Thanks for following along everyone! From now on, you'll need to find my new story entitled The Flying Haggis: FitzSimmons' Adventures in the Campervan of Awesome for future updates to this funny little tale. I hope you'll keep reading! Judging by the promos for what's coming up in March, this little story might provide you with some light relief - it all looks so painful!

It was as if, having allowed a tiny drop of tenderness to leak out in the presence of FitzSimmons the previous day, Coulson was powerless against the floodgates of fatherly tenderness he felt towards Skye as it came time to say goodbye. The two of them wandered around The Bus, arm in arm in the early dawn, the sun just beginning to spread a pale pink blush across the navy blue horizon. Meanwhile, FitzSimmons and Mack ran their final extensive tests of vehicles and equipment, rushing to get through their checklists before they felt the force of the desert sun.

Once assured that his odd little buddy would be safe, Mack extended his enormous paw towards Fitz who ignored it and grasped his huge friend in a hug. His fingers couldn't quite reach one another around the man's expansive back.

"Take care out here, won't you Turbo," Mack urged him, not without a hint of tenderness of his own. "Do you things are gonna be ok with…?" He jerked his head in Jemma's direction.

Fitz grinned. "It's a bit late now if they're not!"

Mack almost shuddered. "She's formidable, man. Don't cross her!"

"I wouldn't dare," Fitz agreed, shaking his head emphatically.

After handshakes and hugs from Hunter and Bobby and even a brief embrace for Skye from May, Skye and FitzSimmons found themselves alone on the sand, watching The Bus disappear behind its reflective cloaking in the slowly lightening sky.

"Right," said Skye, turning to her friends. "I'm ready to do some damage!"

Jemma blinked at her a few times then turned back to her work. "That's very…err… proactive of you, Skye."

"Ever since you asked me how I was feeling about Ward, I realised this was exactly what I needed to do," she explained, limbering up. "Wire me up, or whatever you have to do, zoom me out there and let me get some of this crap off my chest already!"

"Patience is a virtue," Jemma replied not looking up from her tablet, "And I'm not quite done with my final adjustments."

"Besides," interjected Fitz. "I'm baking scones for elevenses."

"Elevenses!?" Skye crowed. "Have I just stepped onto the set of The Hobbit? Did I miss second breakfast!?"

Fitz looked slightly put out. "I'll have you know, Skye, that the term elevenses is fairly commonly employed on the British Isles."

Skye looked incredulously at Jemma for verification, who nodded her agreement as she tinkered with one of the dwarves. Skye held up her watch. "Even at seven am?"

"We've been up preparing since 0400 hours, Skye!" Fitz retorted defensively. "Even elevenses can be relative."

"And you're never not hungry," Skye allowed.

"Precisely," he nodded, holding open the door of The Haggis. "Coming?"

"I suppose venting about Ward won't be any less cathartic on a full stomach," she mused, taking the three metal steps in one stride.

"Now you're talking," Fitz agreed encouragingly.

Skye spun on her heel, taking in the confines of their home for the next month now that it really was all they had. Her isolation chamber loomed large at one end of the camper. She tried not to look at it too closely lest claustrophobia set in.

Simmons was hunched over her tablet in the centre of the booth-style seats that surrounded three sides of the little table. Above her, across from the table, was a row of flush white cupboard doors, onto which a screen could be projected. It would be from here that they'd hold conference with the outside world, and, if the mood took them, watch movies or play video games. Skye was kind of excited about the sleepover-style elements of the mission, even if she did have to get locked away at ten every night instead of inciting midnight feasts and spin the bottle like usual.

Fitz bustled around the kitchen, which seemed to take up more than a quarter of the camper's space. His design input was becoming clear. He was wearing a splendid tartan trimmed apron with a large picture of a pair of horned black highland cows peeking over a stone wall. Momentarily, he placed a pot of jam, a bowl of thick hand-whipped cream, his teapot and a milk jug on the little table. Jemma laid down her tablet and beamed at him as he placed her tea cup in front of her and filled it for her. Because his set only had two matching cups, Fitz had scrounged a spare mug from the mess for Skye. It was quite large and bore the image of a disturbingly grumpy looking cat.

Skye held the steaming mug up to her face. "Did you choose this one because of the striking resemblance?" she laughed.

Fitz shrugged. "I didn't really look at it. I just needed a mug."

"Such attention to detail," she remarked. "I'm touched."

"Shut up and eat," he muttered, laying a package wrapped in a tartan tea towel in the centre of the table.

"So is this what you Brits call Devonshire Tea?" Skye asked, unearthing a warm scone from inside the tea towel and slathering the crumbly item with jam and cream.

"Devon has given us some good things," Jemma sighed. "Fitz, these are perfect!"

Fitz looked very pleased with himself but didn't respond, two thirds of a particularly well-topped scone in his mouth.

"Well," Skye announced, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Fitz has just popped my Devonshire Tea cherry and I'm coming back for more."

The more demure Fitz didn't quite know where to look.

"How have you gotten this far through life without a scone, Skye?" Jemma asked.

"Now that I've tasted one, I don't even know!" Skye laughed, placing two more on her plate and liberally applying jam and cream. "Great jam by the way, Fitz. When we get back you'll have to tell me where I can buy some."

"Fitz makes his own preserves," Jemma explained.

Skye looked at Fitz in shock. "You make jam!?"

"Preserves," Fitz murmured through a mouthful of scone. "Raspberry, blackberry and the odd marmalade."

Skye turned to Simmons. "Is there anything this man can't do? What a catch!"

Fitz inhaled some crumbs and had a little coughing fit while Simmons gave her a thin smile and looked away to punch a few last digits into her tablet.

"Right!" Simmons declared in an extremely business-like manner. "I think we're ready to try out these dwarves, don't you Fitz?"

His coughing fit just subsiding, Fitz managed a red-faced nod.