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“Jemma. Jemma, no ,” Fitz insisted, eyes going wide with horror as she held the navy jumper out towards him. “Really, I can’t. My family will disown me-”
“Oh, Fitz, I doubt it’s that serious.”
“No, Jemma, really, my cousins will never let me live it down.”
They stood there in their bedroom, eyes locked as they stared each other down, neither willing to give in. Jemma, ever the peacemaker, broke first.
“Fitz, be reasonable, it’s just a shirt.”
“ Y’ need t’ be reasonable and accept watchin’ the match with y’ is good enough. I didn’t even fuss when y’ spent how much money t’ have that ,” he gestured to her own white jersey with the three lions badge proudly situated on her chest, “rush delivered for today!”
“It’s not as though I’m asking you to switch allegiances permanently! Scotland didn’t even qualify!”
He crossed his arms and glared daggers at her for the slight, refusing to say anything. Fitz watched as her eyes lit up, a clear sign that she had thought of something. He knew that letting her near him was a poor choice, that whatever she was about to do would make him break, but he couldn't help it. He leaned in as Jemma whispered in his ear, his heart thumping double time as she told him just what she would do for him if he acquiesced.
“ Fine ,” he muttered, taking the jumper from his wife and pulling it over his head. If he didn’t look down he couldn’t even see ENGLAND emblazoned boldly across his chest. “But absolutely no photos and y’ can’t ever tell my family about this! Not a one, Jemma!”
His wife just smiled at him, strutting off into the kitchen and leaving Fitz to find the match while she prepared all his favorite snacks, as promised.