A/N:

This is set in late November in FitzSimmons' first year at the Academy. It acts as a sequel to my FitzSimmons origin story, Oh To Be Young, and is written in the same POV-switching style. While it may be helpful for you to read that first, I'm fairly certain this story is still pretty easy to understand on its own.

"You miss 100% of the shots you don't take." - Wayne Gretzky

-o-

It was the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, and campus was practically deserted.

Unlike the majority of their peers, of course, Simmons and Fitz weren't going home, so they'd made plans for the next few days. Or tried to make plans. Fitz, in particular, was incredibly excited at the prospect of a holiday that revolved around eating as much as he could before passing out. Simmons was more intrigued by the possibility of finally getting to goof around with the Academy's tandem mass spectrometer, which was typically monopolized by the fourth- and fifth-year students. And while Fitz wanted to have a lie-in and play videogames, Simmons fancied a visit to the nearby city's arboretum and butterfly garden, so they were having a bit of a tug-of-war trying to organize potential activities for the hiatus. In the end, they'd decided to settle the question via friendly competition, with the added bonus that the victor could name themselves "King of the Lab" until the end of the month.

Simmons stood in front of the mirror, putting on the finishing touches to her hair and make-up - nothing over the top, of course, just enough for a social evening out. She'd never been to a board game party, but a classmate had been kind enough to extend the invitation, and it was the perfect way to settle her and Fitz's little scheduling issue. Especially since I'm going to win. She smirked at her reflection and pinned a curl loosely behind one ear. The thought glanced through her brain that this was the first time Fitz would see her out of her usual layers and lab coats. Maybe if I look nice, he'll be distracted. She could use that to her advantage.

Not that she would mind if Fitz thought of her as a girl, for once. She'd been around him long enough now to take offense, a time or two, at his brusque dismissal of her femininity. She could have sworn in the past couple months there'd been the odd stare that made her blush and turn away, mind confusingly atwitter, but for the most part, Fitz didn't really treat her like a woman. Which was refreshing, and surely what she wanted, after being judged most of her life based on her exterior. It's not like I wish Fitz saw me differently. It was fine, being best friends - it was great - but every now and then Simmons wanted to feel pretty. The instinct embarrassed her, even as she justified it staunchly. Why shouldn't I want to be appreciated, when I've made an effort?

She'd certainly noticed Fitz's appearance, on occasion. Ever since he'd stopped wearing those baggy tees and started putting himself together a bit better, of course she'd noticed. How could I not take a minute to look, when he's dressed that way at my recommendation? But she had to admit, while she'd made the first few improvements, Fitz had taken the trend and run uphill with it. Much like their work in the lab, where he latched on to her vague ideas for serums or compounds and immediately thought of practical applications, including the mechanisms he could build, Fitz had started layering untucked button-ups with cardigans and ties, keeping his scuffed red trainers, combining patterns and solids in ways she never would have thought of. And it was a good look. Particularly when he wore one of his few blazers. Amazing, what a pair of shoulder pads can do for a skinny frame. Not that she cared, beyond a mild sense of pride that her friend had turned his style around so impressively.

And, okay, maybe - once - she'd tried flirting with Fitz, just to see how it felt. But, disappointingly, or perhaps luckily for everyone, those signals had soared over his head like an inflatable pig at a Pink Floyd concert. Simmons knew she wasn't the best at being coquettish, but she'd still hoped for a bit more than a furrowed brow and an inquiry after her ocular health. Still, it was just as well. Can't imagine what I would've done if he'd flirted back… or maybe he had, and she hadn't caught it. Simmons blew out her cheeks and chose a pair of simple silver earrings. She wasn't getting dolled up for Fitz. Honestly, she was just dressing nicely for a party. It's the appropriate thing to do.

Oh sweet Jesus. She looked great. Fitz suddenly felt incredibly slovenly standing in front of her across the doorway. He also wondered if he should've left his roommate behind, so Herrick wouldn't be right there, equally privy to the sight of Jemma. The deep wine color of her body-skimming blouse pirouetted off something in her lip that made her face glow. Her smile was first-day-of-school crisp white pages, her eyes were freshly poured champagne. Everything about her sparkled. Fitz forced himself to snap out of his daze. Maybe she's covered in body glitter, the kind strippers wear. There was nothing ethereal about that.

Herrick's drawn-out whistle whipped Fitz to attention.

"There must be some mistake… we're lookin' for a scientist, small, kinda dorky? Goes by a man's name?"

She narrowed her eyes playfully, but didn't swat him as she would have if Fitz had been the one teasing. Herrick's easy dig at Simmons showed how far they'd all come since their contentious beginnings. Fitz wasn't entirely sure he liked this new dynamic. We shoulda spent more time at hers. Simmons' roommate shared only the bathroom and had her own front door; he'd met the woman a grand total of once.

"What's this, then, Dr. Fitzy? You brought backup? Don't think you can defeat me on your own?"

It was eery, how well she could read him. Fitz wasn't used to party games and Herrick was, so of course he'd wanted the help. That's nothin' to be ashamed of. She's just mad she didn't think to enlist her own pit crew.

"Hey, now-" Herrick started to protest being relegated to backup status, while Fitz cut in with his own response.

"Well, pardon me if I don't want to spend our days off doin' homework and starin' at leaves." His face twisted like he'd smelled one of Jemma's bio-samples.

"You hush. If you're nice to me after I win, maybe we still can go to Old Country Buffet," her grin widened as she raised an eyebrow.

"And perhaps after I win, I'll tag along to the lab with you - in between rounds of Xbox, of course."

She snorted - how can she manage that so elegantly? - and pulled on her coat. "In that case, let the games begin… Robin."

"Oh, for the love of- can't I be the Riddler, at least? He's clever. Besides, if I'm Robin, then you're Alfred, always fussin'." Actually, Fitz had decided weeks ago that he and Simmons were both Batman, or Batman and Catwoman - or would she be Poison Ivy, in all her biochem glory? This line of thinking was putting too many skimpy-costume images into his head, but either way, Fitz knew they were evenly matched, no need to mention it to Simmons though. Plus, I've brought a sidekick, so… Victory was going to taste as sweet as the four different kinds of Thanksgiving pie he intended to sample.

"You made it!" Penelope, their exuberant classmate, tried to hug her and Fitz together, failing miserably and splashing her tropical-smelling cocktail on his shoe. "And you brought eye candy," she ogled Herrick, "I love it! Hey Lexie! Fitz-Simmons are here! Come in, guys, come in!"

Herrick took everything in stride, as usual, and relinquished the six-pack of beer that was their unofficial entrance fee. "Evenin', ma'am," he drawled, tipping his cowboy hat. Simmons hated to admit it, but that whole Matthew McConaughey vibe could be pretty charming.

"Any trouble finding the place?"

They reassured Penelope that her directions to the off-campus house had been more than clear, as she took their coats and Simmons' purse into the back bedroom, reappearing almost instantly.

"Jell-O, or regular?"

Simmons' quizzical expression must have given her away.

"Shots, Simmons! What kind of shots do you want? Everyone does a shot as soon as they get here. House rules!"

"Oh, well, er…" She hadn't been planning to drink - embarrassingly, she'd never gotten drunk before, and didn't fancy her first time being at a random house full of strangers - and lit on the perfect excuse. "Fitz and I are underage."

A half-groan, half-scoff escaped Fitz's lips. "Christ, Simmons, why do y' bring up stuff like that? You know perfectly well we'd be legal back home."

"Yeah, live a little! Work hard, play harder!" Penelope crooned. "Aren't you guys British? I mean, didn't your parents, like, put gin in your baby formula?"

Simmons' eyes fluttered shut as she processed all the wrong in that statement. Before she had a chance to respond, however, Fitz spoke up. "You can stop with the teasin'. Simmons can hold her alcohol just fine, can't you, Simmons?"

My champion. Simmons resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Fitz was just trying to help. And they were guests in Penelope's home, after all. "Erm," she wiggled her hands uncertainly, "Jell-O, I guess?" She turned to her best friend. You got me into this, Drinky-Time Dan. "And one for Fitz as well."

-o-

"Trivia… yessh… I vote that," Simmons took care to slur her words, but didn't overdo it. Thankfully she'd been around enough drunk girls in her time that this was proving a bit easier than she'd anticipated. A terrible liar she might be, but Jemma Simmons was no slouch at imitation.

It still seemed ridiculous that she should even have to affect drunkenness in order to avoid having a syrupy blend of rum and fruit pressed into her hands at every opportunity. For some reason, Penelope seemed to be making it her tipsy mission to see "how drunk can the babies get" - which, honestly, was despicable, and would be doubly so if she'd actually fallen for it. But they didn't call Simmons a genius because she worked at the Apple store. And I'm certainly not getting my stomach pumped for the sake of Penelope's twisted whim.

S.H.I.E.L.D. Triviassault? What the Hell is that? Fitz stared at the dark gray box Lexie was holding up, the familiar eagle logo giving little hint as to what was inside. Much like the agency itself. Across the room, Simmons voiced her too-loud approval at the idea of a trivia contest. Tricksy hobbit. Simmons had the clear upper hand, and she knew it. Though various tidbits had snuck in over the years, Fitz was relatively one-dimensional in his knowledge… which was exactly why he'd brought Herrick along. However, in a stern reminder that Herrick could be an arsehole, the older cadet had disappeared early on with a bottle of Tennessee whiskey and a cigar - most likely to the shadowy back yard with the smokers and casual snoggers. This left Fitz to fend off the two hostesses who kept offering him shots with the strong implication that his masculinity was on the line if he refused. They're eventually gonna realize I've been vodka-poisonin' their ficus all night.

Fitz felt a twinge of regret at wasting perfectly good booze, but it wasn't like he had much of a choice. Simmons had started drinking before him - I didn't even know she liked lime gelatin; did she grow up in a hospital? - and with Herrick vanished, needed someone to keep watch over her, to make sure she didn't embarrass herself, and potentially capture photographic evidence if she did. Besides, the only chance I'll have of trouncing her at trivia is if she's sloshed. So he really couldn't afford to drink. And to be perfectly honest, Fitz had never been keen on hard liquor - the idea of letting himself get out of control didn't appeal in the slightest.

He quickly filled his one-ounce glass from a water bottle he was hiding, then stumbled deliberately to the bar. Hefting the shot up high, Fitz cheered, "To bad decisions!" and tossed it back, witnessing Simmons' enthusiastic "Wooooo!" as she tipped back her cheap red cup for a long swallow. He tottered over to her, wanting to stick close in case she fell over. I should warn her to slow down. Simmons appeared to be only pleasantly buzzed, so he wasn't too worried yet, but as thin as she was, one stiff drink could change that on a dime. And from what he could see, she'd had quite a few.

"Whatcha drinkin'?" he pasted a big dumb grin all over his face.

"Screwdriver…" She started laughing adorably. "Oh! Tha's your favorite!"

"Lemme have some then…" he reached for her cup with an unsteady hand. I can at least gauge how strong it is.

"No!" she retorted, a bit quick, turning her body protectively. "I mean," her eyes got very wide and dopey, "this'n's mine. Find y'r own."

"Y' get mean when yer drunk," he poked a finger into her ribs, "selfish..." Fitz very nearly froze when he realized what he was doing. He'd never touched her this freely before, but, he rationalized, it was something he might do if he was inebriated. Right? Not that he had much experience to draw from.

Simmons slapped his hand away and stuck out her tongue. Her pink, enticing- She's completely piss-drunk. Stop thinkin' about her tongue like that.

"And you, m' friend, get funnier," she giggled, pawing at his arm a bit. "I thought you'd be -hic!- morose."

Fitz thickened his accent. "Why'y' thin' tha'? 'M havin' fun… alcohol's the best…"

"Mmm-hmmm…! Yaaaay, alcohol…!" she helicoptered her arms.

He nodded thickly, crashed his tiny glass into her plastic tumbler, and had to admit he was enjoying himself immensely. He felt a bit guilty hiding his sobriety from Simmons, but he hated to disappoint her when she seemed to like "drunk Fitz" so much, and as far gone as she was, he couldn't trust her to keep a secret right now anyway. Besides, he was staying sharp so that she could have a good time, and if it helped him compete, so much the better. So it's not cheating. Not really.

Simmons stared at the spot in the sink where, less than two hours earlier, she'd spit out that nasty green wad of tequila and Jell-O. She slowly raised her eyes to the mirror, smudged her makeup the merest bit, and decided she looked appropriately flushed for someone who had been drinking steadily. Imitating a drunk person was actually a very fun challenge - she doubted she'd find the situation nearly as interesting if she really had been intoxicated. Memorizing the subtle tics and tells of the people around her, adopting them into her own mannerisms, had kept her thoroughly entertained all evening. This real-world context was so much better for trying out hypotheses than the lab. Even Fitz seemed sold, which was the true test, considering how well he knew her. They should really do this for Spec-Ops training.

Though she might need to convince Fitz to cut back pretty soon - he was going through fluid ounces like he was trying to create a new conversion system. She had to say, she was impressed with Fitz's ability to hold his alcohol so far - perhaps some stereotypes are true - and it was making him more affectionate and open, which was a refreshing change. Hazy plans for testing the boundary of their friendship blipped across Simmons' face before she shut them down. Although… if she kissed him under the guise of alcoholic influence, especially if he was also drunk and unlikely to remember… honestly, it was the perfect excuse. Stop that, Jemma. You cannot possibly be considering taking advantage of your drunk friend just to satisfy your curiosity.

No, of course. She wasn't some lecherous opportunist, or Jonesy. She wasn't about to stick her tongue down Fitz's throat while he was impaired. But if she "drunkenly" happened to lose her balance and ended up leaning on him a bit more than usual, well, that was okay, wasn't it?

With a deep breath, Simmons fixed her silly smile in place and went back to the game.

A/N:

Cool. So here's my take on those FitzSimmons-get-super-drunk type fics. I don't see them as big partiers, certainly not at the beginning of their Academy days. But I wanted to give a nod to the popular idea among the fandom that the science babies are crazy hard drinkers.

I know other writers have also explored the idea that FitzSimmons cheat at drinking games - for instance AmbivalentOxymoron's "Everything is not always as it seems" - but I don't think I've seen quite this approach yet. I do hope that it didn't feel too cracky, considering they were both acting the way they thought they might act if they were drunk, when neither one had ever been drunk before (gosh, what a pretzel). Hope you enjoyed it!

"King of the Lab" is from the TV show Bones.

There's one more chapter to this, and it's pretty much done, so it should be up soon.

(I'm not going to beg for reviews this time. Because, baby, c'mon, baby, I want you to leave a review because you want to. Heheh.)

:-D