#and what better month to write it than disabilityfest month

[creacherkeeper]

can you write an autistic!Fitz fic where he builds himself the perfect autistic sensory room with his autistic engineering skills

Three of a Kind 

sequel to the Caroline fic 

another anon asked for autistic Jemma set in the Caroline verse 

and here’s the page on atypical autism jemma is reading 

happy @disabilityfest everyone! 

~2600 words 

read on ao3 

The front door opens and closes, and before Jemma can callout she hears, “It’s just us!”, so she settles back against the couch. There’sthe patter of little feet, Fitz saying “Your shoes-! Oh, alright,” and thenCaroline is crashing onto the couch beside Jemma.

Jemma smiles, setting her laptop on the end table. “Darling,did you take your shoes off like daddy asked you to?”

Caroline twiddles her fingers, not answering, but she liftsher legs to display the two bright blue tennis shoes still on her feet.

“How about you go back to daddy and have him help you takethose off?”

With a pout, Caroline pulls herself off the couch and slumpsback toward the foyer. Jemma can hear Fitz talking, but she can’t make out whathe says, before Caroline makes her way back to Jemma and pokes her in the knee.

“Fishy is hungry,” she says, still pouting.

“What would you like to eat?” (Jemma doesn’t know why sheasks, she’ll always get the same answer. She supposes it’s just to let Carolinefeel like she’s making decisions.)

“Fish food.”

“Do you want it in water?”

Caroline shakes her head.

Jemma gets up, makes her way to the kitchen, and poursCaroline a bowl of plain Cheerios, no milk. She squats down so she’s oneye-level with the four-year-old.

“How about you take this up to your playroom so that I cantalk to your father for a little while? That sound good?”

Caroline takes the bowl and dashes away, thundering up thestairs.

That’s when Fitz enters the room, tossing Caroline’sbackpack on the table and then coming over to give Jemma a peck on the lips. “Enjoyingyour day off?” he asks.

“I’ve been doing research.”

“So, that’s a yes,” he chuckles.

“I—” Jemma’s thumbs run over her fingers. “I actually wantedto talk to you about something.”

“Oh.” Fitz’s eyes flick over her face, not staying in anyone spot for too long. He backs up and leans against the table, crossing hisarms. “Good something, or bad something?”

“Good something, I think.”

Fitz relaxes, face falling into something relieved. “Oh,good. Shoot, then.”

“I think I’m autistic.”

Fitz blinks, not responding for a few seconds. “Really?”

“Well, see—” Jemma moves back into the family room, Fitztrailing her. She picks up her laptop and sits down on the couch, Fitz fallingnext to her. “I’ve been doing a lot of reading on something called ‘atypicalautism’. It’s autism, just a presentation of it that frequently falls under theradar. It can show up like that in any gender, but it’s more common in girls.Doctors frequently miss it, which is one of the reasons girls aren’t diagnosed asmuch.”

“And you think you have it?” Fitz asks, nodding towards thelaptop.

Jemma chews her thumbnail for a moment, before realizing andpulling it out of her mouth. “I think so. I’m- I’m pretty sure, actually. Irelate to a lot of it. And I relate to typical autism things as well, I’ve beenrealizing: the literal-mindedness, the difficulty with typical socialinteraction, need for consistency and order, and I’m good at patternrecognition. I think my interest in astronomy would count as a specialinterest, as well, and also in venomous things. I know just about everyvenomous species, and all about different types of poisons in animals.”

“That’s true,” Fitz says, “you do.”

“And apparently alexithymia is an autistic thing, as well aschildhood hyperlexia.”

“Alexithymia?”

“It’s defined as difficultly understanding and identifying emotionsin the self, and difficulty describing emotions to other people. You know I’vealways been an emotional person, but I do have a lot of trouble with that. Inever knew there was a word for it until today.”

Fitz nods. “Yeah, that makes sense for you. What about theatypical autism stuff, then?”

“Here, this page has some information about it.” She handsover the laptop.

Fitz scrolls through the page, nodding occasionally. “’Usescontrol as a stress management technique’, yeah, that’s definitely you. Theanxiety and fear thing is you, too. ‘Fired up when talking about specialinterests’. ‘Hates injustice’.” Fitz laughs. “This was basically written aboutyou. ‘Shuts down when overloaded’, yeah, you do that. You always get reallyquiet. ‘Stims to soothe’. You do that, too.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah, you always rub your fingers together, and do thatneck thing.” Fitz demonstrates, squeezing against his neck.

“Huh,” Jemma says. “I didn’t even think of that.”

“But, yeah, this all sounds a lot like you,” Fitz says,passing the laptop back. “Are you gonna make an appointment to get tested?”

Jemma is quiet, and Fitz nudges her foot with his.

“Jem?”

“I was thinking … no.”

“Oh. Really? Why?”

Jemma sighs, briefly chewing on her bottom lip. “I suppose Ijust don’t see the benefit of it. For me, I mean. I feel like as long as Iknow, and the people I choose to tell know, that’s all I really need. As far asaccommodations go, I know Coulson will grant them to me if I talk to him aboutit. I’m not sure I even need any, though, considering I have control over mostof the lab as it is, and have set it up how I like it. But there’s always thequestion of, should I try to get another job one day, would that be a markagainst me? It’s already hard enough being a woman in STEM, much less one witha stigmatized disability.”

“I didn’t think about that,” Fitz admits.

“A diagnosis follows you whether you want it to or not,”Jemma says. “But if it was just up to me, I could control it. I could share itonly with people I trust. I just think I would feel more comfortable about itthat way. Even besides work, what if we wanted to adopt one day? Both of ushaving a diagnosis would make our chances slim, despite all our accomplishmentsand the good life we can provide a child.”

Fitz slumps against the back of the couch, brow furrowed inthought. “Do you think …” He wrings his hands. “Do you think I shouldn’t havegotten diagnosed?”

Jemma shakes her head. “That’s not what I’m saying. I thinkit was good you got diagnosed. For one thing, I think hearing it confirmed byan authority on it really helped you. I’m not sure you would’ve accepted itotherwise.”

“That’s true, I probably wouldn’t have.” He’s quiet for amoment. “Do you think having the diagnosis will hurt Caroline?”

Jemma purses her lips, thinking. “I think things are changing.I think advocates are working every day to make sure the world is a fairerplace to autistic people in the future. By the time Caroline is joining thework force, I think things are going to be a lot different. If it isn’t … I don’tknow. It might hurt, it might not. Depends on her field. We don’t really haveany way of knowing now. But I think the diagnosis was important for her, so shecan get accommodations in school. She’s starting kindergarten next year, andit's not going to be a big deal then, but once she gets into a standardclassroom environment she’s going to need help.”

“I just want what’s best for her.”

Jemma reaches over and links their hands. “I know, me too.”

Fitz chews on his cheek, staring down at the floor. After afew seconds he shakes his head. “Sorry, this is supposed to be about you,though.” He nods toward the laptop, still open on the ‘atypical autism’ page. “I’mreally glad you found that. I’m glad you know now.”

“I mean, I’m going to keep doing research. This is somethingI really have to think about. And I’d like to talk to my parents about it, aswell. But, this is something I’m pretty sure about. It makes sense. In a ‘piecesfalling together’ sort of way.”

Fitz nods. “That’s how it felt for me, too, once I startedreally thinking about it.”

“And … I don’t know. I suppose a part of me likes the ideaof sharing that with you. It might’ve been one of the things that drew ustogether in the first place.”

Fitz squeezes her hand, a smile curling its way across hisface. “I like the idea of sharing that with you, too.” Suddenly, his eyebrowsshoot up. “Speaking of, I think you’re really going to like what I’m doing withthe playroom.”

Jemma’s gaze turns suspicious. “What are you doing with theplayroom?”

Fitz shakes his head, darting off the couch. “I can’t tellyou.”

Jemma stands. “Why not?”

He turns and backs toward the stairs, facing her and tryingto contain a grin. “Then it won’t be a surprise.”

“Fitz,” Jemmawarns.

“Jemma,” Fitzmocks.

“Tell me.”

Fitz laughs, and turns and dashes up the stairs.

“Ugh, Fitz,” Jemma calls. “Don’t be childish.”

(She still runs after him anyways.)

The playroom door slams behind him, and she hears the lockclick as she stops in front of it.

“Fitz, this is ridiculous.”

She hears mumbling from behind the door, then Caroline’sexcited voice shouting, “It’s a surprise!”

“Well, how long is this surprise going to take?”

More mumbling, then Caroline saying, “A week! A week!”

Jemma huffs a sigh. “Oneweek, and then I’m coming in whether you like it or not.”

Fitz laughs. “Deal.”

-

A week goes by, and Fitz’s secrecy only feeds her voracious curiosity.He keeps her away from the playroom, bringing in materials and other itemswhile she’s at work, or late at night after she’s already gone to bed. Sheadmits, she did try to get in once. She couldn’t help it, she was just tooinquisitive. But the door had been locked.

They’re sitting at dinner, Fitz and Jemma eating pasta andchicken leftovers from the Italian restaurant down the street, Caroline eatingCheerios. There are a few bites of chicken on Caroline’s plate that she hasn’ttouched, but it’s been a long day and Jemma is too tired to push it.

Fitz clears his throat, and Jemma looks up.

“So …” he says, biting back on a grin. “The playroom isdone.”

“What?” Jemma says, almost not believing it, it feels likeshe’s been waiting so long.

“Yeah, finished it this morning.”

Jemma quickly wipes her mouth with her napkin and pushes herchair back.

“Jem, you’ve still got half a plate of—”

But Jemma’s already up the stairs.

She tries the playroom door, and this time it’s open. Shepushes in, and then stops short in the doorway.

It’s a lot to take in all at once.

Caroline squeezes past her, and throws herself onto the bigbeanbag chair in the corner of the room, landing with a whoomp. Fitz chuckles, sidling up behind Jemma, a hand on her hip.

“Can I give you the tour?”

Jemma, still too shocked to speak, nods.

Fitz takes her hand and leads her in. He turns her aroundfirst, facing the wall the door is on.

“So this is more for- um—” Fitz motions with his hand. “-horizontalclimbing than vertical climbing. I didn’t want to make it too tall, but thereare pads on the floor in case she falls still.”

Jemma looks down, and sure enough there are thick padsbeneath the climbing wall.

He tugs her hand, and she follows. On the next wall is aboard, and the board is covered in different materials. Some plush, furryfabrics, a circle of shag carpeting, velvet, some fabric with bumps, ridgedcarboard, and sandpaper.

“Texture board,” Fitz says, and then motions to the table infront of it. “And a sandbox. And see, it’s got this little funnel, so you can—”Fitz scoops up some of the sand with a cup, and pours it into a funnel that’ssupported by bars over the sandbox. The sand falls through some clear tubes andthen rains down out of a watering can nozzle. Fitz holds his hand out, and letsthe sand rain down over his palm and slip between his fingers. Once it’sfinished, he wipes his hand over the table and then on his pants, then takesJemma’s again.

In the next corner is the bean bag chair, which Caroline isstill lying face down on, kicking her feet through the air. Suspended over thebeanbag chair is a rope net, hanging low enough that the four-year-old couldgrab onto and pull herself up. It stretches from over the chair to the middleof the room, above a small blanket fort that’s built against the window,letting natural light into the fort. There’s a corner of a weighted blanketpeeking out from the entrance.

Fitz pulls her to the last corner. Hanging from the ceilingis a large, circular swing, like a small trampoline suspended on ropes. Fitzducks under the ropes and sits on one side of the swing, patting the otherside.

“I got one big enough we could both sit on it.”

Jemma joins him, pulling her knees up to her chest andgazing around the room as Fitz gently rocks them.

“So … what do you think?”

Jemma shakes her head. “I … I don’t know what to say.”

Fitz chews his bottom lip. “I mean, it’s for Caroline,obviously. It was made with her in mind. But also … I don’t know. Kind of addedstuff I thought we’d like, as well. Obviously we’re a bit too tall for the rockwall. And we might just- uh—” Fitz looks over. “-just stick our heads in thefort. But, you know. It’s sort of a family thing. Something we can all enjoytogether.”

“Fitz,” Jemma breathes. “I … This is amazing. I’mspeechless.”

Fitz peers at her hopefully. “Yeah?”

“Truly.” She grabs his hand with her own, bringing it up torest against her chest. “I can’t even imagine having something like this when Iwas a kid.”

Fitz grins. “Well, Caroline is going to grow up with one.”

“Speaking of,” Jemma says. “Caroline, have you said thankyou to daddy for building all of this for you?”

Caroline squirms off the beanbag and starts jumping aroundthe room, flapping her hands by the sides of her face, squealing loudly. Shehops and twists about, dancing around the room until she stops suddenly, makesa loud kissing sound, “Mwah!”, andthen throws herself back on the beanbag.

Jemma can’t help her loud laugh. “I think that means ‘thankyou’.”

Fitz nods, snorting. “Yeah, I think it does.”  

Jemma bites her lip, dropping Fitz’s hand to tangle her owntogether.

Fitz nudges her with his shoulder. “You want to go play withthe sandbox, don’t you?”

“I want to play with the sandbox,” Jemma admits.

Fitz pulls her off the swing and back over to the table withthe sandbox. Jemma kneels in front of it, scooping up a cup of sand and thenpouring it over her fingers, grinning at the sensation. Caroline joins her,making little “wshh, wshh, wshh”sounds with her mouth as she traces patterns in the sand.

Fitz leans against the wall to watch them, looking on with afond smile.

“I’m really glad you both like it,” he says.

Jemma and Caroline both just give pleased hums.