THANKSGIVING DAY, ELEVEN YEARS AGO

Fitz readjusted his grip on the plastic bin in his arms, trying not to drop its contents as he scanned the numbers on the doors. Thankfully it had been a short walk over to the building, and he'd been able to use the lift in Carter Hall instead of lugging all his materials up five flights of steps. But he still managed to be weighed down by the large rucksack on his back, filled to the brim with his equipment, so he was nearly out of breath by the time he actually reached room 537.

He stood out in the corridor for an extra minute, cursing his determination not to make more than one trip and wishing his slight frame could better handle what should have been an easy load. After his heart rate had slowed down somewhat, he awkwardly maneuvered the bin so that it rested against the doorjamb and raised his fist to knock on the door.

Before his hand could make contact, the door swung open unexpectedly. Fitz nearly tumbled straight into the room (as well as the girl standing in the doorway), but he swiftly bent his knees and caught the bin before it slipped completely out of his grasp. He stood there uncomfortably for a few seconds, hoping his face didn't betray how embarrassed he was. But Simmons didn't seem to pay him any attention, and instead glanced over his shoulder into the corridor.

"Did…did you just now get up here?" she asked, her eyes traveling from his face to the parts he'd just saved from crashing to the ground.

Fitz was lost, in more than one sense of the word. "Er…yeah," he answered in what he hoped was a nonchalant voice. "Why?"

Simmons shook her head dismissively. "Nothing, it's just…well, I thought I saw you out on the quad a few minutes ago," she explained. "And I didn't think it'd take you so long to make it up here, but I see you've got quite a lot on you." She quickly stepped forward to take the bin from him. "Here, let me help you with that."

Normally, Fitz might have told her that he could handle it just fine, but she had a way of disorienting him in such a way that the bin was out of his hands before he knew what was happening. "Come in," she said, moving away to set the parts on her spotless desk. "I've just put the kettle on."

As Fitz stepped cautiously into the room, he found himself glad that he had an extra moment to take in his surroundings without her scrutinizing him. He scanned the room quickly, trying to figure out what felt off to him. He supposed he wasn't all that surprised that her room was probably the neatest he'd ever laid eyes on, or that despite the standard dormitory furniture she'd managed to put her own personal touches on the space in an absurdly tasteful manner.

On the corkboard above her desk, she'd put up a small map of the world, and Fitz noticed a handful of colorful tacks pressed in places he assumed she wanted to visit. On her bedside table, there was exactly one framed photograph, showing a slightly younger-looking Simmons wearing a cap and gown, standing in between an older couple. An assortment of books were neatly arranged in strategic places throughout the room, and from the abundance of whites and light purples, Fitz thought he could probably take a stab at what her favorite color was. None of these things really shocked him, though, if he was honest. But there was still something that felt weird to him, something that he couldn't quite place, and it wasn't just the glass case in one corner that contained what looked like a dead bug collection.

Simmons finished arranging the box on the desk and spun around. "Feel free to set your things down wherever," she told him as she headed over to the tiny kitchenette area she'd fashioned out of a miniature fridge and a small cupboard. He must have paused for just too long, because she glanced back at him with a wry smile. "Surprised it doesn't smell like formaldehyde?"

That was it. It was the smell. That was what had struck him as weird, but only because it actually wasn't weird at all. He didn't really know why he'd expected her room to smell unpleasant. It wasn't that she herself smelled unpleasant (quite the opposite, really). Perhaps he'd expected that in her field of study it was simply an occupational hazard. But the only thing he detected in her room was some kind of flowery scent (lavender, maybe), and the faintest hint of disinfectant. Altogether, it was hardly disagreeable.

Not that he wanted Simmons to think it came as a surprise. "No," he replied hastily, taking off his rucksack and using the movement as an excuse not to look her in the eye. But he still knew she didn't believe him. "Well…"

She scoffed. "Typical," she muttered, but she was still smirking. "You know, I don't care too much for that particular stereotype," she said, shaking her head as she searched through her cupboard for two mugs. "Any reasonable person with sufficient experience in chemistry knows better than to work with harmful fumes outside of the lab."

Fitz nodded, searching for a change of subject. "So," he cleared his throat. "Uh…where'd you find a kettle?"

Simmons gave a short laugh. "Oh, my mum sent it to me within a week after I left," she explained as she placed two tea bags in the mugs and poured boiled water over them. "I'm afraid I was a bit homesick when I first got here, called her up in tears crying about how this country has no bloody clue how to make tea of all things." She shook her head again. "Goodness, I was a mess," she sighed, leaning over to grab a carton out of the fridge. "Do you take milk?" she asked.

Fitz was mildly caught off-guard, so he didn't exactly think his answer through. "Oh, dear God, no," he replied, before suppressing a groan. "I mean, er…that's all right, thanks."

She didn't seem too offended by his outburst, though, and carefully poured the milk into just one of the mugs. He didn't understand the knowing smile on her face as she returned the carton to the fridge. "That's right," she said, digging through her cupboard again. "You'll be wanting sugar, I suppose."

Fitz folded his arms. "And on the subject of stereotypes," he muttered, reluctant to let her know that she was actually right.

Simmons had a curious expression on her face when she turned to look at him, but after a second she smiled. "I didn't mean because you're Scottish," she assured him, taking a small container out of the cupboard and turning back to the mugs. "I meant because you're hypoglycemic."

Fitz froze, his eyes going wide. It took him a few seconds to recover from his surprise, and he was severely grateful that her back was turned to him. "Where…where did you get that idea?" he asked slowly.

"Oh please, Fitz," she replied, giving him another one of those mystifying smiles. "We've spent the majority of the past few days together. Did you really think I wasn't going to notice?" She placed a hand on her waist at seeing his expression. "You brought sweets into the lab. Who does that?"

Fitz shrugged. "People who like sweets," he mumbled.

She raised her eyebrows at him and held up a hand, counting off her evidence on her fingers. "You get particularly grumpy if you haven't had anything to eat in over three hours, you insist on having something high in sugar or carbohydrates every so often even if I have to kick you out of the lab in order to do so, and you don't carry anything on you that indicates it's an insulin problem."

Fitz found himself speechless, unable to figure out how she'd paid enough attention to him to notice something that very few people knew about. She turned back to preparing the tea. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, Fitz," she said in a gentler tone, grabbing a spoon and stirring in one measly lump of sugar. "I assume it's probably hereditary, yeah?"

He stepped over to the table and grabbed the spoon she'd set off to the side. "Um…yeah," he conceded, avoiding her eyes as he put two more helpings of sugar into his mug.

"Oh, now you'll just rot your teeth," she admonished him, her face scrunched up with worry.

Fitz held up the mug, ignoring her protests. "Cheers," he grinned before taking a cautious sip.

She relaxed a bit, but she still had a look of mild disapproval on her face as she grabbed her own mug. Fitz was about to move away until he caught a glimpse of the picture on the side of her cup, and held up the one in his hands to see that it was actually a matching set.

"Do you watch it?" he asked in surprise, pointing to her mug.

Simmons glanced down at her tea, but it took her a beat to figure out what he was talking about. "Ah," she said, giving him a nod. "It was my dad's favorite growing up. He owns most of the serials on tape, if I'm not mistaken." She held the mug closer to her body, a wistful smile on her lips. "Yes, the Doctor was quite the staple in my house as a child." She laughed a little, almost to herself. "Actually, my parents met at a fancy dress party at uni. Mum made a dress to look like a Dalek, and Dad dressed as a Cyberman." She shook her head and blew on her tea, taking another sip. "I suppose I was always bound to be a nerd with those two as my parents," she mused.

Fitz was about to say something about how he didn't think she was a nerd, but decided it would be best not to lie to her. So he said the first thing that came to mind instead. "Funnily enough, this was the only thing my mum and I could ever agree on watching together," he told her, remembering how excited he'd gotten when he'd discovered the show and how he'd gotten even more excited to find out his mum had liked it too. He'd sat through enough American soap operas that literally anything else would have been preferable, so he'd been lucky with the solution. Watching Doctor Who with his mum was probably the closest he'd ever gotten to sharing his love of science with her.

Simmons was grinning at him over her tea. "Your dad not a fan?"

Fitz tried to keep his expression blank, but he ended up glancing away from her. "It's…uh…it's just me and my mum," he explained, walking over to the desk and pretending to examine the parts he'd already examined a thousand times.

"Oh, I'm…I'm sorry," Simmons stuttered. "I didn't-"

"It's not a big deal," he said dismissively, giving her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

She nodded, looking uncomfortable for a few seconds until she seemed to remember something. "You know," she said, clearing her throat. "I heard from my parents that they're thinking of rebooting the show."

Fitz was momentarily confused, but after glancing at the mug in his hands he understood. "Yeah?" he asked.

"Yeah," she smiled, slowly crossing the room over to him. "My dad actually sent me the article, says they're going to start fresh with a new Doctor. I mean, it probably won't air for another couple years, but still. That's pretty exciting, isn't it?"

"Sure," Fitz shrugged, actually more excited than he was letting on. "I mean, well…as long as they don't completely butcher it. Easy to do with a classic."

Simmons sighed. "Don't knock it already," she said in mild exasperation. "They haven't even started production yet."

"I'm just being realistic," he laughed, finishing off his tea. "So, er…" he pointed to the desk. "Is this where you want me to-"

"Yeah, yeah," she said quickly, checking the desk as if there was a fleck of dust she'd forgotten to clear away. "I thought since we don't have that much space to work with, we could take turns with the device. I've only got enough of the catalyst for one test round, maybe two if we really need it, and then of course for the presentation. So while you work on the assembly, I can get started on the written report. Does that sound all right?"

"Yeah, that's fine," he nodded, setting his mug down on the shelf and starting to remove the parts from the box.

Simmons walked over to her bed, where she picked up a small notebook. "I've thought about the design," she prefaced, sounding hesitant. Fitz prepared himself for her inevitable criticism. "And even though I still think we should have a smaller angle between the nucleation chamber and-"

Fitz sighed in annoyance. "I already told you-"

"The outer surface," she continued, talking over him. "I might be able to adjust the reagents accordingly." She held out the paper in her hands, where she'd scribbled a series of calculations. "But I can only do that if the immersion cooling chamber is twenty percent larger than we'd originally planned."

He shook his head, not wanting to disappoint her but knowing there was really no way around it. "Can't do that," he sighed, placing his hands on his waist. "There's not enough-"

Simmons scoffed as she tossed the notebook on the desk in a huff. "No, of course not," she said sarcastically, folding her arms. "Well, I don't know what you're expecting, Fitz, but I'm not a miracle worker. Unless you can find a way to ensure the nucleation actually happens, the bloody thing isn't even going to work."

Fitz didn't back down. "It'll work," he insisted, pointedly moving the papers away from his workspace and pulling out the chair to sit down.

She stood behind him for a couple seconds before grabbing her laptop. "We'll see, I guess," she muttered, and Fitz didn't have to look at her to know that she was probably rolling her eyes as she flounced away to work on her bed.

For the next couple of hours or so, they worked in relative silence, peppered here and there with various comments about the project. Fitz found himself oddly amused whenever he happened to glance over at her, finding that each time he did so she seemed to have two additional books opened up for reference. He supposed the chemistry of the device would need more citation than the design in their report, but Fitz still had no idea what she could possibly be writing that would need that much research.

For the most part, though, Fitz poured the majority of his focus into making sure the structure of the device was absolutely perfect. He knew Simmons didn't really understand the modifications he'd made, but he hoped that once it was finished she would be able to see that he really wasn't as big of an idiot as she thought he was.

At one point, he heard her close a large book with finality. "All right, I've got most of the introduction written, as well as my part of the abstract and experimental sections." Fitz spun around in his chair, removing his protective glasses and massaging his cramped hands. She stood up, briefly stretching her arms above her head before beginning to put her books away. "How are you with writing reports?" she asked him.

Fitz did his best not to look too offended. "I do have a PhD, you know," he pointed out.

Simmons paused, looking over her arm at him as she arranged her books on one of the shelves. "No, I…" she sighed. "I simply meant that everyone has different strengths," she finished weakly, looking like she was regretting having said anything at all. "Of course you have a PhD. Glasgow, right?"

Fitz turned back to the device, inspecting the sides he'd just fused together. "MIT, actually," he corrected her quietly. "Did my undergrad at Glasgow."

"Yes, MIT," she hurriedly agreed, as if it'd been something she should have remembered. "That was it." She crossed the room to grab a few more books. "Well, that must have been quite the adventure for you."

Fitz continued to triple-check his progress so he'd have an excuse not to look at her. "You sound surprised," he muttered bitterly.

"I…I'm not surprised, Fitz. I just-"

"No, you're just wondering how on earth a kid from Glasgow with a single mum could afford to go to school in America."

He hadn't meant for the words to come out so harshly, but his head was pounding and he'd been working for a long time and he still had no idea how to talk to this girl. He cursed himself for snapping at her, knowing he was just asking for an argument. But when she responded, Fitz was shocked to hear that she didn't sound half as insulted as she had every right to be.

"Nonsense," she dismissed. "That school probably bent themselves over backwards for you. My guess is they most likely ended up paying you to attend."

Fitz's hands stilled, and he felt an odd burning in his cheeks. Her reaction was hardly the one he was used to receiving when his peers found out he was a scholarship kid. Thankfully Simmons was still busy putting away her things, so he went back to fiddling with the device. "Yeah, well…I wanted to go for the longest time," he shrugged. "You know, one of the best for engineering and all that. And, of course, Tony-"

"Tony Stark went there," Simmons said along with him.

He nodded, his lips curling upward from the fact that she'd somehow known what he was going to say. "Yeah, but er…well, anyway, I didn't think it was gonna happen," he told her honestly, still pretending to be engrossed in the project. "But my mum always said that if I ever wanted something in life, I had to work hard and earn it. And…I don't know, I guess it's worked out pretty well so far."

Fitz didn't quite know why he was telling Simmons all of these things, things that he'd never told anyone before. Truthfully, the entire process had been a lot more stressful than he'd described. But he didn't think Simmons would want to hear about the uncertain nights he'd stayed awake, tinkering with his projects and inventions on the off chance he'd be accepted into the program. He also didn't think she wanted to hear about how his mum had cried when she'd told him she couldn't afford to send him overseas, or how keeping a straight face and lying to her about being fine with it had been the hardest thing he'd ever done. In the end, it had worked out, and MIT had fully funded his graduate studies. In the end, he'd ended up at the S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy, ranked with some of the smartest people in the world. Simmons didn't need to hear about the rest. Besides, he figured she had much more interesting things to concern herself with.

It took Fitz a while to realize that she hadn't actually responded to him. When he turned his head, he was surprised to see her sitting on the bed, looking at him with a small smile. "She must be really proud of you," she said softly.

Fitz was temporarily baffled. "My mum?"

"Yeah," she nodded.

"Oh, no, I gave her hell growing up," he told her solemnly. "Yeah, probably took apart everything in our flat at some point, nearly drove her up the wall when I tried to talk about anything to do with science. And then, of course, I wasn't exactly the bright shining pupil you probably were in primary school. Didn't really have the attention span."

"Well, I should think not," Simmons replied with a smirk. "Why should a prodigy with your intelligence level be bothered with learning about the kings and queens of old?"

"That's the first sensible thing you've said all day," he remarked, and he was glad that she didn't seem to take his comment seriously. He wasn't used to talking about himself, though, so he tried to divert the conversation. "What, er…what about you?" he asked casually. "You're Cambridge, I take it?"

Her eyes widened in surprise. "How did you know I went to Cambridge?"

Fitz thanked every possible deity that he didn't have to tell her about how he may or may not have searched her name on the Internet. "You, um…" he began, pointing in her general direction. "Your jumper, it's…"

Simmons quickly glanced down at her jumper, as if she'd forgotten she was wearing something with Cambridge's crest on it. "Oh," she said in embarrassment, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Right. Well, it's an excellent school," she admitted, playing with her hands. "Although I'm sure it's probably a tad more enjoyable if you're not a fourteen-year-old girl living away from home for the first time." She laughed a little, but Fitz could tell her heart wasn't really in it. "But what am I saying? You probably understand better than anyone."

She glanced up at him just then, and he didn't really understand why she looked nervous. It was almost as if she was afraid of what he would say in response. But even he didn't know what he was going to say. Eventually he supposed he gave her some kind of nod, but the moment itself didn't really need words. It was a strange moment, and he wasn't sure how long it lasted. But he didn't mind, and she didn't seem to either. It was like time was hanging in suspension, and everything he wanted to say didn't matter because she somehow knew what he meant.

What she'd said had been true. He did understand. He understood what it was like to be the youngest in the class, for others to have preconceived notions of the person he was supposed to be or of what he was supposed to accomplish. And for the first time in his life, there was someone else that understood him, or at least seemed to understand him. Wasn't this what he'd wanted, ever since he'd heard her voice on that first day? Didn't he work tirelessly so that she would notice him and realize that they had more in common than she probably knew?

He hadn't thought it was possible, because of the horrendous first impression he'd given her, but maybe he still had a chance. Maybe there was hope for him yet. After a few seconds he figured he might as well try to say something. It'd have to be something clever, though, something that would tell her he understood what she meant but also assure her that he was as intelligent as she'd suggested. He opened his mouth to speak.

"Are you feeling a bit peckish?"

Fitz closed his eyes in humiliation. What the hell?

But Simmons was apparently a saint, because she overlooked his terrible attempt at communication and stood up quickly. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she apologized, as if it was her fault that he was an idiot. "Sometimes I work for so long that I forget, but you're probably starving."

Fitz's mouth hung open as he watched her pull things out of the fridge. "No, I didn't mean…" he stammered, forcing down a groan. "I just thought…we could go get something…or whatever. You don't have to-"

"It's really not a problem, Fitz," she insisted, continuing to set out an absurd amount of food. "I did some shopping last night, so I've got plenty. And besides, you're probably not going to find many places open right now, on account of the holiday. Unless…" She paused, looking over at him hesitantly. "Unless you're quite particular."

Fitz let out a laugh. "Hardly," he said. "I could eat pretty much anything."

"Oh, good," she smiled, looking relieved. "Does a sandwich sound all right, then? I've got some prosciutto and…buffalo mozzarella," she announced, lifting up a couple of the bags. "Oh, and I've also got…" She stepped past him to open the fridge again, removing a small jar. "Well, it's an old family recipe, and this was my first time attempting to recreate it. I'm not sure if it's any good since I haven't tried it yet, but if you're up for it, I could just put a little in and you can tell me if you like it or not."

Fitz glanced at the jar in her hands. "What is it, again?" he asked uncertainly, hoping she wouldn't accidentally put silver iodide in his sandwich.

She seemed to realize what he'd implied. "Oh, it's pesto aioli," she clarified, opening up the jar so he could see inside. "I've got the other compound safe in an airtight container over there," she promised him, pointing across the room.

"Right you are," he nodded, glad that she had enough sense to keep her hazardous chemicals separated from the food. "That…sounds delicious, actually," he said, gesturing towards the jar.

She gave him another smile, but she seemed a bit nervous. "Well, I'll just put a tad in, to be on the safe side," she murmured, setting aside the jar and grabbing a couple small plates.

Fitz scratched the back of his head. "Did, uh…did you need any-"

"No, I've got it," she assured him. "It'll just be a minute."

"That's fine, really. Take your time."

They mostly ate in silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable. And when she asked how he liked the sandwich, he decided to refrain from giving a long and passionate speech about how it was probably the greatest sandwich he'd ever tasted in his life and instead settled for saying, "It's…really good."

After that, they easily settled into a routine, switching back and forth from working on the project and writing up their report. Fitz didn't realize how fast three days could pass, but they seemed to fly by much quicker than he'd have liked. He even found himself naturally getting up earlier in the morning, looking forward to spending the day with Simmons. Eventually he started contributing to her food supply, bringing over an assortment of items that she silently shook her head at but were much better than some of the tasteless crap she called "snacks" in her cupboard.

Every day, sometime in mid-afternoon, Simmons insisted on going for a short walk, claiming that "staying cooped up inside all day will drive us both mad." He only half-heartedly argued with her, mostly due to the weather.

"You're from Scotland. Aren't you used to the cold?"

"That doesn't make it all right, Simmons!"

On Saturday, though, she'd ended up convincing him to go for a small trip into town with her. He'd conceded under the pretense of being mostly finished with the project, and the fact that the day was unseasonably warm. But in reality they could have been woefully behind and the day could have been below freezing and he still probably would've gone with her.

They only ventured a few blocks off-campus, Simmons already seeming to know where she was going. She first brought him to a quaint little bookshop off of the main square, where she pulled him down various aisles and pointed out some of her favorite volumes. Normally in such a place he could have easily grabbed a book and settled into a dark corner by himself, but for some reason, he was much more fascinated with hearing her talk than with anything else that that bookshop could have offered him.

It was a slightly different story when they popped into the next store, though. A wide range of animals lines the walls, and Fitz scanned the cages as he followed Simmons over to a pen holding a handful of newborn puppies. Simmons promptly asked the attendant if she could hold one of the smaller ones, and after the puppy had been deposited into her arms, Fitz stepped forward and murmured, "You don't think they have any monkeys here, do you?"

They only spent a few more minutes in that disappointment of a pet store (the puppies were adorable but they were not monkeys) before deciding to finish off their trip by splurging on some ice cream. Altogether, they hadn't really done anything special, but Fitz couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed a day so much.

Of course, Sunday night eventually rolled around, somehow managing to surprise them both despite the fact that they'd had the entire long weekend to prepare. Sometime around midnight, Fitz was putting the final touches on the wiring in the device when Simmons placed a few white cards next to his arm.

He sighed, feeling like he'd had this disagreement with her for weeks instead of days. "Simmons, is all this really necessary?" he asked, holding up the paper. "Note cards? Really? It's the first project. They're not expecting us to-"

"No, they're not," Simmons replied, folding her arms. "They're expecting us to fail, Fitz." She looked exhausted, her hair starting to come out of her usually neat ponytail. "All right? We're the two youngest people to ever come through here. They're expecting us to wash out. And I've heard what the others have been saying about us."

Fitz felt his heartbeat speed up. "What have they been saying about us?"

She shook her head. "Look, it doesn't matter what they think," she argued. "What matters is what Dr. Hall thinks. And as long as we can prove to him that we belong here, that we deserve to be in his class, then…then maybe we have a chance at becoming really great S.H.I.E.L.D. scientists."

Fitz thought about retaliating, but there was something in her eyes that was maddeningly enough to crumble his resolve. "All right, fine," he groaned, running his hands over his face. "I'll look 'em over. But I'm not reading off of cue cards in front of the class tomorrow."

"Well, of course you're not," Simmons agreed, looking at him in bewilderment. "You're to have that memorized by morning."

"Oh, bloody hell," he muttered, turning back to the device to set the last wire in place. "Are you ready for the test run?"

"Yeah," she said wearily, quickly pulling her hair back before grabbing a cup to fill with water. "So I'll start with the introduction, and talk a little bit about the practical nature of the device-"

"Wait, I thought I was doing that bit, and you were gonna talk about the nucleation-"

"Well, I am talking about the nucleation, but I figured since you're going to be discussing the structure and how to use it in the field-"

"Wouldn't that all kind of go together, though-"

"Oh, for God's sake, Fitz, it's all written on the cards, if you'd just look at them-"

"Who cares about the damn cards? I want to know how we're actually going to show how it works-"

"I'm getting to it, Fitz," she cried, snapping on a pair of gloves. "If you'd have actually read the cards, you would've known exactly what I was talking about." She held up one of three vials she'd carefully prepared with the silver iodide. "I'll add the compound to the cooling chamber-"

Fitz stared at her hand in panic. "But that's already supposed to be in there."

"No, it's not, I'm supposed to add it just before we need crystallization-"

"No, you're supposed to add it before the nucleation chamber has had a chance to activate-"

"That doesn't make any sense, how would you deploy the compound then?"

"By remote activation, of course," he replied pointedly, holding up the small button.

"When did that happen?" she asked, quickly grabbing it out of his palm. "You didn't tell me anything about remote activation-"

"Well, I thought it was a given, considering field agents aren't exactly gonna have time to measure out point six five seven grams of silver iodide-"

"It's point six two grams, thank you very much, and obviously I wasn't expecting-"

"Wait, Simmons," Fitz interrupted her, staring at her hand. "You didn't press it, did you?"

She glanced down at her hand before slowly looking back up at him. "Why?" she asked in a whisper. "Fitz…what happens when I press this button?"

"The silver iodide gets released into the nucleation chamber," Fitz murmured.

Simmons stared at him. "And what if there's no silver iodide in there?"

"It-"

But Fitz didn't have a chance to tell her what would happen. Because just then, a loud noise came from the desk next to them, and before he knew what was happening, the two of them were covered in a mixture of ice water and glass. The force of the blast didn't knock them over, but the effect left them just as stunned. The floor around their feet was filled with scattered pieces of metal, and everything within a five-foot radius of the desk was completely soaked. Fitz stared in open-mouthed horror at the mangled piece of machinery in front of them.

Their project had exploded.