Mack's dog had been doing well, considering they'd only added her to the show as a gimmick. Keep it up, pup, and we won't need a radio spot. It would be nice not to have to worry about running into certain people at the station anymore. Regardless, Fitz was banking on Quinoa's cute tricks and high-octane acrobatics to give his performance a bit more flair, and, if he was lucky, impress a few of Treehouse Falls' more influential Pinterest-moms.
The little terrier mix trotted towards Fitz, daintily carrying a basket in her teeth that held Betty Talbot's favorite heart-shaped locket. She stopped at his feet and dropped the container, looking up expectantly. "Thank y' darlin'." He tossed her a liver treat. "You're always bendin' over backwards to help me out."
Quinoa took her cue and did a backflip. Fitz smiled as the kids erupted into claps and happy noises. Why the Dickens haven't I added an adorable mutt to my act before this? He used the distraction of the audience's cheers to discreetly make the necklace "disappear".
"Errr… Quinoa? Why'd you bring me an empty basket?"
The children gasped when he held up the wicker box and shook it upside down. Betty's bottom lip started to wobble. "My… my locket..."
Oh, god. Not a crier. Fitz was mostly rubbish when it came to crying, and he blurted out, "Please don't do that- it's not lost!" He forced himself to get back to the trick before the situation could escalate. "In fact, I'm pretty sure that Quinoa knows where it is." Giving the pup her signal, he sent Quinoa to the back of the audience to retrieve an identical basket. As the little dog scampered back down the aisle on her way to Fitz, the party guests craned their necks to see what she was carrying, murmuring with suitable awe at the feat of teleportation they'd just witnessed. Fitz grabbed up the basket and handed the necklace back to its owner. "Round of applause for Quinoa, everybody!"
The children were quick to comply, and Fitz allowed a moment to congratulate himself. He wasn't through with the show, not by half, but so far so good. And considering he wasn't especially keen on children or animals in his private life, Fitz thought he'd done Mack rather proud.
"Now, do you lot want to see her do some tricks?"
Jemma watched as Fitz pulled out a hoop, a low hurdle, and a large, squat section of pipe. He's a proper Jack-of-all-trades up there. Many amateur magicians she'd seen used the fact that children were easily excited to justify their sloppy sleight-of-hand, but the truth was, kids saw more than anyone gave them credit for. And where Jemma had been expecting a clumsy display of dexterity, Fitz seemed determined to prove he was every inch the showman she was. It was, she had to admit, actually a bit thrilling.
Until she noticed that the little dog was off and running. Towards her. When she reached Jemma, the creature paused, tilted her head, and promptly sat down on the grass.
"Quinoa! Quinoa! Get back here!" Fitz hissed, unamused. The children seemed mildly delighted by Quinoa's disobedience, and the terrier in question kept her tail firmly planted on the ground, looking stoically back at him. She seemed intent on something, wheezing slightly in restraint and anticipation.
"C'mon, you ragamuffin! Through the hoop with you!" Fitz held it out grandly, as if expecting a running start and a dramatic leap.
Quinoa gave him a decidedly unimpressed sniff, and placed a delicate paw on Jemma's leg, eyes trained on her purse. Ahh. Skye's mini-quiches. "No, you don't," Jemma laughed. "You won't sway me so easily this time."
She picked Quinoa up and carried her to the stage. "Found something of yours." The corner of Jemma's mouth crept up, but whether her smile was mocking or sincere, she discovered she had no idea.
Fitz slitted his eyes as he thanked her, grinding his teeth on the words. Still, he reached over and smoothly retrieved the animal from her grasp. "Captain Chemistry to the rescue, everyone!"
"Nothin' in my hat, as you can see." Fitz flipped the hat, spinning it and tossing it into the air. Catching it on the way down, he pulled out a sparkly square of sequined fuchsia fabric and shook it out towards the crowd of kids, distracting them while he carefully placed Mr. Skittles into the well of the top hat in between movements. Fitz laid the cloth across the table and, to prove he wasn't reaching into the table, set the hat on it. Sticking his hand inside, he warned his audience, "Now, my rabbit friend, David Hopperfield, he was actin' strangely this mornin'. Let's see how he's doin'. And… presto!" Fitz pulled out a wad of hot pink cotton and held it up.
"That's not a rabbit!" squealed a particularly helpful party guest.
"What d' you mean, of course it's-" Affecting surprise, Fitz scratched his head. "What's this? Pink bunny fur? Oh, my! I hope Hopperfield's not losin' his hair." A few of the kids giggled. He put his hand back inside the hat and pulled out more cotton.
"Noooo!" chorused the kids.
"What is going on? What's happened to him?" More tittering 5-year-olds. "Ah, there y'are, Hopperfield. Finally!" Fitz pulled out the iguana and held him out proudly towards Betty Talbot. "There you have it, miss, one pink bunny!"
The kids laughed together amid cries of "That's not a bunny!" and "Aww, cute!"
Fitz tilted his head in confusion. He slowly turned the iguana towards him in his hand. "Well, he's got the right ears for it… Wait!" He held up an index finger. "Everyone, shush for a second. I think he's tryin' to tell me somethin'." Fitz put Mr. Skittles near his face, stomach churning against the risk of getting bitten. I do not get paid enough. Thankfully, it seemed either Ward had been telling the truth about the lizard being tame, or he'd tranquilized the blasted thing back at the shop.
"Oh, I see. Okay. I'll tell them." Fitz put Mr. Skittles back on the table and turned to the birthday girl. The pressure was on. If she pitches a fit about not getting a rabbit… Fitz didn't think Mack would blame him, necessarily, but it wouldn't bode well for the business if they lost this gig.
"He says, and I'm paraphrasin', but he told me…" he knelt in front of Betty's child-size patio chair, smiling mysteriously, "that when he got up this mornin' he felt like bein' an iguana today." The girl's eyes flickered to the lizard and back to Fitz's blue ones. "Y'see, magic bunnies can change their shape." He said this as if it were the most important thing she would learn all year.
Betty's eyes widened. "Wow…"
Fitz raised his brows in shared enthusiasm. "Cool, yeah? Want t' hold him?"
She nodded mutely, her excitement plain in twitching hands and bouncing feet, and Fitz breathed a sigh of relief.
-o-
Even without her best friend at her side, and considering this was technically work for her, Jemma found she was rather enjoying herself. She'd spent the last hour chatting with parents, promoting her show (plus a love of scientific discovery, of course) and taking pictures with her fans. As an added bonus, she'd managed to catch the eye of a few hot men - the children's musician, for instance, had been grinning at her from across the lawn going on several minutes now.
Oh, why not? Jemma approached with the confidence that came from being smart and successful at a young age, qualities she saw reflected in the man before her. "Have I got something on my face?"
"A pretty big smile," he returned easily, countering it with a blinding white one of his own. "I caught your demo. You're a real pro with that stuff."
"I've had a lot of practice." She shifted her glass of punch to the other hand and extended her right. "Nice to meet you, mister…" she read the name on his guitar case, "Sunshine."
He laughed, the sound as warm as the thump of little feet down the stairs on Christmas morning, and shook her hand. "Call me Trip." He kept their fingers joined for just a beat longer than necessary, thoroughly distracting her. "Ray Sunshine's my stage name when I play for the kids."
Oh, my. "Jemma Simmons."
"Treehouse Falls' newest It Girl. I'm a fan." He'd released her fingers, and leaned an elbow casually on his guitar case, propping himself up as if relaxing were as natural to him as breathing.
"I heard a few of your songs. Wonderful stuff! What was that last one you sang, something about surprises?"
"Sometimes a Person Takes You By Surprise." Trip's smile could power a small city. "Good memory."
"Yes, well." She flushed, looking down, and took a sip of punch.
"If you're interested," Trip reached into his back pocket and pulled out a flier, "My band's playing a gig tomorrow night at Scout's Honor." He chuckled. "I promise not every song'll be about brushing teeth or going to Grandma's house."
"Oh. Well, as long as there's at least one," she joked. She had the sudden and vaguely irrational urge to wink. Have I ever winked at a man before? She was fairly certain she hadn't. Either way, to do so at this point would be awkward at best. Stop imagining yourself winking, Jemma. How long had it been since she'd spoken?
"Antoine Triplett, you son of a gun!" A smarmy drawl broke into their silence, and Jemma turned to see the preacher from the call-in show. "How are you?"
"Long time no see!" Trip clasped the older man's hand genially. "Jemma, this is my old football coach, Preacher John."
"Hello there." She was willing to give this man - who routinely threw sour looks her way in the breakroom at work - the benefit of the doubt. Trip seems to like him, at least. "I don't believe we've officially met."
"John Garrett." His cheeks were stretched in a salesman's smile, but the expression was more cunning than congenial.
"Yes, I've seen you at the station."
He nodded. "You listen to the show?"
She paused, unsure how to respond without offending him. Though he's never been too worried about giving me the stink-eye. "I'm not sure that it's my cup of tea."
"Now, there's something I never thought I'd see," Garrett laughed, something slick and off in the sound, "An Englishwoman unsure about her tea."
Jemma wrinkled her nose in distaste at the stereotype. Tea wasn't the only thing she liked. He's literally only ever seen me drinking coffee in the lounge.
Seeing her expression, Garrett kept up his chuckle. "Humor, Ms. Simmons! You Brits are too serious." Jemma put both hands around her cup to keep them from giving away her slowly building anger.
Trip jumped in, perhaps hoping to distract Garrett from picking at her nationality any further. "Jemma hosts Science is Super."
"Oh, I'm aware." Garrett seemed about to say more, but turned suddenly with a grunt as Betty Talbot slammed into him, tackling him with a hug. "Oof - Easy, now!" Betty stepped back as he continued. "How's my favorite god-daughter? Hold on, princess - I've got a special gift just for you." He grabbed a gift bag from a nearby table, and the young girl tore into it, face lighting up. When she pulled out a pair of glittery red-and-white pom poms, she shook them out experimentally and then put one on top of her head like a wig, a gap-toothed smile visible under the sparkly strands.
"Maybe someday you'll be lucky enough to cheer for the pros," Garrett oozed self-satisfaction. His tone turned expectant. "What do you say, princess?"
"Thank you," the 5-year-old responded dutifully.
"That's more like it. Now, you run along and start practicing."
As she took off down towards the bouncy castle, Trip spoke up. "I'd better get outta here too." He hitched his guitar case onto one shoulder, the strength of his movement making his biceps shift and ripple. "It was real nice meeting you, Jemma. See you around, Preacher John."
Jemma decided it might be her cue as well, but before she could extricate herself from Garrett's oily charm, he stopped her with a quiet indictment. "You've caused me quite a bit of trouble, little lady."
Jemma quirked her head, not entirely certain she'd heard him right. "Come again?"
Garrett breathed in deep through his nose, keeping the politician smile on his face. He gestured towards George Talbot. "This time last year, that young buck over there was over the moon about our church camp. Been coming since he was knee high to a pig's eye - it's a great time, good way to make friends and earn a few points with the man upstairs. So imagine my surprise, Ms. Simmons, when I show up here today, and he doesn't want to talk about camp. In fact, all he can talk about is how you helped him build a bomb."
Her brow was going to need a crochet hook to un-knit. "It's Doctor Simmons, actually, and I assure you, we did nothing of the sort. We did construct a small rocket, which used a contained blast to-"
Garrett nodded as if she's confirmed something, and interrupted, the slight twang grating. "Listen, I get it. You do things different where you're from, but we're a quiet bunch here, Ms. Simmons," at her glare, he corrected himself, "Doctor... and I'd sure as shootin' prefer if these kids learn about God from me, rather than meeting Him themselves after you encourage them to throw a bunch of chemicals in a pot."
She'd lost her temper with him a fair few sentences ago, but kept her voice pitched low so as not to cause a scene. "Mr. Garrett-"
"Please. Preacher John."
"Mr. Garrett, what we do on my show is extremely safe. For goodness' sake, I spearheaded a lab safety campaign in the schools!"
"Which, if I recall, was after an explosion on your set that ended with you mooning the good folks in the audience." Garrett put up both hands, labeling himself non-threatening. "I'm just asking you, Doctor Simmons, to consider the kind of message you're sending our youth. Last I checked, no one got chemical burns sitting in church."
This was absurd. Does he honestly think I'm endangering children simply by fostering an enthusiasm for science? It's preposterous!
"At least what I'm teaching them is tangible and useful," she all but hissed. "The ideas you spout on your program are no more defensible than, let's say, the mythologies of old. Honestly, Mr. Garrett, how is your wrathful God in the Bible any different from the Greek gods punishing humans for their pride?"
"I don't believe in myths, Ms. Simmons, I believe in miracles."
"And I once believed in fairies and magic, but that didn't make them real."
That was the moment when Jemma realized that a small group of Captain Chemistry fans had gathered behind her, now staring at her in horrified shock.
Oh, bloody Hell.
Author's Notes:
Betty Talbot doesn't appear in the show, but in this fic she's named after Betty Ross. In the comics, from what I can gather based on the wiki articles I read, Glenn Talbot was in love with Betty, and they were married at one point.
I've got a pretty long list of song titles for Trip's biggest hits. If there's any interest, I'll be glad to share them!
Incidentally, Ray Sunshine's guitar has a sun wearing sunglasses on it. Just in case you needed to know that :-)