#(I just needed to write the smush - and also it could've been so much more tooth rotting but I tried to control myself)

[agentverbivore]

Channukah prompts: I would love to see homesick FitzSimmons bonding over Channukah at the Academy (preferably platonic at this stage in their relationship), or a really competitive dreidel game!

thank you for sending this! inspired by @buckysbears’ Chanukah headcanons/prompts.this is the second of my Chanukah ficlet trio. (the 3rd won’t come out for another few days, since I haven’t started writing it yet.) Happy Festival of Lights!Rated G. Canon-compliant Academy era FitzSimmons, followed by a scene in the future. CW for mentions of Fitz’s father. AO3.

Although Jemma knew that Fitz didn’t like heavily populated social gatherings at the best of times, it continued to flummox her as to exactly why. Furthermore, he was even grumpier about them around Jewish holidays so far as she could tell, even though he professed to enjoy their traditions. How he could like the traditions but not the celebration confused her even further.

It was the end of their third semester at the Academy, and she was mulling this contradiction in her best friend over during their second Chanukah celebration at the Jewish Student Union. Watching him scowl as one of the party’s organizers handed him a yarmulke had renewed her curiosity about the matter. For her part, Jemma was in high spirits – they had another two weeks before the Academy closed for winter break (dictated as it was by the Christian holidays), which meant that she could enjoy tonight’s festivities without feeling guilty about wasting time that should otherwise be spent studying.

Once Fitz had the yarmulke settled on his head, she nudged him about his grumpiness and he gave her a weak smile. As the evening went on, they were both distracted by food and games and the other customary activities associated with Chanukah parties worldwide. But when they went to put on their coats before leaving, Jemma noticed Fitz drop his yarmulke into the provided basket as if the small piece of cloth had burned him. Letting out a low huff as she followed him out through the door, she decided that she was going to settle once and for all why Fitz became a Yehudi Grinch at every JSU event.

“Fitz,” she said determinedly, hopping up alongside him on the path through the quad. With the winter chill in the air, most students were inside at this time of night, providing them a more-or-less private walk in the direction of the freshman dorms. “Why don’t you like going to JSU?”

He gave her a funny look, digging his hands deeper into his coat pockets. “What? I like JSU.”

“No, you don’t,” she retorted.  

“I wouldn’t go if I didn’t like it,” he argued, elbowing her in lieu of waving his hands in indignation. “I mean, their Chanukah party last year’s one of the first things we hung out at, other than chem lab. Went on my own.”

“Then why do you act like that every time we go to one?”

“Act like what?” Jemma scrunched her face into an exaggerated but apt impression of Fitz’s frown, and he made a noise of disgust. “I don’t look like that!”

“You do, every time we walk through the door!” A flash of understanding passed over his face, and he turned so that he was facing forward on the path as they walked. “What?”

“No, nothing,” he said too quickly, and she let out a frustrated groan.

“Fitz, come on,” she tried again, tugging hesitantly at the edge of his coat sleeve. “What is it?”

He let out a low huff, a cloud of air billowing out of his mouth in the night’s chill, and for a few seconds, Jemma thought he was just going to flat-out ignore her. But, at long last, he muttered an answer, dropping his gaze to the concrete beneath their respective trainers: “I don’t like yarmulkes.”

Jemma wrinkled her nose in skepticism. “Yarmulkes? Seriously?”

“Don’t like the way they look on me.”

Making a sharp noise of disagreement, she had to speed up to hold her friend’s stride. “You look fine in it, honestly. You’re being silly.”

Silence, again, stretched on between them, and she tried to think of what other questions with which she could pepper him to get at the truth of the matter. Instinct told her that there was something more to it. Before she could approach the subject from a different angle, however, Fitz spoke unprompted.

“My dad used to – said I looked like a clown in it. Half-pint clown, to be specific.” His voice was low and he was staring determinedly at his feet as they strode side by side, and suddenly Jemma felt wretched for having pressed him. Although her friend rarely spoke of the father who had left him when he was but ten years old, with every brief mention she hated the man a little more.

“That’s awful,” she whispered, tugging at the pocket of her purple peacoat. “Was… I mean, is he…?”

“Jewish?” He let out a low laugh. “Yeah. He’d be wearing a yarmulke, too. Didn’t stop him from insulting everyone he saw with one.”

Inhaling, she gave her head a slow shake. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well.” Fitz shrugged, squinting up at the streetlamp beneath which they were passing. “So I don’t like yarmulkes. Mum stopped making me wear one when we celebrated at home, wish I didn’t have to here.”

Jemma pursed her lips, nibbling at the bottom one in thought. Although it was Fitz’s choice whether or not to wear a yarmulke, by and large, she did rather think it appropriate that he wore one when observing the more important Jewish holidays. Her own mildly agnostic feelings about religious beliefs aside, it just seemed proper to do so. Truly, Chanukah was not an important enough of a holiday for it to matter, she supposed, but on Rosh Hashanah it would feel rather disrespectful for him not to wear a yarmulke. These musings, however, she kept to herself, as her own relationship to her religion as a scientist was something she was still developing and cultivating.

“I think you look nice in a yarmulke,” she said quietly, sliding her eyes over to glance at him. “It fits nicely on your well-formed cranium.” Fitz burst out laughing, and she tried not to look affronted. “What? I mean it!”

“Thanks, Simmons,” he chortled, dodging when she tried to elbow him in the side in retaliation. “And a happy Chanukah to you, too.”

——

Jemma bounded through the front door, a padded manila envelope in one hand and a wide smile on her face. The whole apartment practically shone as she re-entered it from having checked their mail, having just finished hiding the last of the moving boxes in their bedroom. Tonight would be one part house-warming party and two parts Chanukah celebration, and between the two of them, she and Fitz had done an ample job of getting it ready in time. She had finished getting dressed for the party earlier than he, and had decided to make one last, fortuitously fruitful, run to the mailbox. With a new green and white patterned sweater and sea star necklace in place, Jemma felt both pretty and festive, and was very excited to welcome their friends into their new home. All she had left to do was finish the cookie and rugelach display – and deliver the mail she had just collected.

“Fitz!” she called out, locking the door behind her and heading towards the front hall closet. “The package from your mum finally arrived!” Instead of the enthusiasm she had expected, all she heard in response was muffled swearing coming from the general direction of their bedroom. Pausing with one hand a few inches away from the closet’s door handle, she wrinkled her nose. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he barked, which was followed by an indistinct noise of triumph.

Giving her head an amused shake, Jemma continued her current task of fetching a screwdriver from the toolbox they had a few hours prior agreed to store beneath their hanging winter coats. About a minute or so later, her husband finally emerged from their bedroom, dropping his hand from where he had been affixing a yarmulke to his hair.

“Is that it?” Fitz asked needlessly, eyes lighting excitedly upon the manila envelope that she still held. Not quite waiting for her nod, he took it, quickly ripping the paper open and reaching for the wrapped package and note inside. “Came on the perfect night,” he said, giving her a grin as she closed up the closet and followed him to the dining room table.

“And not a day too soon,” she agreed, watching his eyes skim over his mother’s handwriting. “The thirty days are up next week.”

She noticed that his smile had softened, and reached for the card when he handed it to her. “It’s for you.”

Before she could actually read anything, Fitz slipped up along her side to wrap his arms sideways around her waist. Jemma tilted her head up to meet his gaze, and happily accepted the gentle kiss he pressed to her lips. A pleased hum slipped out of her as she pulled away, and she let him nuzzle against her cheek as she dropped her gaze to read, even with his now familiar scruff tickling slightly at her skin.  

There was a note to Fitz at the top of the card – decorated on the front with a miniature, watercolor menorah – and then a second note beneath:

Jemma – May the light and love of the house you build with my son be as bright and warm as what shines from within you. This mezuzah brings the blessings you both deserve, and may it long serve as a remembrance of the love I hold for you. Chag Urim Sameach!

“We need to call her tomorrow,” she murmured, dabbing at her eyes with her free hand.

“Yeah, before work.” Fitz held out the small package that he had finished unwrapping as she read: An intricately carved, metal cylinder, flat on one side and about four inches in length. “Should have time to put it up before everyone arrives, too.”

“I thought so,” she said, craning her head back to smile up at him. Without thinking, she reached up to trace alongside the edge of the yarmulke, her fingers feathering through the short curls that puffed up around it.

“What?” Discomfort flashed across his expression, and she turned so that they were hugging each other from a more direct angle, allowing her fingers to trail down over his scruffy cheek.

“I’m glad you’re wearing it,” she said quietly, trying to imbue her expression and voice with the happiness and affection she felt for him. “The yarmulke.”

“Oh.” He shrugged self-consciously, tightening his grip around her waist. “Yeah, y’know, thought it’d right. First Chanukah party in the apartment and all.”

“You look perfect.” Jemma stretched up for another kiss, giggling slightly when he tried to deepen it.

“That’s just rude,” he grumbled, and she gave his cheek a quick peck before disentangling herself from his embrace. “We’ve talked about laughing when I kiss you before –”

“They’ll be here at any second.” She pointed to the screwdriver she had taken out for him, and he reached for it. “And I have to finish putting out the desserts.”

When Fitz opened the door, they were both greeted by the distinct sound of someone’s singing echoing down the long hallway towards their corner apartment. Jemma could just barely make out the words “dreidel, dreidel, dreidel” to the tune of a Justin Bieber song before her husband burst out laughing.

“I think that’s the sound of Daisy and Trip arriving,” Fitz chuckled, reaching over to put the mezuzah and screwdriver on the entryway table. “We can do this later.”

“Agreed,” she answered, reaching for the dessert plates.

As Jemma watched Fitz greet their friends, yarmulke worn proudly on his head, she was struck by a sudden sense of pride, both in him and in the life that they were about to embark upon together.

[Other ficlets.] [AO3.]