#makes me so goddamn happy it's my gift to myself i s2g

[tenscupcake]

the null hypothesis (7/?)

fitzsimmons. teen. ~3k this ch. *sincerest apologies to my readers patiently waiting on ep. this one is far easier to update since it’s finished. bear with me! as soon as work slows down it’s first priority.* but, as per usual, this fic is a freakin' blossom of pure joy in my life and reading through it again takes me to a completely different place. i hope it brings some of that happiness to you guys, as well. <3 summary: roughly one out of every six people can't feel touch; that is, until their soulmate touches them. fitz and jemma are two indignant contributors to that statistic, content to devote their lives to science rather than searching for their supposed 'other half.' both too clever for high school, they head off to university at sixteen, completely unaware their fates are about to become intertwined. but in a world where soulmates don't always match, it's not always easy to confess to a stranger. a soulmate au with a twist. this chapter on ao3 | back to chapter 1 on ao3

By the fourth week, Fitz genuinely can’t imagine his life without Jemma. Which is stupid. He barely even knows her. They’ve yet to spend any time together outside of this lab.

It’s just... everything about her.

How intently she listens. How she never stops talking about physiology and biochemistry but he doesn’t mind listening to it. The constant intellectual challenge she presents – he finds himself studying harder these days merely so he always has a new topic with which to impress her. The way she says his name even when it’s not necessary, almost as though it’s just fun for her to say. And damn it if that recipe she sent him wasn’t the best bloody sandwich he’s ever had.

He hasn’t talked to her since Wednesday, when he texted her saying as much.

That sandwich was delicious, he’d said.

It had taken her a little over an hour to respond. The longest hour of his life.

Glad you enjoyed it! :D

He hasn’t initiated a conversation since, and to his dismay, neither has she.

But this is very new, this tenuous friendship they have. He doesn’t want to push it by getting too clingy.

When he walks into the lab and sees her already there waiting for him at their bench, he does his best to act like he hasn’t been dying to see her all week.

He has no way of knowing, of course, but it seems like she’s as pleased to see him as he is to see her, and the mere thought has his heart soaring.

He has half a mind to drag out today’s experiment by purposely messing up on certain steps. Knocking over a beaker here, adding an incorrect volume there. But he thinks better of it, for two reasons. First, Jemma would probably catch him before he made any time-consuming mistakes and prevent him from committing them. Second, whether or not he was successful in delaying the experiment, she’d probably think he was clumsy or less intelligent as a result. And he absolutely cannot have that. He’d rather have an hour less time with her than disqualify himself from her companionship for making himself out to be denser than he is.

So he goes along with their usual highly efficient pace, dividing up tasks whenever they can, taking turns when they can’t. Both of their methods and quantitation flawless.

Fitz expects the daydreams about her when he’s in another class, or alone back at his dorm, or eating dinner with suitemates that are trying to be nice him.

But today, it’s getting hard not to daydream about her even when he’s with her.

He can’t stop imagining what it’d be like if they were in a proper relationship. How many things that are currently off-limits would be commonplace, even expected. Wrapping her in hug when he sees her, simply because he missed her and he’s ecstatic to hold her in his arms again. Sitting next to each other on his bed in the evenings, watching Doctor Who, putting his arm around her to pull her closer. And more explicitly romantic things, too. Like kissing her.

It’s only recently he’s started ponder that concept. Kissing. He couldn’t bear the thought of it for most of his life: an awkward, messy practice that seemed to have little purpose except to spread germs. But with a bit of time to process his newly functioning neurons (and conclude that he rather likes them), he’s softened to the idea. From what relatively little he knows of anatomy, he’s aware that lips are among the most sensitive spots.

That in itself is intriguing: a touch of hands feels quite nice, now, so how much nicer would a touch of lips feel?

On top of that, there’s the fact that lately his eyes always seem to subconsciously drift to Jemma’s mouth when he’s looking at her. Her lips are pink and enticing in a way he can’t really make sense of. And, a scientist through and through, he can’t help but grow more and more curious why he’s so drawn to them. What everyone else is always fussing about. If they’re as soft and smooth as they look. What they’d feel like pressed against his.

The lab is over too soon, again.

During the ten minutes they spend cleaning up and finishing their recorded observations of the session, Fitz is trying to muster up the courage to ask her to do something with him. He really needs to start showing her he wants to be friends, not just lab partners. Being proper mates is the only way he���ll ever find out what he needs to know, because he’s already spent of ideas contrive another platonic touch within these walls.

He decides to go with asking her to get dinner with him. It’s just a friendly gesture, perfectly innocent. The school’s café is hardly a romantic setting. Loud, bright, crowded.

When Jemma offers him her usual goodbye as she puts her things into her bag, she has a brilliant smile reserved for him as always.

Fitz takes a deep breath. Now’s his last chance.

But, after only a fraction of a second being on the receiving end of that smile, he’s suddenly gripped with terror that it could likely disappear as soon as he’s asked. Turn into a cringe, a frown, or something else unpleasant as she tries to think of a way to let him down easy.

His question dies right on the tip of his tongue.

Instead, he says the same thing he always does when she inevitably says goodbye to him.

“See you.”

What he doesn’t expect, as Jemma walks past him for the door, is the light touch of her hand on his exposed forearm.

Fitz nearly has a bloody heart attack.

As soon as she’s cleared the doorway, the goggles and pen in his hand clatter to the floor as he hurries to investigate the newly sentient spot on his left arm. Tracing the shape of Jemma’s hand, testing the sensitivity of the area with the tip of his finger.  

Having skipped lunch, he’d been planning all day to get some food straight after this lab, but dinner in a crowded cafeteria is just about out of the question now. He rushes straight back to his dorm, instead, his hand hardly leaving his arm. It’s embarrassing, that even the fourth time this has happened, it still affects him so strongly. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders how he would be able to stay conscious – survive, even – if this were happening across wider areas. The tiny patches she gets in any one instance are just about enough to reduce him to hysterics. As long as Jemma is around, he can hold himself together all right, but once he’s alone again, it always catches up with him. The calm façade crumbles, and fast.

As he’s rushing down the fourth-floor hall to his room, he passes by the RA’s door, and can’t help but notice it’s open.

Phil is in there, seated at his desk, his attention fixed on his computer. He’s got his glasses on, which means he’s in study mode. Fitz knows he has his qualifying exam coming up (he’s a doctoral student in history), and would hate to disturb him. He glances at the posted advising hours for the week posted on the whiteboard. Then checks his phone. Yep, right in the middle of them.

Phil had been nicer than anyone else on the floor the day Fitz moved in. Had said repeatedly that he could come to him with anything, school-related or not. Always has a smile and friendly greeting for Fitz when he sees him. Makes the occasional stop by his room to make sure he’s settling in okay, ask about his coursework.

Fitz looks down at his arm. Feels his heart thudding against his chest. This soulmate business is becoming a real problem. It’s properly taking over his life. And Phil seems like a good person to talk to. Friendly, and an order of magnitude more mature and professional than the undergraduates filling out the dormitory.

It couldn’t hurt to try.

Fitz knocks lightly on the open door. Phil turns around immediately.

“Hey, Leo,” he greets him with a smile.

Odd. The only person he’s spoken to in person with any frequency the last few weeks is Jemma, and she exclusively calls him Fitz. It sounds almost strange to hear ‘Leo’ spoken aloud now.

“Erm, you can call me... Fitz,” he says, tenuously.

“You got it,” Phil nods. “So, Fitz, what can I do for you?”

“I actually just wanted to ask you something, if I could.”

“I’m all ears.” He swipes off his reading glasses and tucks them into the pocket of his shirt. “Why don’t you sit down?” he gestures to the plush couch next to his desk.

Fitz hurries over to it and sits on the end closest to the desk, dropping his bag on the floor at his feet.

“I have a... problem.”

“Mhm,” Phil nods, as though that much was obvious by Fitz walking in here at all. “What kind of problem?”

“It’s...” Fitz breaks away from Phil’s overly concerned gaze. It’s obvious that he cares, whatever the problem is, and is eager to help. Fitz doesn’t want to disappoint him with a problem as trivial and common and romance. “A girl,” he confesses with a grimace.

“Someone you like?” he asks.

“To say the least.”

“Tell me about her,” he prods.

Fitz takes a deep breath, bouncing his fingertips together. “I think she’s... my soulmate.”

“You think?” Phil asks, a smile on his face like Fitz is making a joke.

“Right, okay, she is,” Fitz admits.

“Did you meet her here?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you like her?”

“Yes, I do,” Fitz rushes out, feeling the need to come to her defence. Phil had asked as though disliking her were even an option. “She’s... incredible.”

“So, what’s the problem?” Phil asks, genuinely looking confused.

“The problem is, I don’t know if I’m hers.”

Phil gapes at him for a long second before asking incredulously, “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I mean, I don’t,” he snaps without intending to. “I haven’t told her. We haven’t talked about it.”

“How’s that even possible?” The way he asks, it’s almost a statement that he doesn’t intend Fitz to answer.

Fitz sighs. He’ll have to start at the beginning, then. 

He walks Phil through a (very) abridged version of the whole story – from being bullied in high school to that life-changing handshake and its lonely aftermath.

“Fitz, I completely understand you being nervous to come clean,” Phil says, once he’s had a few moments to process. “But you have to find out if your hers, too.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I know.” That much, he’d figured out on his own. “But how?”

Phil doesn’t answer his question, but his face scrunches up in thought, and he stares at Fitz as though the answers are written on his face somewhere.

“Has she tried to touch you at all since then?” he asks.

“Well.” Fitz thinks back to the last few weeks. “Yeah.”

He tells Phil about the pen, and the tie incident, and her touching his arm earlier.

“I honestly can’t believe you were able to keep that quiet.”

Fitz throws himself back against the couch, exasperated. “Is that all you got out of that?” he throws his hands up dramatically.

“I just... I can’t imagine! When I found mine, I freaked out.”

“You’ve,” Fitz interrupts him shakily, surprised. “You’ve got one, too?”

“Mhm.” Phil nods, and Fitz leans over on his knees again, more rapt than before. “And I’m serious, I don’t think I could’ve contained myself if my life depended on it.”

Fitz is silent for a few breaths. Trying to make sense of it. He’s never been able to talk candidly about this soulmate stuff with anyone who’s actually experienced it. His parents hadn’t, and of course, all his friends were in the same boat with him, yet to find the soulmates they’d never asked for.

“Who is she?” Fitz asks.

“Her name’s Melinda. She’s an undergraduate in another department here.”

“So... are you... I mean.” Fitz works his hands around each other in a vague spherical motion, though he has no idea why. “You’re together?”

“We are.” Phil nods.

“And you’re... happy?”

“Well, life has its ups and downs but, yeah. I’d like to think so.”

Wow. Fitz sits back again, letting that wash over him. The concept is almost impossible for him to comprehend.

“Also, I don’t want to get your hopes up,” Phil continues, “but, it sounds to me like there’s a real chance Jemma is experiencing the same thing you are. Just, for whatever reason, she’s equally shy to admit it.”

Fitz’s panic level shoots up. His eyes widen, and he covers his face in his hands and takes a few deep breaths. But it doesn’t help much.

Hearing Phil’s story, the possibility of success here seems to much closer to his grasp. He’s starting to believe Jemma might actually be his match after all.

It’s dangerous. It’ll only crush him worse if he’s wrong.

“You okay?” Phil asks, when Fitz is silent for too long.

“Yeah, just... how do I tell her?”

It’s becoming too real, the thought of confessing. He’s able to keep calm about it most of the time (at least apart from moments when she touches him someplace new), because actually telling her has been out of the question. But now Phil is here and saying these things and encouraging him and applying this pressure and... before he knows it he’s basically hyperventilating, trying to blink moisture out of his eyes.

“Fitz, it’s going to be okay.” Phil stands and puts a hand on his shoulder, rubbing his thumb there a few times. Fitz can’t feel it, not really, as it’s not a place Jemma has blessed him with her touch, but he nonetheless appreciates the sentiment.

Fitz nods, trying to believe that.

“What was your plan, before you came to me?” Phil asks.

“I didn’t really have one, I suppose,” he admits. “I thought I’d just... be her friend. Eventually it’d come out, somehow.”

Phil sits on the couch next to him. “That’s not a bad plan,” he says, and he sounds sincere. “I’d support you if you wanted to do that.” There’s a pause where it seems like Phil is trying to decide how best to phrase his imminent qualifier. “But I do think it might be better to get it out in the open. You’ll either be pleasantly surprised,” he changes his tone for the latter half of the sentence, “or you’ll get to move on. It won’t consume you anymore.”

“You’re right.” Fitz nods, but all the anxiety slams into him even harder. He buckles over at the waist, holding his head in his hands because it’s suddenly too heavy to support. “Oh, God.”

“You can do this, Fitz. I have every confidence in you.”

“Just... how?” he over-emphasizes the second word.

“Well, it shouldn’t be someplace as public as the lab. Maybe invite her to study, to lunch, casual, nothing serious. Not a date. That way you’ll have some measure of privacy, and an easy out you wouldn’t have otherwise.”

“She does talk about studying a lot,” he recalls out loud.

“There you go,” Phil encourages.

“Thank you, Phil,” Fitz says, turning to him. “Really.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says, patting him on the back.

“You can’t even feel this, can you?” Phil says suddenly, realizing he’s made the wrong sort of gesture.

“Not exactly, no,” Fitz admits with a chuckle.

“Where all has she gotten you so far?”

He runs Phil through the list. Inside of his right hand, some of his left, the spot on his arm, the couple patches on his neck.

“Oh, and a little spot on my nose, here,” he adds, touching the tip of his nose with his finger.

Phil smiles, shaking his head. “It’s a brave new world.”

“What about you?” Fitz asks after a moment.

Phil suddenly looks nervous for the first time since this conversation began.

“Well,” he tilts his head, failing to hide a guilty grimace.

“What, everywhere?” Fitz asks, eyes bulging wide.

“Well, don’t act so scandalized,” Phil defends himself. “We’re both adults. And we’ve been together five years now.”

Fitz takes a deep breath and exhales it slowly, resting his chin on his hand. He can hardly imagine such a thing; it’s overwhelming for him to get one new square inch of sensation on his arm.

He knows it’s still a big if that he is Jemma’s soulmate at all. But somehow, hearing that things have gone so well for Phil, that he started exactly where Fitz is now and has come so far, is reassuring.

“I’ve got to find out,” he says suddenly, with more conviction than he ever has.

Like I said,” Phil says, smiling again.

His smile is somehow reassuring, in itself. Fitz really should come to him for advice more often.