A/N: I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.
On their way out of the engineering buildings, a broad-shouldered cadet caught Simmons' eye. He was fit, for the Sci-Tech standard, with raven hair that fell in waves over his ears and long, full eyelashes. He looked familiar, too, but she was fairly sure he wasn't in any of her classes. I would have noticed this young John Stamos. It must just be the Hollywood resemblance making her think she knew him. Until he sauntered over.
"Hey, lady," he said, stopping in front of her. "You still sellin' Axe body spray?"
Oh, my giddy aunt. It was the chesty man from the gym. "Hmmm?" she stalled, her voice squeaking slightly. "Yes! Of course! I am… that. But- dash it all, I haven't got any inventory on me at the moment. I mean, not on me, though I suppose it is a sort of perfume, so it could be on me, but it's for men- well, you're a man… obviously," she tittered, "and you see, I'm a gir- Fitz?" she interrupted herself, turning to her partner who was staring incredulously at the exchange. "Care to jump in here?"
His eyebrows went up with the corner of his mouth. "Oh, you're doin' a bang-up job on your own." It was almost too bad Simmons didn't like violence, or she could've slapped Fitz's dry little smirk right off. Although she never would slap him, not really. And his smirky face is rather cute.
"Oh… uh, okay," the heartthrob sidled away, tipping his chin in farewell. "Seeya, Fitz."
"Tim." Fitz inclined his head in return.
When he was out of earshot, Simmons' hands flew up and down as if shaking out a trash can liner. She hissed into Fitz's ear, "You know him?!"
That one eyebrow was still ladder-high. "Not as well as you seem to."
Simmons' face burned, threatening to melt like a Nazi opening the Ark of the Covenant.
This is all Fitz's fault.
When Fitz said he had snacks, he really meant candy. Who doesn't? Simmons, for one, seemed to think snacks meant celery sticks and hummus, and was a bit thrown by the idea of knocking back chocolates and gummies for the next couple of hours. Feeling the burden of the gracious host, for the first time in his life Fitz wished he kept "real food" around. So when Herrick emerged from his room and started sniffing around their fun, it seemed only polite to invite him to sit and watch, especially knowing he kept a few packs of boring plain organic popcorn in his desk.
This isn't bad, Fitz mused as he combined a handful of Skittles with a handful of popcorn. It's practically a salad. Skittles were fruit, right? As it turned out, Herrick hadn't seen Robot Wars either - something about being an adult with a life - so the viewing party quickly devolved into a dirty game of high-stakes candy-gambling (an activity in which Herrick seemed disturbingly comfortable) each of them trying to guess which bot would win. The choice of currency felt grossly unfair - the Hell are they betting my candy for - but mum had taught him to share; so, whenever he lost a piece, he became a real Meryl Streep, even if perhaps he did use his specialized knowledge to beat the odds in a bet or two. And I'm pretty sure Simmons is only tryin' to win those bonbons to keep me from eatin' them all. He chuckled at her concern for his teeth. She's such a mother hen. He often found it an irritating quality of hers, but at the moment Fitz was in need of some fussing over.
At the end of the night, Fitz had shamelessly pressed his advantage and won back most of the sugar stash, although Simmons and Herrick weren't without their gains.
"Looks like you stole a few kisses," Herrick commented easily, sounding for all the world as if he were just making appropriate conversation.
Both scientists reddened simultaneously, blurting out denials.
"What do y'-" "We never-" Until they followed Herrick's index finger to the small foil-wrapped chocolates on the table and caught the quirk of his lip and eye that meant he was winding them up. Of course. Fitz cursed his gullibility, especially since he himself had spent a good portion of the evening consciously trying not to reference that particular treat.
"Haha," he groused sarcastically, "you're a regular Richard Pryor. Anyway, I'd rather she get them than you." Ach. Naturally he'd gone and made it worse, if Simmons' skin tone was any indication. To his credit, Herrick didn't prolong the joke, but loosed one of his deep guffaws and stretched, gathering his bounty and heading to his room to hide the sweets away. Fitz's fingers twitched slightly as he contemplated various plans for recovery, none of which he would ever implement.
Talking of taking things that didn't belong to you… I s'pose I should give Simmons back her pyjamas. Although, he was sorely tempted to keep them for himself. The first night, he'd intended to return them - yes, I forgot, I have been busy you know - and he smiled at the memory of finding the stitched initials in the tag. J.S. He was happy enough knowing there was no pantsless - ahem, trouserless - ex-boyfriend leaving his impact on Simmons' drawers - phrasing, Jesus! - but Fitz still liked the comfort of actually getting into Simmons' trousers himself - take your mind out of the gutter. They were soft and warm, like her, and they felt nice and snuggly on his… erm, legs. Like her? Well, he wouldn't know.
"This was fun," Fitz yawned, getting to his feet and popping the DVD back into its case. Simmons moved automatically to start clearing the coffee table, echoing his sentiment.
"It was…" she smiled. "Perhaps we'll make a TV buff of you yet."
"Mighty fine idea," Herrick chimed in, coming back to help them clean up popcorn bowls, beer bottles, and candy wrappers. "Shoot, you get a little more pop-culture know-how, I'll even let ya join my bar trivia team." He plucked one of Fitz's cardigans off the arm of the loveseat. "For example, did you know Mr. Rogers' mom knitted all his sweaters by hand? One of the most beloved entertainers of all time…" he trailed off, chuckling.
Simmons had stopped midway to the sink and was staring from Herrick to Fitz. "That is adorable." She had her oh-look-a-puppy expression that probably meant she wanted to sign adoption forms and ruffle up his hair.
I'm not adorable. Stop. He scoffed. "I think y' mean sensible. And it probably made his mum happy." He chucked an empty bottle into the bin with superfluous force. "And plenty of grown men wear cardigans, thank you very much."
Simmons was still poking dopey hazel eyes his way, and it was bloody distracting. He turned his attention to his roommate. "When did you go to pub trivia night, anyway?" Herrick wasn't an idiot, he knew now that had been a false first impression, but Fitz hadn't imagined the older cadet would favor that sort of activity.
"Oh, musta been… couple'a weeks back? I went with Jonesy and that new fella he's been hangin' around with. Chilton? Chesworth? Some dumb name."
Fitz and Simmons looked at each other, eyes expanding into bonfires. "Chester?" Simmons squeaked out.
"Sounds 'bout right. Dude was kind of a tool." Herrick tossed the last bit of foil and paper and headed for his bedroom. "Well, you kids have fun, y'hear?" Herrick winked suggestively. As he tapped the wall in parting and shut the door, Fitz didn't even have the energy to be embarrassed. He fell back onto the couch, his jaw worked soundlessly for a double moment.
"Chet? He's-"
"Jonesy's friend. Or his accomplice, at least." Her face was resigned as she shook her head slowly. "This whole time, Fitz, and we didn't spot it."
"But he's not anythin' like Jonesy! Chet's had a rough go; gettin' harrassed for years by guys like that! Why would he-" Why wouldn't he? A misty voice in the depths of Fitz's subconscious niggled towards the answer. All those years of teasing? It only made sense that Chet would latch on to the first person to offer him any kind of satisfaction. Getting to lash out at anyone, reinventing himself in Jonesy's image, must've seemed like a pretty sweet deal to someone with a taste for revenge. It could've been me.
"Fitz…" she breathed out patiently, and, he thought, a little patronizing. "He needs to be stopped. You have to accept that."
Fitz's guts churned their objection. I'll be bossy too, when it's important. "No, Simmons, we're not fightin' him. No- retaliation. That's what started this whole mess and now Pacino's-" he choked off, fists slamming into the coffee table as he blinked away a sudden onion peel.
Then her fragile hand was on his shoulder blade, rubbing a calming path up and down his arm, wind erosion to his anger. His voice was desiccated when it finally crumbled out of his throat. "I let him trick me, Simmons. Why didn't I see him for what he was?" The way Chet had kept asking about his prank ideas, pushing suggestions at him - but the older man had sounded so confident, and Fitz had felt like he had something to prove. "How could I've been so stupid?"
"You wanted to believe in him. That's not stupid." I was tryin' to be like you. Friendly. Helpful. Compassionate. To impress her, to make up for the way he'd behaved in the past. Even if she'll never look at me like that guy at the gym.
Her hand stilled on his elbow. "And I wasn't saying we should start another prank war. Fitz," she tugged his arm so he would turn to her, before settling her fingers back in her lap, "we've got to report him as a bad seed."
Fitz pushed the air out of his chest. Knowing she was right - Saint Jemma, always right - didn't stop him from hoping there was another way. "Just- let me talk to him first, okay? If he'll turn in his schematics for the more dangerous machines, or confess to helpin' Jonesy prank the dorms… S.H.I.E.L.D.'ll go easier on him." Maybe she had the truth of it. Maybe some people were evil. But he had to try.
Simmons' pitying look was both a hug and a vise. "Okay."
The next day, Fitz was withdrawn - in class, at lunch, during conversation. She knew he must be struggling with what to say to Chet, so she let him have his moment to think. But when she realized she'd left her phone off that evening, she was aghast at the texts she'd missed.
From: Fitz (18:16 PM) no dice w chet. u were right
From: Fitz (18:17 PM) says if i report him hes tellin shld i pulled pranks too
From: Fitz (18:19 PM) & he made some pranks off designs i showed him
From: Fitz (18:20 PM) so i guess hes blackmailing me. this didnt go the way i hoped
From: Fitz (18:28 PM) think i'll skip revising tonight. have fun. c u tomorrow
She checked the time. 7:00 PM, over a half hour since the last one sent. Bloody Hell. She hurriedly typed out a concerned message, hoping Fitz wouldn't think she was ignoring him. Based on the evidence in her palm, that was the first thing he'd assume, and the last thing he needed.
Chester. Even thinking his name made her face twist into a snarl. The man was an opportunist, plain and simple, and a despicable one at that. It's so obvious. He'd been using Jonesy to take out his anger on the world, and when Fitz dropped into his lap, he'd goaded him towards violence as a vicarious pushback against his bullies. And he thought he was so clever, setting up Jonesy and Fitz to make sure he'd never get in trouble. We'll just see about that. She could tell from Fitz's use of the first person that he'd nobly left her name out of it again. Well, Fitz could try to protect her like some warrior prince, but he ought to expect by now that she'd do the same for him.
Thankfully, she'd been under no illusions as to Chester's inherent goodness. And she always did like to be prepared.
Okay. Simmons shook out her arms and looked in the mirror, her best De Niro impression sneering back. Be a mobster, Jemma. You can do this.
The phone rang four times in her hands - which were shaking like a street-drug side effect - before the villainous Sci-Tech cadet picked up.
"Hello, 'Chet'?" she bit out acidly. Hard. Tough. For Fitz's sake. "You don't know me. But I had a chat with your ex-girlfriend Anita, and she had some rather, er, interesting things to say about your less legitimate on-campus endeavors."
There was a long pause. Simmons' fingers drummed anxiously against her hip, but she forced herself to wait him out. Like a police interrogator. A scowly one.
"Whaddaya want?" came the nasal reply at last.
"Plenty." Her grip tightened on the phone as her voice steadied. "Here's how this is going to work…"
A/N: Next chapter is the last chapter! In appreciation for all you lovely people's support, I'm going to let y'all have a say in whether you want Pacino alive or dead.
That's true, about Mr. Rogers.
Throwin' out an Indiana Jones reference this time! Uhh… take that, Harry Potter?
A million times over, thanks to my beta amandajbruce for putting up with me.
Thanks to my buddy TheLateNightStoryteller for reminding me that bad guys aren't all bad. (Chet gets pretty close though.)
If you liked Oh To Be Young, I'm planning a couple of stories based off of this fic. For instance, I have a two-shot in the works, set a couple months after this ends, and I'll probably be doing a one-shot about Fitz and Jonesy going out for GTL the first time. So stay tuned for those!