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When Jemma Simmons was a young girl, before she was a SHIELD agent or half of Fitzsimmons or a doctor with two PhDs, she was the only daughter in a family with three sons. Her brothers were all into sports: the oldest a rugby player, the next a football player, and the youngest a cricket player.
But it was Jemma, the youngest of them all, who was the brains of the family. At two, she could read and write. At three, she could do basic math. When she went into first grade, she was at a fourth grade level and advancing quickly. Her instructors didn't have anything new to teach her and the other children didn't understand half of what she said. It was similar at home. Jemma's father was a former tennis player and knew nothing about the sciences Jemma was interested in. He much preferred talking about sports with his sons. Jemma's mother put more effort into connecting with her only daughter. As an English teacher, she knew more about the humanities and less about the biology facts that Jemma could spout off, but she still listened, and she found ways for Jemma to learn more about what she was interested in.
The thing that ended up linking Jemma to her mother the most wasn't that, however. Their link was a braid. Every morning, Jemma's mother would braid her hair before she went to school. It kept her hair out of her face, which Jemma wanted for her experiments, and it also was a chance for her mother to dress up her little girl, which she had always wanted to do. Jemma's mother learned many braiding techniques: a regular braid, a French braid, a fishtail braid, a rope braid... Anything worked.
When she thirteen, Jemma began attending a private high school that focused on science. She and her mother woke up earlier to do her braid, but they still did it. Every day, without fail, Jemma's mother would do something with her daughter's hair.
When she was eighteen, Jemma went off to the Academy. She couldn't braid her own hair, so she began wearing it in a ponytail instead. She didn't like it. She wanted to go home, but she knew she had to keep working.
Slowly, Jemma became Simmons.
When Leo Fitz was a young man, before he was a SHIELD agent or half of Fitzsimmons or an incredible engineer, he was a student at the Academy. He was eighteen. The other students were mostly in their twenties. It was rather intimidating. Or, at least, it would have been, had Leo not been smarter than half of them. Still, he felt out of place.
Slowly, Leo became Fitz.
Then he went into his chemistry lab and saw, across the room, a young woman. She couldn't have been older than he was. Her hair was in a ponytail she kept flicking behind her shoulder. Free strands of hair were stuck to her neck with sweat. She was performing some sort of experiment across the room. Fitz had his own assignment to fulfill, which he set about doing.
He only turned his back on the beaker for a second, to grab what he needed to add to the solution next. But suddenly, there was a call of "watch out!" and hands pulled him out of the way. They were just in time. A moment later, the beaker exploded.
Fitz turned to see the girl from across the room. "Thanks," he told her breathlessly as he looked at the shards of glass that had impaled themselves into the wooden cabinets. He didn't even want to think about what they would have done to him.
"No problem," the girl replied. "I'm Simmons. Jemma Simmons."
"Fitz. Leo Fitz," Fitz responded automatically.
Simmons smiled. "Do you want me to help you with your experiment?" she asked. "I'm done with mine."
"Oh, yeah. That would be great, thanks." Although Fitz was good at chemistry, he focused more on engineering. That was his forte. Considering the fact that Simmons had figured out what was going on with his experiment with about five seconds warning from across the room, Fitz assumed that she was more into chemistry than he was.
"You're not a chem student, I'd guess," Simmons said, obviously trying to make conversation.
"I'm not," Fitz replied. "Engineering."
"Biochem," Simmons offered.
Fitz had been right. "How did you know my experiment was going to blow?" he asked as he started pulling shards of glass from the cabinet with tweezers.
"I saw the bubbles turn green," Simmons replied. "I've done the experiment before, and I know they're not supposed to do that. When it started bubbling more, I assumed something bad would happen."
"Well, thanks," Fitz told Simmons again.
She smiled. "Come on, we should start the experiment again," she urged, still smiling.
Fitz couldn't help it. He smiled too.
That was the moment when Fitz and Simmons began to become Fitzsimmons.
It was around a month later when Simmons first invited Fitz to her room. They were working together on a biology project, and since Simmons had everything they needed in her room, they decided to meet up there. They were just working together as friends. Nothing more to it.
Simmons put more effort into her appearance than she had ever done before for a stay-at-home day. Makeup (although not much), nice clothes, a simple ponytail. Fitz didn't comment on it when he entered, but Simmons noticed that he looked nice too.
"Hi," Simmons said shyly.
Fitz smiled back, but there was something strained in it. "Hi."
"So, um, should we get working?"
Once the science began, Fitz and Simmons were entirely at ease, working seamlessly to finish their biology project. But once they were done, the awkwardness set in again and they just looked at each other, unsure of exactly what to do.
"Is that you?" Fitz asked lamely, pointing to a picture of Simmons as a young girl.
"What? Oh, yes. And these are my brothers." Simmons pointed out each of her brothers in turn. "That's Timothy, that's George, and that's Jaime."
"You were a cute kid," Fitz offered. Simmons blushed slightly. "Are you wearing a braid in...all of these?" he asked, scanning the multiple pictures all over the room.
"Oh, yes. My mother always braided my hair. But I can't do it myself." Simmons didn't mention how much she missed having a braid and what she would give to be able to braid her own hair. Fitz dropped the conversation after that.
"What do we do next?" Fitz asked.
Simmons shrugged. "We're done with the project. What do you want to do next?"
"Um..." Fitz shrugged.
Simmons was about to make a suggestion when her stomach growled. "How about something to eat?" she asked ruefully.
Fitz smiled and nodded. "Sounds good to me," he replied. He took Simmons's arm and escorted her out of the room.
When Fitz and Simmons handed in their project later that week, their teacher called them Fitzsimmons. It was an accident. Next time, it wouldn't be.
Fitz wasn't homesick. He wasn't sure why not, but he didn't have the longing to return home that he knew other students did.
Other students like Simmons.
It was clear to see that she was missing her family. Fitz wished he could help, but he had no idea what to do. Nothing seemed to work.
Until an idea struck him, and it was genius. Fitz smiled as he thought of it and pulled up the browser on his computer. He needed to do some research. He pulled up Google and typed in "braiding tutorials."
Simmons had said her mother always braided her hair for her. She seemed to miss it. So Fitz decided he would learn how to braid so he could braid Simmons's hair for her. He knew it wouldn't be the same, but he hoped it would help. Braiding looked fairly simple. Fitz figured it would be hard to do on one's own hair, which was why he assumed Simmons couldn't do it herself. But he thought he manage it without too much trouble.
For the next few days, Fitz practiced braiding. He couldn't do it on hair, but he brought three pieces of string around with him everywhere and practiced with those. Simmons gave him a strange look every once in a while, but Fitz would pull the string away out of her sight whenever she would look over. It was going to be a surprise. And hopefully, it would be a good one.
Finally, after around a week, Fitz thought he was good enough at braiding to try it out on real hair. He wanted to wait for the right moment before trying it on Simmons, though. Luckily enough, the right moment came later that day.
"Fitz?" Simmons asked at the end of their last class. "Do you have anything going on tonight?"
"Um, no," Fitz replied, a little confused.
Simmons avoided his eyes, shifting her weight from leg to leg. "Do you want to come over to my room and watch a film or something?"
Fitz shrugged. "Sure. Sounds great. What time? I'm free all day."
"Um, does now work?" Simmons asked.
A little worried, Fitz shrugged. "Sure. Just let me grab my stuff." He grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. Simmons led him off to her room. Once the door was closed, Simmons dropped to her bed. To Fitz's horror, her shoulders began up shake with tears.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "It's just...today is my mum's birthday and I miss her."
"Is your mum the one that braided your hair?" Fitz asked.
Simmons nodded. "I called her this morning, but I can't visit her and I want to. I want to see her."
"You'll see her soon," Fitz soothed, playing with Simmons hair. He started splitting it into three sections. "It'll be Christmas break soon."
"I know. I'm being silly." Simmons wiped her eyes. "What are you doing?" she asked Fitz curiously.
"Wait and see," Fitz replied. He started braiding Simmons's hair. It was different from braiding pieces of string, but not too different. Within a few minutes, he had made a passable plait. He took a hair tie from the table by her bed and used it to tie off the end. "Okay, you can look," Fitz told Simmons.
She went over to the mirror and gasped. "Oh, Fitz," she whispered, her fingers ghosting over the braid.
"It's not very good, but I can practice more and get better. If you want me to do it again, that is," Fitz offered, stumbling over his words a bit.
Simmons turned and threw herself into his arms. "Thank you, Fitz," she whispered.
Fitz smiled and hugged her back.
Years passed. Fitz and Simmons grew as people and as agents, but they never grew away from each other. When they were approached by Agent Coulson - Agent Phil Coulson! From the New York fiasco! The Agent Coulson! - to join a small, exclusive team, they (meaning Simmons, really, who dragged Fitz along behind her) leapt at the opportunity. Their clearance levels would go up a notch if they accepted, which Simmons found incredibly exciting. Fitz wasn't quite as enthusiastic. Simmons tried her hardest to convince him.
"Why not?" she demanded over a cup of tea in their favorite café.
"This will be dangerous!" Fitz protested.
Simmons waved it off. "We're SHIELD agents," she retaliated. "Danger is part of the job. Besides, we'll be staying on the BUS." That was the plan, after all. Fitz and Simmons would be on the plane, not going out into the field.
"People get hurt on these sorts of things," Fitz protested. "I've heard the stories."
"Fitz, it's the most perfect opportunity for us to see the world! We'd be fools to pass this one up!" Simmons protested.
Fitz shook his head. "We'd be fools to take it. We're not made to go out in the field, Simmons. Can you see us out there? It's a bad idea."
"But people can make a difference by going out into the field!" Simmons protested.
"We can make a difference from our labs too," Fitz replied. "I'm not doing it."
"Well, I am," Simmons retorted.
Fitz lost some color in his face, but he remained firm. "Go ahead. I'll stay here."
"Do it," Simmons retorted, sure that she was pale as well. Fitz stood and took a few steps away. Simmons was fairly certain he was taking her heart along with him. She watched him, unable to move. Once he turned a corner and was out of sight, however, the spell was broken and Simmons shot to her feet. She rocketed after him, glad they had already paid for their tea. She caught up with Fitz less than a minute later and embraced him tightly.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'll stay with you."
Fitz was holding onto Simmons just as tightly as she was to him. "I'll go," he whispered. "You're right. We can make a difference there. And I've got to stop being a coward. We'll be fine."
"Of course we will," Simmons replied. "After all, we've got each other."
Of course, nothing was as simple as it was supposed to be. There was the Mike Peterson fiasco, and then the 804, and then more and more insane situations again and again. Simmons reveled in it. Fitz didn't. But he stayed for her. He couldn't leave her behind.
Then they discovered the floating bodies with electrical power that blew out a car engine. Simmons was thrilled by the whole thing, and Fitz had to admit that the case was interesting. As an engineer, he wanted to know what caused the electricity. As a biochemist, Simmons wanted to know how the person had died. It was a fascinating case. The second body added even more intrigue, then the third...
And then Fitz's world very nearly stopped spinning because it was a disease and Simmons was infected. Coulson quarantined the lab. Fitz had a quiet breakdown in the bathroom, then he raced to work with Simmons through the glass door. They had to make a cure, they had to. The others watched as Fitz and Simmons desperately tried to work on opposite sides of the door. They all dispersed after a while, but Fitz stayed. He couldn't leave, he just couldn't. Simmons was starting to give up and Fitz couldn't let her, he couldn't, and he worked harder and harder to figure out what to do. There had to be a cure. There had to be.
At some point, their discussion turned into screaming at each other and no, no that could not be the last thing they said to each other please no. Fitz's voice softened. So did Simmons'. Fitz couldn't decide it that made it better or worse.
Then it hit them that the virus had left one survivor. Fitz raced to get the helmet and barreled into the lab with it, not thinking.
Simmons' eyes went wide. "Fitz!" she cried. "No, you can't be in here!"
"Too late," Fitz replied. He felt strangely unconcerned about his own safety. Either they would make a cure, in which case it wouldn't matter if he got infected, or they wouldn't, in which case he wouldn't care. "It's done. Just try and do your best to keep your hands off me, yeah?"
They worked side by side, as they always did. And yet this was different, it was exponentially different, because if they didn't get it right, Simmons would die.
They didn't get it right.
Fitz was ready to try again, more than ready. Then something hit him on the back of the head and everything went dark, until his vision came back and greeted him with the sight of the test mouse alive and well. Fitz turned to tell Simmons, only to see that she was about to jump out of the goddamn plane. Fitz screamed. He screamed her name, he screamed for her to come back, he banged on the door. It changed nothing. Simmons jumped.
Fitz stabbed in the override code for the door with shaking fingers. He would get her, he would do it. He grabbed a parachute, and he didn't really know how to use it, but he'd try anyway. He would do it for Simmons. Then Agent Ward came in and Fitz's babbling must have made sense to him because he took control immediately, jumping out to get to Simmons. Fitz just collapsed on the ground to wait.
Simmons was exhausted. Nearly dying of an alien disease and jumping out of a plane did that to you, she'd discovered. She still felt awful and achy, as if she'd just recovered from the flu. But the disease was gone, she was healed, and she would be back to normal in a few days.
Well, physically, at least.
Simmons could see from just looking that Fitz was as shaken as she was. She hated herself for what she'd done to him. But she'd had no choice. If the cure hadn't worked, she would have taken the whole plane down with her, something she couldn't even imagine. She had to jump.
Still, she didn't think she'd ever forget the look on Fitz's face when she turned back.
Fitz was babbling about how he would have saved her. Simmons knew it without him saying it. "You're the hero," she told him softly, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek. Fitz looked slightly stunned. Simmons got up and quietly walked away.
It wasn't long before Fitz slipped into Simmons' little room. "Can we please stay together tonight?" he asked softly. It wasn't begging, not really, but it was close. "I just would feel more comfortable if I could see you."
"Of course," Simmons replied, shifting over slightly to let Fitz sit down next to her. "I was just thinking that I wanted to be with you."
Fitz took Simmons' hands in his. "Please never do that again," he begged.
Simmons smiled slightly. "I don't plan on it."
"Thank God," Fitz replied. His hands moved from hers to her hair, which he began to toy with. Soon, he was braiding it in tiny plaits. Simmons was silent as Fitz's nimble hands made little braid after little braid. By the time he finally stopped, Simmons had dozens of little plaits, all on one side of her hair.
"Shall we switch spots so you can do the other side as well?" Simmons asked, only half joking. In response, Fitz got up and sat back down on Simmons' other side. It seemed braiding her hair was as soothing for him as it was for her.
Simmons ended up falling asleep with her head in Fitz's lap. When she awoke the next morning, he was still there, asleep with his head against the wall. His fingers were still tangled in her hair.
A while later, when Fitz and Ward went out on the mission they almost didn't get back from, Simmons let herself into Fitz's room. It was her turn to be unwilling to let him out of her sight. Fitz understood immediately. The next morning, Simmons' hair was full of tiny braids again.
A while after that, when Coulson was taken and they didn't know if he was dead or not, Fitz and Simmons almost walked into each other on their way to the other's room. They ended up in Fitz's room. Again, there were little braids.
When Skye asked, Fitz and Simmons just looked at each other and smiled slightly before getting to work.
(The pattern never really stopped.)