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Fitz looked up when Jemma entered the lab, a smile reflexively appearing on his lips. “Hey.”
Jemma beamed back at him as she walked closer. “Hey, husband,” she sang sweetly, leaning in for a soft kiss.
A contented hum escaped Fitz’s lips. He inhaled, looking back at the prosthetics he was working on for Elena. “How’s Deke?”
Jemma leaned one hand on the workbench, tilting her head to inspect Fitz’s work. “Getting better and better,” she replied. “I just brought him some biscuits.”
“Ah. Yes. Good.” Fitz forced a smile, his gaze briefly darting in Jemma’s direction before focusing back on the arm in front of him.
“You haven't visited him for a few days now,” Jemma remarked in that knowing tone Fitz was all too familiar with.
“Yeah. No. I—” Fitz kept his eyes on his project, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “It's been busy and—”
“Fitz?” Her voice was soft as she gently placed her hand on Fitz’s upper arm.
Fitz sighed, turning his head to look at her. “I don't know. It's just.” He straightened up, running his fingers through his hair. “He's our grandson.”
Jemma raised her eyebrows, a smile flashing across her face. “Yes, he is. Which is why I'm surprised you haven't spent more time with him. Get to know him. He did save us, after all.”
Fitz stared back at the artificial limb on the table. “Yeah. I know. I know,” he mumbled quietly.
“Fitz?” Her voice was laced with concern.
Fitz straightened up, turning halfway to face Jemma more directly, unable to stop his eyes from welling up. “He watched his mum, our daughter, get slaughtered by a bunch of Kree. His dad got sent to the surface, which he thought was a guaranteed death sentence.” He threw both hands in the air, before gesturing at himself. “Clearly, we were long gone before he was even born.”
“Fitz.” Jemma slumped her shoulders.
“And I—” Fitz raised his shoulders, helplessly. “What do I have to offer him? I’m not even a parent. How am I supposed to be a grandparent?”
The corners of Jemma’s lips ticked up. She reached up, pressing her palm against Fitz’s cheek. “Well, you…”
“Don't say I'm 104 years old,” Fitz interjected, wrapping his arms around Jemma’s waist.
Jemma chuckled quietly, curling her hands around the back of Fitz’s neck. “I was going to say that you’ve always been a grumpy old man.”
Fitz scoffed. “That's just a variation on it, you know that, right?”
“Well, you are a grumpy old man.” Her eyes shone with mischief. Her fingers played with the soft hair at the nape of his neck as she smiled at Fitz lovingly. “You are my grumpy old man and I will love you forever, but all that aside, Fitz—” She pulled her hands back, cupping Fitz’s face and gazing deep into his eyes. “You don't have to try and be a grandfather to Deke, nor a father-figure. Be a friend. You're a wonderful friend. I should know.”
Fitz couldn’t stop his lips from quirking up at her remark.
“He needs that,” Jemma continued, her voice soft. “He needs people he can rely on, that he can trust. We are that and more. We are in the unusual but also wonderful position that we can be both to him, his friends and his family alike.”
Fitz tightened his arms around Jemma’s waist, pulling her closer against him. “I look at him and I see all the pain and loss he had to endure,” he whispered, his tone laced with sadness and regret. “All because we failed. And for all we know we’re failing again.”
Jemma’s hands slid down until they rested on Fitz’s chest. Her eyes were fixed on him, filled with serenity. “I look at him and I see that my dream will come true.” Her expression lit up as a smile flashed across her face. “Our next adventure, starting a family. The way Deke talks about his mother, our daughter. The way he talks about how she spoke of us. It tells me that we may not have saved the world in the past but we did anything but fail, Fitz.”
Fitz drew in a deep breath, exhaling slowly, letting her words sink in. “How do you do this? How do you always find light in darkness?”
She grinned at him, her eyes sparkling teasingly. “I'm not sure it's possible to explain that to a grumpy old man like yourself.”
Fitz laughed, before kissing her. Jemma’s tongue briefly glided across Fitz’s lower lip and Fitz deepened the kiss, letting his mind rest for a moment while his body filled with warmth and tenderness.
Reluctantly, he broke the kiss, brushing his nose against Jemma’s. “I'm not always grumpy,” he whispered against her lips, his eyes still closed.
Her quiet chuckle caused Fitz to open his eyes.
“Of course not,” she teased, pressing her palm against Fitz’s stubble. “Now, go and pay your grandson a visit.”
Fitz sighed, leaning in again for another brief peck. “Alright, wife.”
Fitz stopped outside Deke’s room, making sure he wouldn’t yet be seen through the open door. He tucked his hands in his pockets, exhaling a cleansing breath before entering the room.
Fitz furrowed his brow briefly when Deke’s hand seemed to shoot forward in panic, grabbing a biscuit from the plate in front of him and stuffing it into his mouth.
“Hey,” Fitz greeted Deke, his forehead still slightly wrinkled in confusion.
“Oh, hey. I thought you were Jemma,” Deke replied, his words muffled as he tried to speak with a full mouth.
Fitz scoffed, taking a hesitant step closer. “The resemblance is striking.”
An embarrassed chuckle escaped Deke’s lips as he continued to chew.
Fitz cleared his throat, tapping the floor with the tip of his shoe, as his gaze wandered to the ground. “How are you feeling?”
“Still hurts.”
Fitz looked back up. “Yeah. That tends to be the case.” He lifted his chin in the direction of the plate on Deke’s bedside table. “Jemma said she brought you biscuits?”
Deke glanced at the biscuits, one corner of his mouth ticking up. “Yeah. Want one?” He grabbed the plate and held it up in Fitz’s direction.
Fitz smiled reflexively. He reached for one of the biscuits, but stopped as he got closer. “Ugh. Those are those bloody gluten-free abominations.”
Deke looked at Fitz in confusion. “What's gluten-free?”
“Another word for ‘tastes like pressed sand,’” Fitz replied, his tone laced with disappointment. He gestured at the plate in Deke’s hand. “They're supposed to be healthier. All natural. No refined sugar.”
Deke grimaced slightly in apparent disgust. “They make me miss food rations.”
Fitz laughed out loud, causing Deke’s mouth to pull into a one-sided smile as well.
“I tried loading them off on Agent Davis,” Deke explained, “but he refused to take more after tasting the first one.”
Fitz continued to chuckle. “Can’t blame the man.” He drew in a deep breath. “Jemma’s food choices. I mean, her cooking is amazing, but when it comes to these biscuits, I don't know.” He shook his head, yet unable to keep from smiling at the thought of his wife. “She means well though.”
Deke nodded. “Yeah, she's been really nice.”
“Yeah, that's her,” Fitz replied, barely above a whisper, his eyes wandering to the ground.
Deke placed the plate back on the bedside table. “What are my chances of getting that sandwich again?”
Fitz looked up, scoffing briefly. “I don't know. Maybe if you get shot again.”
“What?” Deke’s eyes widened.
Fitz couldn’t help but laugh. “That was a joke, Deke.”
Deke exhaled in relief.
“Just ask her,” Fitz told him, shrugging. “You're recovering and she's trying to win Grandparent of the Year.”
He paused, his eyes wandering to the plate of biscuits. He waved his index finger in Deke’s direction, pressing his lips into a thin line. “I'll be back in a few. Gonna get the good stuff. You've been shot. You've suffered enough.”
A smile spread across Jemma’s face when she stepped into Deke’s room. Deke was propped up in bed, while Fitz had pulled up a chair close to the head of the bed, his legs resting on the mattress, his arms folded over his chest. Both were staring at the tablet, set up as a screen on the bedside table.
“Well, look at you two,” Jemma said cheerily. “What are you watching?”
Fitz looked up, grinning back at her. “Only the best Doctor Who episode ever made.” He ticked his head side to side. “Well, best episode ever made since the revival.”
“Oh.” Jemma’s eyes widened in excitement, as she took a few steps closer, trying to catch a glimpse of the screen. “Blink!”
“What? No!” Fitz exclaimed, wrinkling his forehead, before gesturing at the tablet. “The Angels Take Manhattan!”
Jemma scoffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Well, while that is a wonderful episode, I have to disagree, Blink is—”
Fitz raised his hands defensively. “Are we seriously having this discussion again?” He tapped the palm of his hand with two fingers, to emphasize his point. “The Angels Take Manhattan. Amy and Rory. Jumping off a roof. Creating a paradox. Resetting the future. ‘Together or not at all,’” he added pointedly with a hint of theatrical drama.
Jemma’s mouth gaped ajar. She was just about to give her counter-argument, when Deke’s quiet voice interrupted her.
“Guys, no offense, but, honestly—” His eyes nervously darted back and forth between Jemma and Fitz, “—I’m not sure I get this show.”
Fitz and Jemma gasped in unison, staring in disbelief at their grandson.
Deke lifted his shoulders apologetically. “I mean, maybe if we started from the beginning.”
Jemma pursed her lips. “Well, but then we’d have to start at the very beginning. First Doctor. 1963. I mean, it could take us years to finish it all, considering our busy schedules and the like.”
“We could just start with the Fifth Doctor,” Fitz suggested. “He’s the best one.”
“Ha!” Jemma scoffed, pointing at Fitz. “Fourth Doctor is the best and you know it!”
Fitz dropped his head back, rolling his eyes. “Oh, please!”
“Guys,” Deke tried to chime in, just loud enough to get their attention.
Jemma smiled in understanding, exhaling a cleansing breath. “Maybe a change of topic would be good.”
“Yes, maybe,” Fitz agreed, begrudgingly.
Jemma’s gaze wandered to the propped-up tablet on the bedside table, when her eyes caught sight of something else. She furrowed her brow. “Wait, what’s all this?”
Fitz shrugged. “Food.”
Jemma drew in an exasperated breath, gesturing at the empty wrappers in front of the tablet. “That’s not food. It has no nutritional value whatsoever.”
“But it tastes good. Unlike your gluten-free biscuits.” Fitz ticked his head in the direction of the plate of biscuits.
Jemma glared at her husband, her finger darting to the plate. “Those biscuits are delicious. You’re the only one who doesn’t like them.”
Fitz pursed his lips. “Deke doesn’t like them.”
Deke’s head shot in Fitz’s direction, his eyes wide and panicked. “Dude!”
Jemma gasped, crossing her arms in front of her chest, defensively. “Well, everyone else does!”
Fitz pulled one corner of his mouth up, looking at Jemma skeptically. “Jemma.”
“Agent Piper loves them,” Jemma said, confidently. “She was devastated when she dropped her plate the other day.”
Fitz snorted. “You have two PhDs, Jemma. Two.”
“Ugh,” Jemma growled. “You two are impossible.”
Fitz’s expression softened, his voice losing some of its teasing tone. “Come on, Jemma. Our grandson traveled through time from a dystopian future and he got shot mere days ago. Let him eat something that doesn’t taste like sawdust.”
Jemma chuckled quietly. “Well, alright then.” She pointed sternly at Deke. “But I’ll ensure you’ll get something very healthy for dinner!”
Deke smiled at her, with a mix of shyness and mischief. “Yes, Grandma.”
“So… how’s Daisy?” Deke looked up at Jemma, a hint of blush appearing on his cheeks.
Jemma grinned back at him, as she fluffed up the pillow behind his back. “Very busy, naturally. I’ll be happy to let her know you asked about her though?”
“What? Why? No!” Deke squeaked in a tone that sounded all-too-familiar to Jemma’s ears.
“Well, I think it is rather obvious that you’re a bit smitten with her,” Jemma couldn’t help but tease.
“What? Why? No!” Deke nervously looked from Jemma, who was standing on the left side of his bed, to Fitz who was sitting to his right. “I mean… I mean, she doesn’t even like me!”
“Well,” Jemma crossed her arms in front of her chest. “You did get off on the wrong foot a bit. What with selling her out to an alien tyrant who tried to auction her off to the highest bidder in a fight to the death.”
“Yeah, well,” Deke’s expression changed to a tense pout. “I know nobody believes me, but I was actually trying to help. Plus, from what I heard he planted the whole ‘to the death’ idea into Kasius’ head.” Deke pointed sideways at Fitz with his thumb.
“Hey.” Fitz’s eyes widened, gesturing at Deke, palms-up. “I gave you some of my best sweets, and you repay me by throwing me under the bus?”
Deke raised his eyebrows. “More like dragging you under the bus with me.”
Jemma couldn’t help but chuckle quietly.
“So, umm,” Deke cleared his throat, looking back and forth between his grandparents, “you guys think she still hates me?”
“No. Most definitely not,” Jemma replied reassuringly. “I think you’ve quite proven yourself. Just give it time. She’ll warm up to you. Although I cannot say whether she’ll reciprocate your romantic feelings.”
Deke furrowed his brow in thought. “Wouldn’t that be weird? I mean, not that I like her like that. And she definitely doesn’t like me like that. But, I mean, you’re my grandparents and she’s your best friend. I mean, that would be weird, right?”
Jemma scoffed in amusement. “Weirder than travelling through a piece of rock from a dystopian future to the past, battling manifestations of our greatest fears, and trying to help your grandparents prevent Earth’s destruction?”
“Well,” Deke mumbled.
“Well, I think it’s a bit weird.” Fitz interjected, raising his hand slowly.
“You had a crush on Daisy when we first met her,” Jemma countered, smirking at her husband teasingly.
“Well, first of all, that was years ago, before I realized that the love of my life had been by my side for ten-plus years already,” Fitz replied, defensively, and Jemma couldn’t help but smile.
“And second of all, she wasn’t my grandparent’s best friend then, was she now?” Fitz threw one hand in the air. “I… I’m just saying, it does sound a bit weird. I mean, if we have children—”
“When… not if,” Jemma interrupted him, raising her finger importantly.
“Okay, right, I suppose, when we have children,” Fitz corrected himself. “Well, Daisy would be like an aunt to them. So, doesn’t that mean, Deke would be dating his great aunt?”
Jemma shrugged. “Well, they’re not related by blood. They’re about the same age, and—”
“Guys, I… I don’t even think she’s interested so—” Deke tried to chime in, but Fitz seemed to pay his interjection no heed.
“Plus, I’d be worried about his safety!” Fitz added, gesturing at Deke.
“My safety?” Deke pressed his fingers into his chest, wrinkling his forehead. “Dude, I… I think I can handle her alright.”
“Not what I meant, Deke,” Fitz replied, matter-of-factly, keeping his eyes fixed on Jemma.
“Well,” Jemma folded her arms in front of her chest. “I don’t think what happened to Daisy’s previous love interests should stop Deke from pursuing a relationship with her—if that’s something they both want of course.”
“Wait,” Deke’s eyes wandered nervously back and forth between his grandparents. “What happened to her previous love interests?”
Jemma gestured at Deke with both hands, while looking sternly at Fitz. “See what you started?”
“What happened to her previous love interests?” Deke repeated, his voice high-pitched and panicked.
Jemma scoffed. “Good luck with that. If you’ll excuse me, I have to check on Elena.”
“What happened to her previous love interests?” Deke said again, a bit louder.
Fitz rested his head in his hands. “Ugh. I’m an idiot.”
“What happened to her previous love interests?”
Fitz sighed, looking back at Deke. “I’m not sure you want to know.”
“I think I do.”
“She’s not even interested in you, mate,” Fitz tried to diffuse the situation.
“But—”
“Hey,” Fitz forced a wide grin. “How about a new topic!” He waved his index finger in the air, importantly. “Sports! That’s it! Let’s talk about sports!”
“But—”
“Forget that gigantic leather glove.” Fitz enthusiastically slapped Deke’s arm, who flinched in mild confusion.
“Football!” Fitz exclaimed. “Now that’s a real sport! And it’s called football. Don’t let anyone tell you it’s called soccer. That’s rubbish.”
Fitz threw one hand in the air. “Americans have no clue when it comes to sports. I mean, they steal half of their sports from other countries anyways. I mean, baseball?” He crossed his arms in front of his chest, “—basically a watered-down form of cricket. And don’t even get me started on American Football.” He formed air quotes around the last word, shaking his head. “It’s… it’s so…. It doesn’t make sense, okay. It’s not even played with a foot.”
He paused, before raising his finger, importantly, a loud scoff escaping his mouth. “Hand egg! It should be called hand egg and it’s practically a badly forged version of Rugby.”
Deke stared at him wide-eyed, his lips slightly part.
“Now, football!” Fitz reached for the tablet on Deke’s bedside table, letting his fingers dance across the screen until he had found what he was looking for. He turned the screen around so Deke could see it, smiling proudly as he showed Deke the football match. “That’s a sport!”
He placed the tablet back on the table, pointing at Deke’s nose. “Now, Hunter will try to tell you otherwise, but Manchester United is the best team. Not Liverpool.” He waved his hand horizontally, before raising his index finger once more, emphasizing each syllable of his team’s name. “Man U! So don’t listen to what that crazy wanker tells you.”
Deke squinted in confusion. “Who’s Hunter?”
One corner of Fitz’s mouth quirked up, reflexively. “Best mate a bloke could ask for,” he admitted quietly. “Don’t tell Mack I said that. Or Daisy.” He chuckled barely audibly, before shaking his head. “He drives you up the wall though.”
Deke’s eyes wandered back to the tablet screen, confusion still written over his expression. “So. They run after the ball?”
Fitz gestured at the screen, palm up. “And they try to score, of course.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it?” Fitz asked in disbelief. “That’s it?? It… it takes endurance, and teamwork, and finesse,” he replied, unable to hide the annoyance in his tone. “And they don’t switch out the entire team every thirty seconds or stop the clock so a 60-minute game takes 40 hours like in American ‘Football.’” Once again, he formed air quotes around the last word. “It’s 90 minutes. 120 tops. Well, plus potential penalty shooting.”
Deke looked at Fitz with a hint of helplessness hidden in his eyes, when his head suddenly shot back at the screen, as the crowd cheered. “Whoa! He got it in,” he exclaimed excitedly, pointing at the screen as the replay of the goal was shown. “He got it in.”
A proud little smile appeared on Fitz’s lips as he watched his grandson’s excitement. “Yeah, but we’re not rooting for him.”
“But, I like the color.”
“You like the—” Fitz stared at Deke, his forehead wrinkled in disbelief. “You don’t pick your team by color.”
He exhaled an exasperated breath, reaching for a chocolate bar on the bedside table. He unwrapped it, took a big bite, and leaned back in his chair. He brought his legs back up to rest on the mattress, chewing the chocolate contentedly. “So much to learn, Deke. So much to learn.”
“Yeah, well,” Deke grabbed some of the sweets himself, showing it into his mouth. “Teach me your ways then, Grandpa.”