"This Hacker you have added to the team, Phil. I don't approve," May quietly stated as the two senior agents discussed the addition to their team. Ok, actually Phil talked and May pithily interjected as needed.

"Don't worry, I'm sure FitzSimmons will be a good influence on her," Coulson decided.

Melinda May said nothing but rolled her eyes, which spoke volumes. Naturally, Phil just smiled.

At that very moment, the Rising Tide Hacker turned newest member of the Coulson's Flying Circus, was talking with FitzSimmons. All three were unaware that FitzSimmons was supposed to be a calming influence on the Hackativist. In fact, Phil Coulson might be quite horrified about how wrong he had been about who was influencing who in that relationship.

"So, what do you two do for fun on this flying cloister? Recite the Periodical Table of Elements?" Skye asked in false bravo, not willing to admit that she was the teeny weeniest bit scared of her cover being blown and how honest and nice FitzSimmons appeared. And likeable, too.

"It's not that bad," Simmons admitted. "We have a great deal of fun."

"You can't possibly be having sex as the walls are paper thin," Skye informed Simmons. "The cots ain't a-rocking, that's for sure."

"No, I do that off the plane," Simmons lied, and lied badly. Her fair complexion was streaked with crimson and she looked horribly embarrassed.

"Right," Skye agreed in a 'Yeah Right' tone.

"When I go out on furlough, I have a great deal of fun," the British biochemist continued as though she was trying to convince herself along with Skye.

"At the museum?" Skye quipped.

"With men," Jemma fiercely stated, as she was annoyed that Fitz had snickered. Well, he was interested in the new girl's bouncy boobs.

"I'd like to see that."

And so the gamble was proposed, the wager announced and the terms agreed upon.

He hated when his job brought him to NYC. He much preferred DC, knew the ins and outs of the various political enclaves, and his loyalty to his superior was blood thick and bone deep and most importantly returned in spades, but NYC… there were players involved whom he didn't know personally, didn't know what made them tick (or made them, ticks – and he was talking about you, John Garrett) and the currents were enough to drown the unwary. And he was here for a full week.

Restless, with an odd energy that needed to be burned off, he decided to search out a small English pub he had read about in the Times. Supposedly it was a traditional pub that was located in the East Village. Maybe play a few rounds of darts, see if he had figured out the rules to blackpool yet. Oh, and maybe have some curry chips as he was hankering for some. As a single man (married and divorced thanks to his complete lack of personality per his ex-wife), he lacked the inclination to do much cooking.

He returned back to his hotel (after thoroughly checking for tracking devices as NYC probes were notorious for trying to plant tracers on visiting senior agents), ditched the suit, decided to do a proper clean up (shower and shave just in case some woman decided that she was hankering for a man who hadgone grey in his early forties) and changed into casual clothes. Battered leather jacket, jeans and a Henley, topped (bottomed?) with a pair of old leather boots. One never knew when decent footwear would save one's life, so he always wore decent shoes.

Plus his gun and his assorted toys (knife, handcuff remover, container of mace that looked like hairspray which was pretty funny as he was pulling clumps of his hair out daily).

Being kidnapped once was enough, thank you very much. And regardless of what Phil Coulson had said at the time (and still stated), it had not been fun, it had not been a team building exercise and it had been goddamn cold.

His toys secured, he took mass transit to the Fox & Hounds pub. Once he was there, he ordered a Guinness and claimed a pool table. For now, he'd practice for a bit and then have dinner later.

"I don't need you to come with me," Jemma informed Skye and Fitz even as she straightened out her hair. "I think you might scare him off."

"How will we know that you're telling us the truth about Mr. Hottie?" asked Skye.

It was a very good question, and one that Simmons had prayed that she wouldn't ask.

"My word should be good enough," protested a very indignant Simmons.

"Of course it is," Fitz assured Simmons. "She just doesn't know us yet."

"Good, see you sometime tomorrow," Simmons announced as she left the hotel, complete with a very jaunty stride.

"Seriously?" Skye vainly protested at Simmons' departing backside. She pouted, as there went her entertainment for the evening. However the possibility of hacking the hotel's computer software and charging porn to Robo Ward's hotel room was coming up as a real contender.

"I slipped a tracking device on her purse," Fitz confessed. "Once she finds her den of depravity, we'll be able to listen and watch."

She squealed, loudly, and hugged him. She failed to realize that an embarrassed Fitz was rather happy with his hug.

"Next time, you keep your mouth shut," Jemma Simmons mentally chastised herself as she entered the Fox & Hounds. "Picking up a man like you're selecting one at the grocer."

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She knew that she was cute (according to her mother's repeated phone calls when she asked about Jemma's non-existent love life.) but the men she preferred, all perfectly symmetrical usually led to nothing but heartache for her. Perfectly symmetrical men usually preferred perfectly symmetrical females who weren't overly intelligent.

She remembered what her sister had told her when Jemma was much younger, back when Jemma still believed that it was possible not to scare off a man with her intelligence; be friendly, be approachable were the two items that Jemma could do. (Having a rather well-endowed chest was NOT possible unless she decided on surgical intervention.) That reinforced, Jemma went to the bar and ordered a bitter. To her surprise, there were two men who immediately began talking to her. Adam and Charles were quite handsome (and perfectly symmetrical!) and rather witty, so she found herself enjoying their companionship as they tried to outdo one another. She felt ... vivacious... and attractive... and... fully capable of picking up a man at a bar.

For the first fifteen minutes, as she abruptly realized that both men were drinking heavily. Plus they were getting a little too touchy feely for her as Adam leaned down to kiss her.

"Pardon me, I need to use…" she nervously smiled as she gestured towards the ladies' room. They seemed loathe to let her escape, and her panic increased. Damn it, damn it, damn it. "That's sweet, but I don't need an escort."

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a man who was at the pool table. He seemed completely absorbed in his game of blackpool, except for the fact that he was surreptitiously watching the scene unfold. He quirked one expressive eyebrow in her direction and his eyes shifted her way.

"OK?" he mouthed at her.

"No," she mouthed.

He nodded once, and walked over to the bar. Jemma noticed that he was still carrying his pool cue stick.

"Let's see… I'd say five feet three in your bare feet, wavy hair, beautiful brown eyes, bright smile… English accent. Floral shirt, strappy heels. Are you Anne?" he asked.

"I'm five feet four," she protested, as she needed that extra inch.

"I'm Michael, your blind date? Seriously, Izzie didn't tell me you were such a looker. She also told me that you were constantly late, so I wasn't anticipating that you would be early. Figured I'd shoot some pool to calm my nerves."

She knew she appeared confused and the stranger continued, "Did Izzie fail to mention the gray?"

"She said you were graying, slightly, at the temples," Jemma fibbed and badly.

He mocked sighed his disgust at the fictional Izzie for failing to mention his gray.

"Pay your tab?" he offered as he reached over with his free hand to take her hand.

"That would be lovely," she admitted. "And I must confess that I quite like the gray. Shows off your eyes."

"Hey, old man you better leave as she's with us. Come on, stay with us. You're not seriously planning on dating Grandpa here," Adam loudly announced while Charles laughed. "Have him go back to the home for the old and infirmed."

Jemma wasn't sure what happened next but it appeared that Charles tried to push 'Grandpa'. No doubt as he was heavier and drunker he anticipated it would be a quick fight. It was, however, not for him, as Michael brought the cue stick into play. The cue stick carnage ended with both Adam and Charles on the floor, holding onto various parts while Michael examined the cue stick.

"Damn it, cracked it." Michael mournfully sighed at the very unfairness of it all. Rescuing a fair maiden in distress always ended up costing him big time. It was how he had met his ex-wife after all. "How much for the bar tab and the cue stick?"

The bartender waved his hand and waived the fees.

"Just lovely seeing those guys brought down," he admitted. "Now I suggest you better leave."

Michael turned to Jemma and offered his arm. "Shall we be off with all due haste?"

"Let's," she quickly agreed as there was something about Michael that she instinctively trusted. Perhaps because his face had character, and was perfectly unsymmetrical. Or perhaps it was the way he twirled his cue stick.

"I haven't had dinner yet, so want dinner?" he asked.

She nodded. "Sounds lovely."

"She won," Fitz informed Skye as he worked on reconnecting to his tracker device. "Dinner is a date."

"Maybe she's just doing dinner as a thank you?" Skye offered. "I wish that one guy hadn't spilled his drink as it shorted out the tracker."

They had quickly lost their visual of the date, but there had been enough verbal confirmation to detect the cue stick was being utilized as a weapon and the date had been obtained.

"Nope. You need to get her a virus free copies of all upcoming episodes of Dr. Who and Coronation Street."