Freaks||Wanda and Pietro Maximoff

Chapter 14

As soon as the bell rings Fitz starts packing up his books. The work is boring extremely boring. And way too easy. He normally stays behind and talks to the science teacher as he has a free period next but Simmons still stands behind him, chatting.
"So I said to May, I can't do that I haven't been physically trained!" She says loudly "Plus I hate violence especially when it is used in a practical joke!"
"Simmons be quiet" Fitz mutters under his breath as he pushes past people scrambling to get out of class.
"But I haven't finished my story yet!" Simmons moans, jogging slightly to catch up with Fitz's fast pace
Fitz doesn't respond. Mostly because there are so many people and he would look very odd and partly because talking to imaginary Simmons only makes her stay longer.

For the first few weeks, Fitz kept talking to Simmons because he wanted her to stay. He didn't want her to go. It was like she was actually there in the room. She helped him talk, helped him work out difficult questions. But when Fitz started to think about the long term problems that might come with hallucinating your best friend, he decided to try and ignore her. But sometimes she just stuck there.

People are everywhere, talking loudly about homework and parties and gossiping about each other. Such mundane things to talk about. Such easy things to talk about. What easy lives they have.

Fitz turns sharply in to a small empty bathroom away from the crowds and leans against the wall, breathing heavily.
"Fitz why aren't you talking to me?" Simmons' voice is more gentle now, more caring.
She looks up at Fitz, her eyes worried and big. God she seems so real. Her hair is up in a loose ponytail with loose strands falling out like they always do when she is working hard. Her small smile is comforting and trustworthy. She's everything Jemma is but yet she is not.
"Because you're not real Jemma" Fitz mutters, squeezing his eyes shut like Steve told him to "You're a figment of my... um my..."
He clicks his fingers quickly, trying to remember the word.
"Imagination?"
He snaps his eyes open. She is still there with that look she wears whenever he can't speak properly. That look of pity.
"Yeah that. Just get out of my head. You are not real!"
He closes his eyes again and counts to ten in his head, breathing carefully. Then, he opens his eyes slowly and Simmons is gone. Vanished. Fitz breathes out a sigh of relief. But that feeling enters his chest again. That feeling of loneliness. He feels a tear roll down his cheek and reaches up to brush it away quickly. But he isn't quick enough.

Clint walks in, his hair and clothes untidy, his bag slung over his shoulder. He looks straight at Fitz but Fitz's arm is only half way up and he can feel the tear still rolling down his cheek. There it is again. That look of pity.
"Fitz dude are you okay?" Clint asks dumping his bag on the floor. An arrow feather peeks out from the unzipped top.
"What? Yeah I'm fine" Fitz says quickly, turning around to look away from Clint and to his reflection in the mirror. He looks a mess. His curly hair is a mess. His eyes are bloodshot and a mess. His clothes are a mess. All crumpled.
"You don't seem okay." Clint sighs, sitting down next to one of the sinks before looking down at Fitz "You know Natasha and I can help. We're here for you. We've known each other since we were six when you nearly blew up your  house mixing whatever chemicals you found. I know you well. I know when you are upset"
"My mum got so mad" Fitz smiles wistfully in the mirror "and you and Nat just laughed."
"And Simmons gave you a hug and told you that she was so happy you didn't hurt yourself" Clint smiles back
At the mention of Simmons the weight in Fitz's chest that had momentarily disappeared, comes back. His smile falters. He remembers that hug. That bone-crushing desperate hug. The whispers of relief in his ear.
"Sorry... I shouldn't of mentioned her" Clint sighs, noticing Fitz's expression
"No it's fine really" Fitz shakes his head, struggling to think of anything else to say
"It isn't" Clint rests his hand on Fitz's shoulder in support "I feel bad for you man"
"Everyone has felt bad for me, for my whole bloody life" Fitz snaps. The anger inside builds up like it always does when someone starts to pity him "Even Simmons. And now for the first time other people are starting to go through the same things as me. Bucky has PTSD. And no it isn't... diagnosed, that's the word, but it's pretty obvious. Wanda is this strange foreign girl that Steve welcomed way too easily but I see how much she struggles to not break down. And now weird things are happening to both of them and it's confusing and doesn't seem logical in terms of science and... sorry I'm talking too much"
"You're so smart" Clint's mouth is agape "and so perceptive"
"Off course I am" Fitz smiles slightly "if only I could string and single sentence together"
"Didn't you just hear for how long you spoke?" Clint looks down at him, his eyes narrowed "You only forgot one word. I've only heard you talk like that around..."
Around Simmons. Slowly Fitz looks up from his feet and low and behold there she is. Her hair loose this time. Her clothes neat. Her smile proud. Fitz can't help but to smile back.
"Fitz who are you staring at?" Clint asks, staring at the obviously blank space where Simmons stands
"Me you idiot!" Simmons snaps
Fitz tries to suppress a laugh. It doesn't work.
"I think I need to tell you something" he says.
*
The black smoke surrounds her again. But this time it's only at her ankles, thin and wispy, not thick and suffocating. The small boy stands a few metres away from her, leaning against a tree trunk. She's in the same forest.