A/N: I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Oh, mother of all things. Of course they'd bring up the TV.
It was hardly Fitz's fault that he'd blown out the power and overloaded the old CRT. It was the faulty wiring in these Academy buildings. And if Fitz's device had been pulling a bit too much voltage, well, that just meant it needed a redesign. He decided Jonesy and Herrick were probably jealous - the only invention those clods could come up with would be an inflatable dartboard or a chocolate kettle. That pair have delusions of adequacy.
How was Fitz supposed to know that they were watching the big pay-per-view fight in the other room? The blockheads should have warned him off doing anything that could interrupt their viewing party. Leave a note next time, you nitwits. Assuming they could figure out how to string three words together onto paper.
Truth be told, Fitz could probably fix the damn thing in his sleep. But he was far from Herrick's #1 fan, and thought even less of Jonesy. Plus, for the last week he'd been rather appreciating the quiet in the dorm without the constant blare of a Nascar race, football game - not football, handegg - or wrestling match to distract him. At least, until he'd fallen asleep and woken up with a trouser snake inked on his skin. Since then, he'd been hiding out in the library, the wind tunnel, or the 24-hour student center, and had scantly gotten to enjoy the silence of his room.
Well, Lab 8 was as good a place as any to avoid those troglodytes. Fitz cleared the negativity from his brain. He didn't need to worry about Jonesy and Herrick right now. He was finally going to make some headway on his drones. Fitz pushed open the door to the lab, slurping on his 44-oz to-go cup of Sprite. Simmons had nearly shrieked at him when he'd insisted that the sugar buzz helped his productivity. She's so uptight! But he'd gotten his way, so that was the important thing.
Fitz made a beeline for the monkeys, stopping only to set his engineering case on the table by the outlets. Pacino was dozing in his corner, the other three napping together in an adorable pile. When Fitz stepped close, he opened lazy eyes which quickly widened in recognition. Clacking his teeth together, Pacino pointed at Fitz, making a wordless demand.
The little trash compactor! "You remember me, hmm? You hungry?" Pacino blew out his lips in a raspberry before repeatedly crashing a small fist into his mouth.
"But I didn't bring any crisps with me today…" Fitz teased. Pacino's chatter turned into a squawk as he voiced his discontent. "Okay, okay, you win."
Fitz pulled a sleeve of popcorn out of his back pocket. "I have to zap this. It'll only take a second." Pacino slapped the floor.
He quickly stuck the snack into the microwave at the end of the lab counter and pressed the "popcorn" setting. Before long, the smell of hot buttery delight wafted through the air, waking the other Zakadels. They all crowded around the bars at the front of the cage, jabbering excitedly. The baby-faced one - Sweet Pea, perhaps? - was jumping up and down, the most enthusiastic of the lot. You get an extra piece, cutie.
"Fitz, what do you think you're doing?"
So finicky. "Simmons, if the microwave is here, obviously they intend us to use it."
"That's for preparing the monkeys' oatmeal. Not for you to add another food violation to our record."
"I hardly think Kibbles and Bits are going to rat us out. Besides, you don't really care what those airheads think, do you?" Fitz gave her his best pout, eyes pleading.
Simmons sighed heavily. "I guess… you've already got your fizzy drink, and seeing as there was food here from before… Just, er... Leave me out of it, will you?"
"You're the best, Simmons." Is that a blush? Fitz didn't mind charming her, even if it was a bit manipulative.
When her back was turned, he pulled his phone and other necessities out of his pockets and left them far down the table, then distributed a few kernels of popped corn to each of the monkeys. He didn't think she'd mind, but he didn't fancy another reprimand. Rules seemed pretty important to Simmons. He was glad he didn't see the world that way. Life was much more fun when you didn't mind stirring up a spot of trouble.
Taking a handful for himself, Fitz moved to where Simmons was already setting up the myomers next to the voltage regulators. Ah, yes, the project. He was determined not to get sidetracked again. At this rate, it would be Christmas before he could present a viable prototype. He unlatched his crate, pulling out all the drone parts.
The myomers were string-like, long segments filled with acti-strandular fibers that would contract when a current was sent through. Simmons showed him how to thread the myomers through his wings and stimulate them, causing the material to jump and various shapes to arise. Once he saw the implications of this new tech, Fitz's mind went barrelling at a hundred miles a minute.
"This is amazing, Simmons."
"It was your idea, silly." She crinkled her eyes in amusement.
"Yeah, but it wasn't going anywhere until you helped." Fitz was suddenly curious to see how much more pink her cheeks could turn. "I'm serious - this could revolutionize the aeronautics industry!"
Simmons grinned, fingers busy with the bioelectric polymers. She's probably just smiling like that because she doesn't understand. Fitz was accustomed to talking about physics or engineering and getting a dopey smile or a blank stare in return. Most of the time, Fitz ended up doing all the work himself, too irritated by stupidity to tolerate his lab partners for long.
But Simmons had thought of using the myomers in the first place, and she was a quick study - he should try to include her in his process, even if it meant dumbing things down. "Okay." He put on his "explaining" voice. "Right now, planes that are designed for supersonic flight have completely different wings than those for subsonic speeds. But-"
"-with deformable wings like these, you could create a standard set for all aircraft. The same plane-"
"-could travel at vastly different velocities, without any worry for efficiency or stability. Yes!" Fitz was blown away. "That's it exactly!"
Her smile had gone from 60-watts to 100 in a span of seconds. "Well done, Fitz! You've created something wonderful."
I didn't do it alone. But if she was going to give him credit, he'd be happy to accept, since it apparently went hand in hand with her admiration.
The mood changed a few minutes later, while they were cleaning up after their successful test run. "Is that a gun?"
"Huh?"
Simmons gestured to one of his pistols, which he'd left on the table in the process of packing the drone.
"Yeah, it's my assignment for Advanced Weaponry. I carry all my unfinished tech together; it's easier, and I can work on whatever I need to." Fitz noted her scrunching her nose in an expression of concern. "Don't worry, it's perfectly safe." He replaced it in the case, wanting to see her relax. Fitz was very careful with his guns, and a crack shot, but Simmons couldn't have known.
"It's not that… I just didn't realize you were so interested in weapons."
"Well… it's not all I do. I also make robots and helpful gadgets. I got my start building household appliances for my mum, did I tell you that?"
"Mmm, you did," she agreed non-committally. "Did you ever think of building non-lethal guns?"
Fitz furrowed his brow in befuddlement. "Why? This gets the job done. It's simple to use, easy to upgrade, and best of all, it's compatible with existing S.H.I.E.L.D. parts. I'll most likely get the highest score in the class. If S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't own my intellectual property, I'd be set for life."
"That's not the point! Don't you care that it kills people?"
Fitz shook his head, not quite believing this conversation. Poor, naive Simmons. She thought guns were responsible for killing. "Simmons. Anyone who uses this is going to have been trained in a million ways to disarm and incapacitate their enemies. If a field agent is shooting one of my guns, it's because they need to kill somebody. Besides, what did you think you signed on for? We're not exactly run by Disney."
"We're not murderers either. And maybe I signed up to find a way to make the world a better place. Not to sow more violence and destruction." She was getting shrill, that tone she used when she was so sure she was right. Fitz wasn't going to fall for it this time.
"We're not the ones dealing death here, Simmons. Scientists, you and me, we just build the things." He pushed against the gale forces of her argument, trying to find the right tack. "People can use almost anything for wickedness; does that mean we shouldn't try to advance technology? Wernher von Braun's rockets helped kill thousands - they also put a man on the moon. Should he have squelched his passion for space exploration? Where would we be now if he had? You and I both know humans aren't alone in the universe." There, that's set her straight.
"Von Braun was working for Hydra." She had her know-it-all face on. "Not to mention, building rockets to the moon is slightly different from making a gun with bullets designed to tear through someone's flesh." Her voice softened. "All I'm saying is people use the tools at their disposal. And as the people who make the tools, we can effect real change."
Fitz held fast to his convictions. Simmons was sounding much too high-handed to let her win. "Well, we live in a world where supersoldiers and aliens and gods can attack at any time. I'm okay with matching strength for strength."
She looked at him with pity. Pity! "It shows more strength to spare your enemies."
"You're naive," he muttered under his breath. Fitz was done with this conversation. He stalked off to retrieve his things from the lab counter by the cage. Phone, keys, wallet - check. His popcorn was almost entirely gone, though. The package was out of reach of the monkeys, which only left one possible culprit.
"Simmons?" He growled in accusation.
"Yes?" She sounded annoyed. More like annoying.
"Did you eat all my popcorn?"
"Honestly, Fitz?" Why's she mad at me? She's the popcorn-thieving trollop. "I've been right here the entire time. And I'm not hungry. And I would've asked."
Enough of your lies, missy! Too many excuses always covered up a clumsy mistruth. Fitz huffed. He was ready to go someplace that didn't have self-important girls all over it. He grabbed the empty popcorn bag and his Sprite cup, wanting nothing more than to throw them in the trash and leave his current company.
And noticed the straw was missing.
Suddenly, it all made sense. Fitz took one long stride back to the Zakadel cage. Sure enough, Pacino was sitting in his corner, straw in hand like a scimitar, towel-cape spread over a suspiciously lumpy mound.
"I need my straw back, please." Given the evidence to date, Fitz had no reason to think this monkey wouldn't understand him.
Pacino looked bored, making no moves to comply.
"Listen up, you little knave," he whispered, his affectionate tone cushioning the words. "If they find you with that straw, Simmons'll get in trouble, and then I won't be allowed in here. Is that what you want?"
Pacino stared into Fitz's eyes, dispassionate. Then he jumped up, pointing at the empty popcorn bag.
"Christ." Luckily, there were a few kernels left. "Just hurry up, before she sees us."
He was a tad surprised when the trade-off worked. This monkey is somethin' else. He waved good-bye at the charismatic rogue. "See you soon, smartypants."
Pacino wiggled his fingers in return and gave Fitz a wide, toothy smile.
A/N: "Delusions of adequacy" is a sick burn credited to theater critic Walter Kerr.
The science in this chapter is a hearty blend of real and fake. Deformable wings would optimize both super- and sub-sonic flight on the same airplane. That type of deformable wings does not yet exist. Source: my awesome husband, who is an aerospace engineer.
Info about Wernher von Braun, a.k.a. the Father of Rocket Science, comes from Wikipedia. The dude was super interesting, y'all. Look him up. Also he was a Nazi.
In case this was unclear (please let me know and I'll modify the chapter) Pacino was sticking popcorn with the straw (or holding onto it with suction) and drawing the pieces into his cage. Way to use basic tools, Pacino.
Also, ABC is owned by Disney, so technically, S.H.I.E.L.D. is run by Disney. Chew on that, Fitz.
You know what's awesome? Cream cheese jalapeño poppers. Also, reviews.