Fitz looked up from fixing the wonky blower for the moonbounce when his phone dinged to signal it had finally finished charging. Mack had dragged him to some mind-numbing small-business seminar in Triskelion Heights the night before - "The Real Deal: Keeping Your Confidence in a Competitive Climate" - with a rather unnecessary remark about how Fitz could learn a thing or two. Personally, Fitz had no idea why Mack was so impressed by the Real Deal business series, but he'd wisely kept mum on the subject.

The net result had been that Fitz was bored out of his skull and had almost immediately used up his phone's remaining battery power playing Kwazy Cupcakes. He'd been so tired after the drive back that plugging in his charger had completely slipped his mind.

An oily sense of trepidation ran through him, though, when he saw his notifications. Five missed voicemails? No one ever left Fitz voicemail except his mother. Fitz tried not to let his hands shake too much, his mind running through every terrible scenario as the mounting dread threatened to overwhelm him. As quickly as he was able, he dialed the number and sat down to hear the news.

"Leo, this is yer mam." His heart clutched in his chest. The very next moment, though, her familiar banter kicked in, shaking his fear loose like grime in the dishwasher. "Ye'd better not be screenin' my calls, hear? Now I know ye t' be a good boy, so I'm gonna trust ye're jus' sleepin', and if so why are y' so damn tired, my wee cactus! Are y' feelin' all right? I hope ye've not been stayin' out late again, y' know I don't like ye gallivantin' about at all hours… ye'd better give us a ring, Leopold Fitz, or so help me I will hop on a plane and box yer ears, ignorin' yer ol' mam like this, so close t' death and frail as I am…"

Fitz's breath came out of him in a relieved gust as he listened to his mother ramble on for another couple of sentences, sounding exactly like her usual self. He shook his head with a chuckle. She really thought he was sleeping when she'd called at - he checked the timestamp - smack in the middle of the seminar? More like wishing for the sweet sleep of death. Speaking of which… Frail. Mum, please. Lorna Fitz was as hale and strong as they came, and quite probably going to live another hundred years.

The next message, however…

"Fiiiiiitz…" His eyes flew open. That's Jemma's voice. He hadn't heard from her in a while, and he tipped his head unconsciously to listen around the upbeat music blasting through the phone. She sounded absolutely hammered. "Skye's got something to teeelll yooouuu…"

"Sorry I stole your rabbit!" Skye called from the background, equally slurred. "Not sorry Jemma decided to make it up to you!"

"Skye!" A third woman, laughing. "C'mon, this is embarrassing enough for her."

Straining to hear the voices in the background, Fitz jumped at the sudden loudness of Jemma shout-snorting in his ear, "She's talking about the scones! It's- scones. That's all she means…"

"I really don't!"

"Shhh-"

Click.

He waited, curious but wary, for the next voicemail to play. When it came on, it was clearly an accidental dial, a bit muffled but still intelligible. Fitz felt a wisp of guilt creep up his spine at the idea of listening in, but… well, after all, they did call him. He leaned forward, feeling a bit like he used to watching soaps with his mum.

"-anybody from that site?" That was Skye, and the third woman overlapped the tail end of her sentence.

"Yeah, isn't it pretty expensive? Why are you paying for it if it doesn't work?"

Now Jemma was getting defensive. "I went on a date!"

Skye again. "Yeah, with that guy who was old enough to be your dad…"

"Doctor Hall was fascinating to speak with. Though, his manner was a bit too grave for my taste."

"Okay! And you haven't gone on another one since! What happened to your big plan, Ms. Hot Stuff, slutting it up in a new town?"

Jemma made a noise that most likely meant she was choking on her drink. "I wouldn't put it quite that way… anyway, can you blame me? The choice of men in this town is terrible! And I'm fairly sure their compatibility maths are horribly off." She sighed. "Ninety-seven percent? That's clearly a mistake."

"Okay, but… we all know your thing with Fitz is-"

Click.

No! No, no, no. What "thing with Fitz" was Skye talking about? He held his breath, fingers drumming on the surface of his workbench, as the next message clicked on. All three women, if possible, had gotten even more drunk.

"Skye, stop! Bobbi, tell her to stop. Look, it's leaving a message right now."

"Okay, then ask him!" Skye cheered giddily.

"My god, next time I'm picking Truth." Jemma cleared her throat, slowing her words and overcorrecting her pronunciation. She sounded less like she was sober and more like she was impersonating the "upstairs folk" from Downton Abbey. "Fitz, old chap! I've, erm, I've got to ask you… if it's true about what… if you… do you have a…" She dropped back into her inebriated warble, "Oh, for heaven's sake, I can't, Skye!" He could picture how red her face must be.

"Nope! No takebacks!" Skye was emphatic in her drunken glee, and Bobbi echoed the sentiment.

"Fine! But don't expect any mercy from me next round!" Taking a deep breath, with an audible wince to her words, Jemma huffed out, "Fitz-do-you-go-naked-underneath-your-kilt?"

Click.

What in the buggering blazes? Fitz's entire forehead had become a game of Cat's Cradle. He didn't even own a kilt. He hadn't worn one since he was a tiny pageboy in his cousin's wedding. He began pacing, holding the phone to his ear and shaking out his other hand while the message switched over.

The music on this one was muted, with nothing but the driving bass coming through. Jemma, however, was as sloshed as ever.

"Okay, so… all right…" The deliberate slowness was back. "Here's the thing about you." She hiccupped plaintively. "You appear to be this cute, funny guy, but I thought the same thing when-" Was that a burp? "we first met! And then! Imagine my surprise when, when you…" Jemma seemed to be having some difficulty nailing down her train of thought, "you weren't shy at all, you were just nursing some kind of awful grudge against me," her words picked up speed, "and I didn't even know who you were, so how-"

"Jemmaaaaaa!" Skye wheedled, suddenly close by. "Come on, the movie's starting! Time to watch Channing Potaters take his pants off!"

"Yes, of course, I'll be right there!" Jemma cleared her throat thickly, though the jolt of the interruption seemed to have cleared her head a bit. "Erm, you should… can you- you might delete this, actually. I, er… I shouldn't have called? Oh, god. Have a good night!"

Click.

Fitz flumped back into his chair, eyes staring blankly. His mind was reeling, but one thing stood out. She thinks I'm cute? His mouth split into something of a manic grin.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

Author's Notes:

This is one of the shortest chapters, but it's one of my favorites!

There's a fun nod to B99 for those of you who watch.

Fitz's mom is based on the same Lorna Fitz from Oh To Be Young, but just a little more obnoxious, to show where maybe Fitz got some of his sauce from.

The "under the kilt" thing is also inspired by amandajbruce's fic Law & Order: MCU.

I personally use all of the following to refer to Channing Tatum: Channing Taters, Channing Potatum, Channing Potaters, Channing Tatertot, and Channing PotatoFace.
That was just for fun, and I mean no disrespect; the case could certainly be made that he in fact bears no resemblance to a potato. :-D Also, please let me know your favorite of the nicknames, if you want, because I had a real hard time picking which one to put in the chapter.