Jemma was standing in a queue. She had been there for about an hour, and she expected to continue for at least another two. The wait, much like the drive into Triskelion Heights, was a small price to pay to get a copy of her favorite comic book - Tales of the Black Freighter - autographed by the artist. She had her gum, her water bottle, and a fully-charged phone, and as for entertainment, well. I'm sitting in a bookstore. She was perfectly content, just as she was.

Until, of course, she took her headphones out so she could hear an announcement by the shop's proprietor, a fierce-looking bald man with an eye patch. As the people in the queue shifted to better see and hear, nine or ten places ahead of her in line, a familiar profile caught her attention.

"What in the world?" she breathed, taking in the sight of Fitz in full ghoulish pirate gear, one of a handful of fans dressed to the nines for the event. Tattered clothes, zombie makeup, the whole bit - it was no wonder she hadn't recognized him earlier.

Smiling to herself, she sent a quick text.

[To Drama King: Leopold Fitz, one of the damned souls on the Black Freighter? Why am I not surprised.]

As he read her message, Fitz's head shot up, whipping around until he spotted her. "You have got to be kidding me." His exclamation, though not quite a shout, carried well enough to where she stood, earning him a couple of curious looks. A second later her phone alert pinged.

[From Drama King: I can't believe I'm saying this, but ]

[From Drama King: you can cut in up here if you like. There's a guy in front of me that actually does smell like his flesh is rotting and I could use a buffer.]

Jemma pursed her lips. First he played fast and loose with the 10 Items or Less rule, now he was encouraging her to sneak forward in the queue? How a person could show such horrible disregard for social convention was beyond her.

[To Drama King: I most certainly will not! That man probably arrived ages before me.]

She frowned at Fitz, who was gesturing at her to come over - oh, god, they'll think I've planned this with him - and shook her head forcefully, mouthing no. Just to make the point plain, she rotated a bit to lean against the wall, turning her back to him, and replaced her headphones. There.

Less than a minute later, there was a distinct jostling behind her, and there he was, brow furrowed in genuine confusion. His makeup, up close, was a mite sloppily done, and she had a sudden image of Mack heaving a long-suffering sigh as he brushed black eyeshadow on his friend as best he could.

Makeup which, instead of making Fitz's eyes look sunken and creepy, really only served to highlight their color. Well that's just not fair. Why couldn't her eyelashes be that long? Men didn't even appreciate things like that. Not that she was appreciating Fitz's eyes.

He motioned to her earbuds, and once she removed them, dropped his bag by the wall near her feet. "I swear you love rules more than life itself."

She scoffed. "As if I forced you to follow me back here."

"You didn't smell him."

Jemma eyed his bag dubiously and scooted down the wall to sit by it. "Suit yourself. To me, a few minutes saved on wait time isn't worth giving up basic human decency."

"That's what I get for tryin' to be nice," he grumbled. "You make it sound like I told an entire orphanage Santa doesn't exist." He immediately blanched, eyes darting around in a panic, before relaxing into a cross-legged seat at her side. Reaching into his bag, he retrieved what could only be described as a "ship-christening sized" sandwich. "Want some? Hunter made it. Well, he made Idaho make it."

"Put that away!" she scolded. "The last thing I need is to miss the signing because of you and your ungodly appetite." She made a big show of making sure her comic book was far away from the food, safely wrapped in its zip-top bag.

"Lighten up, Jemma. Look." Fitz unwrapped half and took an enormous bite, pointing with his elbow and talking around the mouthful. "That guy over there's got candy bars in his jacket pocket; those two kids left a lollipop stuck inside that magazine, and the woman by the board games? I'm pretty sure her water bottle's nothin' but gin."

"Son." The two started as the shop owner stopped in front of where they were sitting. He leaned down, his long leather jacket brushing the floor, to peer directly into Fitz's face. The overhead light shone dully against his bald head, his wrinkles more like battle scars than markers of age. "Do you see that sign on the door?" He pointed. "It says…" his good eye was steely, "no outside food."

Fitz swallowed loudly, staring up in trepidation. "Oh hi there, sir!" His hands tightened on the bag that held the remainder of his sandwich, cautiously tucking it behind him in a futile effort at concealment. "I, erm, what?! Nice eyepatch. Is that for the, ah, the pirate thing?"

Oh, no.

Jemma was aware that Scotland could get cold, but she didn't think anything had ever prepared Fitz for the Arctic glare the shop owner gave him next. Slowly, agonizingly so, he lifted his hand to his eyepatch and flipped it up. Fitz nearly passed out.

"No. Outside. Food."

Fitz pulled his knees to his chest and tried not to think about his growling stomach or the sandwich now burning a hole in the bottom of his knapsack. He also managed not to pout at Jemma's eye-roll, taking the proffered stick of gum and shoving it into his mouth a tad peevishly.

"Chewing gum tricks your body into suppressing hunger, Fitz." Under her breath (but not out of earshot, what the Hell) she added, "And as long as it puts an end to your complaining…"

"Yeah, that's a myth." He pulled out his phone. Fine. She thought he was whining? I just won't talk at all.

If only Hunter had let him eat in the car, none of this would've happened, but no, it was, all "a man's got to have pride in his vehicle, Fitz" and "that service light's been on for months now, stop worrying".

As soon as he saw the email Mack had sent him, though, any thoughts about Hunter left his head. "Oh, no. No, no. What the-" Fitz's voice got sharper as he skimmed the details. "Buggering shiteballs!"

Jemma turned to him with a displeased set to her lips. "Fitz! Language!" Her eyes careened around the store, checking for small children.

"Sorry, it's just…" Should I be telling her about work? She was, after all, his competition. Screw it. She knew about this project already, and Fitz needed to vent. "You know the flame jets you were giving me pointers on?"

"For the Ice Machine Apocalypse concert? Mm-hmm…" She arched an eyebrow, teasing. "You're welcome, by the way."

"Yeah, yeah." Surely he'd thanked her for her help. Didn't I? It wasn't important at the moment.

"Well, y' see," he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, "that job was a lot bigger than just the flames, and I'd been workin' on it for ages."

"Okay… and, what? They want something different now?"

Fitz laughed, just the tiniest bit hysterically. Different didn't begin to cover it. "They've cancelled the entire thing. The lead singer had a heart attack."

Her hands flew up to her mouth. "Oh! Is he all right?"

"Yeah, he's fine, the little tosser- but he's convinced he's got a 'new lease on life' so he's decided to become a Christian rock singer instead."

"Oh…" She seemed to be struggling for what to say. "That is quite the transformation."

"You're tellin' me. Apparently they've got a girl in the band now, they practice in the church basement, and they've renamed themselves Revelations."

"Well, that's just silly.'

Fitz stared, befuddled. Which part? The whole thing had gone so tits-up Fitz honestly couldn't think at the moment.

"They changed their name from Apocalypse to Revelations?" She crinkled her nose. "That's-"

"-the same thing, yeah. You're right." Fitz let out a dazed, hopeless chuckle. "This is all such bollocks." He and Mack'd really been counting on that big check from Mr. Quinn.

"Aww, Fitz," she clucked in sympathy, reaching over to squeeze his forearm. "It'll be fine. You're performing at Children's Day, yeah? And who knows, maybe after those boys figure out their new sound, they'll hire you again!"

Fitz tipped his head back against the wall, defeated. "If Seth was still in charge, maybe." His face soured. "But it sounds like Callie Hannigan-Garrett's making all the big decisions now."

Jemma's eyebrows flew up. "Garrett? As in-"

"Preacher John's stepdaughter. Yep. And I'm not his favorite person."

"Nor I," she hummed in commiseration. "Wait. Why doesn't he like you?"

"Oh, Hell if I know." Fitz sighed. "Somethin' about Harry Potter corrupting our kids. The man's a knob."

"Believe me, I'm well aware." She was nodding along, and it made her normally pulled-back hair bounce prettily. "Next he'll be scaring everyone off Disney movies."

"You, er, you like Disney, then?" He pointed to her chest, where her fingers had moved to play with her necklace. He'd seen it before, at the café, but it hadn't dawned on him to comment.

"What?" She leaned back, mildly scandalized, and he realized he'd probably been gesturing a little too close - and to make matters worse, he might have been staring down her top. Just straight down the hatch. Right at her creamy, smooth… oh, jeez.

"I wasn't lookin' at- I meant-" His face turned to lava. "Your necklace! It's, er, it's one of the seven dwarves, right?"

"Oh, yes, it is!" She flushed as well, pulling on the chain to free the pendant from the neckline of her jumper, where it had gotten caught. "I got this when I was twelve. Even then, I felt a sort of kinship with Doc."

Fitz snorted. Apparently, her fixation with the title had started early. "Fair enough. I can't say I find the prospect of bein' a dwarf that bad… someone to do all the cooking and cleaning? Plenty of brothers around? Working a job that makes you happy?"

"Okay," she nodded. "I could see you as a dwarf."

"Hey! That had better not be a short joke."

She swatted the his knee in admonishment, but then peered at him, pressing her lips together in a discerning frown. After a few beats, she apparently decided to say whatever it was she was thinking.

"You don't enjoy your job?"

Oh, she's crafty. Trying to get him to admit he preferred working with adults to children. Probably has a recording device somewhere on her, just waitin' to turn this around on me. Not down her front, though, at least. God. Just the fact that he knew that made him feel like a pervert.

He must've been quiet too long, because she blurted, "I'm just… to be honest, I'm wondering how you ever got started doing the whole…" she gestured vaguely in a showman's stance. "It doesn't seem to have much in common with your other skills."

He shrugged, trying to keep the defensiveness out of his voice. "Most kids go through a magic phase. I just happened to be good at it."

"Oh, you misunderstand!" Her eyebrows tented. "Your act is more than adequate, I simply… well, I've never gotten the impression that performing was what you'd set out to do."

He stared, jaw working soundlessly. More than adequate. Fitz had never been any version of adequate in his life. He was torn between being offended at the qualifier and frustrated that he still wanted to keep talking to her when he was totally, mostly, probably sure this was a trap of some kind. Maybe she's got magic powers. That certainly seemed in keeping with her whole "anything you can do, I can do better" personality.

"If you don't want to tell me…" she trailed off, and shook her head quickly. "I didn't mean to pry."

Well, that was no better. Now he just felt guilty. She's the one tryin' to get me to say on-camera that I hate children, but nooo - I'm the arsehole. He rubbed the back of his neck. "It was, erm, it was a favor for Mack, you know?"

She smiled, just a small one that popped up on her face like a prairie dog, but suddenly the words were tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"We were workin' a job, and the clown never showed up. So there's Carla Talbot blowin' a gasket about her perfect boy's perfect birthday ruined, and Mack turns to me and says, 'Don't you have a clown costume in your closet?' - and well, at that point he'd basically volunteered me for it, so I couldn't very well say no, and they did offer to pay us extra for the short notice, so I just…" He spread his hands helplessly.

Jemma looked just a touch taken aback. "And then, what. Word of mouth?"

He scratched behind his ear. "I guess so? I mean, obviously I didn't play at bein' a clown any more. Well, not that I ever was, really - the costume was actually my Sixth Doctor getup for a con I'd just been to, and I've told Mack it's not a clown suit-" he realized he was talking far too much, "er, well, you don't care about all that."

"Fitz." She sounded… impressed? "You were able to significantly expand your business based purely on a good first performance." She bumped her elbow to his. "There aren't many people who could've pulled that off."

He felt a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Does that mean you accept that my show's better than yours?"

"Oh, not in the slightest," she deadpanned, "I definitely could have pulled that off. I'm just saying there aren't many other people."

He chuckled, just as the queue shuffled once again and they got to their feet. Jemma grinned at him as she hefted her bag from the floor.

"So… Sixth Doctor, hmm?" She smirked at his current pirate costume - I suppose now she thinks I make a habit of dressing up in outlandish clothes. "Well? Are you going to show me the pictures I'm sure you've got on your phone, or am I going to have to hunt them down?"

He ought to make her do the work. It would serve her right. But he should also eat fewer carbs, and that wasn't very likely either. "Oh, fine, damn you."

Fitz pulled up the correct album and showed her the one he was most proud of, standing in a park with his multicolored umbrella, and tried not to be too pleased by the squeaky giggle she let out. "Leopold Fitz, you are a proper nerd."

He rolled his eyes, shifting his own bag further up on his chest, and she brushed past him to stand ahead in line. Looking back over her shoulder with a saucy hair flip, she added, "For what it's worth? I far prefer you in the tux."

Author's Notes:

Tales of the Black Freighter is a comic-within-a-comic from the Watchmen universe.

Making Callie Garrett's stepdaughter was more of a convenience thing than anything - I wanted Callie in the band with Seth and Donnie, and it's a Christian band so there's a Garrett connection (and Fitz and Simmons can bond in their mutual dislike) - besides, I could easily see those boob-obsessed lil noobs letting Callie basically take over and run the whole shebang.