Despite Jemma's mildly disparaging comments, Fitz did feel like a rock star cruising the streets in Phil's fire-engine red 1962 Corvette, the top down and the wind in his hair. It didn't hurt that thanks to the old-school design, Jemma wasn't way over the other side of the car in a bucket seat. She was right there next to him with her arms wound round his waist and her legs curled up underneath her on the dark leather. Fitz had chivalrously removed his cardigan for her to wear as they left the warmth of the restaurant and her heels, discarded long ago on the dance floor, now lay on the expanse of empty seat next to her.

Fitz was almost reluctant to turn off the engine when they reached Jemma's building, distraught at the very idea of such a perfect evening coming to an end. But determining to at least escort her to her door, he finally wrenched the key from the ignition and walked slowly round to the passenger side where Jemma was slipping on her heels with Cinderella-like grace.

He held out a hand to help her to her feet and enjoyed the sensation of his internal organs being obliterated as she melted him with her grateful smile.

Fitz wondered as he stole the first (pressing her up against the side of the car), just how many kisses he could manage to sneak in between Lola and their final goodnight.

Jemma giggled as he tried to instigate the seventh kiss-stop of the extremely short journey. "Fitz!" she huffed. "Can we please just get upstairs?!"

His baffled expression was half unreservedly gorgeous and half utterly clueless.

"Upstairs?" he echoed vaguely.

"Ah!" Jemma gasped. The element of surprise… "I mean, if you want, I thought maybe…"

"Oh! Of course, I'd love to…"

"… you could come up for…"

"…I mean, as long as that's alright with you…"

"…a night-cap?" she finished lamely, her voice pitched in a range that at least the neighbourhood dogs could be sure to hear.

Fitz nodded vigorously, quite unable to keep talking and thinking, even given his higher-than-average processing power. He followed her docilely through the front door and up the stairs, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet while Jemma fumbled her key in the lock.

Jemma stepped inside, her back against the open door as Fitz hovered at the threshold in… Oh god, was it trepidation?

The only illumination filtered in from the street lamps outside and the occasional movement of headlights from cars below. An instant passed in the semi-darkness, which to Jemma seemed an eternity, but then he was smiling in the half-light, sauntering in, pulling her easily into his arms, kissing her so soundly she completely forgot her moments uncertainty.

"Vintage car, vintage dress. I think that means we have to have a night-cap," Fitz murmured, his lips somewhere on her neck. "What exactly does that entail again?"

"I have no idea…" Jemma's whispered confession transmuted to a quiet moan as Fitz somehow found a way to pull her closer, hold her tighter. "I guess we could just call it a euphemism?"

She felt his grin, wide against her throat, and suddenly he'd lifted her right off the ground, effortlessly scooping her into his arms. His tone against her ear was tinged with amusement. "So, not to the kitchen then? I'll be needing some directions."

Fitz leaned his ear towards her in a pantomimed prompt for an answer. She whispered one word, grateful for the emboldening darkness.

"You're sure?" he asked, his voice, like his arms, holding unwaveringly firm.

Jemma nodded earnestly, the swell of her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

Fitz watched her face in the dim light for a moment, scanning for any signs of uncertainty. Instead, he found only trusting eagerness.

"Bedroom it is."

ooo

Phil had found himself a little at a loss after letting Fitz off the hook for their traditional Sunday Mexican. He conjured a flimsy excuse and invited rest of the team round for brunch instead. Well, someone had to help him enjoy his home-baked sour dough, especially seeing as he'd gotten up early for farmers' market fresh eggs and free-range bacon.

They trickled in after eleven in various states of alertness. Skye arrived first and, as usual, took out the combined trophy for perkiness and sassiness that Phil might as well have permanently engraved with her name. He watched her fondly over the kale chips he was preparing as she got down on the floor to play with his dachshund, Audrey.

"So, any news from Fitz?" Skye called, letting Audrey lick at her face.

"He was grateful for that advice I sent," Phil deadpanned.

"Really?" Skye grinned and gave a low whistle. "I guess things with Jemma must have escalated quickly."

Ward was next to arrive, sitting bolt upright on the couch and watching while Skye rolled around with the puppy. He was followed by Bobbi and Hunter who, despite their on-again-off-again marital status, seemed at pains to look as though they hadn't arrived together. Mack and May wandered in bearing everyone's standard coffee order from the hipster café on the ground floor of Phil's building and lastly Trip made an entrance waving the morning newspaper.

"You have got to see this, people!" he called, spreading the broadsheet out across the caesarstone of Phil's kitchen island benchtop.

"The gossip pages, Trip?" Skye asked incredulously, sidling up to him with Audrey still in her arms. "Since when have you been a sixty-five-year-old homemaker?"

"Since Fitz got himself snapped by some paparazzo on his date last night," he replied, garnering the sudden attention of the entire crew who leapt to their feet to gather round.

Across the middle of the page was splashed an enormous colour photograph of Fitz and Jemma. Jemma was standing next to Lola's passenger door in an amazing red dress and she had Fitz's unmistakable navy cardigan draped over her shoulders. Her arms were around his neck and she was barefoot, standing up on tiptoe to kiss him. One of Fitz's arms was wrapped around her waist, pulling her against him, and from the fingertips of his other hand, which hung loose by his side, dangled a stylish pair of red peep-toe heels.

The crew whooped, cat-called and high-fived one another in celebration.

Mack held his cardboard coffee cup aloft and boomed, "To Turbo!" and there was much dull-thunking of cardboard against cardboard interspersed with the odd splash of foam on Phil's polished hardwood floorboards as they drunk deeply to their colleague's romantic success.

Trip affected an appropriate breathy gossip columnist tone to read the article aloud:

Is Dr Leo Prince Charming? If The Shoe Fitz!

Trip had to wait out the collective groan before he could continue.

The quiet university town of Cambridge, Massachusetts was abuzz yesterday with the arrival of MIT folk hero, Dr Leo Fitz, handsome host of the runaway success science show Near and Present Future. After hours spent generously meeting and greeting fans at a local mall all morning, Fitz resurfaced late that night, caught by our photographer in an amorous embrace with a stunning unknown woman on the pavement outside a local riverside restaurant. Various members of the restaurant staff commented that Fitz and his lady friend had been intimate and affectionate all evening, spending much of the night on the dancefloor.

Trip paused until the various sounds of surprise, disbelief and pride died down.

Dancing the night away may account for Fitz holding his companion's heels and it seems he's also gallantly offered her his signature cardigan. The restaurant staff were quick to make comment on his generous tip. What a catch! And amazing wheels to boot! We wait with bated breath to find out if this new squeeze will become a permanent fixture for our beloved Dr Fitz.

ooo

Jemma could hear a persistent buzzing but she was doing her level best to ignore it. She was conscious only of the fact that her PhD had finally been submitted and that she didn't have to get out of bed for anything or anyone, at least not any time soon. She luxuriated in a certain pleasant exhaustion in her body and in the warmth of her bed, rolling over in the hope of going back to sleep until lunchtime. But where she expected pillows and duvets and a stuffed chimpanzee called Virgil, she found her nose pressed against a firm, warm, decidedly male body.

The dream of the day before came flooding in, but instead of waking alone to her solitary reality, here she was waking beside the gently snoring proof that it had all been so much better than her fantasies.

Fitz stirred in his sleep and muttered something about solar flares while gathering her into his arms. Jemma nestled into his embrace and surrendered to the sleep that came to reclaim her.

ooo

Despite the fact that almost all of the previous twenty-four hours of his existence could be placed in the "Wish Fulfillment" column of his personal ledger, Fitz had another whim he wanted to indulge. Waking up in the bedroom of the woman he only ever imagined he could have a chance to love was an amazing joy, especially with the memories of what had transpired between them so fresh that he could still feel the heavy looseness in his limbs. But his detailed and tenderly-cultivated daydreams always featured a scene in which he brought her a pot of tea in bed and he wasn't going to miss an opportunity to make it reality.

After gently disentangling himself from her sleeping form, Fitz sat on the edge of the bed and allowed himself the luxury of just gazing at her. Jemma's hair was strewn across the pillow like the Lady of Shallot and her long lashes flickered sporadically against her porcelain cheeks. He ghosted his hand over the angle of her shoulder, once more relishing the softness of her skin under his calloused fingers. He only just resisted the urge to trace constellations between the sparse freckles dotting gold across her pale chest and upper arm. And he somehow held himself back from fitting his mouth against her kiss-swollen lips, assuring himself there'd be plenty of time for that later. He located his jeans hiding under the bed and shrugged them on but had to forego the shirt, half-hidden as it was under Jemma's sleeping form. Instead he just shrugged on his cardigan against the cool morning air and padded on bare feet through to the kitchen. He only had one shot at the first of what he hoped would be many mornings together, and pleasant distractions be damned, he would be waking her with tea.

ooo

When Jemma woke again it was to the sound of the kettle boiling. She contentedly snuggled further under the covers and just listened to Fitz humming over the domestic sounds of kitchen cupboards opening and closing, pouring water and teaspoons clinking against china. How she had charted her way from such loneliness to such delirious happiness in only one day was utterly beyond even her impressive powers of comprehension. All she knew was that it had a lot to do with her pursuit of a certain celebrity crush. And she would never again wonder whether that first PhD had been worth the effort.

All of that certainty was only reinforced when she heard a soft "Hi," from the bedroom door. If Jemma had ever been charged with the creation of one of those fundraising calendars, January through to December would have been filled with different angles of Fitz at this precise moment – bare feet, blue jeans, no shirt, navy cardigan, that torso, those eyes, that exact little lopsided grin – carrying a teapot in one hand and a milk jug and two bone china teacups in the other.

Jemma exaggeratedly rubbed at her eyes. "Oh, Fitz. Would you look at yourself? I'm not the only woman in the country who's indulged in this fantasy, I'm sure of it."

Fitz's face was a picture of delighted embarrassment as he carefully placed the tea things on her bedside table and fished in the pocket of his cardigan for the tea strainer. He plonked himself down on the bed and did his best to ignore Jemma's hands wandering under his cardigan as he poured the tea. She reluctantly released him as he handed her a steaming cup, leaning back against the pillows with the sheet tucked under her arms to take a sip.

Fitz felt quietly confident in his tea brewing abilities, but then he heard Jemma's sigh of contentment and watched her close her eyes in appreciation, tilting her head back against the bedhead to savour the experience.

"You don't have to be anywhere anytime soon, do you?" Jemma asked plaintively, as he swung his legs onto the bed and leant against the bedhead next to her to drink his tea.

"Not too soon," Fitz grinned. "But I do have to return Lola to Phil at the studio in the morning," he added quietly. "How on earth am I going to drive away from you?"

"Would it be easier if I came too?" she offered, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"Yes!" Fitz replied without hesitation. "Would you really?"

Jemma shrugged. "I'm on holidays. Indefinitely. And it might be a nice opportunity to see New York. Besides," she added, "I don't think I could let you drive away. Not when you make such a great cup of tea."

Fitz laughed. "As long as I serve some purpose."

She pulled a face. "I suppose I'd have to let you go eventually. There is that small matter of the TV show you make," she pointed out. "The fans would be devastated if we had to miss a week of Near and Present Future."

Fitz shrugged. "Suddenly I find myself only interested in pleasing this one specific fan," he admitted playfully. "I'm pretty sure I could make her happy even without this week's episode."

"As you've already proved… repeatedly," she agreed, waggling her eyebrows until Fitz blushed. "But don't get too cocky. Live Fitz is all very well, but if I don't have your show to record, how can I rewind and rewatch all your cutest expressions? How will I get by without your voice in the background talking science to me while I slum around in my apartment?"

Fitz laughed. "I could be persuaded to talk science to you while you slum around in your apartment. Heck, we can start right now."

"Not right now." Jemma placed her teacup on the nightstand and once more slid her hands under the navy wool of Fitz's cardigan. "I don't get to do this while you're on TV," she acknowledged.

"Err, no," he chuckled. "I mean, I think it's pretty important that we maintain our family friendly appeal."

"That's a good point," she mused. She suddenly pushed back the sheets, enjoying Fitz's sharp intake of breath at his view of her in broad daylight. Settling lightly onto his lap, she took the teacup out of his hands and placed it next to the pot, then began to slide his cardigan slowly off his shoulders.

"You don't have to worry too much about being family friendly in here."

"Right," he nodded, desperately trying to keep his eyes trained on hers. "Which is good. I mean, a G-rating, once lost, is lost forever." He allowed his gaze to slip slightly. "Costuming would probably have a few things to say about your, umm, ensemble, for example."

"And without your signature garment," Jemma replied smirking, letting his cardigan drop to the floor, "They'd probably have a few things to say about your ensemble too."

"You know," Fitz chuckled, "It never occurred to me that my Dr Oxford would be this handsy."

"Is that a complaint?" she retorted archly.

"God, no," he breathed.

ooo

It wasn't until much later in the day that Fitz finally checked his phone to find all the texts of baffling congratulatory messages and group selfies of raised coffee cups from Phil's impromptu team brunch. Only Mack had thought to actually send him the link to the article online.

Fitz tucked his hands behind his head and watched as Jemma wandered across the room to fetch her laptop. He felt very sure he could get used to the view, though he severely doubted he'd ever manage to take it for granted.

She handed the laptop to him, snuggling back under the covers next to him and the feel of her bare skin against his was enough to make him forget why on earth he was holding a computer. Jemma had picked up his phone to read the link outloud and it took him a good ten seconds longer than it should have to realise he was supposed to be typing.

The sense of reality that flooded in as the two of them gazed at themselves on the screen brought pinpricks of actual tears to Fitz's eyes. Though he wasn't thrilled about the invasion of his privacy, there was something powerfully visceral about seeing Jemma in his arms from the perspective of an onlooker. He felt a muddle of fierce pride, arousal and defensiveness, torn between wanting her on his arm for every photo op and keeping her all to himself.

"At last," Jemma sighed, sidling somehow closer. "It seems I've found the perfect accessory. I should have known it was a TV personality that I needed to set off that dress."

"I hear good TV personalities are hard to find," Fitz joked, wrapping her up once more in his arms.

"I don't know," Jemma shrugged, grinning. "I just picked mine up at the mall."

Well, my beloved readers. Thanks for sticking with me for this funny little fic that I used to distract myself from the horror (oh, the horror!) of space rock reality. I just want to see them happy! Is that such a crime!? (By the way, I love SO much that EH and IDC seem to agree with me on this. I nodded along SO enthusiastically to that whole do our laundry, have a chat, watch TV scenario. I'd watch it too!)

If you just want to see more of our beloved nerds being happy, you might also like to read another completed story of mine called "The Flying Haggis: FitzSimmons' Adventures in the Campervan of Awesome" and it has lots more team interactions. I suppose it's sort of canon-compliant, breaking away into a happier alternate reality after "What They Become"

If you want to make me even happier than this little dalliance into my Fitz-is-a-TV-Host-AU, you could leave me a teensy little review? Yes, I am like diva Iain de Caestecker telling everyone he has the body of a twelve-year-old-boy just so that everyone else can say "Noooo! You're so spunky and buff!" Feel free to tell me I'm spunky and buff. I'll be delighted.

I have to shout out to notapepper from whom I shamelessly stole "handsy" – it was just SO fun in her context. If memory serves me correctly, it was somewhere in the awesomeness that is "Oh, To Be Young" but correct me, notapepper, if I got that wrong. To take another leaf from notapepper's book, reviews are like a new installment in an ongoing dubsmash war. (And "Hot on the Heels of Hydra"? Dude, I think Clark Gregg might have read it…)