"Uh-huh." Mack's baritone rumble was skeptical at best as he jotted down details. "Can you spell 'minotaur' for me? Okay. Yeah, I got it. Don't worry, my guy's real good with lasers." There was a pause as the person on the phone continued to speak, and Mack looked to the ceiling as he rubbed a strong thumb into his forehead. "Yea- Alr- Okay, thanks for calling, Seth. Let us know if you think of anything else."

He hung up the phone and turned a slightly bewildered expression on Fitz. "That was the lead singer of Ice Machine Apocalypse. Again." He ripped off a page from the notepad and slid it across the tabletop to where Fitz was unloading groceries. "They had a few more 'ideas'… think you can manage this, Turbo?"

"There's not a lot of time, but… I guess so?" Fitz wrinkled his forehead and stared at the list. A goat with pentagram eyes breathing fire? "What the-" A river of blood with a beach made of bones and a ghost ship sailing over it…

"Captained by a bare-chested pirate wench drinking from a skull goblet?" Fitz spluttered, baffled. "Even if I could render an image of, you know…" he motioned at his chest, squeezing the air, "is it even legal for them to commission that?" As far as he knew, Seth and Donnie were still teenagers.

Mack shrugged. "Yo, man. You know me, I stay out of this whole emo-goth-metal mumbo-jumbo. Far as I'm concerned, I'm just there to set up the stage and help you pull off the lights show."

Fitz let out a slow breath, running a palm over his jaw. "Well, we need the money, and Ian Quinn's stepson's most likely good for it." He pulled open his laptop and cracked his knuckles. "I'll see what I can do."

"And then - as if he wasn't purposely being difficult - he turns to the girl at the register and says, 'This wasn't more than ten items, was it, sweetheart?' Just to show me up! I can't believe anyone could be so blatantly disrespectful. I wasn't concerned for myself, you understand - he was stalling everyone who was just trying to do some quick shopping and he just-" Jemma's fingers clenched halfway en route to her hair. "Ugh!"

Skye sipped her zinfandel and made a face. "Eww. He really called her sweetheart? I mean, she has a name."

Jemma tipped her head backwards against the couch cushions. "Yes, but he said it with that rough-and-tumble accent you Americans find so irresistible, so the poor thing was putty in his hands." She rolled her eyes. "No wonder he thinks the rules don't apply to him."

Skye arched a brow at that, and seemed about to say something else, but Jemma started up again. "I'm sorry, Skye…" she put her palms on her cheeks for a second before dropping them down to rest on her jeans. "I've spoiled our girls' night with my complaining."

"No, I get it. You know, I really didn't have a problem with Fitz before all this stuff happened, but he's totally being a tool." Skye put her wine glass on the coffee table and tucked her legs up under her. Pursing her lips, she reached over and clicked off the TV before declaring, "We should get him back. And," she stretched her arms up above her head with a self-satisfied smile, "I know just how to do it."

"Oh, I couldn't possibly…" Jemma gulped down the rest of her wine. "That's sweet of you, truly, but I don't want to involve you in this. It's my problem."

Skye fixed her with the most serious look she'd seen on the younger woman's face. "Not involved? Jemma - that bitch stole my ginger beer."

"Grant!" Fitz ran an impatient hand through his curls and tugged on his bowtie, squinting past a stack of cages in the dim back room of the pet shop. "C'mon! I don't fancy having to explain to the chief of police why we kept his precious babes waitin'." Fitz hadn't planned to stay long at Ward's - the place smelled like a Depression-era traveling circus, and he wasn't keen on hanging about. Still, better to keep the creatures here than have them stinkin' up the workshop.

He heard a manly sigh. "So. Slight change of plans." Ward appeared in front of him, holding a scaly green iguana.

Fitz fixed him with a slightly panicked stare. "Erm… what the Hell is that?"

"Hear me out." Ward set the lizard gently on a table. "The thing is, Fitz… your rabbit's not here." Ward pulled air in through his teeth, wincing sympathetically in a way that was meant to suggest I'd love to help but my hands are tied. As Fitz's dismay morphed into umbrage, he put his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. "There's a perfectly good explanation for all of this." His tone was even, reasoned. It only made Fitz feel more betrayed.

"Chief Talbot's not goin' to care what the reason is. His daughter's expectin' a fluffy wee bunny dyed to match her dress. So. I have t' ask, Grant, how the Hell do y' lose a hot pink rabbit?"

Ward hunched his impressive shoulders in slight chagrin, stepping slowly towards Fitz. "I'll level with you." His expression was rather less apologetic than Fitz would have expected. "I had a girl back here..."

Fitz groaned mightily. "I do not want t' hear about your sexual conquests right now. That story about the Ukrainian twins still haunts me."

Ward laughed lightly at the memory before turning back to Fitz with a earnest look in his eye. "Look. I messed up." He half-shrugged. "I take responsibility for my actions."

"That's good to hear. So you're goin' to get me a replacement rabbit?"

"One that'll fit in your hat? I'd have to call my guy in Triskelion Heights, lock up the store, drive into the city… you're really putting me in a tough spot here, Fitz." Ward's voice was soft as he retreated to the table and picked up the small lizard once more. "It's either this little guy, or the tank of cephalopods over there, and I don't think you want a hydra." He held out the spiny creature. "Do the trick with the iguana, Fitz. Kids like iguanas."

Fitz wasn't convinced. "This is bollocks, y'know. They wanted a bunny. Bunnies're soft. You can pet them. Not thorny and scary lookin' and possibly inclined t' bite," he added, eyeing the thing warily.

"Mr. Skittles, bite?" Ward tutted dismissively. "He's 100% tame. Aren't you, Mr. Skittles?" He tickled the iguana gently on his side. "Besides, if they want something to pet, you're debuting Quinoa today, right? You've been training with her like I showed you?"

Fitz crossed his arms and stared stonily at his friend. Friend. Pffft. Maybe in that fun 'Harvey Dent' sort of way.

Ward knew that Fungineers had been losing customers. He knew how big the Talbots' party was every year. Fitz could still remember the intimidating picture the police chief cut on that first gig - Fitz had stepped in as a last-minute replacement act, trying desperately not to cough or wet himself as Talbot puffed cigar smoke directly into his face. 'Listen here, you magic-wielding freak - you better not fuck up my kid's birthday with your dollar store tricks, comprende?' He shuddered at the memory.

Seeing that Fitz was still angry, a muscle in Ward's jaw flexed, and he smiled thinly. "I have something that'll save this." He went to the corner of the room, dug behind a stack of boxes, and returned in triumph holding up Mr. Skittles, who was now sporting a set of tiny pink rabbit ears. "The Easter stock just came in. Lucky break, huh?" He clapped Fitz on the back.

"Lucky for you." Fitz was still unhappy, but he didn't have time to do anything but go along with Ward's suggestion. He grabbed a cardboard box with air holes and motioned for Ward to stick the lizard inside. "Y' still owe me. This was a dick move."

"Fair enough." Ward remained calm and collected, pissing Fitz off even more as he hurried out the door. Ward stepped to the back entrance and waved. He called after him, "Despite this, Fitz, it's always good to see you."

Jemma snapped the lid shut on her tub of props and finished loading it into her car. Her science demo had gone over fairly well with George Talbot and the other 11-year-olds, even enticing a few of the younger children to stop by.

She headed back to the party, hoping to network a bit. Looking around at the lavish preparations, Jemma crossed her fingers she'd be invited back the coming year. It did seem as if the family had money to spend on entertainment - in addition to herself and Fitz, she'd seen a clown-slash-balloon-artist, a children's musician, and a prodigiously talented puppeteer, straight out of The Sound of Music, simultaneously controlling about a dozen marionettes.

Jemma trekked over to the obscenely loaded snack table, chuckling, and snapped a picture of it with her phone. She sent the photo to Skye with the caption "Willy Wonka called - he wants his factory back" and wondered if she could get away with wrapping up a few of the more decadent treats for her friend. She was balancing a plate of gourmet hors d'oeuvres and pondering the logistics of smuggling out some macarons and crab puffs without ruining the inside of her purse, when she noticed the Amazing Leopold setting up his magic show. Fitz was decked out in a black tuxedo, white gloves, red bow tie and waistcoat, heavy black cape with red satin lining. Something about that combination of formalwear and striking color…

Stop it, Jemma. Magicians are not sexy. Much less overly competitive small-town magicians who doubled as petty saboteurs. And he looked ridiculous, really, if she sat down and thought about it. So she found an empty folding chair, settled it on the Talbots' impeccably manicured lawn, and did just that.

Author's Notes:

I typically wouldn't use first names for characters that don't normally go by them, but I figure, this Ward really isn't that close to canon Ward, so let's call him Grant. What can it hurt? (Besides, they're not military in this fic or anything like that, so it'd be a little strange to have everyone going by their last name.)

There's a nod to Agent Carter in this chapter, too! :-) Just because Jemma's such a fan.