What in the world did he mean by that? Jemma chewed at her lip, wanting to find out what was on her phone - sod it, there'll be time for that later. Any curiosity was promptly replaced by a frantic grab at opportunity as Fitz trotted out of sight. The instant he was far enough away, Jemma tugged open her purse and thanked her lucky stars she excelled at preparation. Her clothing she couldn't do much about, but everything else? Pulling out a moist towelette, an eyeliner pencil, lip gloss and a hairbrush, she yanked off her hat and sunglasses, buckled down and set to work.

Several minutes later, fresh-faced and feeling quite like the self-assured young woman with an above-average fashion sense she knew she was, Jemma pulled her hair into a high ponytail and sighed in relief. It was impossible to ascertain without being indiscreet, but after a quick sniff test, she was confident in both the strength of her deodorant and the relative cleanliness of her knickers. No visiting aunts today, thank heavens. Her luck just might be turning.

She sat on the bench and retrieved the drone, ready to finally examine it at her leisure. Fitz would be back any minute now, and she wanted to be able to talk to him about the upgrades he'd made to the little machine. As she turned it over, recalling the way Fitz had been making what Skye would deem "sex eyes" at her all morning, a bit giddy at the prospect of having them on her now that she'd gotten herself together, one last idea cropped into her mind. Jemma debated for only a second before pulling the zipper on her hoodie down halfway, reaching into her bra and settling "the girls" a bit higher. There. She doubted Fitz would tease her about a missed spot of glitter lotion now.

"Jemma?"

"Fitz!" Jemma jumped in alarm. How much of that had he seen? "You're back!" Her heart was shaking like a cold star in the night sky, and her hands fluttered without destination. "What, er, what took you so long?"

Fitz was looking at her oddly, panting as he leaned on the back of the bench and hooked the plastic shopping bag from the convenience store on the wooden corner by her shoulder. "What d' you mean? I just ran both ways."

Indeed, his T-shirt was damp at his collarbone and under his arms, and his forehead was practically steaming. After handing her an icy bottled water, Fitz hauled the hem of his shirt up to mop at his face. Jemma boggled at the casual flash of his pale, toned midsection, decorated by a tantalizing line of hair trailing down from his navel into the waistband of his trousers. She uncapped her water and gulped down about a third of it in one go.

Fitz let his shirt fall back into place and started unwrapping an ice cream sandwich. "Hot as Satan's nutsack out here."

Jemma was still reeling from the gratuitous show of skin she'd just seen, but Fitz's crass assessment helped snap her back. She couldn't seriously be considering kissing a mouth that dirty, could she? "Yes. Hot." She nodded. "It is that. Thank you for the water."

Her eyes closed briefly as she remembered what was hiding under Fitz's tee. Mmm. Perhaps she could kiss that mouth. In fact, she might know a few ways to get it even dirtier.

Fitz bounded back to the park bench, carrying Jemma's drink and wolfing down his first ice cream sandwich so she wouldn't notice he'd actually bought two. So judgy, that one. As he drew near, he could see the back of Jemma's head wiggling about; she seemed to have lost her hat. Probably took it off when she checked her phone. His brow furrowed as he watched her ponytail dip forward and disappear, popping back up nearly as quickly. Some sort of calisthenic warm-up? What a strange duck she was.

He rounded the bench, breathing hard from the exertion, and saw her pulling her hand out from under her jacket, where she'd been… tucking something into her bra, perhaps? Why would she do that? She had pockets. Although, Fitz reasoned, if he had breasts like that, he'd pet them every chance he got too. And really, why on Earth hadn't he noticed those little beauties yet today? That seemed like a huge oversight on his part. Unless she'd… Now wait just a red-hot second. She had done something. To her hair, maybe. And with her - oh God, her boobs. She'd done something to her cleavage to make it utterly fascinating. (How in the Dickens could she do that and then claim not to believe in magic?) Bloody Hell. Clearly, she'd listened to his voicemail and was planning to use her crafty feminine wiles to wrestle the truth from him about her drunken confessions.

Hmmph. Good thing he'd spent most of his time at the store preparing for her reaction. You'll find me a tougher nut to crack than you think, Jemma Simmons. Even if she did currently resemble something out of a fitness magazine, while he… well, he probably still had chocolate crumbs stuck to the sides of his mouth like a supper-spoiled child… and why is it so hot out here, good grief, he was sweating harder than a politician at the pearly gates, and he should've gotten Jemma a snack to go with her drink and damn it, how did everything get so turned around? Stupid magic breasts. Fitz quickly did what he could to wipe off his face, snagged the last ice cream sandwich out of the bag before it could melt, and tried to play it cool.

"Want a bite?" He held out the frozen treat, ignoring the way it was already dripping down the side of his hand.

Seeing her nose wrinkle, Fitz mentally began preparing himself for a lecture on nutrition, but the next thing he knew, Jemma had gripped his wrist and was leaning forward - eyes up, Fitz - to take a delicate bite from the frosty dessert still in his hand. Her gaze locked on his as her mouth closed around the chocolatey exterior, and when Jemma swallowed and licked her lips clean, Fitz wondered how much blood actually needed to reach his brain for it to stay functional.

To give himself a second before he had to speak, and in no small part to cool himself off, Fitz shoveled the rest of his ice cream into his mouth. Blast it. He'd forgotten napkins.

Jemma watched in a breathless daze as Fitz licked a line of melted ice cream off his forearm, her abdomen clenching instinctively when he sucked on his fingers to rid them of the sticky sweetness. Index… middle… and… yes, there he goes with the thumb. She shook her head. Incorrigible. He was prattling on about something, the layout for the Children's Day venue perhaps, but Jemma honestly couldn't be bothered to focus on that. Not when she was busy thinking up numerous other uses for his mouth. Jemma Simmons, you absolute tart. What would her parents say, if they could see what she was thinking? More to the point, what would Fitz say?

It was a valid question, after all. Goodness knows we haven't been each other's biggest fan… could she really see herself making the first move? Perhaps I won't have to. The way Fitz had been acting towards her - the small touches, the sexy smiles, the insinuations… it definitely felt as if he'd finally decided to start flirting in earnest. Considering how long it had been since a man she liked showed her this type of attention, though, it was entirely possible she was imagining things.

"Jemma?"

"I'm sorry, what's that?"

Fitz grinned at her. "You're off in the clouds today," he teased. "I was just asking if you've ever been to Hyde Park before. If not, you might want to scout it out before you have to perform next week."

"Right! Yes, no, that's a wonderful suggestion. I'll make sure to do that." She started to tuck her hair back, and realizing she had no loose strands, ended up playing with her earlobe instead.

Fitz sat on the bench next to her, stretching out his legs in front of him and crossing them at the ankle. "I think I can guess what's got you so distracted…"

She bolted upright. Could he read her mind? Time to find out. She turned to him with her best bedroom eyes. "And?"

He smiled. "Go on. I can see it eating away at you."

Her gaze flicked to his mouth, which was curling up in that far-too-knowing way.

"Jemma. You've obviously listened to the voicemail, so just-"

"Oh! That's right!" He had mentioned something about checking her phone, hadn't he? Amid her frantic personal grooming, rampant speculation and drone perusal, she'd forgotten all about it. "I'll just listen to that now, shall I?"

Fitz seemed surprised, but after a pause, he shrugged. If she'd had to guess, she would say he appeared… excited? Nervous? Both? Oh, good gracious, what if he's left me a message to ask me out? No wonder he'd been on his best behavior, inviting her to spend time with him, running off to fetch her a beverage, offering her his own snack! He's waiting for an answer! It was adorable. Well, now she had to listen to the message.

Beaming, she dialed the number for her voicemail while Fitz bounced his foot in anticipation.

"Jemma… it's Fitz. Er, Leopold Fitz, from-" Aww, bless his cotton socks. He'd been so shy! Hearing his nervous cough on the phone, Jemma reached over and put a reassuring hand on Fitz's elbow. Here it comes! He couldn't possibly have thought she'd reject him that badly, could he?

"So I learned some very interesting information last night…" Wait. What was happening? She'd done what last night? Jemma's mouth dropped open in horror as she listened to the rest of the message. The hand on Fitz's arm turned into a fist, and that fist punched him in the bicep.

"You tosser!"

"Tell me what I said!" Jemma crossed her arms in front of her - ahem, yep - and glared at him. Forget what he'd said earlier about seeing her blush. This. This was fun.

"You just hate not knowin' everything, don't you, Doctor Simmons?" Fitz mentally browsed his choices. This was a delicate balance. Too much and she'll just storm off. "All right, well seeing as I'm in a sharing mood, you might've admitted somethin' about…" he watched her fingers tighten around her elbow, "how magic totally kicks science's arse."

She looked to be biting the inside of her cheek. "Really."

"Hand to God! You said, and I quote," he affected a falsetto, "'Oh, Fitz! If only I'd gone to magic school instead of wasting my youth on all that biochemistry malarkey!'"

"Ugh. That's not even how I sound!"

"Or, wait, maybe it was something about how Highway SkyTray's the best idea you ever heard, and y' wish you could be as clever as me."

She cocked her head in annoyance. "You know I can just call Skye or Bobbi, right?"

"Assuming they remember anything. That's a big if, Jemma. How you ladies can drink that much…" he tsked disapprovingly.

She snorted. "This coming from a man who spends most of his free nights at a bar."

"Yeah, that my friend owns. That's just me being social." He smirked. "Besides, no matter how hammered I was, at least I never called anyone at one a.m. singing 'If You Wanna Be My Lover' at the top of my lungs. What's your excuse?"

"Oh, you insufferable- ugh!" Two petite hands came out to shove him, not as hard as they probably could have. "Where's your phone? I'm calling your mother." She made a grab for his messenger bag. "She should know what kind of man her son is!"

"Ah-ah-ah, you don't! Private property!" His phone wasn't even in his bag. Fitz dug it out of his back pocket and held it up, trusting his longer limbs to keep it out of reach. "What would you even say to her? Gonna ask about my kilt again?"

Jemma drew her arms back as if he'd suddenly sprouted quills. "What?"

"Oh, nothin' much. Just somethin' you said last night," he shrugged, brows wagging in amusement.

"No…" Jemma's eyes saucered in trepidation, unfocusing as the memory hit. "That one actually…" Her hand flew up to cover her mouth. "Oh, god, I did, didn't I?"

He quirked his lip, chin tilting in assent. "You really shouldn't stereotype people like that, you know." I don't go asking her what she wears under her Beefeater uniform. Oh, good. Now he was going to have that image in his head for the rest of the day. Brilliant.

Jemma had pulled her knees up onto the bench and thunked her forehead into them. "If you'll excuse me, I'll just be over here wondering how best to let the ground swallow me up." Her groan was muffled, but pitiful, and Fitz reached over to chuck her gently on the shoulder.

As entertaining as it was to know he had something she wanted - information, that's what I mean, just information - it was time to set her mind at ease. "Jemma, hey."

She raised her head, something in her gaze like a pinned butterfly. It made Fitz want to go back to his workshop and fix broken things.

"I'm just jokin', you know? I promise. I'd tell you if you did anything really horrible."

The corner of her lip crept up gratefully, and his chest untied. "Now that I believe," she allowed.

"Exactly. You've got nothing to be embarrassed about."

She smiled back, bumping his elbow lightly with her own.

"I mean," he hedged, "for someone who likes movie Ron better than book Ron."

Her face dropped back onto her legs with a huff, but he could see the sides of her eyes crinkle. "You're the worst."

Author's Notes:

Hey all, I have a super busy weekend coming up, and a ton to do before then, so I'll be posting Friday's chapter fairly late on Saturday. Sunday's chapter will go up in the afternoon as usual.

The title of the Spice Girls song is actually "Wannabe" but Fitz doesn't know that. ;)
Also, the implication at the end is, of course, that Fitz is making stuff up again (let's be honest, nobody prefers movie Ron, LOL.)

Thanks to memorizingthedigitsofpi for her help with wording/direction in this chapter, and for suggesting the "I'm calling your mother" moment.
Thanks to starbrightnights for being a font of information about all things British.

And thanks to y'all for sticking with this story! I know it's long and they still haven't gotten together yet, but I like to think the buildup is the most fun part. :-)

Also, if I had to guess (because I'm still writing it so estimating is hard) I'd say we're about 70% of the way through the fic at this point. #exciting!