Sorry this is a bit late - but it's nearly twice as long as usual, if that makes up for it!

ONE MONTH

"And his poor mother just looked mortified," Jemma laughed, grabbing a pretzel from the bowl in Fitz's hand as she sipped her mai tai. Sandwiched between her and the bar, Fitz busied himself drawing shapes into the back of her dress with his fingers. He'd heard the story earlier that day anyway. "But you know how children that age are," she continued, "so this boy just turns to me, quite cross, and says, 'If you're an alien, where's your spaceship?'"

Skye was well into her third shockingly blue hurricane (which she had insisted Hunter "class up" with a cocktail umbrella) and this was apparently the perfect number of drinks to render everything and everyone hilarious. "Aliens!" she guffawed. "Epic. I knew something was up with you two!" She flapped her hand between Jemma and Fitz. "Is that why Fitz is always phoning home?"

Fitz pulled his chest up with a start. Being a good son is nothin' to be embarrassed about. He didn't get a chance to voice his objection, thrown off course when Jemma patted his ear absently and ran her hand into his hair. "I think Fitz and I would be brilliant as a pair of extraterrestrials." Her cherry smile loosened his brow, flushed cheeks from the alcohol and shiny eyes that could steer a nighttime sailor back to shore.

"What do you say, Fitz? Shall we beam up to the mothership?" Jemma scratched her nails into the short curls at the back of his neck, which was mildly unfair - he'd carry on any ridiculous conversation she wanted so long as she kept that up. She knows it, too, the minx. She leaned over on her barstool and giggled. "It's the most perfect opportunity for us to see the galaxy!"

Fitz rolled his eyes and stepped a bit closer to steady her. "Sounds like we'd be fools to pass this one up!" When Jemma was adorably tipsy, who was he to spoil her fun? "I'll upgrade our, erm, flying saucer so it can make a decent showing of the Kessel Run. You can be in charge of any, ah, alien autopsies or…" His stomach roiled. "Body probes."

A tiny umbrella hit Fitz's cheek and landed on the floor with a papery paff. "Hey! You two!" Skye snapped her fingers about five inches away from Jemma's head. "Stop being cute, it's gross. Ooh, food!"

Fitz stiffened when he saw Idaho carrying their plates out to the bar, and wrapped his arms a bit tighter around Jemma's shoulders. Things were better now, ever since the bar's cook had turned himself in to the Hyde Park authorities and outed Garrett as the mastermind behind the theft, but Jemma still bore a massive, totally justified if we're being honest, grudge against Hunter's right-hand man.

At least she'll still eat here. It had been touch and go for a while, with Fitz thinking he'd need to find a new place to hang out or wondering if Jemma'd learn to make his favorite sandwich. (She had, of course, and in his biased opinion, it was even better than the ones at Scout's. The Platonic ideal of a sandwich, really. The exact right amount of aioli and everything. Hunter disagreed vehemently, though never to Jemma's face.)

Skye picked up on the tension, looking sharply over as they muttered thanks for the appetizers, and as soon as Idaho disappeared through the swinging door into the kitchen, let out a low, "So… that's still weird, huh?"

Jemma gulped at her drink, back ramrod straight. "I don't know what you mean. My behavior was perfectly appropriate."

Skye snorted. "Okay, Jemma. You're super chill all the time." She twisted her little red straw around her finger. "Actually, Garrett came in to the station this morning to pay back the fireworks."

Fitz's jaw clenched. "He ought to be in jail."

Skye shrugged. "They don't put you in jail just for being an asshole." She dragged her fingertip down the condensation on the side of her glass. "Man, I wanted to punch the smarm off his face."

"Which one?" scoffed Jemma.

"Right?" Skye crunched the ice from the bottom of her glass. "He made this big show of signing the check and was all, 'Consider it a donation.' Dick." She huffed. "So glad I don't have to see him every week anymore."

They nodded silently, lost in rancorous contemplation as they munched on the artery-busting hors d'oeuvres in front of them.

"Still," Skye conceded, "Couple hundo, that'll buy a lotta tote bags at the next telethon."

Jemma grimaced around a bite of fried mushrooms. "I'd hoped he'd suffer a slightly worse fate than merely being made to pay for stolen goods."

"Yeah, but this is a small town- I mean, local preacher, big scandal? Trip says church attendance in his congregation dropped by almost half." Skye chewed idly on an orange wedge.

"No, that's not right," Fitz cut in bitterly. "People were flocking to his sermon after you kicked him off the air."

"Yeah, at first, because bad publicity is still publicity, and then everyone realized what a slimeball he is. I told you, word gets around." Skye reached over and stole one of Fitz's mini egg rolls. "Garrett's doing damage control, but he's gonna have to put on a lot of Christian rock concerts to get people onto his wackadoo version of the 'right path' again."

"You lot gossiping about Preacher John?" Hunter appeared behind them. "Can't say I miss seeing that old scrote's face around here." He breezed behind the bar and started tidying up empty dishes.

"He hasn't been in lately?" Jemma asked, watching Hunter wipe up a spill a few seats away.

"Oh, he's not come round since he and Idaho fell out." Hunter smirked. "Quite considerate of the man, too. It's made it much easier for me to single-handedly turn the entire town against him."

Hunter paused dramatically, staring expectantly at the trio. He was rewarded with eyebrows raised in tipsy confusion and the sound of Skye scalding her tongue on a cream cheese popper.

"Oh, come on, guys!" Hunter threw his hands up in exasperation. "People ask me things!" He pointed to himself. "Trusty neighborhood barman, remember?" He flipped a defeated tea towel over his shoulder and stalked off into the kitchen, muttering, "I'm a big deal!"

THREE MONTHS

"Are you nervous?" Jemma whispered as they stood behind the fake door to their brand-new set. Above them, they heard the PA system come on. "Lighting check for Super Sleuth Science Squad. Lighting check, stage 2."

"Give me some credit, please; I have entertained children before." Fitz laced his fingers with hers and nudged her shoulder. "What, are you nervous?"

"I don't know." Jemma's fist was bumping against the pocket of her detective's trench coat. "It's a new show, anyone would be a bit apprehensive."

"Aww, Jemma," he grinned, clucking. "If I had your track record, I'd be worried too. In fact - what underwear have you got on?" He slid his hands down her hips and stepped in behind her, brushing his lips against the shell of her ear and turning his voice to gravel. "I hope it's your lucky pair. You know what they do to me."

"Fitz!" She squirmed, shushing him. "We're about to go on, for heaven's sake."

"Mm-hmm," he kissed her neck, sending heat pinging involuntarily down her torso. "If I'm being honest, I don't know how I'm gonna keep my hands off for an entire hour."

"I'm sure you can manage." She was trying for dismissive - it came out a bit breathier than that. "After all, we're both professionals, even if one of us has the impulse control of a child and the maturity level of a frat boy."

"Oh, Jemma," he tsked. "You shouldn't put yourself down like that."

She rolled her eyes and turned so she could scold him to his face. Of course, that did put his face very close to hers, a powerful reminder of how unfairly sexy his new costume was. That tweed jacket with the leather elbow patches and those horn-rimmed glasses were bringing up every naughty library fantasy Jemma'd ever had.

"Tell you what." She leaned in and nipped at his jaw, voice like velvet. "Play your cards right, and you'll find out exactly which panties I'm wearing." She grabbed at the lapels of his blazer, and it was her turn to whisper in his ear. "If any."

Fitz's grip tightened into the back of her coat. "Good thing I'm a magician," he rasped, before smoothing out his features. He wiggled his eyebrows and bent his head to hers with a cheeky smile. "I always play my cards right."

"Psst! Nerds!" Skye was hissing loudly at them from the side of the stage. Odd. Jemma listened for the theme music, and confirmed to herself they weren't meant to go on just yet. Whether or not she was snogging her favorite person in the world backstage at a children's programme, she was still far too responsible to miss her cue.

Then she saw Skye point to her headset and hold up a large white sign with block lettering. Craning their necks, Fitz and Jemma squinted to read it.

UR MICS R ON

SIX MONTHS

"Merry Christmas, Jemma."

"Merry Christmas, Fitz."

She scooted further into him, burrowing under Mrs. Fitz's - Lorna's - handwoven blanket to fend off the Glaswegian chill. Eventually trusting the press of Fitz's chest against her back to warm her, she flipped eagerly through his gift: a veritable portfolio of blackmail material, or as he called it, The Shoebox of Shame. School pictures boasting early-90s fashions, embarrassing testimony from old teachers and classmates, various rejection letters regarding Highway SkyTray, a couple of traffic tickets and a police report, a wincingly explicit breakup email from an ex, and finally, a series of never-released Amazing Leopold head shots (each more ridiculous than the last).

Jemma chortled and cringed in equal measure, and though most of Fitz's secrets were known to her by now, she still managed to find a few surprises. When she'd finished, she snapped the elastic back around the box, then let her fingers skim over the intricate lettering he'd painted on the lid: In the interest of honesty.

She tipped her head back to rest on his shoulder, the corners of her eyes still wet from laughing. "I'm sorry, it's just… a mullet, Fitz? You looked like Michael Bolton!"

"Bite your tongue, that was my 'really cool musketeer hair' phase, thank you very much." With a small pinch to her side, Fitz reached around her and moved the box from her lap to the nightstand. His lighthearted words might have fooled her on their own, but his chest was taut behind her, strumming with the unsaid fear that he'd given away too much and lost her good opinion. Silly Fitz.

Jemma twisted her neck to kiss him the best she could from that angle. It was one of the most heartfelt gifts she'd ever received. "You must really trust me, to show me all that."

She felt him shrug. "You trusted me first."

Jemma turned, curling herself around his larger frame. "And here we are because of it. Now open my present!"

She grabbed the tiny blue-and-green-wrapped box and bulldozered it into his hands, making him chuckle.

"Eager, are we?" He shook it next to his ear. "Come on, dirty pictures!" He crossed his fingers, prompting an eyeroll from her.

"Fitz, and I say this with all the love in my heart, but you're an idiot. Also, my gift is going to blow yours out of the water." She was beaming, a tuning fork of barely-contained excitement.

He raised his eyebrows in challenge and undid the ribbon, moving purposely slow to make her dig her fingernails into the bedspread covering her legs. When he finally took out the apartment key, she burst like a cracked dam. "Let's move in together!" She clasped her hands in front of her and waited for his reaction.

His mouth had dropped open and he was nodding with what was, frankly, a ludicrous degree of baffled amazement. "Let's immediately move in together!" He surged forward and kissed her, too quick and pleased to make it anything but a clumsy peck. "Yes. Fantastic. Wait, Jemma-" Fitz stilled, fingers drumming against her shoulder, eyes flickering with dragonfly thoughts. "Jemma. Jemma Jemma Jemma Jemma-"

"What?"

"Why not just get married?"

"What?!"

Fitz clutched at her upper arms, slightly manic. "If we're gonna share an apartment, why not go one better? Mum can get us in to see the priest in two, three days, tops." He bit his lip in thought for a split second. "We're here already; your parents can come up for the wedding instead of us visiting them for New Years." He sat back, clearly pleased with himself. And fully insane. "It's perfect! Think how much we'll save on airfare!"

"Fitz!" Her brain started working again. "You cannot propose in order to economize on a plane ticket!"

"Two plane tickets, Jemma, and have you seen what they cost? It's highway robbery!"

"I don't care." This wasn't happening. "I'm not marrying you just because it's convenient!"

"Oh, don't be like that! Is this because I didn't have a ring?"

"No, it's because we've barely been dating for-"

"-could've asked your father's permission, but I hardly think-"

"-ridiculous, completely spur-of-the-moment-"

"-being spontaneous, but maybe you're more traditional than-"

"-get engaged just so you could one-up your girlfriend-"

"-not gonna change my mind about you-"

"-there are steps to this sort of thing, Fitz, a proper order-"

"-love each other, what's the problem?"

She gaped at him, his eager eyes tarsier-wide. "Fitz," she started, "you know how I feel about you, but-"

"At least look at the ring first." Oh, lord. His sense of competition was out of control. He held up a postponing index finger, and she sighed.

Fitz was already banging his fist on the wall, shouting, "Mum! Have you still got Nan's ring? I need it!"

Lorna Fitz's voice came barrelling back through the wall. "Leo, y' precocious thing, did ye propose? Jemma, love, welcome t' the family!"

"No, she said she wants to live together first!" Fitz gestured to the wall in affront.

"Och, well y' know how th' Church feels about cohabitation, dear."

Fitz turned to her and spread his hands victoriously. "God's on my side, Jemma."

"You can't be serious! You don't even go to chu-"

"But ye cannae jus' ask the lass t' marry ye like that without givin' her time t' take a breath!"

Jemma stabbed a finger in the other bedroom's direction. "See? Too soon. Your mother agrees with me."

"Aye, 'course I do, hen! Ye've got a good head on yer shoulders."

"Thank you, Lorna!"

"Mum, what the Hell?"

"Leopold Fitz, you watch your language!"

He gritted his teeth. "Sorry!"

"And in front of yer lady friend, for goodness' sake! It's no wonder she doesn't want t' marry ye!"

"Oh, that is-" Fitz looked down with a grumble before facing the wall again as if it had personally insulted his fashion choices. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, mum!"

"He gets that from his father, Jemma dear. Did y' know, Donald proposed t' me after a fortnight?"

"So why're you gangin' up on me for doin' it then?" Fitz whined.

"I made your father court me a year before I accepted! Sensible lass, that Jemma. You hold on t' her, boy."

Fitz stuck his hands in his curls. "I'm trying!"

-o-

A half hour later, when things had settled down a bit, Jemma was snuggled up to her not-fiancé, whispering small encouragements while mindlessly running her thumb over his sternum. With each hypnotic rise and fall of his chest, another wave of her own tension crashed and dissipated.

"It wasn't a no."

"Yeah, that's- I know that."

"I just don't think getting engaged should involve that much yelling." Her fingertips tapped against his clavicle before scritching at his stubble. "And we'd really never talked about it before."

"Yep. You're right."

"And eloping would just be irresponsible."

"Probably."

She pushed herself up over him and kissed his nose. "Try again in a few months?" Her wishing-well voice hardly carried past his ears, and she cleared her throat for a sideways smile. "Perhaps with a modicum of preparation next time?"

"Oh, I will." Fitz ran his hands down her back, peering up at her speculatively. "And you're never gonna see it coming."

Good grief, not this again. "It's not a prank, Fitz-"

He was already off and running. "You'll just be goin' along, mindin' your business, and someday when you least expect it- bam! There I'll be."

She rolled her eyes and brushed her lips to his. There you'll be. "It's a date."

ONE YEAR

Fitz peeked out at the larger-than-average audience gathered in Stage 2, spotting several familiar faces among the crowd who'd come out to watch their last taping of the year. He took a long breath and let it out slowly. Piece of cake.

As Jemma sidled up to him and ran a slender arm around his middle, he checked that his mic pack was turned off before leaning down. "I have t' say, I'm gonna miss seeing you in that Sherlock kit during the hiatus." He dropped a quick kiss just under her ear and grinned. "Though you could wear just the coat for me sometime…"

She arched an eyebrow. "Only if you promise to wear your tuxedo again."

"Done." His answer was out of his mouth before she'd even finished talking. "I'll wear it to Scout's tonight if you want." He might look out of place, but he had a feeling Jemma would make it worth his while. And he knew where Hunter kept the key to the storeroom.

She snorted. "Tempting." She relaxed into him, slipping her hands under his tweed blazer and rubbing a calm sea breeze along his spine. "But tonight is supposed to be about Trip, remember?"

"Isn't everything these days?" he scoffed lightly.

"Fitz…" Her rebuke was gentle. "I'm surprised Mayor Coulson even asked us back to Children's Day. You can't possibly have thought we were going to get the finale."

"No, I know that. I know." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. He'd wanted it mostly on her behalf, anyway.

"And with Ray Sunshine booking bigger shows, that's good news for Mack, as well," she reminded him unnecessarily.

"Yes, yes. Trip is a treasure and his facial hair should have its own insurance policy." He'd heard it enough times from Skye. "He could restore the dwindling bee population with one perfumed fart, and when he sings, nightingales hide their beaks in shame-"

"Sounds like someone's got a crush," she needled with a smile. "If you like Trip so much, why don't you just marry him?"

"Ah, see," Fitz reached down and grabbed her left hand, slotting his fingers between hers and relishing the cool scrape of her ring against his palm. "There's this girl…"

Jemma's lips cut him off, warm treacle melting on his tongue, and he soon forgot himself in the summertime promise of her mouth.

-o-

"Sounds like a job for the Science Squad! But who would take all the forks from the kids' cafeteria?" Jemma asked, raising her enormous magnifying glass to peer at an evidence bag containing a spear of broccoli. So goddamned cute.

"An excellent question." Fitz lifted one finger. "Only a dastardly villain would try to keep children from eating their vegetables!" Pffft. Jemma thought she was so subtle, giving his character lines about proper nutrition. Fitz tucked his thumbs into his suspenders as he pretended to think. "I did notice something peculiar at the scene of the crime." He went to the cupboard on the side of the stage and brought out one of his working prototypes. "I found this high-powered electromagnet in the ceiling. Now, on its own, it won't cause too much mayhem, but give it bit of current and…" He flipped a switch, and the metal handle of Jemma's magnifying glass yanked on her arm, affixing itself to the magnet among titters from the crowd.

"So that's why the kids thought their forks had flown away! Professor Smartbrain, you're a genius!" She pecked him on the cheek, garnering a few enthusiastic oooohs from the children, and Fitz told himself his blush was just good acting. You've kissed her thousands of times by now. For God's sake. He made a slapstick mess of turning off the electromagnet, hamming it up as his watch band got firmly stuck.

"Don't thank me yet, Detective - we've still got to catch this flatware felon!"

-o-

After the episode wrapped and the audience had started mingling, Mike and Ace Peterson made their way over to say hello. Mike had his arm linked with Kara Palamas', and Fitz smiled to himself as the former schoolteacher greeted Jemma before excusing herself to go catch up with Bobbi.

"Mr. Fitz! Dr. Simmons! Great show," Mike offered, turning to his son. "Right, buddy?"

Ace had already scrambled up onto the stage and was examining the electromagnet with interest.

"Pretty cool, eh?" Fitz sauntered up to the lab table and stood next to the boy. "Want me to turn that on, see what it can do?"

Ace was nodding and reaching out a timid hand. "Will it suck me into it?"

"Not unless you're made of metal," Jemma jumped in cheerily, handing him one of the prop forks. "Now, hold that steady."

Ace watched, fascinated, as the utensil tugged out of his grasp and eventually reunited with the magnet.

"And if you want t' see something really good, I can reverse the polarity." Fitz hefted a wide metal plate and held it over the prototype, switching the settings and letting the plate hover in mid-air. "What do you think?"

Mike chuckled at his son's fascination. "Bet the dishes at your school cafeteria never did that."

Ace's eyes were miniature planets by the time he finally touched the floating plate. "It's like magic," he whispered.

Jemma was quick to interject. "Yes! It's like magic-"

Fitz looked at the woman who'd become his hearthstone.

"But it's science."

THE END

Author's Notes:

There you have it! I've had the whole range of feels about this fic, mostly just because it spent so much time as a WIP on my computer and later on the site, and I've worried over it so hard, and there were a few sleepless nights, it's a little bit like having a kid. But let's say, a kid that takes up all your attention and occasionally makes you ignore your actual kids, so... mostly, it's a good thing that it's finished. LOL. Thanks again to my awesome betas, amandajbruce and memorizingthedigitsofpi, for helping me mute my own scumbag brain when it comes to stuff not being perfect.

That said, I'm still always really impressed that anyone is actually interested in anything I wrote, so, y'know, thanks to y'all that have read this and commented and kudosed and reblogged. This behemoth took forever and you guys are troopers! (obligatory "you go Glen Coco!")

For this chapter, specifically, here are my notes though:

Michael Bolton? Showing my age there. Kudos to y'all if you knew who I was talking about. I literally could not think of more than two celebrities with mullets, and certainly no one too current. Also, and I fully don't expect anyone to have noticed this, but the "really cool musketeer hair" comment is a nod to Disney's Three Musketeers and Chris O'Donnell's awful, cringeworthy, did-its-best-to-ruin-his-hotness, 80s-perm-lookin' mullet.

Thanks to memorizingthedigitsofpi for her feedback on the botched proposal scene - I was nervous it was too cracky, but she was like, "do the thing" and helped me out and ultimately I think it worked not too badly? Also, if you're not following her on tumblr (same username) I suggest checking out her blog to see the various photo edits she did for this fic.

Professor Smartbrain is my nod to Parks & Rec because, ugh, how can anyone resist referencing that beautiful cinnamon roll of a TV show, and because sometimes FitzSimmons remind me of Ben and Leslie, and because Fitz in a professorial getup makes my heart do the thump-thump thing.

-o-

Also, I was thinking I might do a clippings/extras chapter, like I did with Gone Soft. It'd include some deleted snippets of scenes, headcanons that didn't make it in, and Trip's song titles. Let me know if there's any interest for that, and I'll put it up this weekend.

:-) Thanks again! Y'all are awesome.