An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Belated birthday gift for: @jemmasimmonsy
He's never seen a woman like this in Radcliffe Square, caked in dirt and staring at him with a wildness in her eyes. He wonders if she's some kind of madwoman, if he should call for help. He's never felt the need for security here at the square.
"Fitz," she calls out, her voice hoarse, "they're trying to keep me from you. I need to get you out of here."
He takes another step back and waves his tea and scone out defensively.
Every day, Fitz's driver drops him off at the entrance to Radcliffe Square at precisely 7:34 AM, which gives him enough time to buy a paper, grab a scone, and take in the lovely weather before going into work. Today, he steps out of the limo and takes a minute to breathe in the fresh air.
He doesn't have to turn to know that it's Victoria, but he turns and nods to her like the gentleman he was raised to be.
"Every day is lovely here," he agrees.
Victoria is the type who likes to go into the office and get a head start, but Fitz prefers to take his time. After all, it's something of a relief to be here among people who know and respect him, unlike the throngs of people who yell his father's name behind barricades near the Stark Tower doors. Even Lincoln, who has Fitz's face on the front page of his paper, offers Fitz a warm smile and a handshake as he passes. Fitz has a chance to read the headline when Lincoln goes back to reading:
RADCLIFFE AND RADCLIFFE: THE FATHER-SON PARTNERSHIP THAT'S PUTTING WAR OUT OF BUSINESS