Note: Episode tag to 1x2 "0-8-4." "Omnia mihi lingua Graeca sunt"—it's all Greek to me.

Simmons plucked another bottle from the specimen fridge and hit it against the lab table to knock the top off. She had finally persuaded Fitz that it wasn't a bad place to store the beers that remained from earlier, arguing that her preference for cold beer and the fridge's new and unused state trumped his squeamishness, but he still preferred to pretend she pulled them from midair. "Shame we can't put in that fish tank after all," Simmons said, musing as she watched two repairmen scuttle through the plane. "Just imagine all the little guys we could get in there. Of course it would depend on saltwater versus freshwater, and believe me, some species DO NOT get along, but it would have been a nice diversion."

Fitz ran one hand over the repaired lab door, almost not believing that the repairs had been completed so quickly. Almost. This was S.H.I.E.L.D. after all. "Until someone forgot to feed them or clean their tank while the world was ending," he pointed out, taking a sip of the beer in his other hand. "Then...sushi."

Simmons glared at him, eyes one step from rolling at his poor joke. "Well if the world were ending it wouldn't particularly matter, would it?" she countered.

"Fair enough," he conceded. Casting about for any conversational topic that could save him he looked fondly at the case that held Sleepy and the others. "Can't believe we did it," he murmured.

Simmons cocked her head as though she hadn't quite caught what he said and expected him to repeat it.

Embarrassed by his almost paternalistic attitude towards his creations Fitz gestured towards her with the tip of the bottle and hastily added, "By the way, good save today."

"Save?" she replied, brow knit in puzzlement. "What save?"

"The device," Fitz clarified. "Keeping a hold of it and not letting it go down 30,000 feet with the rest of the rubbish."

Simmons blushed, looking away as the color crept up her cheeks. "Yes, well somebody had to do it."

"I'm sure that the people of...whatever country we were over at the time would send their regards if they knew," he told her, placing his empty bottle aside with a mental note to figure out if S.H.I.E.L.D. recycled. "Or the fish. I suppose we could have been over water." He winced as he realized that he teetering perilously close to the deep hole he had started to dig earlier. "Not that that was supposed to in any way relate to my previous comment about fish and sushi. Which I shouldn't have said. I would never eat your fish. I mean they would probably be entirely unsuitable for the making of sushi, which generally calls for fresh fish anyhow. And of course they would be your fish so I wouldn't touch them without your express permission." He cringed again. "Forget what I said earlier today. This is a moment to regret."

Fitz's mind barely registered Simmons putting down her beer or her quiet remark of "I know that you'd never do that" before her lips met his. The sensation halted his tumultuous thoughts, but by the time they were clear enough to consider kissing her back she had pulled away. "No regrets," she stated, looking into his eyes as though willing him to believe the same.

"No," Fitz agreed, that acknowledgment coming easily despite the fact that his thoughts were tangled once more. This time they fell in a jumble of: "Simmons" "Jemma" "kiss" "good" and "what." He latched on to the last thread of the conversation, mumbling, "They're funny things, regrets. Doesn't seem like other animals are too keen on them, but I don't see what benefits humans gain by lingering on past mistakes."

Simmons's eyes lit up as she launched into an explanation. "Current research on the subject points at several possible reasons for regret. Of course one has to consider that each person feels regret in their own way, and that life experiences can shape how or if you regret something, but it actually can be useful as a way of using past experiences to guide future choices. If you regret one decision because it turned out poorly, perhaps in the future when you're faced with a similar decision you'll choose something else that will turn out better."

Fitz watched her pace across the narrow part of the lab, gesticulating as she spoke. There was something about the way she spoke so passionately about the topic that made him want her to keep going and going. He'd heard passionate speakers before but this was something else altogether. He puzzled it over for a moment until it became startlingly clear. It was incomparable because it was her. That sudden realization made him reach out to stop her as she paced by him.

"So you see that—" she stopped at his touch, looking up at him in confusion.

He tilted her head up to his, fully invested in this kiss. He tasted the lingering trace of hops as he ran his tongue across her lips, relishing the way that she leaned into him as all confusion and doubt was swept away by more pleasurable feelings. When they pulled apart her teeth lightly dragged on his lip, reluctant to let it end. Fitz leaned his forehead onto hers, hands still resting on her hips. "This might not be the best place, hmm?" he suggested. "Giant glass windows and repairmen and all."

"They should have left the car in," she joked. "You're right though. Not that I'm afraid of being seen with you, but perhaps discretion would be best for now." She moved to his side, leaning against the table and looking out towards the cargo bay. She reached one arm back to lay on the table, her hand grazing Fitz's back where no one could see.

Fitz looked to the floor briefly to hide his grin at the implications of that maneuver, looking back up and waving cheerily at a passing worker as he moved to mirror her. "I didn't mean to interrupt your explanation earlier," he said. "It's actually quite...nice when you get all technical." He smirked and added, "Doesn't hurt that it confuses the hell out of the others."

Simmons nudged him with her shoulder in a gentle half-hearted rebuke.

"Well it's sort of like our own language," Fitz justified. "Though Agent Coulson did say that Agent Ward speaks six languages. Perhaps we should teach him a seventh. Science."

"Sounds dangerous," Simmons said with a laugh, animated by the lingering effects of alcohol and kisses. "We could put in for hazard pay."

"Hazard pay." Fitz snorted. "I'm pretty sure that at SHIELD it's all hazard pay."

"Either way we all have enough to be getting on with," she pointed out. "Likely we'll learn a bit about everyone's specialties in time."

"True," Fitz agreed. "And it is nice to have our own modus operandi. Or modus loquendi as it were."

"Omnia mihi lingua Graeca sunt," she stated.

"Bloody genius," Fitz grumbled, making it sound more like a term of affection than a curse.

"Bloody rocket scientist," Simmons retorted in kind.

"That's us," Fitz proclaimed proudly. "The genius and the rocket scientist."