Summary: "They turn away, walking down different paths." Leopold and Simmons are the what-if.
Warning/Spoiler: Slight spoilers for 1x12 "Seeds"
Rating: T/PG-13
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Fitz, Simmons

Author's Note: I just wanted to write some angst, sorry.

paths

Leopold Fitz meets Ian Quinn when he's twenty and struggling in the Academy because no one will talk to him and his professors hate him and all he can muster up the energy to do is sit in his room all day and sketch out designs.

"Mr. Fitz, it seems we have a deal."

When Leopold shakes the other man's hand, he feels a shiver down his spine; it's a little bit of relief, a little bit of excitement, but many parts fear. There's a passing shadow of doubt that nags him, but it's only that – passing, because the voice in the back of his mind has been muffled for years now, tired of screaming against the gag stuffed around it when the science takes over everything Leopold does. So he smiles, signs the papers, and walks out when Ian dismisses him.

A year later, Leopold Fitz graduates from the SHIELD academy with no honors and little recognition to his name; he's known as that engineer, the one with the scary ideas and vague hopes.

When they station him at the Sandbox, Leopold only smiles.

Jemma Simmons meets Phil Coulson when she's twenty-one and drowning under the pressures of working alone at SciOps, especially after she almost starts a possibly facility-damaging fire when she forgets to recalibrate the electromagnetic measuring system in order to make a cup of tea – she hasn't really had a good cup of tea in years.

"Agent Simmons?" says Agent Coulson, eyes heavy despite a wide smile and the heavily noticeable presence of being alive. When Simmons stares back, eyes wide and mouth open, Coulson laughs. "How do you feel about field work?"

When Simmons shakes her head and refuses, citing her failed field tests and inability to finish her designs, Coulson frowns. "I was told by the professors at the Academy that you show incredible potential, Agent Simmons." He leans against the lab table, arms crossed over a file, and Simmons stares at her gloved hands. That word – potential: it feels heavy on her lips; it sticks to her lips and gnaws against her throat. "But it always seemed something was holding you back," he says and Simmons has to look up.

"Sir – there's nothing – I'm just not sure if I'd be of any use – "

"If I didn't think you'd be of use, Simmons," says Coulson, the ghost of a smile lingering on his face, "I wouldn't be here."

But it's that word that still haunts her, keeps her chained down: whatever potential Simmons may have, she doesn't have it now. "I'm sorry, sir – but I don't think I'm right for the job."

Several months later, they relocate her to the Sandbox. Simmons can't say she's surprised: they send all the lost causes there.

Leopold and Simmons meet each other in a hallway at half-past eleven at o'clock on a Thursday night. Simmons is scheduled to conduct tests on the latest project stashed away and Leopold is scheduled to give Ian Quinn an update about possible hazardous materials of benefit to his organization.

When Simmons sees him, she wants to scream. She doesn't.

"You shouldn't be here," she says instead, steadying her frantic breathing; it's dark and late and the building is creepily silent. Secretly, Simmons hates it here and this is why.

Leopold tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly. "I know you," he says, searching for the right memory, the right moment. It clicks all at once and he wonders why he feels that voice in his head start to scream a bit louder. "Jemma Simmons."

"Leopold Fitz?" says Simmons, eye widening slightly. "I didn't know you were here – I thought they'd have you in some super high tech lab in Europe or Asia – "

"Nope," he says, his smile flat and his eyes completely dull. "Could say the same for you."

Simmons crosses her arms over her chest, looking at the floor. "I wasn't quite what they wanted."

There's silence; Simmons wonders why she's comfortable around this man and Leopold wonders why he's still standing here and hasn't bolted. But then Simmons shakes her head and Leopold steps towards the exit.

"I should be leaving – "

"You should leave – "

A pause passes before they both laugh, hollow and sharp, a knife through the awkwardness. Even as she chooses her words, Simmons thinks Leopold already knows what she's going to say. "I won't say anything."

And Leopold smiles. "Thank you."

They turn away, walking down different paths.

Leopold dies a week later, shot in the head by a Centipede solider under duress, who dies pleading please, don't before his pupil is dripping in blood. Simmons is the one who inadvertently kills the solider; working late once again, her timing is impeccable: she slips into the empty room just in time to see the shot fire, to see Leopold resigned and grimacing, to see his body fall to the floor with a simple thud.

And then Simmons screams, the solider turns to her panicked, fires an empty weapon, and starts cursing.

When the other agents find her, Simmons is staring at the body of Leopold Fitz wondering why everything hurts.