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Fitz stared wide-eyed at the hustle and bustle in front of him—the neon-flashing lights, the gambling tables, the scantily clad alien waitresses. His heart began racing instantly and cold sweat formed on his back. It wasn’t the first time Enoch had brought him to an establishment that made his skin crawl with uneasiness ever since he had been woken early from his cryo slumber, their minds now set on surviving and scraping together what they needed to build another cryo-chamber so that Fitz could search for Jemma in the future.
It wasn’t the first time, but this time was different because there was absolutely no need to stay on Kitson or visit any of the dingy bars.
They’d found Jemma—or Jemma had found them—or they’d just sort of stumbled across each other by pure coincidence—or maybe the universe was finally trying to make up for all it had put them through, but in any case, they were reunited.
After the initial shock had worn off when Jemma and Daisy told him what had happened on Earth about one year ago, they’d decided there was no use dwelling on the past and focussing on the future was a much better use of their energy.
Jemma had accepted Fitz’s proposal with a beaming smile—or maybe he’d accepted hers all over again. It didn’t matter. They were getting married. Enoch had declared matter-of-factly that he was ordained on several planets and would happily carry out the ceremony. They’d smiled at each other, a silent agreement all they needed before they accepted Enoch’s offer.
That had all been well and good, but then the Chronicom had insisted that he would be unable to marry them unless they had a bachelor and bachelorette party. He’d studied human traditions for years after all and was simply following standard protocol.
Piper and Daisy immediately jumped at the opportunity to take Jemma out for a hen party, and Jemma—though maybe not seeing the need for it—felt like her two friends deserved a fun night out after a year of space travel, hardship, and their share of not-always-pleasant adventures. Davis seemed happy enough about the prospect of going out for a drink as well, though he raised a skeptical eyebrow about his company—particularly the Chronicom, whom Fitz admitted took some getting used to. Fitz was more than reluctant but clearly outnumbered. Plus, no matter how rocky their relationship had been at times, he’d grown fond of his odd friend and it seemed like a small sacrifice to grant Enoch the wish of throwing Fitz a stag night considering all the Chronicom had done to save him in the past.
Still, now that Fitz stood in the less-than-honorable establishment on the planet of Kitson, he regretted caving to his friends’ prodding. He turned around to face Enoch and Davis, furrowing his brow. “Maybe we should try to find someplace quieter?” he yelled over the deafening noise.
Davis grabbed a drink from a tray that a waitress had raised in front of his nose. He forced an appreciative grin, before taking a big gulp, grimacing slightly as the alcohol burnt down his esophagus. He raised his glass slightly. “As long as there’s booze, I’m on board.”
“Oh, not to worry,” Enoch remarked, “The private room I intend to book should offer both a more quiet atmosphere as well as drink services.”
“Private room?” Fitz squinted skeptically.
“Yes,” Enoch bobbed his head, “the exotic dancers in this establishment only perform in small, intimate settings.”
Fitz’s eyes widened in shock. “Intimate—what??”
His head shot to the side when Davis slapped Fitz’s chest with the back of his hand. “I think your buddy is getting you a stripper.”
Fitz did a double-take, not quite believing what he was hearing. He raised one index finger importantly. “No!”
“During my time on Earth, my observations as an anthropologist clearly indicate that hiring a stripper for your bestie during his last night before he is to wed is standard practice,” Enoch countered, deadpan.
Next to Fitz, Davis tried in vain to suppress a coughing fit after the last gulp of his drink had gone down the wrong pipe. He patted Fitz firmly on the shoulder, unable to hide a mischievous smirk. “Enoch has a point there.”
“No!” Fitz reiterated.
“I’m afraid I must insist,” Enoch replied, looking mildly confused. He bobbed his head. “As your best friend, and hence best man, it is my duty to—how do you put it—throw you a stag night that you will never forget. Earth protocol as I have observed it dictates that this tradition involves a woman getting undressed in front of you—at the very least.”
Fitz didn’t think his eyes could widen any further, but somehow he managed. “At the very least?” he asked, high-pitched and panic-struck.
“Now, it would be quite helpful to learn more about your preferences to allow me to select a suitable dancer,” Enoch continued, seemingly unaware of Fitz’s interjection. “Krylorians are considered rather attractive and have been known to mate with other species. Or would you prefer a female with a more exotic anatomy? I have heard that this establishment employs a female with four breasts.”
Fitz stared at the Chronicom in disbelief for a long minute, unable to respond with anything more than the slow batting of his eyes, while Davis next to him had finally lost the battle against his laughing fit, bending forward and holding his stomach with one hand while trying not to spill his drink in the other.
Fitz’s gaze slowly wandered to his fellow agent, annoyed at how his embarrassment seemed to bring Davis so much joy, when he had an epiphany. “You know, Enoch,” Fitz began, raising his index finger pointedly. “Though you’re my best friend, and thus, the most obvious choice for best man and organizer of the stag night, you’re also our officiant—the only one we have. So, as much as I want to, I can’t choose you as my best man, which means—” He fanned his arm out to the side, gesturing at Davis with his thumb, “Davis here is really the only other option I have for best man.” Fitz noticed how Davis suddenly stopped laughing, looking at Fitz in confusion, but he decided to ignore it. “In which case, he should really be the one to organize my stag night, don’t you think?”
Enoch raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips contemplatively. “I suppose there is some logic behind your argument.” He squinted, ticking his head to one side as if talking to himself. “In which case, should the officiant attend the stag night at all?”
“Yes!” Fitz exclaimed, slapping the Chronicom’s shoulder and squeezing it gently. “Yes, definitely. Look,” Fitz shrugged, “Why don’t you go to the bar and get us something to drink? And in the meantime, my best man, Davis, and I can discuss the rest of the night.”
Enoch nodded once. “Very well. Three drinks coming up.”
He turned around and headed for the bar. Fitz waited until he was sure the Chronicom was out of earshot before spinning around to face Davis, who was grinning ear to ear. Fitz pressed his palms together and his lips into a thin line, staring at Davis with wide-open pleading eyes. “Whatever you choose, I’m begging you—begging you!—do not get me a stripper!”
Davis let out an amused snort. “But Enoch made it pretty clear that that’s standard Earth bachelor party protocol!”
Fitz forced a close-mouthed smile, pressing his palms together even more firmly. “Begging. You,” he reiterated through gritted teeth.
Davis held his stare for a moment, one corner of his mouth ticked up. Then he chuckled, patting Fitz reassuringly on the shoulder. “Relax, my wife would never let me live it down if I did.”
Fitz exhaled sharply in relief, just as Enoch returned with their drinks. He held them out, smiling widely, and Fitz gladly accepted one of the glasses.
“So, have we come to a decision regarding tonight’s program?” Enoch inquired.
Davis grinned widely, rubbing his hands together. “Yes. Gambling and booze. What can you recommend, my friend?” He took one of the drinks from Enoch, before wrapping his arm around the Chronicom’s shoulders, turning him around to face the craps tables.
“Well, it all depends on your preferences,” Enoch replied.
While the Chronicom began explaining the various games to Davis, Fitz took a sip from his drink, before dropping his head back and closing his eyes for a moment to let the relief wash over him that he had somehow avoided seeing an alien four-breasted stripper the night before marrying the love of his life.