Under These Lights {fitzsimmons marching band au}

Chapter One

Jemma was delighted to inform her parents of the prestigious honor bestowed upon her by the Shield Academy Marching Band directors at dinner the evening before band camp.  Mr. Coulson had emailed her during her clarinet lesson that she had been specially selected as drum major due to her quote "astonishing sense of rhythm and impressive display of character". She wasn't exactly sure about the character part, because half the band thought she was a stuck-up try-hard, which was half true, but she was glad they had considered it anyways.  She'd spent so much time and effort on perfecting music, and no way was she going to turn down such a nice addition to her college application.

"That's nice, dear," her mother said with a smile, not even looking up from her tablet.  There used to be a rule when Jemma was growing up: no work during dinner.  Now her parents often used the meal as extra office time, and she'd gotten into the habit of bringing homework to the table to finish it.  This kind of behavior just came with having two millionaire CEOs as parents.  It made sense to her, but that didn't mean she wasn't offended by their negligence every so often.

"We just want you to be happy, Jemma," her dad added, typing rapidly on his laptop.  Sometimes she believed that she could skip dinner entirely, and her parents would go on blankly talking to empty air.  Jemma knew her parents had all the funds in the world for her college, and that she could get into any Ivy League she wanted without having to do any work whatsoever in high school, but that would feel like she was cheating the system.  She loved following the rules, and she loved music, so she tried her hardest at band, and she got college scouts to notice.

However, because her parents did have so much money, it wouldn't be a crime to spend it.  She had roughly six lessons a week, twelve over the summer, and participated in everything from clinics to sleep-away camps to mock auditions.  And every place she went, she was the best.

Except for when at the academy, where she was always beat out of her spot by none other than beloved, first chair saxophone Leo Fitz.  When she arrived in the band room at 7:00 AM sharp, there was already a buzz going around the band room. At first Jemma thought they were excited for her conducting, but then he heard the little tenor's name thrown in the mix, followed by the words "class-voted drum major". And suddenly she was furious.

"He's going to be a fantastic leader," one commented.

"Should've been first, if you asked me," another added.

"That prick Jemma Simmons is gonna depress the hell out of me. I'd kill myself before listening to another lecture about reed care." She actually laughed out loud at that one. Reed care is the most fundamental part of a good tone.

Jemma stuffed her clarinet in her shared band locker, then turned to claim her score from Director Coulson, when she was frontally assaulted by none other than her 'cooler, better' counterpart Leo Fitz.

"Jemma, hi," he greeted rather warmly.

"Hi Fitz," she snapped back, trying to play the better person.

"I'm so excited to work with you this season. Band camp's going to be really fun with your help."

Jemma had to admit, at least to herself, that she didn't hate Fitz. He was popular for a reason, after all; band kids didn't just rise to infamy without them having some unique factor. Fitz was supremely nice. He apologized a lot, and he made the best of bad situations, and somehow his optimism always worked out. Of course people liked him. Of course Jemma liked him.

"I'm sure we'll have a wonderfully productive season." Fitz smiled genuinely in return. Oh yeah, and Fitz's smile could brainwash even the most stoic student into falling for him. But Jemma was convincing enough to make herself think she hated him.

After retrieving her score and a quick instruction on metronome usage, Jemma was relocated into Practice Room A for drum major rehearsal, which, of course, had to be with Fitz.

"Let's start this strong. Do you have a rough idea of the tempo changes and time signatures?"

"Yeah, I've already got them all."

"I don't," Fitz admitted with a heart-melting grin.

"That's why you're second, and I'm first," Jemma replied before she could stop herself. She didn't purposely try to be a snob all the time; it just came with constantly being told you're the best. She had to prove her superiority, in everything, even if it meant earning the reputation she now had.

"Okay," Fitz responded slowly. "Do you think you could be a little patient with me? I'd never choose to be a drum major on my own. I'm only here because of the popular vote."

"Why don't you just quit then?"

"If you want me to be entirely serious, it's because I'm a few qualifications short of a scholarship, which I'm actually in desperate need of," Fitz responded rather quickly, and Jemma thought it was the meanest she'd ever seen him.

"Let's start then," Jemma pushed on. She admitted the comeback was weak, but she wouldn't just let him render her speechless so easily.

She'd let him do that too often before. After honor band results had been posted, during solo tryouts, before jazz practice each morning. He was just so good, both technically and emotionally. Sure, she could play the scales perfectly and sight read like nobody's business, but Fitz was so different. He played with all of his essence, and anyone who heard him, even without much band experience, would pick up on how natural and genuine he could play. Like his tenor was just an extension of his spirit, and his heart beat in time with the rhythm.

Fitz picked up conducting faster than Jemma could've ever done, and it was both frustrating and unsurprising. He obviously breathed music, and the way he could flow with the beat was mesmerizing. And Jemma was livid about it. It just wasn't fair how immediately good he was, when she had to spend hours a day to be perfect. He was cheating the system somehow, she was sure of it.

Just as she was going to question him about it, the flute section leader, Katie, peeked her head into their practice room. "We're just finishing up fundamentals. Ready to start the show?"

"Give us one more run-through, thanks," Jemma answered before turning back to the metronome.

"Would you mind, Kate?" Fitz asked, voice smug and flirty. Now she understood why all of the clarinets had crushes on Fitz. His voice was a little too fake for Jemma, though.

Katie winked and nodded, then started to exit the room. "Thanks, babe," Fitz called as she shut the door.

"Really?" Jemma asked incredulously as soon as there was silent in the room again.

"What?" he laughed back.

"A flute? Is she honestly the best you can do?"

"What, you think there's better girlfriend material in other sections?"

"Yes," Jemma answered as though this was the most obvious fact in the world. "No offense, but flutes are the worst. All of them care so much about boys and clothes and Starbucks, and they get on my nerves all the time."

"I thought that was the color guard?"

"Never mind, the color guard is the worst."