This was written for leopoldfitzsimmons on tumblr for the FitzSimmons Secret Valentine fic exchange who requested FitzSimmons at the Academy. I hope you love it! And thanks to StarryDreamer01 and notapepper for being betas for me, as usual. Happy Valentine's Day!

The thing about lying to your parents is, you have to do it to protect them. It's for their own good.

-Sophie Kinsella

-o-

"Anyone know the trick to a good cover?"

No one in the lecture hall raised a hand, though there was plenty of uncomfortable shifting in seats, clicking of pens, and tapping of fingers on laptop keys.

"Really? None of you want to answer? Mr. Fitz? What about you?"

The Academy cadet in question flinched when his name was called. He hadn't exactly been paying attention. On the desk in front of him was a sketch pad where he had been meticulously shading in a section of one of his new designs for a more efficient lock picking mechanism. He was still considering whether it would really be more effective than the small explosive charges SHIELD used, though it would do considerably less damage.

"Erm. Well." He cast his eyes about in an effort to recall what that day's lecture was about before remembering they were focused on maintaining cover identities this week. Stupid field classes. Like I need to remember a new identity on top of all the other information I keep stored in my head… not like I'm going into the field anyway, Fitz thought to himself.. "It's bes' ta use small details from yer own life. Helps ya ta remember the ID, and i' makes tha lies more convincing. If there's truth in tha lie, tha target will believe it." He smiled proudly when the professor's face fell in disappointment.

"Correct." Dr. North cleared his throat and watched as Fitz bent right back over his sketches, not even bothering to hide that he wasn't paying attention.

"Fitz," Simmons hissed from next to him, "you could at least pretend to listen!"

He shrugged in response. In just a matter of months, they would be full-fledged SHIELD agents with a brief break before they took up their post in a lab at SciOps. He didn't much care if he wasn't paying attention. He was only in this class because Simmons had talked him into it. She thought Espionage 101 would be useful for them, just in case. He didn't remind her that they still hadn't managed to pass a field assessment. He would almost rather be taking that ridiculous ballroom dancing elective for field agents again though. He'd lost count of how many times he'd stepped on Simmons' toes in that class, but seeing her wince and laugh while she led him around the dance floor was definitely preferable to the boring lectures Dr. North gave.

"Now, you probably think that maintaining a cover identity doesn't apply to most of you. You are wrong. SHIELD is not exactly a classified organization, but what we do is. That means most of you will not be allowed to talk about your work." There was low murmuring and a lot more shuffling in seats as the professor spoke. "You will each have at least one official cover on file so that you have something to tell people when they ask you, 'what are you working on these days?' You won't tell them about the classified gear you're creating for secret agents. You will not talk about your work with SHIELD outside of SHIELD. Talking about your jobs and your research doesn't just put yourself and the organization at risk, it also puts your loved ones at risk."

Fitz paused in his sketching, and thought about the possibility that just talking about picking locks could put his mother at risk; he put his pen down. Simmons patted his arm reassuringly, though her fingers trembled a bit, something he could feel through the fabric of his jumper.

"Never really thought abou' tha'," he whispered to her out of the corner of his mouth.

"Me either," she muttered back, ready to take as detailed notes as possible to keep her family safe. Instead, her tablet pinged, alerting her to a message. Around them, a series of pings and beeps alerted the other cadets as well.

"Now, I've just emailed all of you with the important elements of a cover identity, an outline, if you will, as well as an example of one of mine that was burned many years ago. Over the next week, you are all going to create your first cover - from the ground up. Unlike covers that get assigned to you for specific missions that just have quick and easy parameters and can quickly be disposed of, this one needs to be carefully cultivated. The cover you create throughout this class will be the first one in your personnel file - the one you'll use in your first few years with SHIELD. Get comfortable with it, try it out in social situations, learn everything you can about the new person you're giving life to. Over the course of the semester you'll have the chance to implement it in a few different settings under agent supervision. You'll be graded on your ability to maintain the cover."

-o-

"What do you think of me being a teacher, Fitz?" Simmons stretched out on the bed in his dorm room while he brought tea over for the both of them.

He shrugged. "I guess tha's fine."

"Fine?"

Fitz held out her mug of tea with a shrug, but her eyes bored into his, so he sighed before he answered, "You can be anyone you wan' with your cover. Anyone."

"I see." She smiled over her mug before blowing on it gently and moving her feet so he could sit next to her. "Does that mean," She asked, the tone of her voice teasing, "that you could be an English private detective or something, living in a little flat with a housekeeper?"

Fitz snorted into his tea while arranging himself next to her. "I think Dr. North would see through me if I tried ta be Sherlock Holmes."

"Oh, I meant Sherlock for me. You would definitely be Watson," she deadpanned, but couldn't hold back the laugh when Fitz shook his head in disbelief. She was half slumped into his side laughing when the door opened and his roommate stepped in with raised eyebrows.

Fitz swallowed another gulp of his tea along with his disappointment when she sat up and put a little space between them.

-o-

"Simmons, wha' do you think o' me bein' a tattoo artist?"

"Fitz, you're afraid of needles."

"I'm no' afraid! I have a healthy respec' for them."

"Fitz."

He sighed. "I wouldn' be the one gettin' stuck with i'."

"You don't like touching strangers either. Or having to be in their personal space. What if someone wanted a tattoo in an intimate area? You might actually have to do that while under cover."

"Okay, Simmons. You made your point!"

-o-

Fitz slouched in his seat while he waited for Dr. North to hand back the assessments for their first draft of their cover identity. It was preliminary, and there wasn't going to be any kind of mark attached to it, but that didn't stop him from being apprehensive about it anyway.

On his right, Simmons sat up straight in her seat with a wide smile, taking the paper before Dr. North could set it down. Her face immediately fell when she looked at the notes on the front.

"Dr. North?" She asked before their professor could even make it to Fitz.

"Yes, Ms. Simmons."

Fitz bit down on his tongue to stop himself from laughing. He could see her itching to correct their professor that it was Dr. Simmons.

"Why isn't my cover acceptable? I created the outline exactly as requested, pulling details from my own life - "

"Too many details from your own life, Ms. Simmons. A high school chemistry teacher isn't that far removed from what you do now."

She huffed and Fitz glared at the professor. He clearly had no idea what it was Simmons could actually do. Simmons could, if she wanted to, lace the next paper she turned in with a particularly nasty virus and leave him out of commission for weeks while he had to recover. She had about three different disorienting perfume-like sprays she'd been testing, and several paralyzing agents as well. Just as he opened his mouth to tell the professor any or all of these things, Dr. North plopped his paper down in front of him, and he closed his jaw so quickly and tightly he could have sworn Simmons could hear his teeth clack. Fitz pointed to the red pen all over his paper in confusion.

"Weapons development for Stark Industries, Mr. Fitz?" Dr. North inclined his head with a sigh. "Mr. Stark is one of SHIELD's chief contributors. He sells us so many products, it would be prudent to steer clear."

It was Fitz's turn to huff.

"You're both scientists. Stay away from science in your covers, anything that could trace back to your work with SHIELD. Become someone you've always wanted to be."

"What if what I've always wanted to be was a scientist?" Simmons murmured to Fitz after Dr. North walked away from them.

Fitz's fingers drummed restlessly on the tabletop in response and he didn't flinch away when Simmons laid her hand over his to halt the tapping and listened as Dr. North began the day's lecture.

-o-

"What about a ballet dancer?"

"I don' think I have tha figure for it," Fitz joked.

"I meant for me!" She tossed a crumpled piece of paper at him from across the lab table.

"Oh, yeah," Fitz shrugged his shoulders.

"I know I'm not perfect for it, but I did take ballet as a child. I think I could be convincing." Fitz muttered something under his breath, but Simmons couldn't understand what he said. "What was that?"

"I - erm - you look - you could be a dancer." Fitz got out eventually, not looking at her, his cheeks pink.

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

He could hear the teasing tone to her voice, but underneath it she also sounded (Pleased, was that it?) different. Fitz just chewed on his lower lip and peered into the microscope, not answering.

"Probably not a good idea though. Red Room agents were all ballerinas. What would happen if I actually ran into one?"

His eyes shot up immediately as his brain ran through all the known ways someone like the Black Widow could kill him. "Let's never do that."

-o-

Fitz sat at his computer while Simmons watched the latest news report on the goings on with the royal family.

If tha' trash can be called news.

He needed a new cover. Something the professor couldn't refute. He tried to tune out the broadcast while Simmons sighed over it. He did not understand her obsession with the royal family, and if he didn't know from past experience that she would get up and march right back to her own dorm if he made fun of her, he would have teased her for her excited "Ooooh" when she had landed on the news coverage.

"Don't they look so wonderful together?" She asked him before popping the edge of a long licorice straw in her mouth.

"Never took you for a romantic, Simmons," he muttered around the corner of the pen he was chewing on while he thought about his cover.

"Isn't everyone, really? Isn't it nice to see a real live fairy tale happening right before our eyes?" She asked him around the licorice.

The news began talking about Kate, the woman everyone was sure was going to be the next princess, and her family business that involved, of all things, party planning.

Fitz spun around in his desk chair and watched as half a dozen employees in impeccably pressed waiter uniforms set up tables and chairs on a pathway at a zoo.

"Wha' on earth are they doin'?"

"There's a fundraising event that doubles as a birthday party for the zoo's star attraction. You know, the money from generous donors which allows them to expand habitats, update security technology, pay salaries for zoologists. Zoos don't operate in a vacuum."

Simmons rolled her eyes as she spoke, but Fitz didn't notice, he was too busy salivating over the four tier cake that was easily the size of small horse that was being carefully wheeled into the camera frame. It had fondant animals of all shapes and sizes clinging to its sides, but the star, sitting at the top of the cake, legs draped over the sides, was a replica of a chimpanzee.

"Fancy a trip to the zoo?" she teased him. "We'd have to fly back just for the cake."

"It would be worth it," Fitz deadpanned before he turned around and began typing. "Shouldn't you be workin' on yer cover?"

"I'm doing research as we speak."

-o-

"All right, here we go. Green. Jones. Fitz. Simmons." Dr. North set their cover reports down on the desks in front of him as he walked the room, explaining what a great effort it had been, how surprised he had been to have so many thorough cover stories after all of the abysmal work he'd seen throughout the semester.

Jemma's smile faltered when she picked hers up, nose scrunching in the way it did when she was annoyed.

"Wha' is it?"

"A minus." Jemma huffed and flipped through the pages of her report. "I never get a minus on anything." Fitz gave a chuckle when Jemma reached the final notations at the back of her fourteen page piece on the character she'd created for herself. "Too many intricate details, Ms. Simmons. While detail is necessary in long term covers, listing the complete contents of your cover's digital music library is not needed."

Fitz's chuckle quieted as he turned his own paper over and began to flip through the pages.

"Honestly, Ms. Simmons," she muttered as she skimmed. "I'm a doctor. Twice over, for that matter. Too many intricate details. This assignment was all about the details! What about you, Fitz?" He didn't answer. "Fitz?"

"B." He cocked his head to the side as he read. "I can' remember the las' time I got a B… forgot wha' tha' feels like."

"Well… what did you do wrong?"

He raised his eyebrows at her. "You didn' do anythin' wrong, but you think I did?" He watched Simmons' mouth open in a small oh of surprise and she started to babble, trying to backpedal, but he just smiled at her. "Tha' was a joke, Simmons."

"Oh, right. Of course it was."

He pushed his paper toward her as Dr. North started shutting equipment down at the front of the room and other cadets were packing up their things. "He says my cover job is no' realistic."

"What did you pick?"

"I work in a primate rescue an' conservation center." He looked at her with a carefully blank face, trying to gauge her reaction, and he appreciated that she didn't laugh at him outright, but smiled brightly instead.

"But Fitz, that's perfect for you!"

"I know!"

"Why isn't it realistic? I think you could easily work in a facility like that. Is it because of your engineering background? Does he think people won't believe it? Because my degrees don't exactly lend themselves to - "

"No, tha's no' it. Because I'm facilities management instead of a zoologist. He says tha' the amount o' information I'd have ta know abou' different primate habitats would be impossible fer someone 'like me' ta remember." Fitz shook his head. " An' tha' he doesn' believe I could pull off tha cover in a social settin'."

"Someone like you? What on earth does that even mean? And he thinks you can't talk about primates in a social setting? That's preposterous. Well, we'll just have to show him he's wrong, won't we?"

-o-

Fitz stood silently next to Simmons while she spoke with Dr. North.

"I'm sorry, you want me to requisition spyglasses, pinhole cameras, and recording equipment for you to wear home for your break?"

Dr. North laughed so hard his normally pallid complexion took on something of a purple tone. Fitz grimaced, worried Simmons was going to have to perform mouth to mouth soon.

"Yes. Please. We'd like the opportunity to prove to you that the cover stories we developed are perfectly plausible for our file before you give us our final marks." She took in a breath, the fingers of her left hand digging into her right arm when she crossed it over her body as Dr. North continued to laugh.

Fitz rolled his eyes and broke into the conversation in a loud tone against his better judgment. "I could create devices m'self if I had a bit more time. But we thought asking fer tha equipment made it official."

"Yes," Simmons added with a quick nod, and Dr. North's loud laughter slowed to quiet chuckling.

Dr. North cleared his throat. "You two are spending your break together?" He narrowed his eyes.

"My mum - she's on holiday with some o' her friends. Simmons an' I thought we'd work on some o' our designs, but her family wanted her ta come home…" Fitz trailed off, his face rapidly coloring at the suggestive smile Dr. North was giving him. Awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, Fitz added, "her parents don' know about her being with SHIELD, so we thought - " He shot his gaze to Simmons as she began to finish his sentence.

" - It's the perfect opportunity to test our covers. These are people who know me very well. If my cover passes with them, it should be excellent in my file." She tried to keep herself composed, but added under her breath, "not that it isn't already excellent."

Dr. North eyed the two of them for a moment, and when Fitz opened his mouth to say something else, he held up his hand to keep him quiet. "I will request a camera for each of you and the recording software. You are responsible for taking care of it. Anything gets damaged, you will have to replace it."

"Thank you, sir." Fitz and Simmons chorused.

-o-

"Why do we haveta put them on now?" Fitz whined like a small child as he faced Simmons in the seat of the airplane. His back was twisted uncomfortably, and he could feel Simmons' breath on his chin as she worked the tiny camera onto the button at the top of his cardigan.

"Because, Fitz," She explained patiently as she smoothed out the fabric, her fingers lingering a little bit longer than they should have, Fitz thought, but no, that must have been his imagination, "we should start practicing now. My family are the only people who know me almost as well as you do. They're going to be hard to fool." He sighed when she pulled back from him and handed him the other tiny camera. "Where should I put mine?"

Fitz surveyed her outfit critically and decided that the button on the collar of her blouse was the best option. He would have put it in the pendant of her necklace that morning if she'd told him that they would be using the cameras immediately. He had, thankfully, already installed the recording software on his phone and computer. Fitz gestured to the button, and Simmons leaned back in so he could put it in place for her.

"Simmons," he began, trying to think of a way to ask without offending her or sounding conceited, but decided to just go for it since her eyes were boring into his and he was too close to dodge her gaze now, "wha' did you tell your parents abou' me?"

He focused on the small camera when her face took on a slightly pink tone.

"Well - they know that we were in a handful of classes together. I may have mentioned you a time or two... But I told them I was bringing a friend home. That's all, really." She pursed her lips together and didn't say anything else, though her hands were fidgeting in her lap as he worked.

Fitz tried very hard not to breathe while he positioned the camera, and his face colored when their seatmate returned, an older woman from London who winked at him over Simmons' shoulder.

Fitz pretended he didn't see her.

"So where are you two off to?" The woman asked conspiratorially, with another wink in his direction as he finished and straightened Simmons' collar for her.

Fitz didn't answer, looking to Simmons instead. She rolled her eyes, her "Oh, honestly, Fitz," expression in place before she turned around in her seat to face the woman.

"Visiting my parents. We both had some vacation time from work saved up, so we're taking a holiday for Fitz here to meet my family." Simmons reached out behind her, lightly smacking Fitz's arm with the back of her hand to encourage him to talk, probably because that's about all she was going to get out as a convincing lie without help.

"Yeah," Fitz agreed, his face hot at the implications of her statement, not sure how much information he was supposed to share with a complete stranger. They hadn't even worked out all the details of their covers knowing each other yet - like why someone like Jemma was bringing home the facilities manager of a primate center home to meet her family.

"Ah, meetin' the parents. Should we ask the flight attendant to get you a drink? Scotch, perhaps?"

Fitz couldn't help it. He grinned. He kind of liked this lady if she was going to be offering him scotch. "I don' think I should meet them fer tha firs' time smellin' o' scotch," he sighed dramatically, "though i' would take tha edge off."

"The edge?" Simmons echoed with a laugh. "You'll be fine, Fitz. They're going to be so concerned with why I changed my career track that they'll probably be much happier with you than with me." She leaned back in her seat, the color draining from her face for the first time. "Oh, daddy's probably going to blow a gasket," she murmured, her eyes falling as that dawned on her for the first time.

"She's a party planner," Fitz whispered, leaning across Simmons to the other woman, "but she used to be a chemist." He tried to keep his tone light, but Simmons looked genuinely worried. He was surprised the idea of her parents not approving of her cover story hadn't occurred to her before now.

"Goodness! That is quite a change. What happened?"

"I just -" Simmons scrunched her nose up as Fitz turned to look at her, still leaning part way across her lap, "wasn't happy, I guess. I wanted to do something I loved." She relaxed the scrunched nose as he nodded his head.

"And who doesn't love a good party?" The woman remarked, nodding her head encouragingly in Fitz's peripheral vision.

"Si-" Fitz broke off, realizing he probably shouldn't call her Simmons for this little test. "Jemma's very good a' planning. Parties, tha' is. She thinks o' everything."

"Well, I do try…" she trailed off in faux modesty, but she and Fitz both knew plans and preparations were where she excelled.

"Are they grand parties?"

"Some of them, yes." Simmons nodded her head, trying to look enthusiastic. "But others are small business affairs, you know, designing the menu, decorating for seminars and presentations, things like that. I work mainly in the corporate end of things. Sometimes that can be a little dull but I love having a good plan. The grand parties are something special." Fitz noticed her voice get higher and higher as she spoke, but she did her best to keep her expression steady.

"Oh, I see." The other woman leaned back and sighed wistfully. "I went to a ball once. Got to wear a gown and everything."

"Jemma put on a ball once," Fitz chimed in before he could stop himself. "Fairy tale themed," he added when Simmons (no, I should think of her as Jemma while we're doing this) widened her eyes in shock. He couldn't resist now that he knew she had a soft spot for happily ever afters. "There was a giant slipper made o' ice, wasn't there, Jem?"

"Fitz," she protested weakly.

"She loves all that Prince Charming stuff. Tell her, Jemma." Fitz grinned. He might just enjoy this test, getting Simmons - no, Jemma - to tell stories over and over for the next week that she had to go along with. He was fairly certain he would pay for it later, but he was having too much fun watching Sim - Jemma, cheeks faintly pink as she gestured in front of her, explaining ice sculptures and menu options and gorgeous gowns to the older woman for the next hour of the flight.

She only wound up too flustered and looking to Fitz for help a handful of times, and he couldn't resist adding outlandish tales worthy of a soap opera to her story - a duke cheating on his wife that Jemma had to cover for was a big hit with their seatmate, not so much with Jemma.

-o-

Fitz was right. He definitely paid for it later. Specifically, over dinner with the Simmons siblings before he even met her parents.

-o-

"Fitz," Jemma drew out his name as she swirled her wine around in her glass, her eyes bright, "tell Charlotte and Thomas about the new program at the conservation center." She smiled before taking a sip.

"Where?" Thomas questioned, eying Fitz with trepidation.

"Fitz works with A.P.E.S. - You know, Advanced Primate Environmental Services." Her smile widened as she watched Fitz. "Tell them, Fitz."

"I'm sorry?" He asked, turning to look at her as he tried not to choke on the pasta he'd just shoved into his mouth. He had spent a very long flight and a very long drive with no real food, and was making up for lost time.

"The new teaching program?" She licked her lips and raised her eyebrows at him in challenge, bringing the tip of one finger up to tap the button on her shirt collar discreetly.

Yes, Fitz had known he was going to pay for the fairy tale comments on the plane. He had been doubly sure he was going to pay for it when a car had come to pick them up and drop off their luggage at the Simmons house, and Jemma had introduced the driver as "Daddy's right hand man, but don't worry Fitz, he won't spill your secrets" with a wink at him. He was now very busy staying on his best behavior and letting her take the lead on the cover story even though Jemma's sister had been peppering him with questions about different monkeys for the better part of the evening.

"Righ'. Righ'." Fitz wracked his brain trying to think of something that would make sense for him to know about as he slowly chewed his food and swallowed. "The executive board - they're puttin' a program in place to teach children abou' conservation efforts. How pollution an' climate change affect primates…" He trailed off and cut into a piece of meat on his plate while the others nodded their heads, then he shrugged, not sure what else to say.

"Fitz is being modest," Jemma stated firmly, her eyes on him. She put a hand on his arm. "Even though he's not a zoologist, he's one of the employees being asked to speak at the different schools."

"Oh, congratulations! That's wonderful!" Charlotte practically yelled. She was like a smaller, but louder version of Jemma with darker, curlier hair, and she practically vibrated with energy.

"Heh." Fitz nodded and gave a half smile, not moving his arm out from under Jemma's hand. "I suspec' it's jus' tha accent. They think I'll get tha kids' attention."

Across from him, Thomas made a noise in the back of his throat, but didn't comment. He narrowed his eyes at Fitz when Jemma lightly ran her fingers down his forearm before pulling her hand away. Fitz suspected that Thomas was itching to give him the protective big brother speech even though Jemma had introduced him as her friend.

This is going to be a long week.

-o-

Fitz emerged from the restaurant's toilets to find Jemma casually leaning against the wall outside waiting for him. Of course, "casually" for Jemma meant arms crossed, foot tapping, and greeting every single person who passed her with a wide smile.

"You all righ', Simmons?"

"Yes, I just wanted to let you know that you're doing very well with your cover story," she told him primly, pushing herself away from the wall and blocking his path back to the table.

"Okay…" Fitz knit his eyebrows together in confusion.

Jemma hesitated, uncrossing her arms, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, then crossing them again, before she sighed and told him, "there seems to be a slight wrinkle in me having brought you home. Apparently, everyone thought there were certain implications in me bringing a boy home. It didn't really occur to me that it would be a problem."

"I'm a problem?" Fitz was genuinely confused now because Jemma was starting to turn a soft shade of pink in addition to all of her usual nervous tics.

"No, Fitz, of course you're not a problem. My family is a problem," Jemma hissed at him before she looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was coming to check on either of them. "It seems that - well - bringing you home made my family think certain things about, erm, us."

"Things?" Fitz echoed. "What kind of - Oh. Right." He shoved his hands in his pockets so he wouldn't fidget as much as she was. He swallowed uncertainly and waited for her to say something else.

"Right? That's all you're going to say?" She leaned closer, whispering the words to him, as a waitress skirted around them.

"Wha' am I supposed to say? You told them we were friends!"

"Yes, but they think I'm hiding something!"

"You are!"

"But not that!"

Fitz shook his head. "What do you wan' me ta do, Jemma?"

"Stop being so nice to me... or something."

"Me?" Fitz laughed. "You're tha one who keeps usin' your flirtin' voice!"

"I do not!" Jemma protested, face bright red now. Fitz raised an eyebrow at her. "I wasn't. I didn't. Oh no. I was, wasn't I?"

"'s all right. I know I'm hard ta resist," Fitz deadpanned.

Jemma relaxed somewhat. "Yes, you are quite the catch with your propensity to eat everything in sight and your obsession with monkeys. I don't know how I've resisted for so long. How have I managed to keep my hands to myself?" She remarked fondly before scrunching her face up in thought.

"Oh no, wha' is tha' look for?"

"It's only for the week," she said, trailing off and letting him finish her train of thought.

"You wan' ta -"

"It would make sense for the covers - "

"And they'll stop wonderin' why you brought me home - "

"Just another part of the test, really."

"All righ'."

"Really?"

"Sure."

"Oh. All right, then."

"Come on, they're gonna be wonderin' wha's takin' us so long." Fitz pulled his hands out of his pockets and after a brief moment of indecision, grabbed one of Jemma's hands and pulled her along back to the table. He decided it was better not think about the fact that Jemma had suggested this or the surprise that had flashed across her face when he agreed so quickly. He also decided not to think about why he had agreed so quickly.

-o-

"Daddy, this is Fitz," Jemma said in something of a sing-song voice. Fitz had only heard that tone a handful of times, usually when she was on the phone with one of her parents and trying to get on their good side.

Fitz swallowed uncertainly and held his hand out to shake that of Mr. Simmons. The other man was very large and scowling at him and he wasn't entirely sure of what to expect.

"Just Fitz?" Mr. Simmons raised an eyebrow, his voice low and gruff.

"Leo Fitz, sir." Fitz hated that his voice had gone up something like an entire octave. He wasn't even lying to the man. There was no need to be scared of him. Yet.

"But he prefers Fitz," Jemma added, trying to usher them both further into the house since they were halted in the foyer just inside the front door. She was the only one who took a handful of steps forward though.

Fitz tried not to consider the possibility that Mr. Simmons was waiting up for them or something, especially since they had only been to dinner with the man's other children.

"Fitz." He nodded his head and shook his hand, seemingly rolling the word around in his mouth. Fitz couldn't decide if Mr. Simmons was trying to commit it to memory or if he was picturing it written on a tombstone. Probably both.

"Nice ta meet you, sir."

"Jemma, darling, you have no idea how happy I am that you're home." Mrs. Simmons glided into the foyer in the way that Fitz imagined royalty moved about their houses. She just seemed to float even though she was weighed down with jewelry and balancing on very high heeled shoes.

"Mum-" Jemma began, but she was quickly cut off.

"The ladies and I are planning a new gallery opening this week, and we would love your expert opinion." She wrapped her arms around Jemma, and a cloud of expensive perfume tickled Fitz's nose.

Jemma sent him a look over her mother's shoulder that clearly said "help," but Fitz, seeing that Mrs. Simmons seemed to have no problem with the idea that Jemma was working as a party planner, was too worried about himself. Mr. Simmons still had his hand in a steel grip, and was starting to lead him into a sitting room.

"Oh, darling, don't interrogate the boy tonight," Mrs. Simmons called laughingly as Jemma extricated herself from her mother's embrace. "You can do that over breakfast. I'm sure they're tired, after all, with the flight and their dinner. Charlotte can be exhausting."

Fitz raised his eyebrows, throwing a silent question in Jemma's direction, wondering why someone would describe their child as exhausting, but Jemma just nodded her head in agreement.

"Yes, mum's right. It's been such a long day," Jemma allowed each of her words to linger in the air, her eyes flitting back and forth between Fitz and her father before moving forward and taking Fitz's hand in her own, tugging lightly so that he had to take a step towards her and Mr. Simmons was forced to relinquish his hold on Fitz.

Fitz made his very best effort to slow his heart rate and not turn the color of a tomato while Jemma's parents looked at them. It wasn't like Jemma had never grabbed his hand before. She did it all the time when she was attempting to drag him somewhere at the Academy. And it wasn't like he didn't do the same to her when he was excited to work on an experiment.

This is just like that. An experiment. A test. That's all.

Fitz took a breath and forced a small smile, nodding as though he was agreeing with Jemma.

"Go ahead and get settled in," Mrs. Simmons said. "I made sure to give Fitz here the room next to yours. You'll show him?" And then, Mrs. Simmons had the audacity to wink at them, making Fitz take an audible gulp of air.

"And make sure you stay there," Mr. Simmons added.

Fitz didn't even get the chance to respond as Jemma gave a sharp pull toward the hall.

They turned a corner and Fitz asked, "Did your mum jus'?"

"She's teasing, Fitz. Relax."

"You wan' me ta relax?" For a moment, he considered shaking his hand out of hers, but it didn't take him long to realize her fingers were curled into his so tightly that her own hand was practically shaking. He took another breath and said, "Right, yeah, I'm relaxed."

Simmons let out a laugh and her grip eased, fingers loosening so that they were comfortably tangled with his instead of holding on for dear life. "No, you're not."

"I am!"

"Your face is all splotchy."

"Well, there was a momen' where I thought your father wanted ta kill me, Simmons. And your mum -" Fitz shut his mouth and shook his head, not wanting to follow that train of thought. He didn't need to think about the fact that his best friend's parents were assuming that they were sleeping together. That line of thought was not going to help him actually get any sleep tonight. "I don' think your da' likes me."

"Don't be silly, Fitz. He's just a little prickly. He'll warm up to you." She shrugged as she stopped them in front of the doorway to a room full of cool blue tones and warm wooden furniture. Fitz's luggage was sitting on the bed. "Besides, he knows you're my best friend." She slid her hand out of his and walked ahead of him into the room.

"I thought you said you hadn' told them much about me."

"I haven't." Jemma didn't say anything else on the subject, just pointed out where the toilet was, just across the hall, and showed Fitz the extra linens in the closet. "Not that you'll get cold. You're always like a furnace." She winced slightly as if she shouldn't have said that, and then fidgeted with the button on her collar.

Fitz took a step forward and reached out, nudging her hand out of the way. "Yeah, we shouldn' need to keep the cameras on ta sleep."

"Yes." Jemma started to turn her head, but when her chin grazed his hand, she stopped fidgeting. "Well, I'll be just next door if you - erm - need anything, yeah?" She gave him a slow smile as he got the camera and tiny cord removed and plucked one of the smallest pieces of technology she'd ever worked with from his hands.

"Yeah." Fitz nodded as she turned to go. He found he was still nodding even after she'd shut the bedroom door behind her and he sighed, disconnecting his own camera as well, though it was a bit more difficult working with his own shirt collar. He was tempted to go and ask Jemma for help, but suspected she'd shut the guest room door behind herself to give him a little breathing room from her and her family.

It took him longer than he wanted, but he eventually got the camera out and set it down on the top of the dresser. If he was Jemma, he'd probably set about unpacking all of his things and settling into the room for the week. He'd hang his clothes in the tiny closet and make sure nothing was wrinkled. He wasn't Jemma though, so instead, he tossed his suitcase into a corner of the room and opened up his carryon bag, intent on setting up his computer and going through the footage of the first day of their very first "undercover mission."

It was somewhere around hour three of the footage on the plane with Jemma recounting a story to their seatmate about a melting ice sculpture that never actually happened that he realized he was going to be spending a week with this woman with the wide eyes, high pitched voice, and fluttering hands - she was the absolute worst liar on the planet.

Fitz chuckled, then sighed and looked at the clock.

It was getting late, and Jemma's sister and mother had both mentioned something about a "family breakfast" in the morning, so he definitely needed to turn in for the night.

On his computer screen, Jemma giggled and grabbed his arm as their seatmate told them a story about her ex-husband. He smiled as Jemma's cheeks turned bright pink and she leaned into his side.

One more hour.

-o-