"You!" Fitz stormed up to her booth in the back of the bar the next day. "What's this I hear about you tellin' kids magic isn't real?" A young mother sitting nearby shot him a scandalized look, covering her toddler's ears. A few of the patrons perked up at the accusation, no doubt hoping to fuel the gossip mill with stories about the town's only Internet celebrity. A decision warred on Fitz's face for a beat before he slipped into the seat across from her. His voice lowered, spitting venom. "All right, I didn't say anything when you waltzed into town and started making a nuisance of yourself, but this is my livelihood you're messin' with, sister."

Didn't say anything?! Talking as if he hadn't started this whole to-do, with his presumptuous attitude and his attempt at sabotage. The unmitigated gall. Honestly.

"Magic isn't real," she huffed, matter-of-fact. "And I'm sorry if you're offended on behalf of your little rabbit-from-a-hat routine, but I was provoked."

"Hey, now, don't- you don't- my routine is beloved," he spluttered.

"Not as much as my science program, as far as I can tell. Perhaps this town is beginning to realize that trusting blindly in things that can't be proven isn't as important as cultivating young minds?" she countered archly.

Fitz put his fisted hands on the tabletop. "Look," he gritted out narrowly. "I know magic isn't…" his eyes darted around, checking to make sure no one was listening anymore, "isn't real. Okay? I'm not a child, y'know-"

The barking laugh escaped before she could stop it.

"-actually a scientist as well."

"So I heard. A failed inventor." She stated it as simple truth. Which it is.

He stared for a second, brow furrowed, his usual defensiveness gone and something unrecognizable in its place. A moment later he shook himself slightly and pushed up out of the booth. "Never mind, I've got things to do. See you around, Lieutenant Lab Tech."

"It's Cap-" she began, dwindling when she realized he was already out of hearing, "-tain Chemistry…" she finished lamely. As she watched him stalk back over to the bar, Jemma sighed, took a sip of her appletini, and checked her watch. That's what I get for always being early.

-o-

Across the room, Mack stood with Hunter, watching the exchange.

"So's he fancy her or what?"

Mack blew out his cheeks, shaking his head slowly. "Beats me, man… I know he's been going through a dry spell."

Hunter snorted. "Things must be pretty bad if he's chatting up the enemy like that. And I'm not being funny, but I doubt they're whispering sweet nothings over there." He set out a chopping board and started cutting lime wedges. "She looks properly hacked off."

"Well, you know how he is. Busy guy, rubs a lotta folks the wrong way."

"Eh, he's all right. Their loss, from where I'm standing." Hunter started filling small rectangular bowls with cherries, limes, and pickles. "You know, my ex used to-"

"Oh, not this again," Mack groaned. "Do I have to hear about your ex-wife every time I come here?"

Hunter gave him a look between flummoxed and offended, but took the bar towel off his shoulder and slapped it sharply on the counter. "Right, so that's decided then."

Mack leaned his forearm a bit more heavily on the bar and bent his torso down toward Hunter. "What're you talking about?"

"Mack, my gigantic friend, you're going to tell me everything you know about your angry little partner there." Hunter popped an olive in his mouth. "We need to help the lovely ladies in this town see where they've been missing out!"

-o-

Jemma's head jerked in annoyance as someone once again slid into the booth across from her, her expression relaxing when she realized it was Skye.

"This place is packed! The band must be good," Skye set a bottled cider in front of Jemma and plunked down a beer for herself.

"I should certainly hope so. Since when does Scout's Honor charge a cover at the door?" At this point, she needed Trip's show to be good to make up for having to suffer through that little encounter with her least favorite local Brit.

As for her least favorite Yank… "Oh, no," she breathed. "What is that man doing here?"

Skye turned and craned her head to look. "Garrett?"

Jemma nodded. "It's 70s-style music, Skye. There's bound to be sensuous beats and provocative dancing-" she gasped, "Do you think he's here to picket?"

"Easy there, Footloose." Skye chuckled, sweeping her hair back and fanning her neck in the warm room. "He could just be eating dinner."

"Nah, love."

Jemma'd been so focused staring daggers at the condescending Southern prick that she hadn't noticed Hunter bringing round their food.

"Idaho invited him," he sighed, setting down the baskets of burgers and crisps. "And I think the drummer might be his protégé or something."

Jemma looked up. "You don't sound as if you care for him," she encouraged in a leading tone.

Hunter shrugged. "Man like that's got a lot of friends… in my business, I can't afford to be picky about my customers. At least, not if I want to hold onto my little green reasons for getting out of bed." His mouth settled into a grimace and his voice lowered to a whisper. "But I tell you what… his tipping's crap." Hunter glanced around and then lingered for another moment by their table. "He's got these little slips of paper, one side's a Bible quote and the other looks like a $20. Sticks it under the plastic tray so you can't tell the bill's fake." Picking up their empty bottles, Hunter shook his head dejectedly. "Made a waitress cry once with that trick."

"Wow." Skye pursed her lips in disbelief, and Jemma recalled that she'd spent a few years waiting tables in some cantina that Skye described as 'a wretched hive of scum and villainy'. "Damn. That is so not cool."

"Yeah… no idea what Idaho sees in him." Hunter was back to his usual demeanor, winking at Skye and grinning. "But you didn't hear that from me, yeah?" With a final arch of his eyebrow, he moved on down the room to sweep the area in front of the stage, where the band was currently setting up.

"Wait. Jemma." Skye's gaze had followed Hunter, and she now appeared a bit panicked.

"Hmm?"

"The cute guy in the band, the guy that told you to come tonight, what did he look like?"

"Erm…" Jemma turned to look out of the booth at the band members, but couldn't spot Trip. "He's not up there. Perhaps he's been delayed?"

"You're sure that's not him over by the amp?"

"Skye, please. I only met him yesterday, I think I'd remember what he looks like."

"Oh, thank God."

"Why? Who is that?" He wasn't quite in Trip's league, but still very attractive. Cheekbones to die for. Come to think of it, she might've seen him on MoreThanThat. Hard to tell from the profile picture. In it, "EveryonesType" had been naked but for a pair of sweatpants, flexing and showing off his abs, face partially hidden by a beard - which, in hindsight, had contrasted oddly with his baby-smooth chest. Jemma stared, trying to puzzle it out, and nearly missed what Skye said next.

"He's just someone I…" The rest of Skye's sentence was muffled as she took an enormous bite of fried pickles, refusing to meet Jemma's eyes.

"Pardon me?"

"I, uh…" Skye swallowed. "I might've kidnapped a rabbit from him?"

"Skye!" Jemma admonished. Then something clicked in her brain. "That's why your car smelled like a petting zoo?"

Author's Notes:

Happy Easter! I know this is later in the day than usual, and short, but it's been a busy day - of fun! Hope y'all had a great holiday (if you celebrate it)!

I've seen those little Bible-verse fake-money things on a couple of picture-posting sites. Seemed like the kind of stunt Garrett would pull.

And... finally... let's play spot the Star Wars reference!