"Yep. Okay, mum. No, you don't have to send me a new charger- no, please don't- we've got different plugs here- all right, mum, thanks." It would be simple enough to modify for an American electric outlet. Not worth the hurt feelings. "I've got t' run, now, but I'll talk to y' tomorrow. Yes. Sorry again. Love you."

Hanging up, Fitz packed his tech case, grabbed the leash, and whistled for Quinoa. Today was gonna be a good day.

-o-

Clear skies and a pleasant temperature had drawn out the standard crowd, but even with the foot traffic, the park in the town square was nice enough at this time of day. Fitz set his case down on a bench and checked his watch. Should be late enough. He might be a right bastard, but he knew how important a lie-in was after a night of hard drinking. He pulled out his phone and dialed.

"Hello, this is Jemma Simmons!" chirped her bubbly recorded voice. "Please leave a message!"

"Jemma… it's Fitz. Er, Leopold Fitz, from-" She knows, you numpty. He coughed. This wasn't starting off the way he'd intended at all. He forced his tone back to familiar ground, introducing a note of mockery. "So I learned some very interesting information last night… just wondering if your phone keeps a record of your sent voicemails? If not, I'll be happy to go over everythin' in great detail. Or, y'know," he teased, "I might just decide to make things up as I pleas- oh, horseshite!"

He was suddenly yanked forward, stumbling, and dropped his phone when Quinoa lunged against her leash and pulled it from his grasp. "The Hell's gotten into you? Come back here, y' little fleabag!" he scolded, bending to retrieve the phone from the grass and cursing his apparent lack of upper-body strength. Can't even properly hold onto a 20-pound dog.

Then he happened to see what Quinoa was running towards - Jemma, striding across the grounds, barely recognizable in some kind of jogging outfit and a huge, floppy hat. At the same moment, she lifted a hand to the side of her sunglasses, scrunching her face at him. For a second, Jemma seemed about to walk off without so much as a wave, but as the dog reached her and started yipping, she squared her shoulders and called out, "Fitz?"

Ug. Jemma could not understand how Skye had convinced her to drink quite so many White Russians. It was the sugar - Jemma didn't realize how drunk she was getting until it had happened, and well… who could argue with Kahlua and cream? Didn't mean she had to like it the next day, however.

She'd woken to the sound of her phone ringing, and picked up to hear Ernesto, her stylist, talking a mile a minute. Damn. She'd forgotten about her appointment that day. Since Jemma's Spanish wasn't the best, she could only guess at what he was saying, but she heard the word mediodía a few times. She'd glanced at her alarm clock - eleven twenty - and blessed her constitution for allowing her to power through almost any hangover (and premenstrual cramps as well, now - thank you, Mother Nature) as she threw on some sweats and rushed out the door.

The clock tower at City Hall now showed a quarter to noon, and Jemma cursed as she cut through the park to save time. Then out of the blue Quinoa was jumping up her legs and Fitz was shouting from across a low hill. Crumbs. Because of course, after more than a week of not running into him anywhere, he would see her when she was feeling terrible, running late, dressed for comfort, still sporting last night's smudged mascara behind her sunglasses. And naturally, she hadn't had time to shower (Ernesto was going to wash her hair anyway) so between her skin still tacky from the glitter lotion Skye had insisted they try, the coffee breath, and a messy bun under her don't-look-at-me hat, Jemma was certain Fitz would find something to make fun of.

He was floundering for something on the ground, and she debated for a second whether she could just walk off and pretend she hadn't noticed him. Though that was rather hard to do with Quinoa making such a racket, and- yes, all right, damn it, now he's seen me.

"Fitz!" she called out, grabbing Quinoa's leash and walking her back.

She couldn't quite place his expression - he seemed caught off guard, and for a moment (unsurprisingly) appeared to be laughing at her. Then he was beckoning her over, opening the bulky metal suitcase like a street peddler hawking his wares.

"Jemma! I was actually just-" Fitz lifted a small quadcopter from its compartment and began setting up the accoutrements. "You know what? It's not important. I'm glad you're here, though."

"Oh, I really can't stay…" She couldn't help peeking around his torso at the little drone. "That's not the same one I saw last time."

"Yeah, that's right." Fitz grinned like a little boy at the science fair. "I took your advice. Made some modifications, decreased the size. And look." He reached into his bag and pulled out a Ziploc bag of dry dog food, pouring it into a compartment on the copter. "Highway SkyTray, Pet Edition!"

Toggling the settings on his controller pad, tongue poking through his teeth in concentration, Fitz started up the drone and let it hover in the air. Quinoa hopped on the bench and watched the proceedings curiously. One push of the joystick and a few taps on the buttons and kibble started dropping onto the wooden surface beside them.

Quinoa sniffed, scooted forward, and licked one of the kibbles experimentally. Then she all but exploded into a frenzy of full-body wiggles and greedy-pup fun, leaping off the bench and barking excitedly at the flying food dispenser. Fitz turned to Jemma and offered her the joystick pad. "Want t' have a go?"

Do I ever. Fitz's enthusiasm was contagious; the redesign was elegant, and the device itself seemed easy to control even in a slight breeze - though that could be the result of Fitz's practiced hand. Still… she wasn't exactly presentable at the moment, and she'd spent far too long chatting already. "I… can't," she sighed. "I've got to get my hair cut. I'll be late as it is."

"What?" Fitz craned his neck and peered quizzically at her bun. "But y' don't need- Never mind, it's not my business." He shrugged, very obviously affecting nonchalance. "If you have to go, I won't keep you."

"No, that's not what I-" Oh, bother. "I really would like to! It's just… the PR department's asked me to change my look. They want me to wear my hair down. Said it'll make me more approachable." But what they'd really meant was that a pretty host would sell more merchandise, and Jemma hadn't been willing to compromise on taking off her goggles or losing the lab coat.

"Well, that's absurd." He squinted, trying to look under her hat, and her hand flew up to her neck self-consciously. "What's your hairstyle got to do with anything?"

"Yes, that's what I said! But they insisted, and, well… it would be a safety violation to leave it loose at this length, so I thought…" Now it was Jemma's turn to shrug. It was a small price to pay, to do the job she loved and inspire hordes of young girls and boys towards scientific pursuits.

"Jemma. C'mon." That wry little grin was back. He picked up Quinoa and held her up by his face, putting on an odd, garbled voice. "Remma! Ron't ro! Ray in the rark and ray with me!"

"Oh, god." Jemma's hands instantly moved to her mouth in vicarious embarrassment. "Is that what you think Quinoa sounds like? And why is she Australian?"

"Hey!" Fitz set the dog on the bench and sniffed. "My Scooby Doo impression is bang-on and you know it."

"Oh, I'm sure." She nodded skeptically. "Must be a hit at parties. Do you also imitate snails?"

He narrowed his eyes humorlessly. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

She laughed at his sudden turnaround, and made a decision. "Give me a second; I'll see if I can reschedule."

Jemma moved away and hit redial. "Hola, Ernesto? Oh, Karla, it's you, thank goodness. Look, I spoke with Ernesto earlier and I thought he said to come in at noon? Ah, he did? Oh, no, not a problem - actually, that's perfect! Yes! Thank you so much. I'll see him at three." She smiled into the phone, listening to the nail technician relay greetings from people in the salon. "That's so sweet! Well you tell Jiaying I think she's beautiful. All right, I've got to run! Thank you again."

She jogged back to Fitz, enjoying the way the sunlight reflected off his curls, or the light sheen of sweat that had stuck a few of them to his forehead in the midday warmth. He held the control pad out to her, clearly proud of his cool new toy, and she got a bit lost in the way his breath came and went in fast, eager puffs. When she took the controls and their fingers brushed, he bit his lip into that smirk again, the one she'd come to associate with his insufferable, arrogant, deluded, completely annoying personality. Only, it didn't look quite as bad on him as she'd once thought. Fudgesicles. She might be in trouble.

Fitz's mouth curled as if he knew what she was thinking. "Good choice. And I promise," he murmured, stepping close behind her so he could show her which buttons to push, "this'll be a lot more fun than sittin' in a barber's chair."

Good God. All he was doing was standing near her. He wasn't even touching her, but she could feel the heat radiating off his body, how his quick breaths tickled her skin, and the way her own breathing sped up in response.

She was definitely in trouble.