Fitz! Look at the time! I'm not booked to be here past 9 o'clock."

"What? So all this was for nothin'?"

Simmons felt that description was a bit uncalled for. Fitz was the one who'd spent all night hanging around the monkeys instead of getting to work. "Well, if you hadn't been late-"

"If you hadn't been vague-"

"You're the one who wanted my help-"

"You're the one who offered! I never asked for-"

"Oh, honestly- it doesn't matter! We need to clear out of here."

"Fine!"

He hefted his case - Simmons wondered how his slight frame could stand to carry that around - and began storming out. As it happened, however, it was very hard for Fitz to march when he was thrown off balance by the cumbersome weight of technology. That, and the fact that there were two heavy doors between him and the hall, prompted Simmons to run to his aid, steadying the container from the other side.

"I want to help, Fitz, really. I've been searching for a good application for my work, and this is perfect. Besides, no one else will partner with me."

"I can't imagine why." The sarcasm was expected. Feral cats, Jemma, she thought with a pang. At least he had the decency to look ashamed. "Sorry, that was-"

"Don't worry about it. Just," she looked at him through her lashes, "can we try again tomorrow?"

Fitz scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. Oh, he's cute when he's shy. "Yeah, I reckon we could."

"Perfect!" She was all business again. "I'll meet you outside the dining hall at 1 p.m. We'll eat lunch and then head to the lab."

"What? Lunch, but-"

"You do eat real food on occasion, don't you?" She was going to get a proper meal into him if it killed her.

"Er… yes…"

"Then it's settled. My number's already in your phone." She'd programmed it in after her daring rescue. "Oh, and Fitz?"

He looked discombobulated, like a fainting goat on its way down. "What?"

She grinned, remembering his missed calls. "Don't forget to ring your mum."


A/N: So this is a Fitzsimmons origin story, but it just might also be the origin story for Fitz's extreme love of monkeys as well.

You probably can't get ink poisoning from a Sharpie tattoo, says a basic Google search. That said - don't mess around with markers, kids.

The Zakadel monkey is made up. I named them after a reality TV contestant who bears a striking resemblance to a monkey, and to avoid being mean, I'll leave it at that.

Their abilities are inspired by chimps, long-tailed macaques, and especially capuchin monkeys.

My monkey facts came from Wikipedia and a New York Times article titled "Monkey Business" about how freaking awesome capuchins are.

Wakanda is an African nation in the Marvel Universe, near Tanzania.

I think impromptu dance parties might be a Grey's Anatomy thing.

Gimme an R! Gimme an E! Gimme a V! Gimme a… Ooof. Cheerleading's exhausting. Just gimme a "rev."