And as I wait impatiently for the next episode to air in my part of the world, I've been entertaining myself dreaming up this little scenario which follows directly on from what you just read in the last chapter. Its only link to "reality" is that Lance Hunter and Bobbi Morse were once husband and wife.

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Lance Hunter skulked in the darkest corner of the mess hall nursing a deeply unsatisfactory polystyrene cup of something that was supposed to be tea to go with his hangover. He consoled himself with the fact that it was 5am on what would hopefully remain a mission-free Sunday and so it was unlikely that anyone saw him doing the walk of shame after being unceremoniously booted from his ex-wife's bunk. From past experience with these not infrequent alcohol-induced marital reunions, he knew he would only have been laughed at if he so much as suggested they cuddle after. So he curled himself up in the armchair furthest from the kitchen facilities, enjoying the fact that the light bulb above him was out, but otherwise lamenting the poor choices he seemed to continue to make.

After Lance had made it only a third of the way through his dreadful tea, the slap of a bare foot on the polished concrete made him look up. It was Fitz. Looking extremely tousle-haired in his red tartan dressing gown, the eccentric young scientist filled the kettle, clicked it on to boil, retrieved a teapot from somewhere underneath the bench and started spooning proper tea leaves into its cavity. Lance was about to call out to his fellow British citizen for some of the good stuff when it occurred to him that Fitz was whistling. In his limited experience of the young Scot, whistling was quite out of character. He watched a little longer in silence. Fitz had found a tray, filled a milk jug and then left Lance wondering if the poor kid was losing it again – he'd placed not one but two bone china teacups and saucers next to the pot.

The kettle was drawing noisily near to the boil so Lance almost didn't hear the entrance of a third person. It was a young woman he didn't recognise. She was very attractive, with gleaming, shoulder-length chocolate brown hair and she wore blue and white striped pyjamas for whom, it took very little of his powers of deduction to determine, she was clearly not the target demographic. Lance sunk a little deeper into his chair to avoid detection.

The woman wandered right up to Fitz and Lance almost choked on his tea when he saw her press herself against Fitz's tartan-clad back and wind her arms around his waist.

"Good morning," she murmured, placing a kiss on the back of his neck. "I got a bit of a fright when I woke up alone just now!"

Sequestered in his dark hiding spot, Lance felt his jaw drop open.

"I thought maybe you'd be in the lab but it seems we both made a beeline for the same thing," she continued, laughing.

"Did you really think I would just wander off to the lab after the night we've just had?" asked Fitz grinning, incredulous in his thick accent. He turned, gathering her into his arms, and kissed her tenderly before noticing her apparel. "Wow. I'm pretty sure the stripey jammies Mum sent me have never looked this good!"

She obliged him with a little twirl.

He went on, reaching for the freshly boiled kettle. "Anyway, I was trying to bring you a cup of tea in bed."

"Oh, that's so sweet of you, Fitz," the woman cooed.

He laughed as he tipped the steaming water into the teapot. "Well, it wasn't only for your benefit. It was a bit of wish fulfilment on my part too."

"How so, Fitz?"

"You'll laugh at me."

She grinned. "Aren't I always laughing at you?"

"That's true, isn't it," he nodded, smiling. "Well, I've kept up this sort of daydream for ages now. I suppose it came to me around the time I first realised I was in love with you."

Lance's eyes widened. This must be Agent Jemma Simmons, Coulson's source within HYDRA. Well, that explained more than Bobbi would ever have told him herself. But it was nice to see that his fragile new friend was requited by this scientist girl after all. Fitz seemed to have better luck than he was having.

"Ooh, really? A daydream about me, Fitz? Tell me all about it," she urged, wrapping her arms around him once more.

He shook his head, grinning sheepishly. "Well, there's not much to it really," he shrugged. "I guess lots of other chaps would dwell on what happens beforehand but, for me, I've wasted hours, Jemma, hours, dreaming about coming back to my bunk early in the morning with tea, just like this. The sun is coming up and starting to stream in the window but you're still curled up asleep in my bed with one arm resting on top of the sheet." As he went on in his lilting storytelling tone, Fitz stroked Jemma's hair back from her forehead. "Your hair is gleaming in the pale sunlight and the skin of your bare shoulders glows against the navy sheets. You stir a little as I slide the bunk door closed and your eyes flicker open. You smile at me and stretch a little before you prop yourself up with a pillow against the wall, sitting cross-legged with the sheet folded across your chest. I pour you a cup of tea and plonk myself cross-legged in front of you on the bed so that our knees are touching." He chuckled to himself "The tray is resting on that little table next to the bed so we can keep filling our cups and we talk and we laugh and we kiss until, at last, we have to get up." Fitz looked down, embarrassed. "Imagining that, imagining you and I together like that, has pretty much kept me going all this time you've been gone."

Hidden in his shadowy spot, Lance wiped away a little tear. Looking back over at the pair by the bench he saw that Fitz's story had had the same effect on Jemma.

"Anyway," Fitz shook his head, placing one hand on the teapot and making as if to pour a cup.

Jemma reached out a hand to stop him, shaking her head emphatically. "No way," she said. "We're not drinking tea in this dingy old mess after that."

A smile slowly spread across Fitz's features.

"Give me a thirty second head-start. I'll throw these pyjamas of yours back on the floor where I found them and you'll find me asleep in your bed exactly as you described," she said over her shoulder, already half way out the door.

Lance could only watch as Fitz leant back against the bench a while, eyes closed, biting his lip, his posture one of blissful anticipation. He then watched the younger man flick his eyes to the clock and then to the door before carefully lifting the laden tray and padding out the door with it.

He momentarily pondered how it would be received if he tried to do the same for Bobbi. He imagined her breathing fire and burning him to a crisp. Perhaps he'd be more careful with his heart on the next go round.

He grinned to himself. He may have been having a spectacularly crappy morning, but he knew that Fitz was having the time of his life. With tea for goodness sake. That kid clearly needed to get out more…