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The dank, dungy SHIELD lab leaves much to be desired, but over the last couple of days, SHIELD nerd transplants Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons have begun to move in. Leo, for his part, has been busy at work building a device to generalize the energy emitted by the crystal recovered by the SHIELD team. The latest contraption that Fitz has built, with its deep metallic bend, concave and convex lenses, and countless mirrors broaden the lasers.
Yet with the contraption, Fitz is nowhere to be seen. But then, without anything presumably working around it, a nearby metallic bench collapses and produces a loud yelp for some figure beneath it. “Jemma!” Fitz calls… loudly.
*
From the room next door, Simmons comes bustling in. She’s wearing large, bug-eyed goggles and a leather apron along with thick lab gloves. It all is rather cumbersome. Black hair is pulled back in order to not get in the way of their work and she quickly assesses the situation, not seeing her wayward Fitz anywhere.
“For goodness sake, Fitz!” she sighs. “I told you to wait until I had my gloves on! Who knows what the oils from our skin could do to that crystal!” Moving about in a swish of protective lab gear, she ducks down and around a few of the metallic beams in order to try and locate the Brit. Peering inside, the reflection of a convex mirror make her goggles look even bigger than they actually are, the concave ones make her head look ridiculously tiny. It’s hard to tell where the actual SImmons might be entering the contraption. It’s rather like a funhouse.
“Where did you get yourself stuck?!”
*
“The gloves seemed superfluous — everything said it wouldn’t harm us anymore besides we can always fix — although this may be a conversation for another time!” because he’s stuck. Fitz clears his throat loudly, “Underneath the heat array and the energy dispersion modulator!” A metallic knock echoes from the back of the machine. “It was just time to get working on the machine! I want to test its capacities if it can’t even hold us there’s no way this beast is going to hold an alien or unfriendly with … abilities — “
Fitz knocks again to get Jemma’s attention. “Besides how could I stop this?! It’s an amazing piece of work — you’ve done an incredible job attuning — “ another clang echoes “ — OW!”
*
“Good heavens! Stop moving! You’ll break yourself.” Shedding the gloves, she hangs them on one of the handy beams and picks her way forward through the contraption and Fitz. “It would be just like you to travel halfway around the world only to be crushed by your own design in the States,” Simmons scolds.
“And everyone always says it’s perfectly safe because they have yet to encounter the trigger to what would make it dangerous. There’s no harm in following proper lab safety protocols. And you know this.” It’s easy to lecture Fitz while he’s pinned somewhere and helpless to her scolding.
Finally, Simmons comes into view. She’s pushed her goggles up to her forehead in order to see her way through now and she looks both worried and slightly amused that Fitz has managed to trap himself in their design. “That’s what stress tests are for! Though, if this thing can hold you, then aliens best beware!”
*
“The machine is not even on!” Fitz declares with a roll of his eyes. “Clumsiness doesn’t count as a design hazard, I don’t think!” his tone drips with self-deprecation. “But, just remember Jemma if I should die underneath this creation, you were the one that coaxed me out of New Zealand — and England for that matter — in the first place!” She can hear the laugh in his tone. While it might ordinarily be nervous, he’s undeniably pleased now that he can see his friend.
“Just — move the — “ his hand points to a particular lever “ — use the fulcrum to — “ he makes a pushing motion with his free hand, “ — should lift with ease — “ he clucks his tongue. “Not that you couldn’t have — “ because Jemma is brilliant in her own right and would clearly devise a way to get the metal off him that has him so pinned.
“I think this piece needs to be welded, not bolted.” He frowns slightly.
*
“All the better, then!” Simmons says cheerfully, now that she’s found Fitz and is assured he will be alright. “You never know, we might get some uncoordinated aliens. I doubt they’re immune to bouts of clumsiness!” There’s a cluck of her tongue as she pulls herself fully into the space now holding Fitz and makes her way to the lever. “Honestly, Fitz, you make it sound as if I handcuffed you to my baggage and dragged you here against your will! Both times I barely finished my sentence and you said how you thought it was a good idea and that you would come along.”
Hands on the lever, she uses a bit of her shoulder to shove it forward and attempt to lift the metal that his Fitz pinned to the ground. “And you can make adjustments to your design once you have regained your freedom of movement, not before.”
*
“You and I remember both of those conversations very differently,” Fitz observes as the large piece of metal moves. He rolls out from under the collapsed metal. “First of all, I’m fairly certain you said something about cherries on top. Or something. And, on top of that, you kept talking about the wild adventure and its promise! I only joined because I know you, and those field agents would walk all over you! You’re too good, Jemma,” like Leo Fitz should talk. “They would never take you seriously, and they’d spend ridiculous amounts of time disrespecting your truly brilliant work! You need at least one person to look out for you.” His eyes roll. He tugs his own goggles back onto his head away from his eyes.
“I need my torch,” he murmurs as he lifts a finger. “I feel like you should consider the biology of the crystal — I know it’s a mineral, but it seems odd, doesn’t it?” he squints. “Reminds me too much of the devices we read about at the Academy.”
*
Once Fitz rolls out from underneath the metal, Simmons quickly closes the gap to him and to gently - without asking - check his ribs for damage or cracks. It’s the medical doctor in her. “You’re not short of breath, so I don’t believe you cracked any ribs, but does this hurt?” she asks him. “You might be bruised. Honestly, crawling into this thing without me was reckless. What if I hadn’t heard you calling? You talk about someone needing to look after me, but you certainly need your own watcher half the time!”
There’s a bit of a huff at being told that the field agents would walk all over her and she looks back up to Fitz with a frown. “They wouldn’t! I can hold my own.” She smiles after a moment, though. “But, I am glad you’re here. I wouldn’t be able to do this without you, Fitz.”
His mention of minerals and torch is ignored for just the moment.
*
“Ow!” Fitz declares as he curls into himself, bringing his arms around his midsection to protect his vulnerable parts. “It was my job,” his hand rakes through his hair and he shoots Simmons a sidelong stare. “Besides, we work together to make sure we have a tag-team. When you know you’ve got someone watching your back, makes crawling into tin cans possibilities.”
He frowns at the huff and his arms slump to his sides. “Jemma… That’s… that’s not exactly what I meant. Just that you need — we need — to have someone look out for us. Field agents don’t know what we do down here. I don’t even think the senior agents know what we do down here. But I know. You know.” He manages another flicker of a smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean — I mean, I did mean but I didn’t exactly mean what I said even though I said it and almost meant it.” Which is undeniably confusing.
“What I meant was, you need someone to look out for you. Just like I,” he rubs the back of his neck, “need someone to look out for me. That’s what I mean.”
*
“Don’t be such a baby, Fitz!” Simmon chides, though she grins. “It certainly looks as if you’ve bruised something. If it gets any worse, you come to me. Perhaps we should wrap it and put you on ice.” She pushes his arm in a bit of a friendly shove. “Of course I have your back, but you have to let me help you for it to be a proper tag team.”
There’s a smirk. Simmons is well versed in Fitz-speak. “I know what you mean, but you don’t have to worry about me all the time. I’ll be fine! After all, out of the two of us, who has been trapped underneath something heavy the most recently? See, this is why we’ve got to stick together!”
*
“I feel like I was the one making the point we have to stick together?” Fitz’s eyebrows draw together sharply in consideration. “I mean, who else would do an autopsy on a cat and leave the liver next to my lunch?” he shoots her a one-shoulder shrug. That’s bound to be a story he’ll use for some nefarious purpose some day. Watch out Jemma Simmons… when you least expect it… BOOM.. cat liver story.
“And I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Leo pokes his own side this time and winces slightly. “Just don’t report the injury to anyone, yeah? I don’t feel like ending up on my back in medical. Would rather get a working prototype of this puppy in process.” His hands rub together excitedly.
His lips purse lightly, “I’ve been giving the building itself some thought. I think we should use the functions we’ve been told and then put our own spin on it.” He swallows hard. “You think anyone would notice if we went… I don’t know…” his eyes turn downwards “…irish on the thing? Celtic symbols are a dime a dozen. We could draw on inspiration from one…”
He chuckles, his face flushes, and his hand rubs the back of his neck, “Maybe not a Labyrinth… also I know the genuine art part isn’t my forte. I can make things work. Aesthetic isn’t exactly my thing,” he chuckles again. Jemma has seen his work space. She knows.