“Whose bright idea was it to put you in the field.” It wasn’t a question. She rubbed at her face, trying to decide if it was worth the headache to keep prying, or just let go. She couldn’t — well, it’s not like he needed help, obviously, but something felt off and she couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe it wasn’t him. That was possible.
“You can’t be that shaky and be a genius engineer.”
He just about said whose bright idea, indeed, but he caught himself short. There was need-to-know, and then there was really need-to-know. If her clearance was high enough, she could probably piece things together, everybody else had, but he knew better than to get on Coulson’s bad side. Again. “Put me inside of a nuclear reactor and I would be calm as a clam. But outside of a lab, or a science-y building, I can’t be expected to know what I’m doing — I get told to examine things, I examine things. Bullets fly, I’m hiding under my work bench.”
Summer let a slight edge into her voice. Still calm. “You can’t be expected to know? No wonder you almost got killed. Your task may not be shooting back but everyone on a team needs to know the drill when the weapons come out. Who is it, you? Who doesn’t expect you to know. That’s a hell of a limitation to put on yourself.”
“And yet you’re still here,” she smiled, “so you obviously did something right.” She paused for a second, regarding him with narrowed eyes. “What I can’t figure out is what you want to do about it. Do you want to be able to defend yourself in that kind of situation, when it comes up again? Do you even want to be in circumstances where it could be an issue again?”
“Yeah,” he agreed flatly, “I kept my bleedin’ head down.” Fitz spoke as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m actually not cleared for field combat. Something about a shaky hand and slippery fingers. I’m good enough to build the guns, unable to properly fire them.” He had a small grin on his face, now. “If it comes up again, I’ve been instructed to run, hide, or die. I know my choice.”
“Whose bright idea was it to put you in the field.” It wasn’t a question. She rubbed at her face, trying to decide if it was worth the headache to keep prying, or just let go. She couldn’t — well, it’s not like he needed help, obviously, but something felt off and she couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe it wasn’t him. That was possible.
“You can’t be that shaky and be a genius engineer.”
“Ahh.” Now she understood better. Summer fished in her back pocket and showed Fitz the id with her clearance level on it. Level seven. “That help any?”
He breathed a small sigh of relief. “I was in Peru and these civilian militia types started firing at the ruin we were examining and somebody got shot because I was so slow and he kept saying KEEP YOUR HEAD DOWN and they kept firing and I’m almost positive I was going to die fifteen times that day.”
“And yet you’re still here,” she smiled, “so you obviously did something right.” She paused for a second, regarding him with narrowed eyes. “What I can’t figure out is what you want to do about it. Do you want to be able to defend yourself in that kind of situation, when it comes up again? Do you even want to be in circumstances where it could be an issue again?”
Mildly, Summer said, “Jenna Simmons is not an empath. She’s a biochemist. A very good biochemist, but still not an empath.” She shrugged, letting her hands fall to her sides. “It’s fine if you say no.” It wasn’t fine; Fitz was intriguing and she was curious, but pushing would get her nowhere.
He really should have those earplugs, though.
“I’m not saying no,” he whined, “but I don’t have the clearance to say yes.” Fitz hated this game. It’s always why he hated coming to the Helicarrier, even when they were dry docked — he knew people here, they asked questions, ones he couldn’t answer. Hell, most of the time they were forced to land Coulson in the middle of nowhere to keep his return secret. He couldn’t mention Skye, or the fact that Ward was off primary duty, or that they’d taken Melinda May from filings. “I’m quick learning on my feet. Now I know to duck for cover when the artillery strikes start.”
“Ahh.” Now she understood better. Summer fished in her back pocket and showed Fitz the id with her clearance level on it. Level seven. “That help any?”
“Then you’d rather go get those earplugs?” Summer cocked her head at him. “Stop trying to lie to me, just stop talking about it. Or if you /must/ talk about it now, I’ll go get a clearance from Agent Coulson. He’ll probably be relieved.” She chewed on her lip. “If you’re suddenly doing fieldwork, I expect someone should be monitoring you anyway. It might as well be me.”
He cleared his throat, lowering his voice and hiding his mouth behind his hand. “My lab is… technically… classified… now.” More than any other part of his job, Fitz hated the lying, the cryptic details, the inability to communicate things with people below his rank. He missed being level four. Level four was nice. It was average. “It’s technological assistance on field work. I—I go in with agents to do the sweeps. Collect samples. It’s… streamlined approach to productivity. They weren’t doing a good enough job. And when we get dropped in hot, well, there are guns. Lots of guns. Unexpected guns. It’s nothing. And, anyway, Simmons monitors me. Makes sure I’m all there. Ship-shape.”
Mildly, Summer said, “Jenna Simmons is not an empath. She’s a biochemist. A very good biochemist, but still not an empath.” She shrugged, letting her hands fall to her sides. “It’s fine if you say no.” It wasn’t fine; Fitz was intriguing and she was curious, but pushing would get her nowhere.
“Uh-huh.” Clearly, he wasn’t telling all the truth, but if it was level seven, it wasn’t worth pressing. If she needed to know, someone would tell her. “If it can happen once, it can happen again. Come on. Let’s at least get you some ear plugs to keep around. Or,” mildly, “maybe I could see your lab?”
“Oh, more than once. Well—technically, define once. One time, yes? It happened three times on the same time. If that’s—I—” He trailed off, clearing his throat rather brusquely. “Is there something you needed in my lab, it’s… it’s awfully boring.”
“Then you’d rather go get those earplugs?” Summer cocked her head at him. “Stop trying to lie to me, just stop talking about it. Or if you /must/ talk about it now, I’ll go get a clearance from Agent Coulson. He’ll probably be relieved.” She chewed on her lip. “If you’re suddenly doing fieldwork, I expect someone should be monitoring you anyway. It might as well be me.”
Her eyebrows rose at his quick and efficient rundown, and she folded her arms. “Also doesn’t explain why you don’t carry earplugs. Or how you came to be in a situation where they were going off next you. Do I get the truth now, since you’ve demonstrated your competency?”
Lying was easier. Much easier. “I—” he started, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. Ultimately, he knew he needed to stretch the truth. It was part of the protocol. “I was brought along on a field mission. I—they—they needed a team of scientists, studying the residual effects of… something. Classified. Level seven clearance. And… there was a firefight. Wasn’t supposed to be. That’s all.”
“Uh-huh.” Clearly, he wasn’t telling all the truth, but if it was level seven, it wasn’t worth pressing. If she needed to know, someone would tell her. “If it can happen once, it can happen again. Come on. Let’s at least get you some ear plugs to keep around. Or,” mildly, “maybe I could see your lab?”
“Fitz seems so … impersonal.” She shrugged. She didn’t bother to tell him that a truly skilled liar could tell nothing but the truth and still have you believing all the wrong things; she rather thought it might explode his brain. “Come on, we’re going to get you some ear plugs. And maybe a little time at the range. If people are going to be shooting guns next you, you should at least know which bit is the safety.”
He leaned back, taking what was literally a stray gun and holding it in his hands, flat against his palms. “That’s the safety catch. Standard issue SHIELD firearms also contain an internal safety trigger, a trigger lock for carrying, and a secondary manual-automatic switch hidden within the loading system itself.”
Setting his second hand on the gun, he disassembled it fully, placing each part on the table in turn. “I know how guns work. Doesn’t stop me from getting them shot near me.”
Her eyebrows rose at his quick and efficient rundown, and she folded her arms. “Also doesn’t explain why you don’t carry earplugs. Or how you came to be in a situation where they were going off next you. Do I get the truth now, since you’ve demonstrated your competency?”
Summer completely broke up, leaning against the wall and laughing herself breathless. “You are the /worst/ liar. Look, can I call you Leo?”
“Am not!” he protested, pursing his lips. “I can lie, at least. A worse liar would only tell the truth.” Glancing over, he ran his eyes over her face, trying to gauge her level of seriousness. “I guess? Most people don’t. My mum calls me Leo. Dad calls me Lee. Everyone else is Fitz, usually.”
“Fitz seems so … impersonal.” She shrugged. She didn’t bother to tell him that a truly skilled liar could tell nothing but the truth and still have you believing all the wrong things; she rather thought it might explode his brain. “Come on, we’re going to get you some ear plugs. And maybe a little time at the range. If people are going to be shooting guns next you, you should at least know which bit is the safety.”
“Leo Fitz, you are trying to have me on.” She shook a finger at him. “I know perfectly well you aren’t allowed on the ranges around here without earplugs. Come on, give. The truth.” The shaking finger curled into a ‘gimme’ gesture.
His eyes glazed over. “I’ve—I’ve got my own range. For personal testing. And since I can’t carry a gun, I get the field agents to do it and they… pin me down and hold me next to it and fire away?”
Summer completely broke up, leaning against the wall and laughing herself breathless. “You are the /worst/ liar. Look, can I call you Leo?”