"But surely you've worked with pyrotechnics before? Given you're in the party business?"
"Sure, but nothin' bigger than, say, smoke bombs and things to use as a distraction in the magic show. Nothing on this scale."
They were sitting at a café table by the window, and Fitz was trying not to notice how her eyes turned agate in the sunlight. He could also swear she smelled like cookies. Don't be an idiot; everything smells like cookies. You're in a bakery. He shook his head quickly and tried to focus on what Jemma was saying.
"… assume you'll want to construct your own flamethrowers, so you'll need-" she cut off as their sandwiches arrived. "Oh, thank you, Billy!"
"I'm Eric," the waiter corrected amiably, with the air of having done it a thousand times. He set down two platters and winked. "You kids have fun on your date."
"It's not-"
"-really just for work…"
"-she wishes." Shite-quacking bollocks! Why did I say that? As expected, Jemma had snapped to face him, the affront heating her skin and her words.
"Excuse me? You wish!"
Eric had already waved his hands good-naturedly and ambled off, not bothered in the slightest by either mix-up, and Jemma was left staring at Fitz, wordlessly demanding an explanation while he turned entirely crimson.
He dug into his food to avoid meeting her eyes, though he could feel the sting of her stare on his neck. "Whatever. It was a joke, all right?"
He sneaked a glance over when she began stabbing at her own meal, and saw a rapidly spreading blush to match his own.
-o-
"So as long as you use the correct nozzle, you'll actually be able to change the shape of the flame itself-"
"Excuse me, Doctor Simmons?" A bespectacled white-haired man approached with a Sharpie and a rolled-up tube of paper in his hand. "Could I trouble you for an autograph?"
"It's Doctor," she muttered automatically, before starting in surprise. Jemma paused with her pickle spear midway to her mouth and shot Fitz an apologetic glance, but held out her hand. Thankfully, the man was holding one of her lab safety posters, and not, as she'd unfortunately come to expect from men past a certain age, a printed still from her YouTube fiasco.
He jumped in again, words tumbling over themselves. "I just loved your experiment with carmine milk last Tuesday. Thank you so much for this, by the way. I'm sure you get approached all the time."
"You're too kind!" Someone who appreciated her work. "No problem, I'm happy to comply. Who should I dedicate this to?"
He looked slightly flustered, and steepled his hands together before answering. "Just make it out to Daniel."
"And Daniel is your… son?"
The man paused, his mouth opening and closing. "Yes. Of course, because your show is for children."
Jemma wasn't about to judge his slightly strange behavior, though she did notice Daniel stitched on the man's pocket. His little boy must be named for him. It was sweet. She wrote in her loopy cursive, 'Dear Danny Junior, A passion for science will keep you forever young! - Love, Captain Chemistry'. After a moment, she fanned the poster to dry the ink and handed it back. "There you are!"
The man's head bobbed up and down as he thanked her. After he'd backed away and gone back to his own table, still shooting her quick excited glances every now and then, Fitz leaned over and announced under his breath, "Well someone certainly knows your name."
"You don't know the half of it," she said, picking up the last bite of her sandwich and popping it in her mouth, to conceal the fluster that had clenched in her stomach at feeling Fitz's voice so close to her ear. After she'd swallowed, she kept on. "I'm just grateful he was nice."
"Oh? I thought everyone loved you." His waspish tone held just a hint of rancor - or as Skye might've put it, he sounded "totes sour grape jelly".
"Hmm. Well, the kind of love often depends on where they've seen me before."
Fitz's face fell, and he looked decidedly uncomfortable. "Ahh… do you often get asked about-"
"-the other thing, yes." She wiped her fingers on a napkin. "I mean, it isn't- it's dying down, now." Her hand came up of its own accord and she found herself playing awkwardly with her necklace.
"I, ah…" Fitz scratched at his stubbled jaw. "I suppose I should apologize for my part in that. Unless… it's old news and you've let it go?" he finished hopefully.
"Fitz." She fixed a condemning gaze on him.
Fitz was no longer meeting her eyes. "Sorry," he mumbled around a mouthful of chips, and set about chewing and swallowing for as long as humanly possible.
It was a terrible start, an apology stalled by mastication and possibly tinged with more resentment than sincerity - but, she supposed, it was a start. Jemma sighed, tossed her garbage onto the plate, and reached for her tablet. "Right. Well. On the subject of explosions you want to be blamed for," she shot him a pointed look, "let's discuss pressure regulators, shall we?"
-o-
Somewhere in between a debate on the pros and cons of building a custom flame bar versus setting off enormous twin fireballs, Fitz found himself inadvertently chatting about his inventions. Perhaps it was a need to make her rethink her (completely false) assumptions about his work. Perhaps it was the fact that, outside of Hunter and Mack, hardly anyone spoke to him at length - and even when he talked shop with Mack, his partner would often chuckle something about needing 'sheet music' and ask him to slow down in his explanation. Or perhaps it was the way her nose crinkled when he made a particularly bad physics pun. She's an odd bird, that one.
So, yes, Fitz had to admit it felt a bit nice, babbling on about his tech to someone who could keep up and didn't ask silly questions. But considering the way she was biting down and trying - not very bloody hard - to conceal her laughter, Jemma's kindred brain wasn't why he was defending the HighWay SkyTray to her. It was because she was wrong.
"Fitz. You are going to cause so many traffic accidents." She shook her head, highly amused, and patted his hand in mocking pity. "Please tell me you haven't tested it yet… or, that you'll warn me when you do, so I can stay off the roads?"
"You-" he pointed a grouchy index finger, "should stay off the roads anyway, you menace." She thought he was going to cause an accident? "Honestly, you and everyone in this blasted town, no vision for the future whatsoever." He grumbled and snatched up another snickerdoodle. "It's like you hate progress." He took the most peevish bite he could, as if to spite the cinnamony goodness melting on his tongue.
"Aww," she clucked. "It's not a terrible idea…" She reconsidered. "No, it is actually. Horrifically unsafe. But the drone is good!" she conceded. "You could do a lot with that. Things that wouldn't involve eight-car pileups."
"Oh, gosh, you really think so?" he scoffed. Talking as if I need her bloody approval. "Thanks, I hadn't realized until this moment that drones have a number of applications." He brushed the sugary crumbs off his hands. "By all means, why don't I completely change the direction of a project I've been workin' on since I was sixteen bloody years old."
Jemma rolled her eyes and pushed his hand away from reaching for a fourth cookie, but kept her fingers on his. And when she spoke, he thought he detected a note of actual sympathy, though he couldn't have guessed what for. "Oh, Fitz. Maybe it's time you and your ideas grew up a bit."
-o-
"Invisibility. Who hasn't wanted to turn invisible at some point? That's a good magical ability." Fitz tapped the tabletop with one finger, oozing confidence. Not that she was watching his hands. They're just hands. With perfectly normal fingers. Nothing to stare at. She cleared her throat.
"And I keep telling you, almost everything that you can fake with tricks, science has actually discovered." Jemma sat back, matching his attitude. "You want to talk about invisibility? Octopi and squid are so good at camouflage, they vanish seamlessly into their surroundings. Or how about quantum entanglement revealing invisible pictures? Aren't 'spooky particles' much cooler than whatever you do with your silly magician's box?"
He frowned at her characterization of his prop and parried, "Right, but magic's been inspiring people since long before anyone could make sense of the world." Fitz's tone made it clear he thought he was winning this argument.
"I bet you can't name one thing you think of as magic that doesn't show up in the natural world." She took a sip of her lemonade. "Regeneration? Psychic connections? Levitation? That's science, Fitz. The Earth is full to bursting with amazing things, and all you're doing is distracting people from that reality by linking some metal rings together."
"Well, sometimes people need to be distracted from reality. Some childre-" Fitz's retort was cut off as a Koenig brother stepped over to their table.
"I'm sorry, guys, but we're closing up in about five minutes."
Jemma stared at Fitz for a second before snapping her gaze up to the clock on the wall. How did it get so late?
"Eric, we are so sorry," she stammered. "We'll get out of your hair straightaway."
"I'm Sam." He looked fairly easygoing about it, patient but firm. "Sorry to kick you out - of course, you're welcome to come back first thing tomorrow morning."
"Oh! My goodness, you don't have to apologize, we should've been more conscious of the time!" She'd started shoving things into her purse, face going red.
Fitz was watching her with more than a little glee. "Jemma Simmons, outstaying her welcome." He tsked. "And all because you just couldn't concede that magic is far cooler than science. See what happens when you argue too much?"
"I beg your pardon, I don't believe the argument or the delay were one-sided," she hissed. "And this conversation is far from over."
"C'mon, Jemma," Fitz was entirely condescending as he held the door and they stepped out into the street. "Give it up. Magic is books and television and the stuff of dreams. Science is school and homework and standardized testing. I mean, it's just a bit ridiculous that you're even fighting me on this."
"Oh, I'm the ridiculous one? All right," she murmured, smirking, "MagicMonkey69."
"What are you on about?" Fitz unlocked his bike, shielding his forehead against the afternoon sun before wheeling it under the 3 Bros. Bakery sign. Which, on second glance and based on a faded paint outline, might have once read 13 Bros.
"Your profile on MoreThanThat?" She laughed slightly, to show she didn't put stock in any of that rubbish, and decided to tease him. He deserves a bit of teasing, after all the shenanigans he's pulled. She cleared her throat and deepened her voice, affecting a rather terrible Scottish accent. "Turn-ons include showing off my hardware, frequent pretzel breaks, and Doctor Who lingerie."
Fitz stared at her, their earlier conversation momentarily forgotten. "Have you officially gone mental? Y'know, it'd be a load off my shoulders if you recognized what a nutter you are instead of my havin' to point it out all the time."
With an exasperated sigh, Jemma pulled out her phone and brought up the app. "See?" She swiped over the details of his profile. "And according to this," she lowered her voice in faux arousal, "you're very good with your bare hands."
Fitz gaped at the screen. "I'm gonna kill Lance."
Author's Note:
Pssst. Purposely-OOC fanboy Whitehall is the best Whitehall, pass it on.
(I mean, at this point, what's one more mischaracterized AoS bad guy cameo? As long as I'm doing it on purpose? Ehhhh?)
:-) And yes, it's long been my headcanon that Jemma smells like fresh baked cookies. Not that that's the only reason Fitz likes her.