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

Fitz said trouble was coming, but Simmons couldn't see it.

After a moment, two boisterous older cadets came up to their table. They don't look like bullies… These men were more like a pair of hyperactive boxer pups, crashing against anything and everything they could in their zest for life. And still, Simmons could see the darkness hooding Fitz's eyes when the big one called his name - Leopold, that's quite old-fashioned - and the way he shut off when the tall one touched his shoulder. She didn't like it. Finding out that he was living with - What did he call him? Sherm? - made the situation even more tragic, though his roommate at least seemed like the less obnoxious of the two. The wide, stocky one confirmed this when he displayed a streak of bullfighter-grade machismo.

"Nice! I didn't realize girls at Sci-Tech were this cute… maybe I'll head over there sometime and show'em a real man."

The rivalry between Ops and Sci-Tech was as old as the school, so she shouldn't have been surprised by a dig at the men in her field. And if the gorilla was trying to chat her up, well - Simmons had dealt with her share of creeps before. But as he made the comment, she caught the look on Fitz's face, flashing back to his unfiltered logorrhea from Dr. Solomon's lecture. Oh, no. He was going to bark out some acerbic barb, throw poison into what was still a casual exchange. If these two were really his aggressors, she couldn't let him take the risk… though the fact that it would be in her defense made something warm and chocolatey melt over her.

Before he could let loose the floodgates of his scorn, Simmons took the chance away from him. Inspired by images of jaunty Whedonesque heroines, filled with spit and vinegar from the comeback practice in her dorm, Simmons arched a brow and quietly put the barbarian in his place. It wasn't anything special, nothing a friend wouldn't do to keep another friend out of trouble. Friends. Yes, she supposed they were.

To the lugnut's credit, he took the jab in stride, laughing good-naturedly. While he was ruffling Fitz's hair, for all the world like a teasing older cousin, his sidekick Sherm even went so far as to give them both an apologetic wave. They're evil, Jemma. Think of Fitz. Still, if these guys were truly malicious, they were very good at hiding it.

"Nice to meet you; hope to see you around." The roommate, especially, didn't seem that bad, and Simmons said as much. This somehow set Fitz off on an awkward ramble about penis drawings which she chose not to indulge.

Simmons liked to give people the benefit of the doubt. She'd never met anyone who genuinely deserved her hatred before. Hate's a bit strong. Just the concept made her eyes narrow in skepticism. And as much as it personally distressed her sometimes, she accepted that freshman pranks were part of the campus culture. But if these were the ruffians who'd marked up Fitz's face, she didn't think she'd be taking their side anytime soon. Whether they meant to or not, they'd hurt him, and that made fierce, growly parts of her flip in her stomach like the ignition on a car.

She and Fitz chatted amiably through the rest of lunch, discovering that they shared a few more classes besides Solomon's, though they attended on different days. Fitz had the sort of laser focus that she envied; he knew himself well enough to devote the whole of his intelligence and ability to the subjects he preferred, all but discarding the rest. Of course, she thought with a hint of jealousy, he was the sort of person who could get away with not studying.

Simmons felt incredible pressure to learn as much about everything as she could; it was why she'd left her Biology track for Biochem, and piled on medicine to boot. Not that I mind! She'd been so blessed in her life, just to be free to pursue that lust for knowledge, but sometimes, it left her mind feeling paper-thin. From books and movies to science and history - It's all so wonderful, and there's no way to keep it all in my head. Watching Fitz put a five-pound food baby into his belly, listening to him chatter on about his mum, Simmons wondered if perhaps there was more in life to love than homework.

They'd barely stood up and put their soiled trays on the conveyor belt to the dishwasher, when the boorish duo from earlier walked by. Fitz stiffened, and Simmons moved to block him from view. Damn. She wasn't quite fast enough.

As the meat-heads passed them, the burly, swaggy one leaned over and said, "Hey Leopold! Don't forget you still owe us for that TV." And with a chin tilt, he and his friend were gone.

"A television set? What was that about?"

Fitz ducked slightly, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Erm… it may or may not be why they decorated my forehead."

Simmons waited, one eyebrow raised, foot tapping out a Fred Astaire beat. When he just stood there, all fidgety thumbs and ears like sun-dried tomatoes, she relented, throwing her hands up in surrender. He gave her a puckish, half-guilty grin. The whole story will come out eventually. No rush. Fitz could tell her in his own time.

And besides, she'd just remembered something else.

"Jemma," she declared.

His brows met, bisected by a vertical line. "What?"

"My first name. It's Jemma. Since I know yours…" his grimace settled any question of what to call him, "it seemed wrong to leave you at a disadvantage."

"Jemma," he tasted the word, rolling it around in his mouth. He scrutinized her for the space of a long breath, far-off thoughts playing behind his irises. "No. I like Simmons."

"Good," she smiled, "because I like Fitz."

A/N: Happy Father's Day!

OK, fearless readers, who do you believe? Is Fitz maybe exaggerating the situation with the bullies? Being paranoid? Or is Simmons too sweet for her own good, seeing the best in everyone?

Two different people. Two different stories. This is why you never trust an eyewitness account.