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Fitz squeezed Grandpa Mack’s hand as he looked around the hoard of people in front of him. He'd never seen so many people there before, and he thought it must be something like the stories his dad liked to tell him, about the way the factory used to be before everything was shut down.

One only had to look at the direction the cameras were flashing to see the winners that had been parading on his television for weeks. There was Lance Hünter, a boy from Germany who never seemed to stop eating, and Lincoln Campbell, who was dressed in his usual cowboy outfit. Lincoln shot pop guns at reporters while, behind him, Bobbi Morse continued to work at her world record-winning piece of chewing gum. It all seemed to glamorous to Fitz, so much so that Fitz had half a mind to slink away into the back where he wouldn't be in the way, but then a brilliant flash caught his eye, and he looked down at the the golden ticket clutched in his hand.

These children were celebrities, yes, but they had the world's eye because they had been lucky enough to find SHIELD's golden ticket in a chocolate bar.

And for the first time in his whole life, Fitz had been lucky, too.

Fitz felt a tug on his threadbare sleeve and turned to find none other than Jemma Simmons staring at him.

"You've broken the rules," she said. "You are only allowed to bring with you either one or two members of your own family. It says so right on the golden ticket."

And she would know, Fitz realized, because she was the second person to ever win one.

Fitz, of course, had been the last.

"But that's exactly what I've done," said Fitz. "I've brought my Grandpa Mack."

Jemma Simmons gave him a rather strange look before her eyes darted over to the man in question.

"But he can't be . . . he's not . . ."

"Ninety-five years old? Why of course he is! Why wouldn't you think so?"

Jemma Simmons looked at him like he'd grown a second head and started to open her mouth when off in the distance, an old church clock struck ten, and the gates of the SHIELD chocolate factory began to open.

Grandpa Mack squeezed Fitz's hand, and Fitz understood why. For twenty years, these gates had been shut closed without a single person going in or out, but today, they were opening for him.

(And the other four children, of course.)

The iron gates groaned and swung open, revealing a lone figure in a dark suit, tie, and sunglasses who was walking towards them. Everyone stood there in shock, all silently asking what it was they were supposed to do or think. They got a wry smile as an answer. In the small curl of the man's lips, Fitz thought he could see a world full of life and fun, and he was so excited to see it that he could barely breathe.

And for some reason, Fitz turned to Jemma Simmons in absolute amazement only to find that she looked back at him at the exact same time. He quickly looked away.

Suddenly, the man opened his arms and said, "Welcome, golden ticket winners. My name is Phil Coulson, director of SHIELD Chocolate. Will you come forward one at a time, please? And bring your parents."

All the other children had both parents with them, and it was a good thing too, because otherwise there surely would have been a stampede. But somehow, the mums and dads and Grandpa Mack were able to glance at each other and form some kind of agreement, and Lance Hünter was pushed forward. Mr. Coulson shook his hand, examined his ticket, and allowed Lance and his parents through the gates. He did the same with each of them in turn: Jemma Simmons, Bobbi Morse, Lincoln Campbell, and Fitz, who was the last to find his ticket, and so was the last to greet Mr. Coulson. But when Mr. Coulson shook his hand, he was amazed at the strength of Mr. Coulson's grip, and before he could yelp in pain, Mr. Coulson leaned in and said it was a pleasure to meet him. And before he knew it, they were all whisked past the gate, down the courtyard, and into the most secretive factory that had ever existed. Fitz turned back to Grandpa Mack and the gates that were closing behind him.

"Are you ready for an adventure, Fitz?" asked Grandpa Mack.

Fitz thought for a moment, but then he smiled. "Yes," he said, "I rather think I am."

"Are you excited?" Jemma Simmons asked, "because I have been dreaming about this for weeks. I'm something of a chemist, you know, and chocolate is really all chemistry, so this factory is really something like a lab. I know about factories, too, since my father owns one. And I simply had to see this lab. I had to."

"I know you did," Fitz replied, "I heard on the news how you-"

"Asked my father to buy up every chocolate bar he could find and have his workers unwrap them? Well, of course I did. It's all math, you know."

"I do know," said Fitz. "I've done the math myself."

Jemma stopped cold, before hurrying to catch up with him. "Did you really?"

"Yes, of course."

And the truth of it was that Fitz had done more than just the math for winning; he'd calculated just how much money it would cost and nearly fainted. But that's not what he said.

"I walk by this factory every day on the way to school. I've wondered what's inside it for as long as I can remember, really. So of course I calculated the odds; who wouldn't?"

"A great many people," said Jemma. "Now, if you have really walked by this factory every day, I'm sure you've heard the rumors, haven't you? Of the workers in this factory? They sacked everybody when the gates closed, and nobody went in or out, but there has to be somebody working here."

"I rather think," said Fitz, "I hope, at least, that they're robots."

She stared at him. "Robots."

Fitz couldn't help the smile that grew in one corner of his mouth. "Of course. I've always wanted to see a robot up close."

Jemma raised an eyebrow at him. "Why would you want that?" 

"So I could take it apart, of course! See how it works, and build three robots from the parts."

"Oh," said Jemma. "Then why don't you just ask your parents to buy you a robot?"

"Well," said Fitz, stuffing his hands into his pockets, "my parents can't afford it."

Jemma tilted her head at him. "They can't make robots available to you? Why? Don't they love you?" 

"No, Jemma, of course they do. They just don't have the money, that's all."

Jemma tilted her head the other way. " I don't understand what you mean."

And just as Fitz had decided that they'd been walking for a very long time indeed, they stopped.

"You'll excuse us," said Mr. Coulson, "for keeping it so warm in here—we have to keep it warm for our workers. They come from a very hot climate, and we do what we can to make them comfortable. When we go into the chocolate room, you might even see one or two. Don't be alarmed; they're mostly harmless."

"Not nearly as dangerous as I am," Lance Hünter said as he winked at Bobbi Morse, who rolled her eyes at him.

"And now," said Coulson as they approached the door, "the chocolate room!"

Fitz wasn't exactly sure what he expected, but he was sure that he expected a little more than a great room with several large vats of chocolate in it.

"Oh," said Jemma, "I thought there might be . . ."

"Something fantastic in here?" he offered.

Jemma shrugged. "Well, something interesting, at least. SHIELD isn't the best candy company in the world, only the cheapest. There is so much wax in them that they make better candles than candies."

"Oh," said Fitz, "I suppose I haven't had anything else." 

And Jemma gave him that look again, like he'd just sprouted a second head out of his neck. But then something caught her eye, and she screamed.

"Oh my!" she shouted, "who are they?"

"Why," said Mr. Coulson, "they're my workers, of course. I told you that you might see them."

They obviously were the workers, for they came out to stir the vats, but that wasn't what was odd. No, what was odd was that they were each the size of a medium-shaped doll, with long hair that went down to their shoulders.

"They're Oompa Loompas," explained Coulson. "They are especially suited to work in a chocolate factory, because they like chocolate, and they don't like the remote forest they came from."

"Why not?" asked Bobbi.

"Classified," answered Coulson, "but I can tell you that here, the risk of being eaten is greatly reduced."

Any questions the group had faded away as they watched the Oompa Loompas jump—not climb, jump—up the ladders to the vats three rungs at a time. Fitz felt his jaw drop, and he was sure he wasn't the only one. 

"Oh," said Jemma, "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy! I want one! I want an Oompa Loompa! A whole family of them to study! We can take them back to their natural habitat, or we could try to recreate it somehow. It's probably best to get a small airport hangar, just to be safe. Now, I'll need a new MRI machine, and I'll have to take blood and tissue samples, so we'll need to set up a small lab on site." She paused for a moment, then waved it off. "I'll make you a list. But we'll need the Oompa Loompas. Please, Daddy."

Mr. Simmons had his wallet out before his daughter had even finished talking. "Alright, Coulson, how much for a family of Oompa Loompas? Name your price."

Coulson raised his eyebrow. "They're not for sale,"

"What?" Mr. Simmons chuckled. "Oh, come on, Coulson. Every man has his price. Just let me know yours and we can be done with it."

"I told you," said Mr. Coulson, "they're not for sale."

"But they're gifted," said Jemma, "they're obviously gifted, and I have a million questions! Is it genetic? Can it be replicated in a lab? Or is it it environmental, something to do with their eating or mating habits? How do they—"

"Mr. Coulson," her mother interjected, "I don't think you understand. Our daughter is, quite literally, a genius. She can do more with these Oompa Loompas than anyone else could. More than you can imagine!"

"No," corrected Coulson, "she can't, because she can't have them."

Fitz was distracted from the argument when he felt a small nudge at his side, and he realized that Bobbi had pushed Lance into him. 

"No, you couldn't," said Bobbi. "You're just trying to make us think you're some kind of athlete."

"But I am an athlete," Lance shot back.

Bobbi pointed at the half-eaten chocolate bar in Lance's hand. "If you're an athlete, why are you always eating?"

Lance looked down at the chocolate, then up at her. "I'm a competitive eater. That's a type of athlete."

"Oh, really?" Bobbi chuckled. "Well, if you're so good at eating, why don't you drink all the chocolate in that vat?"

Lance turned white. "I, uh, what?"

"The vat," Bobbi repeated, "show me how much of the chocolate you can drink at once. If you really are an athlete, that is."

"I am."

"Then prove it."

"Guys," interjected Fitz, "shouldn't we—"

But he was too late. Lance was already scampering towards the closest vat, and there was nothing Fitz could do to stop him.

"Wait," called Lincoln, "what's Lance doing?"

The adults, who had all been swept up in the argument about purchasing Oompa Loompas, turned their heads at once.

"Lance! Lance, my boy, get out of there!"

The cry came from Lance's mother, who lunged towards the vat, only to discover she was too late. Lance had already crawled over the rim, attempted to reach into the chocolate, and fallen in.

"Help!"

"Help my son!" Mrs. Hünter turned to Coulson. "Help him, please! He can't swim!"

Coulson clasped his hands together and nodded, waving the nearest Oompa Loompa over to him.

"Sam," he said to the Oompa Loompa, "have your brothers fish young Mr. Hünter out of the vat and take him to the infirmary, please. Hopefully the scalding won't be too bad."

"The scalding?" both of Lance's parents cried at once, though his mother put a distinct shrillness in it.

"Yes," said Coulson, unmoved, "the chocolate is kept very hot when it's getting mixed. But don't worry; Billy is an excellent medic. Now, we've got to keep moving. Follow me."

Coulson walked out of the room as if all was well, and everyone else (minus the Hünters, of course) reluctantly followed. Fitz looked up at Grandpa Mack only to find him shrugging back, and when Fitz looked around for Jemma, she was dawdling at the rear of the group, crying.

"I don't understand it," she sniffled when he caught her eye, "I told him I wanted it. I asked very nicely! Why can't I—I only want to understand them."

"Some people don't want to be understood," Fitz offered, "and you can't always get what you want."

"But Fitz," she argued, "I only want good things! It's not like I'm asking for parties, or any of that nonsense. I only want what's best for everybody. I just . . . I don't understand."

"I don't understand any of this," Fitz admitted. "This isn't what I expected at all."

Jemma sniffled. '"What do you mean?"

"Well," said Fitz, feeling a warmth in his cheeks, "maybe I hoped too much, but I was thinking that maybe . . . maybe there'd be a room where everything was edible. Trees, grass, flowers—all made of candy of one sort or another. And then there'd be this river of chocolate, mixed by waterfall."

"Waterfall?" Jemma dried her tears. "I've never heard of anyone mixing chocolate by waterfall. Of course, it's a brilliant idea, since the churning would make the chocolate frothy. Very brilliant indeed."

"I guess I hoped for too much," he said, and his stomach rumbled just then, as if to admonish him.

"Are you hungry?" Jemma asked. "I forget to eat all the time. While I'm working, of course. I'm working on a special kind of gum. It's . . . it's a three-course meal. Or it's supposed to be, when I get the formula right. That way, I can just grab one of those and keep on working. I brought a piece to show Mr. Coulson, but I . . . I wish I could give it to you." She pulled her hand out of her pocket and opened her fist to reveal a small, gray stick of chewing gum. When he met her eyes, she smiled. "I really wish I could, Fitz," she repeated, and Fitz had a feeling that she meant quite a bit more than what she said, but for the life of him, he could not discern what it was.

"Did I hear someone say gum?"

Fitz turned to see none other than Bobbi Morse, who seemed to be chomping on her own gum more intensely than usual. 

"Give it here," Bobbi commanded, putting her hand out. Jemma's hand quickly balled into a fist and retreated to her pocket.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm the best gum chewer in the world," explained Bobbi, "so I should try your gum if anyone does. I'm an expert."

"Yes, but . . ." stammered Jemma, "it's not quite right yet."

"Well, I don't care about that. Come on."

Jemma stared at her. "Aren't you . . . aren't you going to ask your parents to make me an offer?"

Bobbi rolled her eyes. "What if I asked nicely, like you did for the Oompa Loompas? Doesn't that mean that you have to give it to me?"

"Well," Jemma sputtered, "no, not if we haven't come to an agreement. That's stealing, otherwise."

"Oh, come on. My whole life is devoted to gum; the real crime is you keeping gum away from me." 

Jemma looked up at Fitz, who shook his head at her. It was her gum, he reckoned. It was her choice what happened to it. 

But it didn't end up being Jemma's choice at all, because Bobbi reached into Jemma's pocket, snatched the gum, and put half if it in her mouth before anyone could stop her. The other half of the stick of gum, Fitz noticed, was shoved into Bobbi's pocket.

"Oh, wow," Bobbi gasped. "This is amazing! I can taste soup, tomato soup! It's warm and creamy; I can feel it running down my throat!"

"Bobbi," warned Jemma, "you really shouldn't—"

"And roast beef! It's delicious! It's tender and juicy, and there's a side of potatoes."

"Jemma," Fitz whispered, "is it really true? Is there really a whole meal in that stick of gum?"

"Yes, of course there is," she answered, dry washing her hands, "but that's not the problem. The problem is the blueberry—"

"Blueberry pie!" Bobbi practically squealed the words in delight. "Oh, it has a crispy crust and it's topped with amazing ice cream. It's the best thing I've ever tasted!"

"Bobbi," gasped her mother, "your nose! It's turning blue!"

Bobbi's parents, who were oddly silent when their daughter had stolen another girl's property, were reasonably concerned when blue started to spread all over Bobbi's face. Then it went down her neck, until she was blue to her fingertips.

"I told her," groaned Jemma, her face in her hands, "it's not quite right yet. I told her, didn't I? It's the blueberries. It makes them all turn blue! And then, and then they . . ."

"Bobbi, you're puffing up!"

"I'm what?"

She was indeed puffing up, expanding like a blown-up balloon, and no one was more distressed than Jemma was at this development.

"Mr. Coulson?" She looked around the room. "Mr. Coulson, is there anything you can do for her?"

Coulson appeared so quickly that Fitz was not sure how he got there.

"Of course. But how do we fix it?"

"You, uh, you squeeze her." Jemma fumbled through her pockets and produced a small notebook. "Here, these are all my notes. I've only tried it on rats so far, but . . . but it's not air that's doing that to her; it's juice. You'll have to squeeze it all out. Gently, though! Gently. Don't hurt her."

"Eric," called Coulson, causing an Oompa Loompa to appear. "Eric, take Miss Morse to the infirmary. Billy should be done with Mr. Hünter by now. Instructions are in here."

The Oompa Loompa nodded, took the notebook, and escorted the three Morses out of the room. Fitz and Jemma simply blinked at each other.

"Okay," Coulson said, "let's keep going. I'm very excited to show you what's next."

Without another word, he lead them down yet another corridor, and Fitz found himself tugging on Jemma's sleeve.

"Is she going to be alright?"

Jemma turned to him with tears in her eyes. "I don't know. I think . . . I think so. But why didn't she . . . how could she just . . ."

"What would you make?" Fitz blurted out. Jemma stopped short.

"Excuse me?"

She was falling behind, and he simply had to take her hand to prevent her from getting lost.

"If you were in charge of this factory, what would you make? Marshmallow, um, eatable marshmallow pillows?"

Jemma managed to give him a look while drying off her eyes with her free hand. "Well, I don't . . . maybe . . . hot ice creams for cold days?"

"That's a good one. What about . . . lickable wallpaper? For nurseries?"

That made Jemma smile. "And cows that give chocolate milk!"

"What about fizzy lifting drinks?"

Jemma and Fitz looked up to find that Coulson was walking right along side them. Who then, wondered Fitz, was leading the group?

"Fizzy lifting drinks," repeated Jemma.

"Yes," answered Coulson. "Drinks filled with the kind of bubbles that can lift you right off the ground. Wouldn't that be a good idea?"

Jemma and Fitz shared a look as they walked in silence. 

"What?" exclaimed Coulson, "I read. Ah, here we are. The nut room."

Mr. Coulson rushed down the corridor until he was in front of the party once again. Behind him in big letters, a sign read:

THE NUT ROOM

DO NOT ENTER

DO NOT DISTURB THE SQUIRRELS

And when Fitz looked through the big panes of glass into the room, there were indeed dozens of squirrels, possibly a hundred, each seated on high stools at a table. At each table, there were mounds and mounds of walnuts, and the squirrels were working away like mad, shelling the walnuts 

"Squirrels?" asked Lincoln, "why use squirrels? Why not Oompa Loompas?"

"Well," said Coulson, "I can't have my Oompa Loompas do everything. Besides, these squirrels have been specially trained to get the nuts out of walnuts. Oompa Loompas can't get the shell out in one piece; they always break them. Squirrels get it right every time."

Something around Fitz's hand tightened, and he looked down to find that Jemma's hand was still holding his.

"Daddy," she called, "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, can I please have a squirrel? I'll need a few, actually. And maybe some regular squirrels to compare morphological and behavioral adaptations. Do you think it's a mental development, an increased frontal lobe, maybe? I'll have to check that, too. And their DNA. I'll still need that new MRI, Daddy. And a new x-ray machine."

"Alright, my dear," answered Mr. Simmons as he retrieved his wallet, "anything for science. How much, Coulson?"

"They're not for sale," said Coulson. "She can't have one."

If Jemma's grip was tight before, it was then like a vice around Fitz's hand, but Fitz found that it was terrifying when she let go.

"Oh," she said, "not this again. I just want to . . . I won't hurt them. It's just . . . how do they learn to shell walnuts like that? Is it a conditional behavior, or an instinctive one that needs to be activated? Do they have different hormonal advantages, or is it environmental factors, or both?"

Coulson's mouth hardened into a straight line. "I suppose you'll never know, Miss Simmons. Moving on." 

He continued down the corridor, with Lincoln and the parents following him, but Jemma was frozen in place and Fitz couldn't find the strength to leave her.

"Jemma, " he said, scooping up her hand once again, "come on; we'll get lost."

Jemma blinked at him, then looked back at the squirrels.

"Nothing works here," she whispered, so quietly that Fitz almost didn't hear it. "Why doesn't it work in here? Why can't I have what I want? Why won't they let me?"

"I always thought," said Fitz, "that money could solve any problem, but maybe that's just because we never had any."

Jemma shook her head, as if waking herself up. "What? No money? Doesn't your father work?"

"Yeah, of course," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I mean he used to. He worked in a factory like this one, only it made toothpaste. He used to, uh, he used to screw the lids on. But the factory closed down, and he hasn't been able to find any other work."

Jemma blinked. "But you have to work to earn money."

"Yes."

"But you have to have money to live."

Fitz frowned. "I know that, Jemma."

"Fitz," she gasped, squeezing his hand, "how do you live?"

And it was just then that Fitz's stomach rumbled louder than he had ever heard it before, as if proclaiming to the whole world that he was halfway to death, and truth be told, he was. Fitz looked into Jemma's eyes and saw something he never suspected from her. A kind of softness.  

"Oh," she said, "I thought . . . I mean I didn't know that was even . . . I thought you just worked hard, like I do. My dad says that if you want anything in life, you have to work hard and earn it, and I work so hard that he gives me anything I want. Until today, of course, and I thought it was just this factory, but . . . is that just how it is? Is it not fair sometimes?"

Fitz shrugged. "Jemma, let's just catch up to Coulson."

"No."

Jemma let go of his hand so fast that she might as well have thrown it at him. "No, I am going to get you a squirrel."

"What?"

"Think of the things you can do with a squirrel! You could use it to build a robot. You like robots, and you can sell them, and you'll have all the money you need, and there won't be any more problems. It's that simple. Only, how do I get you a squirrel if Coulson won't sell one to me?"

"Jemma, I—"

"Of course, I didn't sell my gum to Bobbi; she just took it. What if I . . ." She paused, eyeing the door to the Nut Room. "What if I just take one?"

She brushed past him towards the door, and perhaps he imagined it, but he could swear that the squirrels stopped their work to glare at her. He gulped. Somehow, he knew this was very, very wrong. 

"Wait, Jemma," he called after her, "isn't that against the rules?"

She paused, following his gaze up to the big sign above them. She shook her head.

"The rules don't matter, Fitz."

"Oh." His stomach plummeted to the floor. If he'd learned anything thus far, it was that Jemma Simmons was more a force of nature than a girl. But he couldn't let her do this, so he wracked his brain to think of something, anything, until he suddenly shouted, "What about square sweets that look round?"

Jemma's hand paused an inch short of the door handle, and she looked back at him.

"Square sweets that look round? How could you . . . that doesn't even . . ."

Fitz shrugged. "The rules don't matter, so why not?"

"Why not?" 

Jemma turned away from the door to fold her arms and glare at him.

"Fitz, that doesn't even make sense. How would sweets look round if they were square?"

"I'll tell you," said Fitz, holding back a grin, "at the end of the tour. So we, uh, we better catch up."

With that, he grabbed her hand and started running, tugging her along after him. As they got further away from the Nut Room, Fitz felt as if a weight was being taken off his shoulders, and the warmth of Jemma's hand in his made him even lighter. 

"Fitz!"

"Huh?"

"What about a boat? For your chocolate river?"

Fitz felt light as the air then, and he couldn't stop smiling, not until they made their way back to Mr. Coulson and Grandpa Mack.

Fitz and Jemma rounded a corner to find the group exiting a room. They stopped behind the others, giggling and gasping in equal measure, only to stop when Grandpa Mack glared down at them.

"I thought we'd lost you," he said, folding his arms and glaring at them. "Luckily for us, I don't think Mr. Coulson noticed."

"What," said Fitz, still catching his breath, "what did we miss?"

Grandpa Mack rolled his eyes. "Exploding chocolates. Though I'm not sure why anyone would want exploding chocolates. They didn't even taste good."

"Like I said," added Jemma, "they aren't known for making good sweets, only cheap ones."

"Well, I'm not sure how they'll make exploding candies cheaply," said Grandpa Mack. He looked around the room and frowned. "Something is off about this place."

"I'm tired of walking," groaned Lincoln from across the room, "can't we sit down and watch some TV?"

Mr. Coulson froze, then turned to look at him.

"TV?"

"Yeah," answered Lincoln. "It's Tuesday, and my favorite show is on."

It was then that Coulson's lips formed a very strange smile. It wasn't a wicked smile, or a warm smile. It was something decidedly in between.

"We do have a television room," said Coulson. "Let me take you there."

Before he knew it, Fitz found himself in a white room without a speck of dust anywhere, and Coulson was handing Mr. Campbell something that looked like a space suit, only it wasn't.

"This room," announced Coulson, "is where we film our TV commercials. Please remember to keep your suits secure and your goggles on tight."

"Why," asked Jemma, "is there some kind of radiation?"

"No, of course not. It's just that our actors are extremely attractive, and without the suits and goggle, things get a little unpleasant."

Fitz had a question on his lips that fell away as a suit and pair of goggles were shoved at him, and he had to find a way to put it on over his clothes without being completely awkward. Somehow, the fact that Jemma was only a few feet away putting on her own suit didn't help matters. But soon enough, everyone was ready to go past the doors into the SHIELD Chocolate studio.

Fitz was sure he'd never imagined that there could be so many Oompa Loompas in one place. There was a crowd of them, some hovering over the snack table while others manned the lights, looked after props, and did a vast array of things Fitz could only guess at. Near the set, he saw two camping chairs, one with the word "Quake" written on the back, while the other displayed the word "Trip." It seemed that these were supposed to be the actors, but they were odd names, at least.

And when a woman came out of a door labeled "Make up" and sat in the chair, he had to wonder what all the fuss was about. She was a nice girl, sure, but certainly there was no need for the goggles. He wasn't even sure what they were supposed to do. Jemma looked the same, after all. She caught him staring at her and shrugged back at him. But behind Jemma stood Lincoln, who was still as a statue.

"Oh no," said Coulson, "this happens sometimes. The goggles aren't always strong enough. Gene?"

At his command, one of the Oompa Loompas separated from the group and came to stand at attention before him. 

"Gene, we've got a drooler," he explained, and Fitz could see that Lincoln was, indeed, drooling. "You'll have to take him to see Eric before—"

Whatever Coulson was about to say was immediately forgotten when he gasped, then lunged for Lincoln, who was in the process of taking off his goggles.

"Beautiful," Lincoln murmured, "so beautiful."

Quake must have noticed the commotion, because she gave Lincoln a wink that almost knocked him over.

"Alright," said Coulson, "it's worse than I thought. Take him away immediately."

"But what about my boy?" asked Lincoln's mother, who was clutching at Mr. Coulson's suit jacket.

"He'll be just fine, Mrs. Campbell. Just fine. His eyes have just glazed over a little. Nothing a young boy can't bounce back from. Now, just follow Gene, there you go."

Gene grabbed a moving dolly and used it to cart Lincoln away, while a sobbing Mr. and Mrs. Campbell trailed behind.

"Well," said Coulson, rubbing his hands together, "who have we got left?"

Fitz and Jemma looked at each other, then up at Mr. Coulson, who seemed perplexed. 

"Two of you? I thought for sure at least one of you had gone into the Nut Room."

Fitz felt Jemma's eyes on him, but he didn't dare look back. 

"No sir," she said.

And then, the most curious thing happened.

Once again, Fitz found that Jemma's hand was in his.

"Huh," said Coulson, folding his arms. "May was sure there'd be only one of you left by now. Maybe when Trip gets back from the bathroom . . ." 

Grandpa Mack cleared his throat. "What do you mean? Were you trying to get rid of us?"

Coulson blinked. "Hmm? Please excuse me."

Coulson crossed the room towards Quake and whispered something to her. She looked at Fitz, then Jemma, and shrugged.

"What's going on here?" asked Mrs. Simmons. 

"Well," said Mr. Coulson, "I think we have two winners."

Grandpa Mack frowned. "Two winners? Winners of what?"

"Of the factory, of course. You didn't think we intended to keep running it on our own, did you? No, we're way too busy for that." Coulson consulted his watch, then nodded. "Parents, I hope you won't mind waiting here while I have a talk with my two contestants. We have a lot to talk about."

Before anyone could protest, Coulson escorted Jemma and Fitz through another door, and when Jemma looked back at Fitz, he tried to smile.

"Now then," said Coulson, closing the door, "you've managed to not only outwit the dangers of my factory, but one of my top agents as well. So tell me: have you figured out what this is yet?"

Fitz furrowed his brow, and had the strangest feeling that Jemma was doing the same.

"Nothing? Really?" Coulson folded his arms again. "You two are supposed to be the greatest young minds in the world. Have you really not figured it out?"

"The greatest young minds?" Jemma tilted her head to the side. "If you knew that then-"

"You've done your research on us," finished Fitz. "Maybe even before we . . . did you plant those golden tickets?"

It was then that Coulson beamed with pride. "Of course I did. Four planted tickets, and one planted agent."

"Bobbi!" exclaimed Jemma. Coulson nodded.

"Yes, she's one of our best. You took her out, but not before she got a sample of your gum."

"And you got Jemma to give you her notes," added Fitz.

Coulson nodded. "Good catch. Don't worry, Miss Simmons. Your research is quite safe. We just wanted to see if you'd give them up to save someone. We also wanted to see if Mr. Hünter could withstand a little peer pressure, but I think Bobbi might have overestimated herself. In fact, I think all four of you will make great agents someday. But you two will do wonders with this factory. You might even make some decent chocolate, once you've been trained, of course. We've been using this chocolate factory as a front for decades, so it's probably about time somebody made something edible. Now, Miss Simmons, your family is all here?"

Jemma nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Then we just have to pick up Fitz's."

Fitz choked, "Um, excuse me?"

"You do have parents, don't you? And a Grandma Mackenzie, Grandpa Mike, and Grandma Michelle at home?"

"Yes." 

"Well, they'll have to come live here. There's plenty of room for them. I think your Grandpa Mack will enjoy our gym. Is he really your grandpa, by the way?"

Fitz cocked his head. "Why wouldn't he be?"

Coulson stared at Fitz for a long, silent moment. "Never mind. It's time you met Lola. Would you like Jemma to tag along?"

"Of course," Fitz said, before he really thought about it.

Coulson nodded, then ushered them out of the room and into a sort of hangar. In the hangar, there was not, as Fitz suspected, a woman, but a red sports car. Coulson sat behind the wheel, while Jemma and Fitz piled into the back, and Jemma gave Fitz such a look that Fitz buckled up immediately.

"Mr. Coulson," asked Fitz, "why didn't I have a test? You tested Lance, Jemma, and Lincoln, but not me."

"I didn't have to," Coulson said as he put the key in the ignition. "Jemma did that. And you did better than anyone suspected. Now, up and out!"

Fitz looked at Jemma to find, once again, that she was looking back at him, and once again, something curious happened, because Fitz felt like he'd just had Coulson's fizzy lifting drinks. Coulson stepped on the gas, and the car tore out of the hanger. Off they were, gaining and gaining speed until somehow, they were flying through the air. And when Jemma put her hand in his, Fitz thought he'd never experienced something so marvelous in his life.

"Mr. Coulson?" Jemma shouted over the rushing wind, "what is the true nature of SHIELD?"

"Oh," Coulson shouted back, "you just wait and see."