AN ~ I can’t remember who asked me for more of this one, but hey, I was in the mood for fluff & I think the FS fandom could use some right now. Tagging @delicatelyglitteryperson and @agentcalliope but this is for anyone who’s interested!
sequel(ish) to this. Coffee Shop AU. Fitz & Daisy, Jemma & Hunter, FitzSimmons. Read on AO3.
Fitz had big dreams, Daisy had to give him that, but between his hardware and her software knowledge, she wasn’t sure they were as far out of reach as others would have them believe. They weren’t home free – far from it – but they had an amiable and easygoing partnership going; a back-and-forward that Daisy hadn’t felt with many people in her life. She had always been the orphan, the stray; somehow always isolated from her peers, but here she felt respected. They were all misfits, of sorts, which probably helped, but Daisy didn’t mind that. She had a home here. And a job. And really good pie.
And with one project going so well, she was starting to think that perhaps it was time to turn her attention to another.
Jemma had just taken their order and Fitz watched her back to the counter, and stared after her as if he didn’t realise he was doing it, until Daisy nudged his foot with hers under the table.
“Why don’t you ever talk to her?” she asked.
“I talk to her. I just asked her how her mother was, didn’t you hear?”
“I mean, why don’t you talk to her about real things? You don’t have to go straight up to her and tell her you like her –“
Fitz’s ears turned red at the thought, and Daisy grinned.
“- I mean tell her about your work or your favourite TV show or whatever British nerds talk about these days. Tell her something about yourself. Something she can judge you for.”
“I don’t think I’d put it that way,” Fitz retorted, although he was currently more preoccupied with figuring out how to act as casual as possible as Jemma returned to their table.
“It’s true, though,” Daisy continued. “You’ve got to take some risks. Argue about pineapple on pizza, I don’t care, but if I have to hear her recite the tea menu one more time I’m going to shove it up your- Hi!”
Beaming, she cut herself off and turned to Jemma to accept their incoming drinks.
“My good friend Fitz and I were just having a debate about…Doctor Who,” she suggested. Jemma’s eyebrows raised in recognition.
“Doctor Who? Really? I love Doctor Who!”
She glanced at Fitz, whose hands clenched his cup with excitement and nerves as he could feel Daisy staring him down, almost as powerfully as he could see the golden shine in Jemma’s eyes far too majestically from this angle. Swallowing hard, he dug up the words –
“Yeah, so who’s your favourite?”
“I rather like One, to be honest,” Jemma confessed. “Although, out of the new lot, Ten, definitely.”
“Oh, yeah, he’s great. I’m a fan of Eleven, too, myself.”
“I’d have thought you’d be a fan of Twelve.”
“Hm?” Fitz blinked. He hadn’t been expecting the conversation to get this far. “Oh, because – because he’s Scottish! Good one. Yeah. Yeah, no, he’s a good one too.”
Jemma stood, Fitz sat, and they stared at each other for a few seconds before Jemma turned away and – if Fitz was not mistaken, by the sound of her shoes – hurried back to the counter.
“He’s not my favourite,” Fitz continued quietly. “But Capaldi’s a good bloke. He deserves it, I think.”
“I definitely do not have enough of a clue what you are talking about.” Daisy held out her hands in surrender. “But hey, that wasn’t a complete disaster. You said words to each other, about things, it was good.”
Fitz sighed and slumped back in his chair, playing with a sugar packet between his fingers.
“Because he’s from Scotland?” Jemma muttered under her breath. “Oh, good one Jemma, great one, you were having a perfectly nice conversation and you let it fall flat over an accent joke. Brilliant. Fantastic.”
“Molto bene,” Hunter interrupted, prodding Jemma from her hyperfocused cleaning mission with a grin. Jemma glared up at him.
“What?” He held out his hands innocently. “We did have free time in the army, you know. A man can have interests.”
Jemma harrumphed, reluctantly conceding. She returned to cleaning, but more slowly and with less focus this time.
“Has something caught…your interest, perhaps?” Hunter wondered, glancing between her and where Fitz sat across the room. “A certain other Doctor Who fan I know? With the brains to possibly one day build an actual Tardis?”
“No,” Jemma assured him. “Nooo.” But her brain was already working, wondering, trying to recall if she knew – where had Fitz studied? What had he got?
“Does he even know you’re a supergenius?” Hunter wondered. “You two should be taking over the world by now.”
“It hasn’t come up,” Jemma protested.
“Hasn’t come up?! Blimey. You two are even more hopeless than I’d thought.”
Jemma scoffed. She put her hands on her hips, sizing up to him and almost succeeding, despite her stature.
“And when, Mr Hunter, might you have had occasion to imagine the two of us being anything other than hopeless, hm? One might suspect that you have fingers in some pies you shouldn’t have, if you’ll pardon the pun.”
“No fingers,” Hunter insisted. “Just eyes.”
“What has he told you? What do you know?”
“Oh, come on, supergenius. It’s obvious, isn’t it? He likes you!”
“Likes me?” Jemma found herself surprisingly taken aback. Quieter, she repeated, “You think he likes me?” And it was her ears, this time, that were running through the shades of a rose garden. “But he didn’t even laugh at my joke!”
“That was probably because it was a bad joke.” Hunter winced exaggeratedly and Jemma baulked.
“I guess it could have been because his mind is so blown by your presence that he couldn’t concentrate on what was, I’m sure, exceedingly hilarious and witty.”
“That’s better.” Jemma stuck her chin in the air, leaning into the opportunity he was giving her to recover her dignity, but the blush didn’t quite leave her cheeks.
