Author's Notes:

Big thanks go out to BookedbyFandoms for being a total sweetheart and beta reading for me.

I have a realities goal of finishing this piece around Christmas, but it may be somewhat later for participation in TFSN's Secret Santa. I'll do my best, but I can make no guarantees.

Jemma stood up and stretched, taking one weary glance at her before deciding against kneading the now sore muscles of her neck just yet. She'd spent the better part of the last three hours hunched over her journal of notes, putting her thoughts and theories into concise order. Cryptography was such a beneficial field, even the with the War finally at an end. Even Peggy had agreed and had pressed her new agency into helping to publish her finished work...once she got that far.

Heading to the sink, she scrubbed as much of the ink away as she could. Her time in the War office would not just be a fleeting memory. She had theories and practices that had percolated over those few, harrowing years. She couldn't take any of the documents home as they were property of the British Government, but she could use that knowledge for good. There was no telling what the future would bring. There had already been two major wars in such a short span of time and it was driving the technology forward with incredible speed.

She and her peers in the war office had proven women were more than wives, mothers, and assistants. But how quick the men who managed to return home had been to forget that fact. So many of the women she had worked with willingly fell back into those roles.

Even now, only a select few were willing to help her with the project. She had plans to lunch with one of them tomorrow who had settled down but was still very dedicated to the cause.

Her own mother was pressing her to settle down at nearly every opportunity. It was as if the happier tide with the end of the war made every potential grandparent want grandchildren nearly as fast as nature allowed them to come. This project was one of the few things keeping her mother at bay, and to be entirely truthful, was part of why she was taking the time to be so thorough. Her mother at least understood her drive to finish a job properly. She had at least until the holidays to enjoy a bit of peace before her Mum would inevitably start to ask again.

She pressed her head against the chilled pane of glass to quell the growing headache that was slowly making itself known. With a bit of effort, she was able to push her focus on the whistle of the draft blowing around the edges of the decades-old window. At least she had the daylight hours for relative peace and quiet.

For these next precious few weeks, she'd just have to keep busy and humor her very well-meaning roommate. Daisy worked at a giant department store in the heart of town with a bunch of American ex-pats and kept trying to send men in her general direction. They were mostly quite nice, if a bit boring. Certainly, no one who was worth the risk of giving up her priorities.

Daisy had sworn her to secrecy - not that she was venturing out into this cold much - that they were planning some sort of amazing decorations for Christmas to help drive in business. She'd seen the diagrams and heard that they should be going up in the next few days.

The view from their little apartment would be lovely, assuming one could tolerate the solid draft that rattled the window casing.

Jemma sighed, taking one last, lingering stretch before turning back to her seat and settling in back in her chair.

At least that would be something to look forward to.

Fitz was balanced precariously on the window washer trolley to test a first strand of lights, one hand gripping the rail for balance. He'd had to rig up some extra insulation to get the cord to clear through the window and not leave the chill of icy cold wind rushing through.

Even now, the chill bit through his gloves and scarf, far worse several stories up than it had been on the ground. His fingers could scarcely move, let alone tug down the cap that was covering his curls to brace against the cold. He had a hard enough time tugging the rope that lead up to the bell that would hail him to be hauled back up to the roof.

But...it was far from the worst he had been through.

He had returned home at first, but after it all, the silence grew deafening. He needed to keep busy, as he had during the War itself. When he was still, the memories crept in. Much though he loved his Mum, she had grown all too weary of him taking every scrap of electronics to pieces. The house's wiring was now up to every code in the books, but he was sure the constant activity - and the constant tinkering with the radio - had started to drive her a bit batty.

When Hunter had mailed about a challenging opportunity, he had to admit that he hadn't quite expected to end up suspended on a rickety platform thirty some odd feet up in the air above the downtown. He looked downward, scanning the ground for a familiar face, before a wave of vertigo sent him reeling himself backwards against the brick.

He slammed his eyes shut, forcing his brain to silence the temporary panic and find some way out of this. If not for the fact that the strand of lights were working, he would think that someone had shut off the power. Maybe the crank at the top was on another circuit? He'd have to check later.

Where the hell was Hunter? He was supposed to reel him back up to the window above, so he could get back inside safely.

Jemma's stomach gave up the fight soon enough, though she did manage to make some good progress. She'd spared herself just a few minutes to cobble together a quick sandwich and a cup of tea, fully intending to return to the train of thought from where she left it when a glimmer of light caught her eye.

Someone was awfully brave - or quite foolhardy - to be out there in this windy weather.

She took a sip of tea, frowning as the light blinked out. Then it blinked again. And again.

Jemma's brows arched in recognition, her eyes mimicking them as the familiar thrill of horror chasing down her spine.

Her teacup clattered to the floor as she dashed out her door to the apartment floor's single shared telephone line
.