"Turn around," Bobbi ordered, arms crossed over her chest.
This had to be one of the most embarrassing moments of Fitz's life to date. He was standing awkwardly outside the men's changing room of the mall's department store in some oddly form-fitting suit that felt a bit tight around the hips, while a scary blonde amazon of a woman stared him up and down with a critical eye. In the background, some appropriately cringe-worthy 90's pop music soundtracked what was feeling more and more like an actual nightmare.
"Why?" Fitz frowned, looking down at the blue slacks and dress shirt Bobbi had demanded he try on.
"So I can see how your butt looks in these pants," she replied, as if addressing an unreasonable child.
"What!?" he shrieked, craning his neck to take a glimpse at said butt.
Bobbi rolled her eyes. "Just do it, alright? You can thank me later."
"I seriously doubt that," Fitz grumbled, grudgingly turning around. He felt himself blush scarlet when Bobbi gave out a slow, wolfish whistle, loud enough to draw attention from other shoppers.
" Nice," she declared with a satisfied smirk.
"Are you done?" Fitz asked, outraged, instinctively shielding his ass from her view with both his hands.
Bobbi merely chuckled. "You're definitely taking those. The light brown linen suit, too."
"Can we go now?" he asked again, sounding miffed, and hoped she couldn't hear the layer of flattered surprise behind his righteous indignation.
"I guess we could move on to the shoes," Bobbi conceded, shrugging. "We have another half-hour before your hairdressing appointment."
"My what?"
Fitz kept patting his head, despairing at the undeniable absence of curls he felt there. Bobbi and the hairdresser had conspired behind his back at length, never once addressing him directly, before they'd given each other a decisive nod. After that, Bobbi had sat regally in a vinyl armchair with a fashion magazine while Fitz's curls were mercilessly clipped off one by one. He gaped in horror at the mirror.
"Oh, get over it, already. I promise you, you look a thousand times better without the mop."
"Yeah, well, I beg to differ. I liked the mop. I want it back."
"Okay, let's make a deal, then." Bobbi said, rolling her eyes once more. "Give it a month, see how the new look works for you. If you feel like you had more success with the ladies before, you can grow the mop back. Let it cascade down your shoulders, if you like."
Fitz only grunted. That wasn't a bad idea, actually. He'd always wondered how his hair would look if he grew it out. Would it fall down his back or stand up straight on top on his head?
"Oh, and do me a favor," Bobbi added, her voice sugar-sweet.
"I would think I've done you enough favors already," Fitz muttered to himself, but judging by Bobbi's graceless snort, she'd had no trouble hearing him.
"Lose the razor," she said decisively. "You'd look good with some scruff. I mean, all men do, but you ," she insisted, giving his jaw an appreciative little nod, "would look good especially. Trust me."
It'd been over 48 hours since Jemma had given him her number and Fitz still hadn't called. In fact, not calling her had been his main Sunday activity. He'd stared at her card a lot, though. He'd even gone so far as to dial her cell number once, but he'd quickly hung up before the call went through. Or so he hoped. So much for not being a creep...
He was trying to distract himself from all that newfound stress by giving his miniature Daleks a fresh coat of paint when Hunter rang the bell unannounced.
"Hey, mate," he said as he stepped in, "I've got a little something for you."
And with that, Hunter handed him a large cardboard box overflowing with DVD cases, some home-burnt, some store-bought. One of the commercial boxes caught Fitz's eye– it was brightly colored and illustrated– and he instantly dropped the box on the floor. A few cases escaped, taunting him with their lurid cover art.
"What the hell?" Fitz inquired, wide-eyed and horrified.
"This, my friend, is a big box of porn," Hunter answered proudly.
Fitz stared back wordlessly, as if stuck in some sort of trance. Hunter took it as an invitation to elaborate.
"It's my personal collection, man. One of my prized possessions." He wiggled his eyebrows. "I figured you could pick up a few tips?"
Fitz unfroze just enough to energetically rub his face with the heels of both hands. "Okay, this is really, huh, generous of you, I guess, but– no offense, I don't want a 'big box of porn' in my apartment."
"But there's some good stuff in here, mate!" Hunter bent down to pick up a box from the floor. "Hey, have you seen Thor?"
"Yeah?" Fitz sounded cautious.
"Bet you haven't seen Thor's Meat Hammer, though." Hunter beamed as he brandished a very conspicuous DVD case– which, as it turned out, didn't even feature Thor. Or a hammer, as far as Fitz could see.
"Mmh, nope," Fitz replied, wincing. "Can't say I have."
"Starring Chris Cocksworth," Hunter read from the back of the box.
"That– makes sense, I guess." Fitz scratched the back of his neck. It felt horribly hot under his fingers.
"Agents of F.I.L.T.H.– that turned out darker than I thought it would," Hunter noted, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, this one's great! Captain Erotica: Nether Soldier."
"O-kay." Fitz shook himself up. "Look, thanks again, but I really don't need this stuff. I don't– I don't even do that much."
"You don't?" Hunter looked suddenly quite confused. "Why the hell not?"
Fitz felt himself flush scarlet up to his hairline. He wouldn't have thought this conversation could get any more embarrassing and yet, here they were. "I don't– it's just not a hobby of mine, okay?"
"Well, then, that's the only hobby you don't have," Hunter snorted as he glanced around the room, pointedly eyeing the comics, action figures and gaming gear.
Fitz let out a long suffering sigh and looked down, eager to escape Hunter's gently mocking gaze. Another box that had landed somewhere near his feet caught his eye.
"What's this?" he asked, picking it up. Compared to the rest of Hutner's collection, it looked almost– wholesome.
"Parks & Recreation, season 2. Huh. This probably shouldn't be in here. It's a good show, though. Real funny," Hunter shrugged. "Have you ever seen it?"
"No," Fitz replied grumpily as he read the blurb at the back of the box. It looked… surprisingly okay. "I'll take that one. You can keep the rest."
"No way. It's yours now."
"I told you I don't want it." Fitz picked up the cardboard box and shoved it in Hunter's arms.
"Okay, enough," Hunter opened the front door as he kept talking. Loudly. "Keep your big box of porn, Fitz! I'm not into that kind of stuff, it's gross!"
"Bloody hell, stop!" Fitz whisper-screamed, trying to pull him back inside, though Hunter didn't budge. "I have neighbors!"
"For the last time, man!" Hunter bellowed at the top of his lungs. "I don't want to watch Agents of F.I.L.T.H. with you. You're weirding me out!"
Fitz grabbed the box out of Hunter's hands before he slammed the door in his face.
Ever since that dreadful morning after Halo night at the store, Fitz had adamantly refused to frequent the break room again. Whatever message Mack had spread among Shield employees had been heard loud and clear, but people still looked at him strangely and most of them weren't nearly as discreet as they thought they were. He could feel, if not hear, the conversations dying when he approached, and resuming more lively than before when he retreated. And then there were the uncharacteristic and frankly bizarre predatory smiles Melinda May sometimes shot him when their eyes accidentally met.
The plus side was that he now had a golden excuse to become a regular at the food court, rather than to pack his own sandwich. Fitz was on his way out to lunch with Hunter and Mack, when he heard a pretty, English-accented voice calling him from behind in a busy mall hallway. Fitz identified the voice instantly and froze dead in his tracks.
"Fitz?" Jemma repeated, and he turned to face her, cursing the cosmos' poor timing. Not only was he grumpy and hungry, but there was a large grease stain on the front of his Bobbi-approved button-up shirt.
"Oh. Hi," Fitz mumbled, his eyes darting helplessly from the ground to her face, his arms hovering in front of him in a half-hearted attempt to hide the greasy smear.
She looked… radiant. Since the day she'd come to the store, he had convinced himself somehow that his impression of her had been greatly embellished by his brain- specifically, his lizard brain. That no real-life, everyday human being looked quite that attractive. And yet there she was, with her sparkling eyes and her mesmerizing smile and all those ridiculously sexy freckles peeking out from the low cut of her top. Fitz felt his mouth run dry and his palms become unpleasantly clammy.
Surely there had to be an alternate universe in which a blessed version of him could talk in complete sentences to impossibly attractive women before his brain misfired and shut down completely.
"Hi." Jemma grinned widely even as her eyes rounded with surprise. "You look different."
"Yeah, I, huh–" To his dismay, Fitz felt his face heat up. He pointed lamely to the top of his head. "Got a haircut." He would rather be struck by lightning right there in the middle of the mall than to get into the details of his mortifying shopping trip.
"It looks good on you," Jemma said simply with a bashful smile.
"Thanks," he muttered. By the feel of it, he was now crimson from head to toe.
"So," she started, her eyes lasering in on his. "It hasn't escaped my notice that you haven't called me." Her tone was both accusatory and playful, and he couldn't tell if she was taunting him or not.
"Yeah, I–" Fitz found he couldn't help but smile despite his undeniable embarrassment. "I will, as soon as I'm done with the repairs–"
"Perhaps you should call me whenever," she said, her smile tensing ever so slightly.
"Oh. I, huh–" Fitz rubbed the back of his head with his hand, cursing himself for being unable to utter more than one word at a time.
"I mean, if you want to," Jemma backtracked, narrowing her eyes.
"No, no, I mean– yes." Fitz let out a frustrated sigh. "I do. I will."
" Good ." When Jemma smiled, really smiled with her entire face, it was blinding. Fitz found himself rooted to the spot, decidedly dumbstruck. "I'm sorry but I gotta run," she continued. "I'm meeting my flatmate for lunch. She'll most likely be late, as per usual, but I'm genetically hardwired to be punctual anyway."
Fitz nodded, relieved and disappointed at the same time. "So I guess I'll– call you?"
"I'm counting on it," she said, and with one last flash of teeth, she was gone.
"That was painful to watch," Mack said the moment Jemma was out of earshot, while Hunter winced and shuddered exaggeratedly at his side. "Okay, change of plan. We're going to the bookstore."
"What? Why?" Fitz looked back at Hunter with an air of complete confusion.
Both men shared a long look before Hunter planted himself in front of Fitz, clasping both of his shoulders. "Because you, my friend, are in need of some urgent, intensive flirt-training."
Fitz looked dubious. "Why the bookstore? Why not Starbucks or Home Depot or–"
"Lots of women in bookstores," Hunter shrugged. "They're the ones keeping the publishing industry afloat. Come on," he insisted, and pulled on Fitz's arm as he started walking in the opposite direction.
"But I'm hungry," Fitz cried, following reluctantly.
"Look, I don't know about this," Fitz said uneasy, hovering by the store's entrance. "I kind of like Jemma." It felt weird to go after a random woman when he was already ridiculously smitten with another.
"Do you, really?" Hunter asked, rolling his eyes. "Look, I know you like her and that's great, mate. Really great. But you're not gonna get with anyone until you learn to play the field."
"I thought we'd declared a moratorium on sports metaphors," Fitz replied, with an annoyed pout. "And what if I don't want to play the field?"
"Do you want to crash and burn on your first date with Jemma? Because if that little scene earlier was any indication..."
Fitz frowned. Hunter had a point, he didn't have the slightest idea of how to act on a date without embarrassing himself. Not to mention, he hadn't tried– or even considered trying– to ask someone out in many more years that he was willing to admit.
"Look, I'll let you in on a little secret," Hunter said conspiratorially. "Here's how you talk to women: you ask questions. That's it. They're used to not being listened to and they're all sick to death of braggy and entitled male-speech. You want to stand out? Ask questions, and actually listen to the answers."
"Ask questions, listen to the answers," Fitz repeated, bobbing his head.
"They also like confidence in a guy," Hunter continued. "So try and be a jerk, but not too much of a jerk. The right balance is a little tricky to find."
Fitz's gaze flicked to Mack, who only shrugged, offering a sympathetic half-smile. "He's not wrong."
"Ask questions, listen, be a jerk, but only a small one. Okay. Got it," Fitz nodded, glaring through the bookstore window. "After that, you'll let me eat, yeah?"
"Can I help you?"
Fitz glanced at the clerk, whose name tag read Kara, and smiled awkwardly as he repeated Hunter's advice in his head like a mantra.
"I don't know, can you?"
The woman's commercial smile dimmed ever-so-slightly. "Are you looking for something in particular?"
"Is there something I should be looking for?" he asked, cringing internally at his hesitant tone. He didn't sound flirty, or seductive, or anything of the sort. Socially inept middle-schooler was more like it, really.
"Well, we have a lot of books here," she said with a nervous chuckle. "What do you usually like?"
"What do you like, Kara?" Fitz asked, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.
"Mmh, well." She took an almost imperceptible step back, looking back at him with a kind of wary attention. "We have a rich section of self-help books–"
"Do you need help with yourself?" Hearing himself aloud, Fitz thought he sounded like the villain of a TV movie thriller. If the role were reversed, he would be discretely locating the nearest security guard by now.
Kara wasn't looking for help. She was staring back at him with wide, slightly distressed eyes. "Sometimes? I don't know..."
"Because you look like you could use a little help." How was he ever going to dig himself out of that hole? She was either going to laugh in his face or call the police, surely. There was no other plausible ending to that conversation.
"I'm not helpless!" she said suddenly, her voice raised and trembling. "Why would you say that to me?"
"I'm not– I didn't mean– I'm sorry." Fitz rubbed his face with both palms to block the sight of Kara's eyes rapidly filling with tears. "I'll, huh, go and check that section now," he said, feeling almost as miserable as she looked.
His face felt frozen and weird as his lips stretched to form a robotic fake-smile. Then he turned abruptly and walked in the opposite direction, as fast as his legs would carry him. Thankfully, the store was vast, and the self-help section happened to be far, far away from Kara and her hurt expression.
She hadn't lied, though, the self-help section was rather impressive, assuming one could be impressed by that kind of things. Fitz scowled at the few covers that caught his eyes. Did people really buy books called If You Want Closure in Your Relationship, Start with Your Legs or Know Your Pig, Playful Relationship Advice for Understanding Your Man? And more importantly, should he consider purchasing one? Were there books addressing his specific… issue?
He was pondering that very question when he noticed that in the next row, a pretty brunette with a mane of dark hair and almond-shaped eyes was strolling between the fully-stacked shelves, frowning and chuckling to herself as she read the titles on display.
Desperate for composure, Fitz grabbed the first book his hand landed on before he approached her, doing his best to ignore Hunter's head– and two thumbs up– peeking out from a shelf on his left.
"Self help, huh?" he said dumbly as he approached the perplexed shopper.
"I know, I know, the brunette replied with a self-deprecative pout. "Believe it or not, I'm here for a friend."
"Really?" Fitz chuckled awkwardly.
"Yep. My roommate needs all the help she can get. I mean, she's brilliant and cute and basically perfect, but she's not from around here and she doesn't have a lot of friends. Things have been tough for her lately and I hate to see her being lonely and upset."
"That's… really nice of you. Isn't it?" he added half-heartedly, for the sake of question-asking.
"Hey, it's not all selfless. I'm assuming a happy roommate is a slightly less nitpicky roommate." She flashed him a cheeky smile.
"Oh." Fitz was struggling to find follow-up questions but luckily, the woman didn't seem to need them.
"At the very least, she's in for a laugh. Oh, look, this one even has 'science' in the title. She'll love that. Or not." The brunette was holding up a copy of The New Science of Adult Attachment and How It Can Help You Find and Keep Love. "I'm Daisy, by the way."
"Fitz," he said, offering his hand for her to shake. Too late, he realized handshakes didn't exactly scream 'romance'.
"Interesting reading choice, Fitz," Daisy said with a smirk and an emphatic look.
He glanced at the cover of the book he'd been holding, and did a double take upon reading the title. The Rules: How to Capture the Heart of Mr. Right slipped right out of his hands and landed on the floor with a sound thud.
"That's… not for me either," he tried, flushing heavily, as his hand fumbled in the air.
Daisy snickered. "Sure, sure."
There was no coming back from that, he realized. Fitz picked the book up from the floor and stuffed it unceremoniously on the first shelf he could reach before he mumbled some unintelligible parting words. The next moment, he was jogging to the entrance, ignoring the curious glances of the other shoppers.
Mack had the decency not to comment on his performance, at first. Unfortunately, Hunter didn't possess as much tact.
"Okay, that was a start," Hunter said as he fell into step with him. "A wretched one for sure but–"
"You think?" Fitz asked, suddenly irate. "I almost made a woman cry, and another one's now under the impression I'm looking for Mr. Right."
"Come on, Turbo, it wasn't that bad," Mack offered in a soothing voice. "Everybody's gotta start somewhere and–"
"I'm starving," Fitz barked, already striding in the direction of the food court.