It was all going fairly well until she stabbed herself in the eye with her mascara wand. Why on earth she was even applying mascara in the first place was not yet entirely clear to her. She rinsed her eye with cold water until it seemed to feel better and look less red. Then she moved on to rectifying the make-up disaster which was no mean feat. Thankfully, though it was certainly out of character, she had given quite a bit of thought to her outfit the previous evening and it hung ready on the back of her door.

Looking at it afresh, she noticed that despite all her effort, she had selected older clothes, ones she hadn't worn since… well, ones she hadn't worn in a while. Clothes that seemed to hold happy memories. Clothes from a simpler time. She didn't want to think too hard about why today got so much extra effort, she just wanted to make sure she was on time to meet Fitz in the lounge for their first go at starting their days together.

When she arrived in the lounge at the appointed hour of seven-thirty, Fitz had his back to her at the galley kitchen but the teacups, milk jug, hot water pot and tea pot already waited on the table. She could smell the tea brewing along with another wonderfully familiar smell.

He turned around as he heard her approach and she saw that he'd just pulled a freshly baked tray of her favourite fig and vanilla bean muffins out of the oven.

"Oh Fitz! You baked too!?"

He had made these for her whenever she was homesick at The Academy. Both of them would sail through so much of their assessment work that they found quite a lot of time for recipe development. This was the era in which she had perfected her homemade pesto aioli. As the one with the sweeter tooth, she had inspired all kinds of gourmet baking adventures for Fitz and this recipe – the fig and vanilla bean muffins – had been a triumph. On the spot she resolved to make a batch of pesto aioli for him as soon as she could spare the time.

At last she looked from the muffins to the man himself. He was back in a shirt and tie for the first time in what seemed like ages. And the cardigan he'd paired with them was the navy one with the fluorescent orange trim she'd given him for his last birthday before things went south with Ward. She'd chosen navy because it did such wonderful things for his cornflower blue eyes. Combined with the effect of the tea, the muffins and the tie, the navy seemed to be working just fine for him this morning.

She sighed as she sank into the couch. "Fig and vanilla bean. How I've missed you."

Fitz grinned and sat next to her, pouring her tea just how she liked it. He handed her a palette knife. "Want to try levering one of those out of the tin?" he asked.

After successfully freeing a muffin, Jemma sank her teeth into it and found herself so eager to pass on her compliments to the chef that she sprayed crumbs all over their piles of notes.

"Ok, ok," Fitz laughed. "I'll take that as a thumbs up."

Jemma loved working with Fitz again. As soon as they'd eaten their fill of muffins, they got straight to work and together solved each of their individual challenges in almost no time. She would describe a problem, he would ask an insightful question, she would make a point of clarification, he would propose a suggestion, she would raise a logistical issue, he would ponder, she would draw a diagram and suddenly she'd see a way forward. She'd tell him her theory, he'd agree it would work but suggest a slight variation on her proposal and suddenly everything seemed perfectly clear.

Similarly, he'd lay out a blue print and point out a flaw. She would turn it slightly to one side, ask about why he'd made a particular decision about choice of materials and propose an alternative. He'd run a quick simulation on his tablet and find she was perfectly correct.

Fitz had set an alarm to go off at nine to prompt him not to overstay his welcome. "Right," he said, suddenly getting to his feet. "Unless you need me for anything else, I might get back to the garage."

Jemma looked up in surprise, finding herself not quite ready to let him go. "You're right, of course," she said. "I should be getting back too."

"I'm taking one of these muffins down to Mack – do you want to take the rest to the lab?" he offered.

Jemma got to her feet. "I want all the muffins you can spare!" she cried, picking up the teapot and milk jug, carrying them over to the sink and starting to run some hot water.

"Let me wash up," Fitz said, placing down the cups he'd just carried over and taking the teapot out of her hands. "You have troops to command."

Jemma accepted that he was probably right but she really didn't want to leave. She dawdled back to the couch and gathered her belongings.

Fitz was there when she turned around with the rest of the muffins on a plate.

"Can't guarantee I'm going to share these," she confessed.

"I was only thinking of you when I made them," he chuckled. "Go on, eat them all!"

"You're not going to bake like this every morning, are you?"

Fitz shrugged. "I might."

"Oh dear," Jemma laughed. "I'd better get back in the habit of starting the day on the treadmill."

"Nah," Fitz shook his head. "Start the day here with me." And he gave her a wave and turned back to the washing up.