Part II (of a story that starts in Chapter 9 of By My Side)
Fitz was a giant Scottish ball of self-loathing. How much more positive an encounter, he muttered to himself. How much more specific an invitation, he fumed, will I bloody-well need before I finally get up there early enough to make the pot of tea she explicitly asked me to make her?
At least a week had gone by. Maybe two. But every evening after Mack downed tools and headed up to the lounge, Fitz was still left pottering as though his life depended on it. He felt awkward and uncertain. He felt nervous and panicky, just as he had every day since their talk. Which, if anything, he shouted internally at himself, SHOULD have given me exactly the courage I need to go and bloody-well do it!
Each morning, especially that first one, he resolved to get up to the lounge early and start brewing the pot of tea. By midday he would have butterflies, by three his palms would be clammy, by seven he'd feel nauseous and by nine-thirty each evening he'd have found a fiddly and unnecessary task with which to busy himself until what he'd come to refer to in the quiet of his own mind as Coward Hour.
At Coward Hour he could slip in and take his usual place next to Mack without a moments hesitation. He could still glance over at Jemma, smile at her apologetically, even make conversation, but he hoped that the implication of his late arrival was that there was so much work to be done that sadly he was too late again for that promised brew.
By now it was eight-thirty. Mack was upstairs being briefed about some mission specs. Surely, he thought, tonight will be the night. He slammed down his screwdriver and the impact reverberated in the empty garage.
"How hard is it to make her a fecking pot of tea, you pasty Glaswegian basket-case!?" he cried aloud.
"That's what I've been wondering," said an unmistakeable voice behind him. "Though not the pasty Glaswegian part."
Fitz spun to face the garage door. Jemma was standing there, grinning cheekily at him.
"Oh… er… um…," Fitz rubbed the back of his neck, desperately searching for a decent explanation for his outburst.
Thankfully, Jemma charged ahead as if she'd heard nothing at all. "I'm so glad to find you're still here, Fitz," she began. "I need your help."
"You do?" he blinked. And somehow, finding himself needed, his nerves fell away.
She held out her palm. Right in the centre sat a tiny processor from one of the many machines she and Fitz had invented and built together. "It's on the fritz, Fitz," she giggled.
Fitz grinned at her as he reached out to take the offending piece of hardware from her hand. "Ah," he mused. "This little bugger."
"Precisely," Jemma nodded. "Remember how much trouble it used to give us?"
"Didn't we almost blow up our lab getting this thing right?"
"At least once," she agreed.
Fitz ambled over to his workspace and fished about for the tools he needed. Jemma pulled up Mack's wheelie chair and sat companionably next to him while he worked.
.
Gathered around the holo-table upstairs, the rest of the team prepped for the next day's mission. Skye, with her ability to take in information from so many cues simultaneously, gave what looked like her full attention to Coulson while nudging Lance next to her and nodding surreptitiously towards the screen of security footage. Lance looked over and grinned. He in turn nudged Bobbi who smiled and alerted Mack.
Coulson and May suddenly found themselves briefing four remarkably talented field agents who were all gazing directly over their heads, grinning like idiots. The two of them turned to see what the fuss was about and not even Agent Melinda May could hold back a small smile when she saw Fitz and Jemma huddled together over a workbench just like the old days.
Coulson turned back to the team. "Ok, can we have a group hug or something and get back to work?"
Skye gave him one of her looks. "You can't pretend you don't love seeing those two working together again."
Coulson glanced back at the screen a moment. Fitz and Jemma were laughing about something while they worked. "You're right," he said, eyes still on them, "I do love it." Then he turned his sharp eyes back on his agents. "But so help me, I'll turn that TV off if you don't give me your full attention right this minute. That includes you, Skye."
"Yes, Dad," muttered Skye under breath. She flicked her eyes to the screen once more to see Jemma get up to fetch something and then return to Fitz's side, placing her hand gently on his shoulder. Skye smiled to herself. The cuteness of it made her want to vomit. And it was the closest thing to home she could imagine.