Under These Lights {fitzsimmons marching band au}

Chapter Six

By the time their first clinic had rolled around, Jemma had successfully blocked Fitz out of her life.

"That's such BS, Jemma, you've been having dinner with him every Tuesday for weeks now," Bobbi interrupted, shoving a piece of bacon into her mouth.  Each section had their own breakfast before competitions, and drum line always had the best options, so Jemma joined Bobbi at her house after stopping by Katie's for her famous flute-shaped pancakes.

"Our dinners mean nothing," Jemma muttered, managing not to sound that disappointed.  "We just go over the show a few times, and take turns picking up the tab.  He's a bit of a jerk about it, actually, always ordering this fourteen-dollar burger when I'm paying."

Bobbi laughed through her bacon mouth, and Jemma took a polite sip of tea whilst grinning.  "Lance was such a pig during our dates, too.  God, he's such an idiot."  Since the second to last day of band camp when Hunter had filled a bass drum full of peanut butter as a half-drunk, lame prank, LanceBob was over.  The Twitter account mourned the loss accordingly, but at this point, the entire class knew that their breaks only lasted a month, max. Then again, this time Bobbi seemed unlikely to budge.

Jemma allowed her friend to rant about her underachieving boyfriend as long as she could take it, before she just had to interrupt. "Hey, I get that Lance is an idiotic quack or whatever, but shouldn't we get to the school for bus loading?"

"Oh yeah, I guess so," Bobbi replied, then began stealing half-eaten plates from snares and bass drums alike, stacking them in the sink. "My mom's not going to love the mess, but you know how moms are." Jemma nodded and laughed, though she didn't really know what a normal mother worried about. Jemma's mom always hired maids for dishwashing.

When they got to the school, Bobbi had to sit on the bus with drum line and color guard, while Jemma had to share a bus with the directors, Fitz, and, unfortunately, half the trumpet section. She cringed as she took her seat at the very front, hoping to put enough distance between herself and the closest brass player trying to buzz the Pokemon theme on his or her mouthpiece. She plugged earbuds in as an extra measure, then pulled out the book she had brought along.

"It is a truth universally acknowledged that a girl in possession of a Jane Austen novel must be in want of an unrealistic Mr. Darcy?" asked Fitz as he took a seat next to her.  Jemma was hyperaware of the way the seat dipped next to her, shifting her closer to him.  She pulled her right earbud out so that she could hear him well enough.

"Yes, yes, I have succumbed to my Pride and Prejudice phase.  It's been a long time coming, you know."  Fitz grinned, and Jemma felt her stomach swoop.

"I had an Austen phase, too, aioli," he admitted, not a touch embarrassed.

"Somehow that's not surprising to me."

"Well I've always been the hopeless romantic type," explained Fitz before pulling out his own novel. The Notebook. "What I don't understand is why you'd be into something so base, Jemma. Is it for an AP Lit class?" he asked, beaming.

"Ha, ha. No. It's actually for a music study I'm doing about the role of piano during this time period." She paused. "I really love the plot, too."

"Of course you would. It's about socially awkward guys and sarcastic gals. You fit both of those traits." She rolled her eyes. "I, however find myself to be extremely pleasing to converse with, having acquired an extensive variety of innuendo and weak sarcasm over the years."

"You're so proud."

"You know who else was proud?" Fitz asked, face lit up in an almost excessively wicked grin.

"Please don't."

"Mr. Darcy."

She threw the paperback at him.

~~<•>~~

When they reached the high school, Jemma was thirty pages in, her head leaning against Fitz's shoulder to prevent further brain damage from the bus window's buzzing.  Fitz had been reading over her shoulder the last ten pages, and Jemma had pretended not to notice, subtly waiting for the signal of Fitz clearing his throat, before turning the page.

Director Coulson made a quick announcement to their bus about the schedule for the morning and dressing instructions, then Jemma left Fitz to help the color guard touch up makeup, a subject she knew very little about.  Fitz did a few extra runs with the drum line, though it wasn't necessary with Bobbi in charge.  After the band had gotten dressed, Coulson began warm ups while Fitz and Jemma put on their own uniforms.

First was the black overall pants, which fit nobody entirely well.  There was either too little or too much crotch room; lots of stretch in the knees or stiff stick legs.  It just so happened that Jemma got the stiff stick leg pants, but she didn't have to do much moving anyways.  Then came the issue of tying her shoes without ripping her pants open entirely, but she managed to bend over well enough that the only suffering came to her upper thighs.

"Jemma," Fitz asked, eyes wide in hope, when she stood up.  His green and white shirt was flopping around at his sides.  "Will you be my hooker?"

Jemma mock teared up, then dabbed at her eyes with her own shirt.  "Leopald Fitz, I would be honored."  Fitz turned and present the back of his open shirt to Jemma, who laughed as she connected the hooks along the seam, sealing Fitz into his compressed-torso prison.

After warm-ups the band walked in three lines to the gate of the stadium, where they waited in silence for their turn. Hydra Academy's band played in front of them, marching expertly in complex formations probably choreographed by expert music professors.  There was a giant feud between Shield and Hydra after a dramatic split and betrayal Jemma's freshman year at school.  Jemma didn't really involve herself in the rivalry, as it was a distraction to her clarinet perfection.  She looked over to Fitz to comment on their toe height, but was stopped by his stern face, staring right back at her.

And that's when she realized it.

Hydra was playing their show.