Leo belatedly realised that he'd forgotten to tell Jemma about his mum walking in on them that morning when his knock on the bedroom door received no reply, meaning she must have gone downstairs. He went in and hurriedly dried and dressed, his jeans halfway on before he remembered he was supposed to be trying on the kilt. He put it on with a white button down and some thick socks before heading down to meet his fate.

When he walked into the living room, Jemma was sitting on the sofa eating a bacon sandwich, which she nearly choked on when she spotted him. Or rather, what he was wearing.

"Um… nice kilt." She murmured, blushing a little. This wasn't good, things were still awkward between them.

Problem solve, Fitz! "I dunno, bit chilly" he joked, trying for and somehow managing his usual cheeky grin. She smiled back, just like she always did, and he felt the dynamic between them click back into place, or near enough.

All in all, he was in a pretty great mood when he entered the kitchen to find his mother standing there, arms folded, smirk firmly in place.

And there goes my good mood.

She opened her mouth to say something, then stopped dead when she saw the kilt. "Oh, Leo!" she cried, rushing over to hug him, sarcastic comments completely forgotten. This kilt was turning out to be the best thing that had happened to him since a certain biochemist had knocked on his door in their first week of uni. "Ye look so handsome," Mary was gushing, "how does it fit?" Before he could answer, she pulled on the waist band, there was a small gap. "I knew it. I knew ye weren't eatin' properly!"

"Give over, Mum, it's a tiny amount. I eat fine, Jemma sees to tha'." He clamped his mouth shut as soon as the words left it, but the damage was done. She was smirking again, and he decided an immediate change of subject is in order. "This sandwich for me?" He walked over to the work surface, where a plate containing a bacon sandwich was waiting.

"Yes. Now, while you eat it, take off tha' kilt and I'll run an' take it in a little"

"Cheers, Mum. I can't take it off, Jemma's just out there. Can't ye do it tomorrow?" He bit into the sandwich with gusto.

"It's nothin' she's no' seen before." Leo inhaled a bit of crust and choked hard. "Besides," she carried on smoothly, "ye should wear it to the cèilidh tonight." He choked harder and Jemma rushed in, worried by the sound.

"Fitz!" she cried, rushing to him and pounding on his back until he could breathe again. Her hand rubbed circles where she'd hit him, and she was still gazing up at him with concern glowing in her eyes. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, thanks" he assured her, smiling weakly down at her. She didn't stop rubbing his back, which he was disturbingly happy about.

His mother was watching them, looking like the cat that had got the cream. He squared his shoulders and scowled at her. "We're no' goin' to a cèilidh tonight, Mum, that's ridiculous."

She scowled back at him, and he could feel his confidence draining away. Why could he not refuse these women anything?! "An' how's that?" Mary asked darkly. Simmons looked between them, torn between confusion and worry.

"Well, firs' of all, I hate dancing," he replied, not missing Jemma's eyes widening. "Second, there probably won' be a caller an' Jemma doesn't know any of the steps-"

"Ye've got plenty of time tae teach her, it's no' til seven." Leo and Jemma both gaped at her, and she seized the opportunity to go in for the kill. "Besides, I see my son- my only child- so rarely, I jus' wan' to show him off in his clan tartan with a pretty young lass at his side. Jus' once, before he leaves me again an' flies back to New York fer months on end, barely calls, I get no pictures sent…" She pulled a tissue out of her apron pocket to dab at her eyes, Leo had to commend the performance.

He looked at Jemma and found her looking at him almost accusatorily. She'd completely fallen for it. Sighing heavily, he knew he'd never be able to win against both of them. "Alrigh', we'll go to your bloody cèilidh."

"Excellen'! Now, take off tha' kilt an' get practising."

Jemma squeaked and her face flamed again, Leo's scowl intensified.

"I'll go up an' change."

-

Jemma was very much in two minds about this cèilidh plan. On the one hand, there was a surprising amount of different dances and steps and variations on those steps, and her brain was getting quite muddled. On the other hand, she had spent most of the last hour and a half very close to Fitz, and she got to feel that pleasant warmth she'd been feeling every time he touched her since they'd arrived at his house, and she got to smell that solder scent she'd discovered she enjoyed so much. On the other other hand, this was probably contributing to her head muddle.

Fitz was teaching her the ballroom hold which, as he'd promised, was pretty much exactly what it sounded like: one of her hands was in his, her other hand on his shoulder and his other hand on her waist. It felt terribly intimate, and her face flushed for the millionth time that day.

He obviously noticed, as he dropped his hands and said "look, it'll be fine. We'll just do a few jigs to please my crazy mother, then we'll sit in the corner and get very, very drunk. Tha' sound alrigh'?"

She grinned up at him, her heart swelling with affection for him and the way he could make anything seem better. "It sounds perfect, Fitz."

He beamed down at her, taking her back into hold, nudging her a little closer to him. She happily obliged, but his smile had reminded her of something. "Fitz?" He looked down at her, eyebrow raised. "Did I do something to embarrass myself last night and not realise it?"

"No, I don' think so. Plenty happened to embarrass me, but you came out smellin' o' roses. Everyone loved you. Why?"

"Oh, it's nothing. Just, your mother keeps smirking at me when she thinks I'm not looking. Am I paranoid, or…?" She trailed off as Leo dropped his hands again, this time taking an actual step back as though she'd just announced she was contagious. "Fitz?"

"No, tha's… Tha's no' it. She, um, my Mum, she walked in on us. This morning. In bed." He was staring determinedly at her feet, like her socks had all the mysteries of the universe knitted into them. Her brain stopped ticking for a moment, then went into overdrive.

"Oh my god. Fitz, why didn't you tell me?!" This was bad. She hadn't been entirely sure Leo had managed to convince his parents they weren't an item last night, and now she was certain he never would. Mary's words came back to her: a pretty young lass at his side. She definitely thought Fitz and her were dating. Oh god, what were they going to do?

"-An' then Dad gave me that kilt, an' said he was proud of me, an' he's never said that- no' once- so-" Fitz was rambling about something or other, but she'd tuned him out as she racked her brain for a way to explain this situation to Mr and Mrs Fitz. None was forthcoming. Time for Fitzsimmons to spring into action then, she supposed.

"Fitz." She cut through his mile-a-minute chatter and he obediently fell silent. "We need to tell them the truth."

"I tried tha' last nigh'. I dunno if you noticed, but they're no' goin' for it."

"So what, we're supposed to just let them think we're dating?"

His silence was all the answer she needed.

"Fitz!"

"Well, it'll stop her from naggin' me to get a girl every time I call- which I do, often, despite wha' she'd have ye believe- and my dad said he was proud of me this mornin', and at least part of that's go' to be somethin' to do with baggin' a beautiful girlfriend-" she flushed yet again despite herself- "an' it's doubtful we'd be able to convince 'em anyhow."

"So you want to lie to your parents."

"Essentially. Can I coun' on ye?"

She sighed and held out her arms to take up hold again. "Always."

-

When they paid the doorman and entered the hall, Fitz had never been so happy to see a dance caller up on stage in his life. Uncle Rory and his cousins waved them over from the corner. Despite Ian and Duncan both having brought dates, Fitz saw how their eyes were immediately drawn to Simmons' cleavage in her admittedly rather low cut dress not that he'd been looking. He had to say, one good thing about this charade was he could openly glare at them for checking her out like that. They noticed his frosty look, and both backed off immediately. He couldn't help but smirk.

Uncle Rory greeted him with a hearty slap on the back. "Good tae see yer wearin' the tartan, there, Leo! And Jemma, lass, yer lookin' lovely." Jemma smiled and thanked him, her arm linked through Leo's, looking resplendent in her white dress. She was easily the most beautiful woman there, though he was becoming aware that he may be slightly biased, and (loathe as he was to admit his mother had been right) it felt good to have her on his arm.

They went to get drinks from the bar, and soon they were pleasantly tipsy, joking and chatting with each other, in their own world of science and geekery. Then Mary was prodding them out of their seats and onto the floor just in time for the band to strike up Strip the Willow. With the dance caller's help, they managed to get through the couple of dances. They were neither of them very good, about passable, but they returned to their table to see his mother glowing with pride. It was an odd experience for Leo: he wasn't used to this feeling of acceptance and belonging among his family. He knew who to thank for it though, and reached down and took Jemma's hand, interweaving their fingers.

She looked up at him with a smile that stunned him with its beauty. She seemed to radiate happiness and merriment, and it was infectious. He'd never had this much fun at a cèilidh before, and he was sure if he was here with anyone else, he'd hate it.

His dad tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned reluctantly from Jemma to see what he wanted. Malcolm pointed upwards, a satisfied smirk on his face. They followed his gaze, and saw what was hanging from the rafters above their heads.

And there goes the good mood again.

-

Jemma's stomach dropped through the floor at the sight of the mistletoe above her and Leo. She really didn't want their first kiss to be in front of his family. No, scratch that. She didn't want to kiss Fitz at all, did she? He was her best friend, and this would not be their first kiss, it would be their only kiss.

Because she couldn't really see a way out of it. His family thought they were dating, they had come to the party together, and they were directly under the mistletoe. They were going to have to go through with it.

Fitz appeared to have come to the same conclusion, since he was looking down at her with a determined look on his face. Before she'd had time to brace herself, he took her by the waist and pressed his mouth to hers.

He didn't smell of solder now so much as cologne and whisky, the latter of which she could taste on him ever so slightly. Her arms came up of their own accord around his neck, pulling him down further into her, so he was bending her backwards slightly, pressing her to him for balance. He angled his head slightly for a better angle, and she matched him by adjusting her angle, too. They worked together perfectly, the same ideal team they'd always been, the same single entity: Fitzsimmons. She sighed automatically into the kiss and then their mouths were open and everything was electricity and rich whisky and that heat was back, burning more intensely than anything she'd ever felt.

One of his cousins clapped him on the back, jolting them apart and jovially suggesting they get a room. She glanced around, embarrassed to see several people watching them. When she looked back up at Leo, he was watching her intently, and she was completely caught in his eyes. She'd never known them to be so deep, so blue. They'd both dropped their hands, but were still standing so close their chests brushed. The heat still roared through her and she had no idea what to do now. She stepped away, breaking his trance, and he held out his arm for her.

She took it, and he led her back to the bar, ordering more whisky, stronger this time. She agreed with him, more alcohol was necessary. She couldn't begin to process what had happened between them just yet, so she needed to stave off rational thought. They both finished their drinks in a single gulp, neither meeting the other's eye.