A/N: I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.
A lot had happened tonight.
Fitz let out a deep breath as he meticulously placed his bits and bobs into storage tubs, then sloppily swept his laundry off the duvet onto the floor. He needed the slow oblivion of sleep the way a dying man needs forgiveness, but even wrapped in an analgesic fog, his brain wouldn't numb. A quick reel of the night's events played through his head like a deranged line drawing on the edges of a flip-book.
Simmons, once she'd calmed down, had reached Kimberly by phone. Their argument wound its way through the lab and the hall, like a gray hair through a braid, in and out of Fitz's earshot while he held his own hand in a pain-tolerance Purgatory. It was equal parts bar brawl and confessional, Simmons' frustration battling the top-secret nature of the discussion, and at the end, Fitz knew he should have been satisfied just to learn he did not have some creepy alien flesh-eating bacteria pitching a campsite in his arm. Just your standard Wednesday-evenin' monkey bite, y'know, not the weird kind.
From what he had overheard, Fitz gathered that Pacino was part of a mind-control experiment, but the details were sparse at best. The bulk of the girls' phone altercation had been spent flinging blame back and forth like- well, like they were in a monkey cage. But Fitz did have to admire Simmons' dedication to wrangling a favorable deal out of Kibbles. He knew she was at risk herself, but it baked warm cookies in his chest to think that she was keeping him off the hotseat, even if it meant bucking the system more than she normally would. Listening to her alternately accuse and cajole, it became apparent that once Simmons got into the minutiae of an undertaking, once she was invested enough to anticipate challenges and find workarounds, she quickly reached a tipping point past which she wouldn't consider abandoning ship. This was so like Fitz's own process in the lab, he briefly blipped into the ridiculous notion that she'd somehow claimed a piece of him and was keeping it alive in herself, like some soul-weaving enchantress from one of his trading card games.
-o-
'We won't face any disciplinary action,' she'd said, eyes dark, 'but I'd steer clear of Kibbles or Bits for a time.'
'And Pacino?'
She'd simply looked at him, tight-lipped, and managed a shadow of a smile. 'Let's get you some painkillers.'
-o-
The next day, Pacino was gone from the lab.
A train collided with his lungs when he noticed the absence. Sweet Pea was in her spot, wide eyes darting, and Fitz put his hand up to the bars, a silent offer of commiseration. She didn't reach for his fingers today, didn't squeeze them between her own. Instead she tipped her tiny forehead against the warmth of his skin, drawing back to look pitifully up at him and open her mouth in a shapeless cry before huddling back in with her companions.
Fitz couldn't do it. He couldn't sit here today and try to work on something new, not with the crab pinching his arm and the scorpion stabbing his heart every time he looked at Pacino's empty corner. A devastating English lilt tapped its way into his subcutaneous.
"Come on. Let's take the drones and go to your lab for a change, yeah?"
Fitz would readily admit he didn't know everything that went through Simmons' - or any girl's - head, but he did occasionally think she might be able to read his mind.
Simmons saw it in his face the minute he came into the room, his eyes scanning the Zakadel cage and coming up short. Oh, Fitz. How he could be so strong about certain things, and let others pit him like an olive… it might not entirely make sense, but damned if it didn't poke the badger in her stomach to see him upset.
"Come on. Let's take the drones and go to your lab for a change, yeah?"
His eyes flickered to hers, a grateful well of watercolor, and he helped her gather everything they'd need to put the wings through their paces. She hadn't been to the engineering labs yet, so this would be her first journey into the gizzards of Fitz's world. It was all a bit thrilling, like sneaking backstage at a concert, or flirting with a younger man.
-o-
"Good idea, this," Fitz tugged at the back of his neck as they entered the observation deck to the wind tunnel. "I, er, I like to come here sometimes. When things are bad."
She'd only meant to get them out of the monkey lab, and thought this project would be a welcome occupation for Fitz's hands. "Why here?"
"The noise. The wind blocks everythin' out. It's one of the few places I can't hear myself think." He chuckled humorlessly, jaw and brow still heavy with rain. "Although I will say, my thoughts are generally fascinatin'."
-o-
Fitz crouched in the middle of the model testing area, mounting the drone securely on the center stand, then crawled back to the viewing room and set the controls to turn on the fans. Smoke lines ribboned over the wings, sliding over and under in a silky ballet, swirling into alternate paths as the myomers activated and morphed. The lab's calibration equipment screeched a readout of their data onto antiquated perforated paper. Too soon, the tunnel fell silent, measurements stored. Sliding open an access panel, Fitz crept in and dismantled the drone, then replaced everything back into his case with the usual efficiency. This is it. This was all that had been stopping them from declaring their first project complete. It was bittersweet, and like a last bite of cake, Simmons felt a compulsion to savor the moment.
"Interesting," she indicated a sign-up sheet for an airplane-building contest, tacked up on an aerospace bulletin board. "Could you enter with that," she gestured at the tech crate, implying the mini-plane inside, "or is it for new work only?"
"Agh… well, it hardly matters now. There're only so many spots available to compete, and they were full hours after that list went up." He was doing his best to school the disappointment in his eyes. It didn't work. "Maybe next year."
Simmons nodded mutely. Poor Fitz. It seemed like very little was going his way. She tried again.
"So… er… thank you. For letting me sniffle all over your shirt yesterday."
Fitz grimaced squeamishly at the reminder of her mucus. "What are friends for," he shrugged, embarrassed. As if I'd know. She'd never felt that comfortable with anyone outside her family. She could still barely believe she'd let herself fall apart on Fitz. But she knew the reason.
"Best friends," she corrected, tossing out a quick smile and an elbow to match.
Fitz grinned, finally, breaking out of his doldrums like sunlight glinting off a muddy marble. "Yeah? Because I- I mean, you're my- well, good." His ears were turning red in that adorable way that made her want to smush his cheeks together. She'd settle for seeing his smile a little longer.
"I got you something." She wrinkled her nose to keep expectations low. "It's nothing, really."
Fitz's head tilted, puzzled, while Simmons retrieved the rectangular bundle from her satchel. She had gone a step above leaving it in the plastic bag and managed to find a ribbon, at least.
"Robot Wars? What's that?"
She chewed at the inside of her cheek. "I know you said you don't often watch TV, but-" But this has Fitz all over it. "My classmate recommended it. It was on the BBC a few years back. You've really never seen this?"
"No…" Fitz's face was brewing a grumblestorm as he pored over the DVD covers, taking in every detail, and she felt her nerves start to quake. Why such a vinegar mouth? Oh, he hates it.
"How the Hell did I miss this?! You'd think someone could've said, 'Oh, Fitz, they've captured your bloody personality in the perfect goddamn game show, reckon you should give it a look.'" Simmons started to relax, a smile tugging at her face while her heart resumed its normal rhythm. "That's the danger of not having any fr-" he flushed, "-time. From skippin' ahead so much in school."
"Well, I skipped a few things too, apparently. So we'll watch it together?"
"Damn right we will. C'mon, mine's closer. And I have snacks."
Simmons laughed, a round, full cadence. "Of course you have."
A/N: So this was late, of course, but was my nod to "Ribbon" a.k.a. the last prompt of Fitzsimmons week. Heck, as far as I'm concerned it's always Fitzsimmons week :-)
The wind tunnel stuff may not be 100% accurate, but it's probably close enough (I've never been to one though). They come in various sizes and they sometimes use smoke to draw "lines" to show the aerodynamics. The one I've envisioned is somewhat long but not quite tall enough for a man to stand in, so mostly for testing models like Fitzsimmons' project.
As usual, thanks to amandajbruce! :-)
So… my life might be imploding around me just a skosh. So I guess it's a good thing there's only one or two chapters left. Anyway, let's wrap this sucka up, y'all! *does the little finger twirl that means "wrap it up"*