From chinese-bakery: "Tell me." Requested from a fanfic meme on tumblr.

"Tell Me": I'll write a drabble about my character confessing something to yours [be it a love confession, a secret, feel free to specify.]

This request is a couple of months old and it may have gotten ahead of me so it may not be perfectly edited, but I always keep my promises! Enjoy.

It's no secret that hazing freshmen at universities was a common occurrence, a rite of passage, almost, into the hectic world that is "college." The SHIELD Academy was no exception. Just because young, incredibly skilled adolescents qualified for the demanding requisites that came with training to become a SHIELD did not mean the agents didn't like to cut loose now and then.

It was two weeks into the school year when Fitz and Simmons were first introduced to this tradition. The plan was simple: get the two British child geniuses, youngest in the class, incredibly drunk– hammered enough to be shoved into a closet for a rousing game of 7 Minutes in Heaven without much protest. They hadn't known each other long, Fitz and Simmons, but they were already starting to become a force to be reckoned with and their developing bond hadn't gone unnoticed by their observant, competitive classmates.

That is how Fitz and Simmons found themselves at a typical Boiler Room party one Saturday night with drinks constantly shoved in their faces without a reasonable explanation other than "All the newbies drink on the weekends! C'mon, it'll feel good, we promise!" And, too polite and intimidated to turn them down, they did as they were told, downing them one by one. Maybe, they thought– or, at least Jemma did– the faster the drinks disappeared, the sooner and less intimidated they would feel. Sure, her parents may have allowed her to have a drink or two of cheap wine with dinner every now and then, but this was nothing compared to those few small tastes of adulthood.

"Jemmaaaa," Fitz whined, and she jumped at the sudden pressure of his chin on her shoulder. "I'm tired. We should go back."

She took one look at her best friend, slumped over and almost half-sleep (not to mention the drool threatening to drip over the corner of his lip, gross), and rolled her eyes. The alcohol was only just starting to kick in for her, but Fitz was already way beyond his limits. The guys had bought her all the fruity "girly" drinks while they had him guzzling down the hard liquor (she couldn't help but silently brood at their apparent sexism towards drinking), and soon he was boasting to the others that "Scots could hold their drinks better than Americans can"…which just encouraged their older classmates further.

"You're such a party pooper," Jemma whined back, setting down her margarita. "Let's stay for a lil' bit. This song makes me want to dance."

Normally, she would be turned off by the nasally tone of Britney Spears's voice, but tonight the rhythm was pounding through her in a way it hadn't before. Jemma turned to shrug Fitz off her shoulder and reached for his hand, convinced that she would have to drag his limp form to the dance floor, but she was interrupted by a hand slamming on the table. "Milton!" she complained. "Fitz won't dance with meeee."

Milton shook his head. "C'mon Jem, give the guy a break," he said, glancing past her to wiggle his eyebrows at the other cadets. "He probably needs to just lie down somewhere."

"Your head…" Fitz leaned against the back of their booth and raised his hands about a foot apart from each other. "Is so big. And round. Like a cabbage, almost."

Jemma watched, amused, as Milton's face scrunched up into a snarl while Fitz snickered uncontrollably. "C'mon, look at him. He's making a complete fool of himself."

Groaning in frustration, Jemma stood abruptly, dragging Fitz up with her. "Fine. He does look a little green anyway."

"Like a cabbage!" Fitz practically shrieked.

"Yes, Fitz, like a cabbage." Jemma nodded, holding back her own smile. She turned back to Milton, trying not to stare so obviously at the faint shadow of stubble on his chin. "I'll take him back to our room."

"Really? While everyone is partying?" Milton patted her on the shoulder. "No way. I know somewhere a lot quieter you two could go."

Before Jemma could ask where exactly this place was, she and Fitz were shoved into a small, black space. "Aaaah!" she screamed, flailing around in the darkness. Thankfully, before the utter panic could take her over, she stumbled into a light switch, which revealed to her a dusty broom closet. "Oh thank god," she breathed, almost doubling over in relief. "Fitz, are you okay?"

"Er…my bottom is wet."

"What?"

She did a double-take before bursting into laughter at seeing Fitz stuffed haplessly into a yellow bucket. "Get me outta here!" Fitz complained.

That didn't stop Jemma from whipping out her disposable camera. "After I take a picture!"

"Jemma!" Fitz exclaimed, grimacing as the flash hit his eyes. "Seriously."

"Alright, alright."

She threw him a bone and held out her hand, and they stumbled as he tumbled out of the bucket. Fitz didn't even bother to stand up, instead choosing to curl up in a ball on the dusty floor. "I want to sleeeeep," he moaned.

Jemma's flip phone buzzed before she could respond and she squinted at the small text on the tiny screen. 7 minutes in heaven! We're not letting you out unless we see a good kiss picture. Mouth to mouth. NO EXCEPTIONS. Have fun. ~Milton

"Crap," she spat out loudly. "Of course. Why am I not surprised?"

She glanced down at Fitz on the floor and made the executive decision to sit down as well. With Fitz's current state, there was no way they were getting out of this closet anytime soon. "Fitz. Wake up." She shook his shoulder gently. "We have to do something we'll both regret."

"Jem?" he murmured, barely stirring at her words. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Um…" Jemma leaned against the wall and bit her lip. "Sure."

"I love monkeys. A lot."

"Oh really?"

"Yes!" He drew out his "s" much longer than was necessary. "I want a Capuchin as a lab assistant. Imagine what he could get done with his small size and cute little hands!"

Jemma gasped. "Are you trying to replace me with a monkey?"

"No, of course not!" He rolled over onto his back, promptly splaying himself out all on the floor. "You're my best friend in the world. A monkey would just be there to fix things and keep me company. You…you're the only friend I've ever had."

She recoiled back slightly, taken aback. Was this just nonsense spurred by the copious amount of whiskey in his system, or was Fitz telling the truth? "I know it's only been…three weeks…but we have this connection," he continued. "It's…it's nice."

His dialogue became less clear as his words started to slur together "My dad lef' me when I was young 'nd the kids a' home thought tha' Iwas weird and yeh…you ge' the gis'."

Furrowing her eyebrows, Jemma positioned her elbows on her knees and rested her chin in her hands. "I…I think I do." Without thinking, she stroked a hand through his curls. "Don't worry, Fitz. You have me now. You'll always have me."

"Okay." And within seconds, Fitz was asleep.

They never did come out of the closet that night. And Milton was more than a little miffed when he stumbled upon FitzSimmons curled up together on the dusty floor, barely remembering what happened the night before. But the annoyance of the failed hazing wore off when Jemma accepted his dinner date offer later that day, and he was suddenly thankful that his plan had unfortunately fallen through.

I must say, imagining drunk!Fitz not being able to hold his liquor makes me laugh so much. Thanks for the prompt!