Fitz woke slowly, the winter sunlight seeping through his eyelids. He was incredibly comfortable and warm, he noted as his arms reflexively tightened around the woman in his arms and he buried his nose further into the crook of her neck.

Wait.

What?

What the bloody hell?! His eyes snapped open, to find he was cuddling Jemma Simmons, his best friend, his partner, his… he wasn't even sure now. He cast his mind back frantically, then recalled the conversation last night, her convincing him to join her in bed due to the cold. Right, that was it. She was just mother-henning him, like usual. Rational explanation. Perfect. He could feel his racing pulse slow down as he tried to ease his arm out from under her without waking her.

The sound of a throat being cleared set his heart hammering again. He looked over to find his mother standing, leaning against the doorjamb, a smirk on her face. Oh no.

"This is wha' ye call no' datin' then, Leo?" Her smirk grew wider at the plain distress on his face. "There's really no need to hide it, she's lovely, me an' yer dad are happy fer ye that ye've found-"

"Mum" Leo hissed, desperately trying not to wake Jemma up. "It's no' what it- She… I… Look, I'll explain later, jus' get out!" He briefly considered throwing a pillow at her, but realised he'd been signing his own death warrant. Besides, she seemed to have got the message.

"Alrigh', alrigh'. I'm goin'." She turned to leave, but he could hear her chuckling to herself as she closed the door behind her. He groaned quietly, still trying to extricate his arm with very little luck.

His movements must have woken her, he could see her eyelids flutter and she moaned in satisfaction of a good night's sleep. The noise sent tremors through him, and then she made things much, much worse by cuddling him closer to her, recovering the small distance he'd put between them.

When her lips brushed his neck he went into full-on panic mode. "Jemma!" He cried, sounding strangled and actually feeling like he couldn't really breathe properly. She opened her eyes, frowned in confusion, then pulled away to look at him.

Then she pulled away, almost falling off the far end of his bed, her face flaming. He knew his own wasn't much better.

"F-Fitz! God, I'm s-s-so s-sorry!" He'd not known her to stutter that badly for nearly a year now, so he knew she was just as mortified as him. Honestly, could this whole holiday even get any more awkward, between his mum insisting they were dating, his dad playing the bagpipes every five minutes, his cousins staring at Jemma's chest al night and now this… he was just about ready to get on a plane back to New York and spend Christmas there.

"It's alrigh' Jemma. We were both jus' a wee bit jet-lagged, I think." He tried to brush it off, like his every nerve ending wasn't sparking electricity, like his heart wasn't pounding like he'd just swam the channel. He needed this to be normal, for them to be able to go back to being how they were this time yesterday, bickering about obscure Doctor Who trivia in the line for the flight gate at JFK. That was what he wanted, not… this. Not his eyes being drawn to her short nightdress again dammit Leo or noticing how her hair framed her face messily in a way that made him wish he could reach over and this is what I'm talking about Leo, you can't think of her like that.

He needed to escape. He muttered something about brushing his teeth and all but ran from the room. H started towards the bathroom, then froze and backtracked a few steps to the airing cupboard, deciding to grab some towels and have a long, cleansing, possibly cold shower.

-

In hindsight, he thought, he really should have thought this through better. He'd emerged from the shower, wrapped his towel round his waist and hurried back across the landing to get dry in his warm bedroom. He'd done all this completely on autopilot, the habit of a lifetime, and only realised his mistake two seconds after opening his door, hearing Jemma's scream and clutching her blouse to her chest to cover her underwear.

The universe hates me.

"S-sorry!" He slammed the door shut and stood staring at it for a second. The cold air was now causing him to shiver slightly, and his father chose this moment to emerge from his parents' room.

"Ach, there ye are, lad! Come wi' me, I've got somethin' for ye."

The universe really hates me.

Leo allowed himself to be steered into his parents' bedroom- at least it's warmer here- and then, to his surprise, was presented with a bath robe.

"Ta, Dad." He grinned as he put it on, relieved. When his dad had said he'd got something for him, he was afraid it would be something in his father's usual vein of not-so-subtly-hinting gifts. Like another Celtic away shirt, or a book about Rugby or something. A bath robe was a useful thing in this situation, though, so crisis averted. "Well, I'll go an' get some cereal or somethin'…" He made to leave, but was stopped by Malcolm's large hand clamping down on his shoulder.

"Woah, lad, I've no' given ye your Christmas present yet!"

Dread curled in Leo's stomach. "It's only the 23rd, Dad."

"I know, but I want ye to wear it on Christmas day, and we need to check it fits. Yer mum'll alter it tomorrow if not. She swears ye've lost weight."

"She says that every year," Fitz replied automatically, his heart sinking. Another football strip, then.

"Still, it won' hurt tae check." His father moved to the wardrobe, rooting in the back for something. When he pulled out what he was looking for with a satisfied smile, Leo's eyes almost bugged out of his head.

"Is that… a kilt?!"

It was a kilt, and Leo easily recognised the tartan of the Stuart of Brute clan, to which his family belonged. He had certainly not been expecting this.

"Well, o' course it's a kilt!" Malcolm replied, setting it on the bed before turning to Fitz with a surprisingly serious look in his eye. "Yer a grown man now, Leo. Ye've flown off, and yer makin' yer own way in the world, but I want ye to always remember where it is ye come from. Wha'ever else ye may become, ye'll always be a Fitz, an' ye'll always be my son, an'… I'm proud of ye."

Fitz was stunned. He had never- never- heard his dad say that before. He'd never even dreamed it possible. He wasn't a strong, proud Scotsman like any of the other men in his family, he was a small, geeky scientist who actively avoided going outside of he could possibly help it. He felt a lump form in his throat, and swallowed and blinked until the sudden surge of intense emotion passed.

"Go on, take it to your room. Don' forget tae knock first this time!" Malcolm guffawed loudly, and Fitz flushed, and everything was normal again. He grabbed the kilt, and went for the door. When he reached it, he paused and looked back.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Yer welcome, son."