AN: I'm back! With a relatively recent update! Agents of SHIELD starts here in the UK in exactly a week so I felt the need to write some more FitzSimmons fluffiness before I get bombarded by feels :)) I've already started chapter 5 so hopefully it would be too far away! Enjoy! (:

It was safe to say that FitzSimmons' first few weeks at the Academy were less than not-chaotic.

They had arrived at SciTech (Fitz blanching slightly at the fact that he had worked for SciTech for goodness sake and 'what did they mean it was a branch of recruitment, he was better than everyone else there!') and were immediately introduced to Agent Weaver.

"Mr Fitz, Miss Simmons," she said, inviting them into her office and shaking each of their hands in turn, "It's a pleasure to have you here."

"Well, thank you for having us," Simmons said, slightly nervous as they sat down; she'd seen several people as they were guided through the building who looked fully capable of inventing some kind of black hole device and she wasn't quite sure they were the kind of students she wanted to be in competition with.

"I'm sure the men who brought you here were incredibly vague," she said almost sympathetically.

"Well, yes, I suppose you could say that," Fitz murmured sarcastically. Simmons nudged him reproachfully with her elbow. Weaver smiled.

"I apologise for that," she said, "But, when you're part of an organisation like S.H.I.E.L.D., you can never be too careful."

"Of course," Simmons said, "We understand that. Don't we, Fitz?" she prompted her best friend.

"Of course," Fitz echoed.

"It's clear to me that the two of you are close," the agent before them said, "Have you ever worked together before.



They spoke simultaneously, glancing at each other when their answers contrasted.

"Not officially," Simmons clarified, realising that her 'no' was possibly too quick; she and Fitz had worked together on numerous projects before. They'd just never had the permission, nor the materials, the implement them.

"We've played around with a few ideas," Fitz told her.

"And you didn't think to use SciTech, the company, that is, to put these into practice?" Weaver asked her eyebrows raised. FitzSimmons shared another look.

"We... tried once," Simmons said carefully.

"It didn't go too well," Fitz added.

"There may have been a..." she grimaced slightly, unsure of how to put it in a way that wouldn't get them sacked before they'd even been hired.

"A small incident," Fitz continued, "Involving flames. And a fire alarm." Weaver's eyebrows lifted even higher and FitzSimmons were both immediately aware that that had perhaps not been the way to put it.

"I hadn't received any reports of any fires within the SciTech building in the last year." Weaver said.

"Oh, you thought..." Fitz's face took on a look of realisation, "No, no, we didn't set the fire alarm off."

"No, we sort of... set it on," Simmons concluded, "On... on fire. We set the fire alarm on fire." Weaver fixed the two of them with an authoritative look.

"Like I said, we've been playing around with a few ideas." Fitz repeated. He glanced at Simmons to his right and they made a silent pact to just stop talking unless asked a question.

Weaver studied them both for another moment before opening two files in front of her, "Well, I can't deny that the two of you look to be very promising additions to the Academy," she noted, "Three PhDs apiece... how old are you?" she checked.

"Twenty," not for the first (and certainly not the last) time, FitzSimmons spoke together.

"I'm older," Fitz noted.

"Twenty three days, Fitz!"

"It's still twenty three days older than you!" they caught each other's eyes and stopped, turning back to Weaver with slight blushes on their faces.

Weaver shook her head in wonder, "Incredible," she murmured. "Originally, we were only looking to recruit you, Mr Fitz," she said, looking to the Scotsman, essentially ignoring their exchange, "But when you made acquaintances with Miss Simmons..." she turned to the woman next to him and shrugged, "Well, it would be a shame to let you go, I can say that much." She closed the files and interlocked her fingers as she rested her hands on the desk "So. Our proposition for you:

"A typical student spends around five years at this Academy," she explains, "Sometimes more, sometimes less. It really depends on whether or not a position opens up for you. It is our policy here at SciTech that you need at least one PhD to get in the door - just to give you an idea of what sort of students you'll meet here. Most students will continue on some kind of doctorate course until their third year, after which they will begin to specialise in something that S.H.I.E.L.D. will find particularly useful."

"Stuff like weapons manufacturing?" Fitz asked curiously. Weaver nodded.

"Amongst other things," she said, "There are several qualities within the science and technology departments that is considered useful by those higher up."

"You said 'most students'," Simmons said, her mind doing overtime to try and work out exactly what Weaver's 'proposition' was, "Implying that... we're not 'most'?" Weaver smiled.

"You'll learn quickly that I take pride in students who can use their initiative," she told her, "And that's exactly what I was implying. You were told that you were going to be doing experimental research?" the two nodded and she continued, "Well, that's exactly it. Over the last few years, S.H.I.E.L.D. has... been needed more often. Advances in technology and in intelligence have meant that people are finding more ingenious ways to cause trouble. We, therefore, need some ingenious ways to stop them."

"So weapons manufacturing?" Fitz said.

"In part," Weaver said, "Though I'm hoping you can think of something slightly more ingenious than weapons."

"Oh, he can," Simmons said with a slight roll of her eyes, "He's just trying to work out if you'll be playing to the stereotype that most employers look for in engineering students."

"The amount of times I've said I'm an engineer and people have either started talking about cars or weapons..." Fitz muttered.

"Trust me when I say that you will not come into contact with those stereotypes at SciTech, Mr Fitz," Weaver assured him, "Your research will be largely between the two of you and your supervising officer. He will decide what classes you go to and how much time you will dedicate to your research. Should you accept our offer to join us, that is." She looked at the two questioningly for a moment and it took them a second to realise that she actually wanted an answer.

"Well," Fitz shrugged, "We already packed up all our stuff."

"And I cancelled the lease on my apartment," Simmons added.

"And I posted my keys through my letterbox so I'm locked out forever," Fitz said, Simmons smirking slightly at his exaggeration.

"It'd be a tad ridiculous to say no," Simmons said, becoming more serious, "This is a once in a lifetime opportunity."

"That it is," Weaver confirmed, "So, can we make this official?"

"Wait," Fitz said, sitting forward slightly, "We'll be working together? Like... like partners?"

"We believe that the two of you will do best together," Weaver said, "So, yes, Mr Fitz, you will be partners, unless we see any reason to change the situation." Fitz looked to Simmons who shrugged.

"We really can't say no." She pointed out.

"No, I suppose we can't," Fitz agreed. They both looked to Agent Weaver.

"Okay." Simmons said.

"We'll work for you," Fitz agreed. Weaver simply smiled and passed them their contracts over her desk.

Two weeks later had Simmons sprinting through the Academy with five incredibly large scrolls of blueprints in her arms. She almost knocked over a grand total of eight people on her way from the chemistry labs to Fitz's dorm room.

When she finally got there, she managed to enter his key-code with her elbow, shoving the door open and running to his bed where she finally deposited the plans they'd been working on over the previous two weeks.

"Next time," she panted, pointing a finger at her friend, "You are getting the plans!" Fitz looked innocently at her, reclining in his computer chair and sipping from his tea.

"If you say so, Simmons," he said nonchalantly. Simmons glared at him slightly but didn't respond to his teasing.

She crossed the room to the little shelf he had in the corner where a kettle was plugged in, pots of tea bags and sugar next to it with milk in the mini-fridge underneath. She plucked her mug from the mug tree and set about making her own cup of tea.

"So," she said, setting the kettle to boil, "Did you work out how to make them work?" Fitz frowned.

"No," he said grumpily, "I didn't. It' driving me insane."

"Is it the coding again?" she asked sympathetically.

"Yes it's the bloody coding!" Fitz exploded. Simmons turned back to the kettle, rolling her eyes fondly; this was not the first time since they'd arrived at SciTech (and certainly not the first time since she'd known him) that Fitz had gone off on a rant about something or another. In his defence, she'd done it plenty of times as well, and her friend could be a very patient listener; it was the least she could do to offer him the same in return.

"I just can't figure it out!" Fitz protested, "I mean, I know I'm an engineer and that I should know this stuff, but I'm less interested in this specific coding and more interested in the computer programme we're going to need to make them work."

"Fitz, a computer programme is coding." Simmons pointed out, pouring the now boiled water into her cup and stirring it slightly before removing the tea bag.

"Yes," Fitz said, "I know that. But coding to make a computer programme do what I want it to do and look how I want it to look is far different from getting an actual thing to move how I want it to move." Simmons poured the milk into her tea until it was the colour of caramel, tipping in two spoonfuls of sugar because picking up her mug and crossing the room to look at the plans over Fitz's shoulder.

"Well, here's an idea," she offered, "Write the coding for the actual robots as you would if they were a computer programme," she pointed out a particular feature they had annotated, "Use that one first, that's easiest. Make a completely new programme that's main function is to process coding that's supposed to make things move. Like a computer game."

Fitz frowned, "Don't we already have one of those?" he asked.

"Not one specific to the DWARFS," Simmons pointed out. Fitz looked at her for a moment before cracking a smile.

"Well, we can try it." He said, opening his laptop and getting to work.

*. . .*

When the first DWARF made its unsteady first flight three weeks later, Simmons was so happy she could cry.

When Fitz's programme crashed halfway through and the small robot set itself on fire, he actually cried.

Their SO couldn't quite work out whether it was because he was upset that their first test run had ended the way it had, or because he was proud that their first test run had ended the way it had.

The resulting interactions between FitzSimmons (which went on for seven hours straight and involved a lot of language even he didn't understand) was enough to convince him that he was definitely not getting paid enough for his job, walking straight to Agent Weaver's office and demanding a pay rise.

A month later, his bank account was considerably less empty.

Somehow, within the first two months, FitzSimmons managed to gain themselves a group of friends.

Neither of them had actually set out to do this, but suddenly they had people to sit with at lunch, and a group surrounding them when they were studying in the library.

It was with these friends that they first discovered the Boiler Room and there hadn't been something that would have a worse effect on their studies since Netflix.

Everyone had expected Fitz to be a complete lightweight and a terrible drunk so, naturally they tried their very hardest to get him to consume as much alcohol as humanely possible (completely ignoring that fact that he was still a year shy of being the legal drinking age). As it turned out, Fitz's Scottish roots actually did him some good, and after three drinking contests and five rounds of shots, he was reigning victor over the entire group.

Simmons on the other hand was a completely different story.

The only alcohol she'd ever had was the occasional glass of champagne at a wedding and one sip of wine at a Mass she'd been forced to attend with her grandparents one Christmas. However, she was very open to trying anything and everything she could get her hands on and it wasn't long before her friends were thoroughly regretting ever dragging her away from her textbooks.

Before the night was out, Fitz had acted in his best friend's interests and made the rest of the group swear to never say a word regarding Simmons' drunk dancing, the fact that she cried when a complete stranger that she'd never met before lost a game of pool, or that she tried to take her shirt off. Eighteen times.

By the time he'd managed to pull her up the stairs and manoeuvre her to her dorm room without any superiors seeing her drunk, Fitz had lost all of the little upper body strength he possessed and could barely find the energy to walk himself back to his own room.

Nonetheless, he tucked Simmons up in bed, leaving a wastepaper basket lined with a plastic bag next to her bed for the inevitable consequences she'd be affected by the next morning, and left a glass of water and some painkillers on her bedside table.

Just before leaving he brushed some hair out of her face and she smiled, 'hmm'ing quietly.

"Night, Leo." She murmured. Fitz wasn't entirely sure whether she was asleep or not but he grinned anyway.

"Night, Jem."

Et voila! There was that, that was this. If you enjoyed this chapter, pretty pleases leave a review; they literally make my day and make me all smiley ^-^ Favourites and follows are awesome and anyone who's interacted with this story so far are my actual heroes. Thanks for reading! :)