part 7
When he was really little, he never used to wait up for midnight on his birthday, at least not that he remembers, but since his pyrokinesis showed up, it’s become something of a habit. He’s not sure what he’s expecting to happen, since nothing ever has after his seventh birthday, but Fitz still does it, glancing over at the clock every few minutes until it reads midnight. He sighs, and then jumps slightly when Jemma nudges at his jaw with her nose.
“Gods, Jemma, I thought you were asleep.”
“I knew you’d stay up. Plus, I wanted to be the first person to wish you happy birthday.”
“You thought someone was going to beat you to it in the morning?” he asks, laughing softly, and she pokes him in the side in retaliation.
“Happy birthday, Fitz.”
“Thanks, Jem.”
————
May gives them the day off, and it’s one of the best birthday presents he’s ever received. Skye insists on dragging him and Jemma down to the beach to celebrate.
“Stop complaining. If Trip were here he’d be dragging you over to the rock wall, and it is a freaking miracle that May isn’t making you spend seven hours in the arena. This is both figuratively a trip to the beach compared to that and also a literal trip to the beach.”
“I think I’ll complain about whatever I please on my birthday,” Fitz says back, and Jemma smiles.
“As opposed to all the other days of the year, when you never complain about anything,” she says, and Fitz sticks his tongue out at her.
“Like you’re oh-so-excited to be heading to the beach.”
“I’m excited to be spending time with my friends.”
Fitz grumbles a little more, but it’s actually not that bad. They sit at the edge of where the grass gives away to the beach, and it’s not like he’s really bothered by the August sun; even if the camp borders weren’t regulating the weather, it takes a lot more than a little sunshine for him to overheat. He’s drifting off, listening to Jemma and Skye talk about something he’s not really paying attention to, when he registers May calling his name and twists to look at her without getting up.
“You’ve got a letter.” His heart starts to race. “From your mother.” He sits up, and Jemma does the same next to him. Fitz glances over, and she nods at him emphatically, like she’s telling him to hurry, and he nods back once before scrambling to his feet.
He forces himself to jog over to May, rather than sprint like he wants, but once he’s got the actual envelope in his hands, he’s frozen, staring down at it.
“Go,” May says, and he looks up, “Jemma and I will make sure nobody bothers you for a while.”
Fitz jogs towards the Hephaestus cabin; it’s not the best place to hide, but he doesn’t need to hide so much as he just needs a place to be alone. He sits on his bed for a long time, back pressed against the wall, staring down at the letter before he manages to get his hands to cooperate long enough to pull it open.
I miss you, Leopold.
He manages that first line, and then the shaking in his hands gets so bad he can’t continue reading until he forces himself to take a couple deep breaths.
I miss you, but I’m glad to know you’re safe, and that you’re happy. You are happy, yes? You sounded happy in your letter, at camp, with Jemma and your other friends. I’ll have to meet this Jemma some day. The way you talk about her makes her sound like a rather remarkable young woman. And the rest of your friends, of course.
I did know who your father was, what he was, before you were born. Chiron may have explained to you that there are some mortals who can see through the Mist, which is how I caught your father’s eye in the first place. I’ve never been very handy, not like you. That you got from him.
I always tried to hide the fact that I could see the monsters from you, because I didn’t want you to worry, but I knew you always suspected I knew more than I was telling you. Maybe I should have told you about your father when your powers surfaced, but… Hephaestus had made it clear that once you knew what you were, who he was, the monster attacks would increase and I’d have very little choice except to send you to camp.
I was selfish, I suppose, Leopold, and I’m sorry. I knew I was going to lose you someday, and I wanted to put that off for as long as possible. I’m glad that you’ve finally gotten the answers you needed.
There are places where the ink is smeared in small circles, and Fitz has to rub at his own eyes when he realizes they’re tear marks.
I love you, and I miss you, and I hope for the best for you until I can see you again. Be safe, and write me again, Leopold.
Love,
Mum
P.S. I don’t know when this letter will reach you exactly, but I think it will be sometime around your birthday. Happy fifteenth, Leopold. I love you.
“Good letter crying or bad letter crying?” asks Skye from the doorway, and Fitz looks up to see her leaning against the doorway. He realizes that he’s been sitting on his bed, staring at the letter and re-reading, for a long time; Skye crosses the cabin to sit next to him, leaning back and glancing over at the letter in his lap.
“From your mom?”
Fitz nods, “I wrote her a little while ago, right after everybody went home.”
“What’s she say?”
“Basic stuff, I guess. That she loves me, and that she misses me. She’s glad I’m safe, and happy. That you guys make me happy. She wants to meet you all someday.”
“From everything you’ve said about her, she sounds pretty cool. I’d like to meet her too.”
“Good. Maybe after, um, I mean, maybe when we’re older, have more training, we can go. Meet Jemma’s parents too.”
“Yeah,” says Skye, then she’s quiet for a long time before she speaks again. “Fitz?”
“Hmm?”
“You’re going to tell us eventually, right? Whatever’s going on with you and Jemma and special training sessions with May and secret meetings with Chiron in the Big House?”
“How do you-?”
“Because I’m not stupid. I’m not super freaky genius smart like you or Jemma, but I’m not stupid, and neither is Trip. We know something is up.”
“Skye, we weren’t trying to-”
“No, listen, I know you’ve been told to keep whatever it is a secret for whatever reason, and I’m not saying it’s fine or whatever, but I trust you two. You’ll tell us eventually though, what’s going on? When you need our help?”
Fitz nods, “It’s not that we want to- It’s not that we don’t- we just can’t. We just can’t tell you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Secrets and plots and heroes, I get it. Just, you know we’re on your side, right? Trip and I, and Ward,” she says, then looks like she’s considering something. “You like Ward, yeah?”
He’s surprised by the question. “Why?”
Skye shrugs, “He was worried, the other day, that you didn’t like him.”
Fitz gives a shrug of his own, “I like him just fine,” he says, hesitating for a second when he remembers where you belong, but Ward had seemed genuinely apologetic about that. “I just don’t know him very well. He’s sort of quiet.”
“Tell me about it,” says Skye, rolling her eyes.
“Plus, you like him, right, and that’s what really matters.” Skye nods, blushing a little. Fitz is about to tease her some more when someone knocks on the doorframe and they both turn to see Coulson standing in the doorway.
“Trip’s back, and he’s got pizza.”
“Real pizza?”
“A small mountain of cheesy, greasy goodness, to use his words,” Coulson says with a smile. “He needs help carrying it.”
————–
It is a small mountain, even after Trip empties a couple boxes into the fire as a sacrifice to the gods, and it takes four of them to carry it down to the beach, where Skye insists they eat.
“You cut into my beach time earlier,” she says by way of explanation, and Fitz shakes his head in disbelief.
“You live at a camp with a private beach and almost permanently nice weather. That means pretty much unlimited beach time.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. It’s summer, there’s like twelve people in camp, and we’ve got a ginormous pile of pizza. We’re eating on the beach.” Fitz knows this isn’t an argument that he’s going to win, and they’ve already carried all the pizza down there; it seems a shame to carry them anywhere else instead of just sitting down to eat them.
The rest of the campers drift down to grab pizza, spreading out across the little section of beach close to the boxes. Most of them are too busy eating the first non-camp food they’ve gotten in months to talk much, but Trip entertains them with stories from his brief stay at home. Garrett and Ward are the last to arrive; Ward accepts a plate from Skye with a smile, and Garrett wanders over to the boxes near Fitz.
“Hey, happy birthday, kid,” he says after a few seconds, glancing up from his browsing.
Fitz looks at him strangely, “How did you know it was my birthday?”
For a moment, something that looks strangely like panic crosses Garrett’s face, before it’s replaced by his usual easy smile.
“It’s a small camp, you know, and it got even smaller once summer was over. Somebody probably mentioned it. In fact, Ward probably told me. Ward!” he calls, and his brother looks up from where he’s talking to Skye, “Did you mention something about it being Fitz’s birthday today? I can’t remember who I heard it from.”
“Uh, yeah. Skye mentioned something, and I probably repeated it.”
“Happy birthday, Fitz,” says Raina, from where she’s sitting on the other side of Skye, “Your fifteenth?”
“Yeah. Thanks,” he replies, then turns to Garrett, who is loading up his plate, “Uh, thanks.”
“No problem, kid. We got anything to drink?” he asks, turning to Trip.
“Oh, yeah,” Trip says, retrieving one of the goblets they’d brought down from the dining pavillion, “Sorry. And that reminds me, Fitz, I got you a present.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a huge box. “For Jemma too, I suppose, though I’m planning on getting her one for her birthday in a few weeks too. Don’t drink it all in one night.”
Fitz tugs the box towards him, and gasps when it’s close enough for him to figure out what it is.
“Tea. It’s tea, Jemma.”
“Real tea?” she says, and Coulson laughs from where he’s sitting behind them.
“The kitchen harpies are going to be mad if we keep insinuating that the stuff they make isn’t real.”
“The stuff in the goblets is fine, but it’s just not the same,” Jemma replies before turning to Fitz, “How quickly can you build a working kettle?”
“A couple hours, at most. If I do it tonight, we could have real tea in the morning.”
Trip laughs, “I didn’t know what kind you guys liked, so I just got as many different kinds as I could. Biggest box they had, too. And, for those of us not inclined to drinking hot beverages in the middle of August,” he says, and pulls a couple twelve packs of Coke out of his bag.
“Antoine Triplett, you are a true hero,” Skye says, reaching over to snag one of the boxes, “I’m putting in a recommendation to hang you among the stars.”
“How did you possibly fit all that in your bag?” Jemma asks, tilting her head to consider the black gym bag in front of Trip. He shrugs with a grin.
“Might have borrowed one of the bottomless bags from Hermes on my way out of camp.”
“So that’s where that went,” Coulson says, and Trip’s grin grew.
“I figured, since I was bringing back presents…” he trails off, holding out a can to Coulson, who rolls his eyes but takes it. The older camper pops the tab and takes a long drink ending in a sigh.
“Gods, that’s good. You’re forgiven.“ Trip laughs and offers a can to May, who takes it with a smile.
People start to drift back to the cabins, calling out thanks to Trip for the food. Fitz leans back with a groan, and Trip laughs.
“Eat too much pizza, gearhead?” he asks, and Fitz sticks his tongue out, not bothering to turn his head.
“Shut up, sunshine,” he replies, to more laughter.
“You should be nice to me, I bought you tea. I’ll put it in the sound where it belongs.”
“Wrong body of water,” Jemma says from where she’s curled up against Fitz’s side.
“I think the Sons of Liberty would appreciate the sentiment,” Coulson says from behind them, laughing. Fitz forces himself to sit up, looking down at Jemma.
“Speaking of tea, I should go get to work on that kettle if you want tea in the morning.”
“I do.”
“You want to come with?”
“I think I’m going to stay and watch the sunset, unless you need me.”
“No, I think I’ll be able to handle it,” he says, grabbing the box of tea to haul it up to his cabin, “Thanks for the present, and the pizza, Trip.”
“Happy birthday, man.”
Fitz thinks about heading up to the forge to work, but most of what he needed to do, he could do with his hands and his own heat and fire. He works silently until he hears the cabin door open, looks up to see Jemma in her pajamas. Rubbing at his eyes, he realizes just how long he’s been working.
“I’ve just got to finish the wiring, then I’m done,” he says as Jemma curls up on his bed, and she nods. Twisting the last few bits together, Fitz flips the improvised switch and smiles as the kettle warms underneath his hands.
“Tea in the morning,” he says, ducking into one of the small backrooms after scooping his pajamas off the floor, “Unless it, uh, explodes.”
“Are the chances of that high?” Jemma asks as he emerges, tugging his shirt over his head.
“Not really. I’m pretty good at this, you know.”
“Yes, I do. Did you have a good birthday?”
“Yeah, it was great, Jem.”
“I didn’t get you a present.”
“That’s alright.”
“I didn’t get you one last year either.”
“We were living pretty cheaply at this point last year. Plus, you let me walk around picking through the trash, instead of making me go to the library. Not that I always disliked going to the library. But that was nice.”
“Next year, I’m getting you a real present.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Nope. I’m making you a promise. This time next year, you are going to have a real, honest to gods present from me.”
“Looking forward to it,” Fitz says, laughing a little at her insistence.
They’re quiet for a while before Jemma asks, “The letter from your mum was good?”
“Yeah. It was,” he swallows hard, “It was good. To hear from her. She wants me to write again. Wants to meet you.”
“I’d like to meet her, too. She sounds wonderful.”
“She is,” he sighs, “Skye knows that something’s up. Trip, too, or at least that’s what it sounded like. I told it wasn’t because we wanted to hide anything from her, it was just that we-”
“Yeah. She was upset?”
“Not really. She just wanted to make sure we’re going to tell her if, well, if something happens, and we need her.”
“She’s a good friend.”
“Yeah.”
“You had a good birthday?” she asks, and he sighs again.
“I swear, Jemma, it was great.”
“Okay, okay. I’m going to sleep now.”
“Night, Jem.”
“Happy birthday, Fitz.”
——————
Fitz looks up from his work when he realizes that he’s not imagining the presence at the entrance to the forge. Ward’s standing there, holding his spear and looking nervous, which is kind of disconcerting in a person of his size.
“Did you need something, Ward?” Fitz asks, considering calling him by his first name but deciding against it. He’s never heard anyone call him anything but his last name, not even Garrett or his other siblings.
“Not if, uh, I mean, you look like you’re working on something,” he says, shifting his spear from hand to hand. When he does, Fitz can see that there’s a problem near the top of the shaft, and he reaches to pull a rag over his project, blushing slightly.
“No. It’s not- It’s not anything that needs to be finished now. I’ve got a couple days to finish it.”
“Something for Jemma’s birthday?” Ward asks, and Fitz looks up in surprise.
“Yeah. How’d you know when her birthday is?”
Ward shrugs, “Skye must have said something. Anyway, you mind looking at this?” he asks, holding out the spear. It’s bent sharply, almost twisted, at the top of the shaft, just below the pointed tip. “I can do most of the minor repairs, but this is a bit beyond me. And I figured, with you being Hephaestus’s favored son and all, you were probably the one to ask.”
Fitz blushes again at the description, taking the spear, “Yeah, I think- What did you even do to put it in this state?”
“Garrett can get a little intense sometimes, when we’re training. It’s not the first time he’s done some damage to it.” Fitz can hardly believe that one sixteen year old guy with a spear could do this much damage to something that is pure celestial bronze, and a gift from a god at that, but he’s seen for himself just how hard Garrett and Ward work in their training session. He turns on some of the equipment he’ll need; he could probably get the bronze hot enough to bend without it, but there’s no way he’s strong enough to do the actual bending himself.
Ward studies him as he works, and Fitz realizes he’s staring at his necklace, which has slipped out of his collar. He remembers him saying something about it to Mr. D, when he had gotten to camp with Jemma, Skye and Mike, and tucks it back into his shirt, partially to hide it and partially because he doesn’t want it catching on anything as he works.
“Where did you guys get those anyway?” Ward asks, as Fitz starts to work on straightening out the spear.
“From a hellhound. I thought you recognized it.”
“Well, yeah, but hellhounds aren’t all that common in the mortal world, and they’re not at all easy to kill. You and Jemma killed one?”
Fitz nods, “It was the first monster we killed together.”
“How long were you two out there together before you got to camp?”
“About a year.”
“You killed a hellhound when you were thirteen? Was it a small one?”
“It was the size of a car. Do they get bigger than that?”
Ward stares for a long time before shaking his head with a smile, “And the necklaces were spoils of war?” he asks, and Fitz nods, concentrating on his work. They make small talk when Fitz isn’t making too much noise to be heard, and he finishes in a half hour. Ward takes his weapon back with a smile and claps Fitz on the back.
“Knew I could count on you. Thanks.”
“Any time,” Fitz says, shrugging but returning the other boy’s smile.
Ward nods good-bye, but stops in the entrance to the forge, calling Fitz’s name to get his attention.
“I really am sorry about what I said that morning. About the forge being where you belong. I wasn’t trying to be mean, I was just- you’re obviously at home here, but you do alright for yourself out in the real world too. You wouldn’t have that necklace if you didn’t.”
“Thanks,” Fitz mumbles, rubbing at the back of his neck, and Ward nods again and then disappears, probably going to look for either Garrett or Skye. Fitz stares at the place he was standing for a few seconds, then turns back to working on Jemma’s present.
————
Trip comes back for Jemma’s birthday after spending another little stretch of time at his mom’s, and brings another huge box of tea back for her as promised. May gets her a couple new books that she’d picked up in New York last time she went to the city, and Jemma’s delight over both presents makes Fitz nervous about giving her his. He finally works up the courage at the very end of the day, telling himself it’s just because he hadn’t wanted to give it to her in front of people.
She looks up from where she’s sitting on his bed leafing through one of her new books when he says her name, and her eyes immediately fall to the little box he’s holding out to her. He waits next to her silently as she unwraps it, staring at his hands until he hears her gasp.
“Oh, Fitz, it’s beautiful,” she says, pulling the little owl pendant out of the box.
He smiles, “You like it?”
“Of course I do. You made this?”
Fitz nods, “Yeah. I figured you could wear it on your necklace, and you might like something that had to do with your mum, and, um, I designed the latch so you can put it on your necklace but it shouldn’t ever come off unless you take it off, and I know it’s probably not as good as your other presents-”
He’s only able to recognize he’s rambling when Jemma stretches up to press a kiss against his cheek.
“It’s amazing, Fitz, really. My favorite present,” she pauses for a second, considering him, before pressing another kiss to his cheek, “You’re my favorite.”
Fitz blushes, “You’re my favorite, too.”
Jemma beams, then studies the little pendant as she hooks it onto her necklace next to the hellhound tooth, “Are those real diamonds?” she asks, running one finger over the gems Fitz had used for the eyes.
“You can find pretty much anything if you dig through the junk drawers in here long enough,” he replies, and Jemma laughs, leaning her head against his shoulder, “You ready for bed?”
“I’m going to stay up and read, if that’s alright. I can go back to my cabin, if you want to go to sleep though.”
“No, I can stay up. I want to fiddle with the kettle anyway.”
“No explosions.”
“No explosions.”
Fitz retrieves the kettle as Jemma opens her book, reworking some of the wiring while she reads. He only looks up from his project when he feels her head drop down against his shoulder, and he realizes she’s drifted off. It takes a little maneuvering to get both the kettle and her book down onto the floor and then arrange the two of them comfortably, but eventually Jemma is curled up next to him and Fitz concentrates on dimming the fire at the end of the cabin that is providing most of the light.
“Happy birthday, Jem,” he whispers, before settling himself more comfortably next to her and closing his eyes.