Set about halfway through episode 1x10, "The Bridge."

After Mike Peterson had shrugged back into his shirt with a little more help than strictly necessary from Simmons and some irritated tongue-clicking from Fitz, their visitor excused himself to go find Coulson, leaving the two scientists alone in the lab.

Simmons shook her head at her partner. "Vegas, Fitz? Still, of all the things to do if you could see the future, Vegas?"

He frowned. "Oh, I get it. You 'still' don't see the big picture."

"It's Vegas. There is no big picture."

"Well, uh, yeah, there is, actually, because I'd be pulling in thousands at the roulette tables alone."

"Roulette? You can't be serious."

"I'm completely serious."

Simmons sighed, disappointed. "Oh, Fitz."

"I don't remember you having a better idea."

"Because I was always in shock that you were so sure Vegas couldn't be bettered, I didn't have any ideas whatsoever about it in the past, but I've given it some thought since the last time this harebrained notion came up, and yes, now I do have a better idea. If I could see the future, I would warn people of impending global disasters. Tsunamis, earthquakes, terrorist attacks..."

Fitz made a time-out gesture. "But you can't, though."

"What do you mean, I..."

"Whatever happened, happened."

"That's a quote from LOST that doesn't even apply in this case, because it hasn't happened, that's the point, and anyway your scenario smacks much more of science fiction rule-breaking, Mr. Grays Sports Almanac."

"Hey," Fitz argued, "that was a bloody brilliant idea, and I'm sure Marty McFly would've cut Doc Brown in on a share of the profits. Had the latter been forward-thinking enough, imagine the scientific research that could have been funded."

Simmons snorted. "Or the casinos that could have been built if the almanac fell into the wrong hands, eh? The husbands slaughtered, the breast augmentations performed?"

"Hang on a second, my mind is thoroughly on research possibilities, here—and, by the way, speaking of research possibilities, even without Vegas we do have tech, you know. State-of-the-art gadgets so you don't have to put your hands all over everybody in the lab."

"So I can't dissect dead things or touch living things? Just what sort of a biochemist am I allowed to be?"

"It's not..."

She darted her hands out and danced her fingers across his face. "Watch out, I'm touching living things, and who knows where my hands have been!"

Fitz sputtered and flailed her away. "Ach! Where have they been?"

"Nowhere worth mentioning, don't be such a baby..."

"A high percentage of illnesses are transmitted through contact with one of the orifices on the head, and this is something a biochemist should know..."

"...like an engineer should know that sometimes you have to get your hands dirty to get good results..."

"...and I don't have time to be sick, and my measurements were perfectly fine without touching him..."

"…you're not going to be sick, and if you are you're not blaming it on me again, I didn't do it on purpose..."

"...like this?" Fitz asked, waving his hands towards her face. "This isn't a purposeful gesture?"

"Fine!" She spun away.

"Fine!" He exhaled sharply and rubbed his face with his sleeve, then returned his attention to mending Mike's suit. Several minutes passed in tense silence.

He couldn't see the future. So Vegas was a moot point, really. But... "Maybe we could use the Vegas winnings to build better disaster-warning systems."

"Shut up, Fitz," she said, but he heard the slight laugh in her admonishment and turned to grin at her.

As long as his future had his best friend in it, he supposed he was rich enough.