Skye settled, and dropped her hand from her eyes. Fitz had crossed the room as if to open the door for her, and was frowning a little, confused by her reaction.

“It’s cool,” Skye said, shrugging to recover her casual exterior, though she was still a little flushed and breathless. “Extreme situations give rise to new relationships. All the time.”

“New relationships?” FitzSimmons shared a glance, and then snapped back to Skye, in unison.

“This is a new thing, right?” Skye checked, waving a finger between them. She may not be a long-time trained spy, but she wasn’t that thick. Besides, it had only been yesterday (such a long day) that Fitz had been snorting and guffawing and denying his chemistry with Jemma and even – if Skye was not mistaken – flirting with her instead. With no real reason to keep a secret from her – well, not one like that – the only other conclusion Skye could draw was that the two of them had finally been driven into each other’s arms by the previous day’s near-death experience. It happened.

It happened, but it was not what had happened here.

“Oh,” Simmons said, as if explaining aside to Fitz. “She thinks we slept together last night.”

“What?” Fitz baulked. “No! Of course not! I mean we slept but we didn’t… sleep…”

“Fitz and I aren’t together,” Simmons explained, cutting him off. “Well, not by your standards, anyway.”

“’My standards,’” Skye repeated, confused. “As opposed to what? Your standards? What, are you guys aliens or something?”

“What?” Fitz was momentarily alarmed.

“What?” Skye locked her eyes on his, wondering if she’d actually managed to catch him out. She’d always felt there was something weird about this place, and about FitzSimmons. And with everything that had happened recently, aliens wouldn’t be that much of a stretch, to be honest.

But Fitz seemed just as keen to catch her out as she was him, and so they stared each other down for a few seconds until Jemma waved them off again.

“No, I just meant… most people don’t understand the nature of our relationship.”

Skye snorted.

“Alright, Ms Grey,” she teased. “Now I know that can’t be as kinky as it sounded just now, so I’m curious. If you two aren’t aliens – which I’m not entirely sold on, by the way – what am I? What do you mean ‘my standards’?”

“I didn’t mean to offend, Skye,” Simmons apologised. “It’s just a little obscure. Fitz and I, we’re in what’s called a ‘queer-platonic’ relationship. It’s like, well it is friendship I suppose, but it’s… deeper than that. It’s like, friendship with the commitment of a romantic relationship. But without the actual romance.”

Skye frowned.

“Isn’t that just like, really good friendship?”

“Well, in a way, yes,” Simmons explained, and then took a deep breath that warned Skye she was in for an info-dump.

“But also, no. See, the term ‘platonic’ has its origins in Ancient Greek and could actually be used refer to any non-sexual non-familial love. It simply means ‘confined to thought and concept, and not resulting in action’, which in this case would be sex. So technically, non-sexual romantic acts are also platonic. Well, they were. I mean, the evolution of language does have to be taken into consideration, obviously, which is where the ‘queer’ part of it comes in. It doesn’t refer to Fitz’s or my orientations but rather, to the relationship itself - ‘queering’ the definition of platonic as we know it today, to make it more resembling of the older, wider version. At least, that’s how I see it.”

Skye blinked, speechless for a moment.

“Cool,” she said slowly, once she had run it over in her head and absorbed it. Fitz shook his head, and simplified.

“Skye. When you first met us, did you assume we were friends or a couple?”

“… a couple?” Skye confessed.

“When you found out we were ‘just friends,’ did that make sense to you?”

“Of course!”

Fitz and Jemma glared a little. Skye rolled her eyes, blushing with chagrin.

“Alright, I still wanted you two to get together and I still thought maybe you had or should have had something going on. But that happens to loads of friends, right?”

“Sure, probably,” Fitz agreed.

“Especially those of different sexes,” Simmons put in.

“But for us, we like to have the label,” Fitz explained. “It’s a different type of companionship, that’s all. It’s a very deep, very special connection that we share, that’s different to how we relate to other people. Some people might experience something similar and call it love; other people might call it friendship. We call it queerplatonic. It’s our special balance, that’s all.”

Skye frowned, still absorbing. It made as much sense as it didn’t make, and strangely enough, it seemed like a perfect concept to describe a relationship such as theirs. Two people who insisted they were not in love even though, by all accounts, they appeared to be. Perhaps they were not in denial after all, but simply, in a balance?

“Tell me more?” Skye requested.

“Of course!”

“We’d be glad to.”

Excited to share this oft-undiscovered part of their life with such an open mind as Skye’s, FitzSimmons beckoned her further into the room, so that all three of them sat on the bed – it was too small a space otherwise, anyway.

“Are you guys exclusive?” Skye wondered. “And, do you – you know – have sex? Or could you? Is queerplatonic a Thing? Do other ones work like yours?”

“It’s the same as with all relationships,” Fitz explained. “No two look exactly the same and like I said before, one person’s queerplatonic might be another’s romance or friendship or friends-with-benefits-ship. There are lots of different arrangements. Like, homosexual QPs exist too, and some with more than two partners. It all depends on the people.”

“As does the sex,” Simmons put in. “Some QPs have it, others stay away from it, for various reasons. Fitz and I, for example, we probably wouldn’t have sex because Fitz is ace.”

She gestured to him to explain, but before he could open his mouth, Skye exclaimed an interruption.

“Oh! I know that one!” she cried. “Not a fan of sex, right?”

She high-fived him, quite pleased with herself, and continued.

“I get it. I mean, I don’t get it because sex is The Bomb, but I respect it. What about you, Simmons? Are you two exclusive?”

Simmons shrugged.

“At the moment, we are,” she said lightly, “but that’s just by default. We haven’t really talked about it either way.”

“Well, you should,” Skye suggested, “because your boy’s been flirting with me and I’m not entirely sure he knows that’s what he’s been doing but maybe it’s time to get your chips in order.”

Fitz blushed, chagrined. Simmons blinked at him, a little surprised.

“By the way, sorry man,” Skye continued, “you’re a good guy but you’re just not my type. In case we’re getting our wires crossed here.”

Fitz raised his hands in surrender.

“I understand. No crossed wires.”

“It was worth a shot. I appreciate the appreciation.”

“My pleasure.”

“You’re a good guy and you’ll find a real romantic partner someday, if you want one,” Skye continued, putting a sympathetic hand on Fitz’s knee, and Fitz laughed.

“Is this a breakup speech? You shouldn’t have.”

“Hey, you’re my friend, and I’ll wingman you if you want me to. The offer still stands – I mean, if it’s okay with Jemma, I guess?” Skye glanced between them, still not sure exactly where the line lay on this sort of thing. Simmons waved her back to Fitz, who shrugged, and then put an arm around Simmons’ shoulders.

“I was joking about the sauce,” Daisy amended. “I’m not going to make some poor sucker clean up my sex chocolate. Come on, that’s gross.”

“We could just have a quiet night in,” Jemma continued, in a quiet tone Fitz knew was meant to appease him. He waved her off.

“Honestly, I don’t mind,” he insisted. “I just don’t feel like it, that’s all. Have a few hours to yourselves, have fun. We had a great day. Don’t bring it down just for me. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Absolutely. Go on, have fun.”

The cab driver, after waiting an appropriate number of seconds, checked:

“Change of plans?”

“Let me out on this corner, please,” Fitz requested. “I’ll take the subway. Their ride’s on me.”

The driver pulled over, and Fitz passed him some cash as he extricated himself from the car, pecking both Daisy and Jemma on the cheek before he left and disappeared down the subway tunnel. The cab rolled on toward the hotel.

-

Jemma and Daisy passed the rest of the trip in near-silence, all of a sudden acutely aware of the personal nature of the conversation they needed to have, and of the distance between here and a personal space. The cab driver, fortunately, kept his nose out of their business, but by the time they got to the hotel, it was clear that any activities in the general vicinity of chocolate sauce were well off the table. They dashed to the elevator, not to start on each other’s coats but rather, to finally get a moment to discuss in private.

“Is it just me, or –“

“Has Fitz been weird lately? No, not just you,” Jemma agreed, stuffing her hands into her pockets in an effort to resist the urge to twist her hair and pace. “I should have noticed it earlier. He’s never been much of a sexual person – I think that’s what it is.”

“You don’t think it’s me?” Daisy wondered, frowning with concern as she followed Jemma down the hall to their room. “I know he’s always been more comfortable with that sort of stuff around you. Maybe I should back off.”

“No, it’s not just you. Even when we’re alone…”

“Us too,” Daisy mentioned. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, the physical side of things is fine, but… I didn’t want to say it, I thought maybe he was just off his game, but he hasn’t been the most emotionally engaged participant. And you know Fitz. He’s usually King of Emotional Engagement.”

Jemma sighed, and sunk onto the bed, gazing up at the roof in despair.

“Do you think he maybe just… doesn’t like sex? Like, as a concept. As an activity. Maybe he just, objectively, doesn’t find it fun.”

“I don’t understand how that’s possible,” Daisy remarked, snorting a little at the suggestion. “I mean. It’s chemistry, right? Pleasure hormones everywhere. I hate to be all ‘he’s a guy, of course he wants it,’ but like… sure, he’s a gentleman, but a hot one, with fully functioning anatomy, in a relationship with two hot women that he loves and finds attractive and who find him attractive. He can’t lose.”

“He definitely finds us sexy,” Jemma remarked. “And he’s a great kisser. I mean. God. But as for the sex, I mean, what if we’re conceptualizing it all wrong? What if it’s like… I don’t know, skydiving. These days it’s pretty safe, you get amazing views, we would be down for it – all the reasons are there, but there’s still no way you could get Fitz to go without a fight. And like you said, he’s a gentleman, and he loves us. Maybe he just does it for us.”

“Hm.” Daisy sat, pensive. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“But what if we’re wrong?” she wondered. “What if he’s just having an off time? I don’t want to leave him out on the presumption that he’s not enjoying himself.”

“Mm,” Jemma agreed, and sat up. “You know, I think it’s time for a team meeting.”

-

Sometimes, a “team meeting” was the three of them, a round of beers, and the run-down lounges back on base. Tonight, however – given the opportunities they could seize on this rare weekend of R&R – it was a table with a red cloth and a candle, and three chairs around it, and giant cookies instead of real dessert so that they could wait however long was necessary for Fitz to return. Once they’d set up, Daisy and Jemma dressed down, and spent the rest of the evening chatting and, eventually, snoozing, in a snuggle on the bed, until they heard Fitz’s key in the lock. They pulled themselves to attention, and Fitz stumbled to a halt.

“Sorry,” he said, confused. “Should I have texted you? I promise, I wasn’t mad or anything.”

“We know,” Jemma assured him, directing him to the table and the cookies to make things a little less confrontational. “That’s actually what we wanted to talk to you about. We’ve been noticing some patterns in your behaviour and we just wanted to make sure everything’s okay.”

“Especially,” Daisy added, “when it comes to sex. You’ve been blowing us off for a while now and we just wanted to check – is something going on? Can we help?”

“No, it’s nothing.” Fitz shrugged, but the girls did not let the matter drop. His shrug turned into a reluctant hum and he qualified: “It’s nothing in particular.”

“See, I was right,” Jemma said, prodding Daisy. “It’s not you.”

“You?” Fitz gasped. “Oh, no, Daisy, it’s not you at all! I’ve just never really liked sex.”

“This whole time?” Daisy wondered, incredulous. “And you just went with it?”

Fitz shrugged. “You guys were having fun!”

“Fitz!” Daisy cried. “That’s creepy! Ugh, I feel gross now. I’m sorry.” She stood up, pacing and fretting with her hands.

“Sit down, Daisy, please? It’s not like that, I promise,” Fitz explained. “It’s more like… if you guys dragged me to a chick flick every weekend. I do enjoy myself, but I enjoy it because you’re enjoying it. The actual act just doesn’t do much for me. Like, at all. You guys seemed to be able to entertain yourselves tonight so I stepped out and did something I found more fun. That’s all.”

“Good,” Daisy said, and Jemma nodded alongside her. “But why didn’t you just tell us that’s what it was? Nobody expects you to come to a rom-com every week. What have we been doing to make you think we expected you to get in the mood every time we felt like it?”

Fitz shrugged.

“I guess that’s on me a bit. I felt… ashamed, sort of. You’re both so brilliant and attractive and I love you so much. Why wouldn’t I want to do it, you know?”

“Fitz,” Jemma scolded, and left her chair to sit on Fitz’s lap side-saddle and wrap her arms around his neck. She kissed him firmly. “How often you want to have sex with Daisy or I is not correlated to how much you love us. We know that. We’re never going to hold it over you, I promise.”

“Yeah,” Daisy agreed. “I mean, if you’re ever up for it, you say the word and we’ll be there, but don’t feel like you’re depriving us of anything. It’s not like it’s your responsibility to have sex with us. And besides, if nothing else, we can take care of ourselves, right Jem?”

“You know it.” Jemma grinned, and Daisy grinned, and after a few seconds of coaxing, Fitz was smiling too. A sense of relief began to unclench an anxiety that he’d been holding onto for far longer than he’d realised, and his smile became easier, and he kissed Jemma softly and beckoned Daisy closer.

“Look, I’m sorry if I worried you guys. Thanks for the team meeting. I feel much better now that it’s all out in the open.”

“Us too,” Daisy agreed. “But I bet I’ll feel even better once I get this monstrosity into me. You know, apparently, these are the chunkiest choc chip cookies in Manhattan.”

“Is that so?” Fitz mused. “We’ll have to see about that.”

He broke a piece off the cookie from his own plate, and fed it to Jemma. She chewed thoughtfully.“Well?” Daisy asked,

“Well, we’ll have to taste every choc chip cookie in Manhattan to test this fairly, won’t we?” Jemma pointed out, and reached across the table to snap a piece off Daisy’s cookie. Daisy swiped at her thieving fingers, and missed.

“That’s cheating!” she yelped. “It’s the same kind!”

Jemma grinned, her mouth still full and surrounded with crumbs.

“You didn’t,” she pointed out. “Technically.”

He sighed.

“It’s just –“ a fruitless handwave at the television. “I mean, really? They’ve known each other what, an hour? And that’s where they go?”

Jemma laughed.

“No-one’s doing anything wrong, Fitz,” she assured him. “They’re just having fun!”

Fitz screwed up his nose.

“Doesn’t look like much fun. I mean. That looks like more fun.”

Jemma followed where he pointed, to see that somebody had just been shot, and was falling dramatically backward into the swimming pool.

“Really?” Jemma pressed. “You’d rather get shot than have sex.”

“Well I was talking about the bit before that, with the swimming, before all hell broke loose, but –“

“Okay, so you haven’t completely lost it -”

Fitz rolled his eyes.

“You’re great,” he insisted, “and there are plenty of things it is better than. Y’know. Cleaning the shower drain. Setting rat baits in the attic. Dissecting a frog.”

“You threw up last time you dissected a frog.”

“My point exactly.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“We’re missing a perfectly good gunfight. Oh brilliant, here comes Miss Legs. Naturally, she’s going to have to fight in her underwear, of course.”

“Now I’ll admit that’s a little ridiculous, but she can fight remarkably well.” As the character vaulted over the bonnet of a car only to have her opponent throw her into a trash can and send her sprawling over the sidewalk covered in garbage, Jemma winced. “Oh, that poor stunt double.”

They returned their attention to the movie after that, but the banter continued. Together they poked fun at poor special effects, melodramatic one-liners, and flat tropes. Fitz explained or guessed at how various explosions and fight damage had been constructed. Jemma lamented and promised herself, for the fiftieth time, that she would learn martial arts one day. Maybe krav maga. The human body was truly a remarkable contraption.

“Well this human body’s getting remarkably uncomfortable,” Fitz returned. “I’m getting a drink. Want one?”

“Water, please.”

Jemma nodded, and yawned as she stretched herself out and climbed out of the nest she had created for herself between the couch and the cushions and Fitz. He disappeared to the kitchen and she to the bedroom, where she changed into a loose top and took off her bra. When Fitz returned with the water, he looked tired enough to collapse, like a switch had been flicked and all of a sudden he was struggling to keep his eyes open. Jemma hummed sympathically.

“Working hard?” she purred as he slumped onto the bed, eyes closed and forehead creased, limbs tensed with frustration.

“Coulson just emailed,” Fitz murmured, a silent groan in his expression. “They’re upgrading to a new model after all, so half the coding I did today is out the window. At this rate I’m going to be another week on this bloody thing."

“You shouldn’t check your emails before bed,” Jemma scolded gently. “Aside from the effects of screen brightness on sleep, there hasn’t been a day this week it hasn’t put you in a foul mood.”

Fitz grunted, wishing he had taken her advice, but read them he had and in a bad mood he was.

“Go to sleep, babe,” Jemma insisted. “You can deal with it in the morning.”

She crawled onto the bed beside him and snuggled into his side, letting one arm drape over his chest. She hummed softly and breathed smoothly until she felt the frustration drain from his body. Fitz’ own breathing evened out eventually and Jemma realised she’d lulled him to sleep on top of the covers. She slipped off the bed and retrieved a heavy fleece from the lounge, which she pulled over him, and then she snuck back into her place, careful not to disturb him as she stuck her feet under the covers.

Knees drawn to her chest, back against a stack of pillows and the headboard, Jemma looked down at Fitz’ soft expression and floppy hair and smiled tightly. He was working outside both her jurisdiction and her expertise, so he didn’t often talk about this particular project with her and she was unsure what to do to help him most of the time. And today was an especially unfortunate blow. He’d thought he’d finally been done with this project, and with the difficulties and secrecies that it entailed – hence an afternoon of lazy strolls, cooking, and amusingly predictable movies. After all the work he’d done so far and thought he’d put behind him, another week might as well have been another month, another year, another decade to his tired mind, and his heart that hated not sharing with her.

Jemma sighed. It seemed she had just as much of a penchant for putting herself in a mood before bed as Fitz did. She pulled her biomedical journal prints out from under her tablet to distract herself, but her eyes refused to train themselves on the words. Her brain refused to let go the thought that there must be something she could do, should do, would do for him. What was in a week’s time? Valentine’s Day. There must be loads of things to do on Valentine’s Day. Restaurants would be open, cinemas would have extra showings, events would be on all over the place.

So it was decided then, she thought to herself as if she could bargain with her own brain. She would arrange a nice day out for them on Valentine’s Day, to celebrate at last and to get his mind off that blasted project and to allow him to share with her whatever he might have felt he’d been lacking or needed to make up for. Surely, with that framework in mind, she could cast aside the journal reading and just go to sleep, ready to start planning proper when it was more appropriate.

Or.

Or, she could shuffle down under the covers and stare at the roof, and her mind could start buzzing with suggestions, and her heart could leap in her chest at the good ones and at the thought of being able to bring Fitz some peace. She could, in short, lie restless for a good few minutes and eventually give up on the attempt to sleep altogether and instead, do what she did best – plan.

-

“Is the blindfold really necessary?” Fitz asked as Jemma guided him by the shoulder down into the passenger seat of the car, a week later.

“Not strictly, but I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“Surprise? I thought we were going to a restaurant, y’know Italian or something nice and romantic and then go to a movie, and then a hotel room after that with candles and rose petals everywhere…”

Fitz trailed off, grinning. He could feel Jemma’s glare through the blindfold.

“Oh please,” she huffed. “You know me better than that. Besides, if I have to hear one more terrible pun or even worse love story or watch those waiters moon-eye at us like they did last year, I’m going to vomit.”

“Hey, you love puns!”

“…Yeah, alright, maybe the puns aren’t too bad.” Jemma rolled her eyes as she moved the car into gear and started driving. Fitz was alert, looking around and listening. Trying to figure out her surprise.

“You’re not going to see it coming,” she insisted.

“Well of course I won’t, I’m wearing a blindfold, aren’t I?”

Jemma guffawed with laughter, and had to remind herself to keep her eyes on the road. Fitz grinned victoriously beside her and continued trying to map out where they were. He was terribly unfamiliar with the area, and after a while, they pulled out onto a long, straight road without much traffic and he lost track of how long they were on it.

“Still think you can pick us, Lassie?” Jemma teased. Fitz crossed his arms.

“We’re somewhere in New England,” he grumbled. “And I don’t appreciate the reference.”

Jemma shrugged. “It was either that or Skippy.”

Suddenly, Fitz bolted upright and slapped the car door excitedly.

“I smell the ocean! Right? We’re going to the seaside, aren’t we?”

“’The Seaside’.” Jemma laughed. “You’re so British!”

“You’re Britisher!”

“I bet I am, Mr ‘second grade math’.”

“Excuse you Little Miss ‘footy squad’.”

“We have footy squads!”

“Oh, 'we' do now, hm? And when did you suddenly get an interest in the Dons exactly?”

Fitz cut himself off when Jemma cut the engine and stepped around the car to open his door. The banter had successfully distracted him from a cacophony of sounds: money jingling, children screeching with laughter, and the unmistakable crank-accordion sound of carnival music. When Jemma finally pulled his blindfold away, she stepped aside to reveal a small fair set up on the jetty and grassed area near the beach. The water shone, a dark but luminescent backdrop for the coloured lights and flapping flags that announced festivity with the humble pride of a small town.

“What do you think?” Jemma asked, trying to get a read on Fitz’ stunned expression.

“I – um – why?” Fitz spiralled as he walked through the entrance, his eyes trained on the triangular penants flapping in the breeze above his head, and the stars far beyond them.

“I wanted to get away from it all,” Jemma explained, following him into the fairgrounds and guiding him out of the way of incoming strangers as he looked around, awestruck. “You away from that bloody project of yours and us away from the base for a while – and not to mention away from all that awful Hallmark tripe. It took me a while to find something interesting but then…I found this! I would’ve run it by you first but like I said, I didn’t want to ruin the surprise. Do you like it?”

“Jemma!” Fitz gasped. “I love it! Fresh air. Space. Fairy floss!”

He grabbed her face, as if to kiss her, but got distracted. He ran past her instead, to a truck offering fairy floss, popcorn and deep-fried potato spiral

“What’s a deep-fried potato kebab?” Jemma wondered, trailing him, and catching up just as he accepted an armful of food from the vendor. A tub of popcorn, a stick of fairy floss, and two of what could only have been the potato spirals. They were, in all, potatoes, cut somehow into a spiral and deep-fried onto a kebab stick. Simple, self explanatory, and unashamedly bad for you. Of course.

“What?” Fitz asked, when he saw her staring. “It was a long drive.”

They walked around the grounds and ate and talked, and in all honesty the simple fact of fresh air was enough of a gift to last them both all night. Jemma became increasingly gladder that she hadn’t caved in the end and chosen a restaurant; it was such a rare opportunity to be out of the base, and out of a city, without having to look over their shoulder all the time. The quiet life, she thought to herself, was underrated.

With occasional assistance from Jemma, Fitz polished off most of the food he’d bought initially in a fairly short span of time, but once he had a hand free, he held Jemma’s funnel cakes willingly and with great restraint as she engaged in some of the carnival activities. She tested her strength on the hammer, and both of them laughed when she barely managed to reach halfway. In the real world, she’d have jumped on the sensor instead, but a game was a game. She tried throwing balls into the clowns’ mouths and did a surprisingly good job, eventually winning a small stuffed seal made of gold and green fabric, which she gave to a passing child later in the night. When they got to a booth for shooting cans with a BB gun, Fitz jumped at the chance.

“Okay okay, this one’s mine.”

“My hero!” Jemma feigned a swoon, and took her funnel cakes back as Fitz made an enjoyably macho show of taking the gun and preparing himself. He was a good shot, but this was a carnival game. A notoriously difficult one at that. At least the attendant seemed to be getting a laugh out of his grand performance.

Fitz managed to down two cans. The attendant applauded, his eyebrows high, impressed. He gestured to the row of choices Fitz had for prizes, and Fitz picked out a larger-than-life daisy made of some sort of felt-like material, with a smiling face sown in where the seeds would go and wire in the stem, for posing.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Jemma,” he said, presenting it to Jemma as seriously as if it were a bouquet full of roses.

“Oh, babe, you shouldn’t have!” she crooned, stroking its petals as if it were as sweet and fragile as a lily.

“Ah, the lovebirds,” the attendant called, applauding again. “I’ll give the lady three shots for free, eh? My little Valentines gift to you all.”

Jemma grinned, and passed off her funnel cakes and the precious daisy to Fitz. She picked up the gun and fired, fired, fired, and the attendant howled and clapped his congratulations when three cans tumbled from their stand.

“The highest score all night, Ma’am,” he congratulated her. “Have your pick of anything on the board!”

-

Eventually, they retired to the beach.

They walked for a while, until the sounds of the carnival had faded into the distance and the soft roar of the lapping waves took over. Fitz sat, and brushed a patch of sand beside him so that Jemma could adjust her skirt and sit too. It was a graceful practice oddly out of place, as Jemma had the cartoonish daisy wrapped around her arm like it had grown there, and Fitz had a monkey with absurdly long arms and Velcro for hands hugging his neck, and the most recent phase of dinner consisted of a corndog each, and an absurdly large cup of ice-cream they were sharing.

Jemma sighed in satisfaction as she looked out across the sea, where it reflected the shimmering silver moonlight.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Fitz,” she murmured, nuzzling into his shoulder. It was cold, and she’d left a jacket in the car, but she preferred this method of keeping warm.

“Thanks for bringing me here, Jemma,” Fitz replied. “It was very inventive of you. I had fun.”

“And you got to show off.”

“And I got to show off.” Fitz laughed.

“You’re a great romantic sap, you know that?” Jemma teased. “Defending my honour against those nasty stacks of tins.”

“They were looking at you funny, I swear.”

Jemma laughed and rolled her eyes. “Next year, I’m buying you a sword.”

“Really?!” Fitz jumped, and almost sent Jemma’s corn-dog flying.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Jemma promised.

Fitz stuck his now-empty corndog stick into the sand and adjusted his position so that he could put an arm around Jemma’s shoulders.

“Aren’t you cold?” he wondered, looking at all her bare skin. Jemma shrugged.

“Not with you.”

Fitz snorted. “And I’m the romantic sap.”

Jemma batted her eyelids at him.

“Would the sap like to get my jacket from the car? Pretty please?”