"Don't be angry," are the first words that come out Jemma's mouth the second he's through the door to their apartment.
"Okay, not really the words a guy wants to hear out of his girlfriend's mouth when he gets home from a two-week mission," Grant says slowly, dropping his go bag on the floor so he can shrug off his leather jacket and hang it on the coat rack by the door. "Or ever, for that matter."
"It's nothing bad," Jemma says quickly. "It's just…well…he looked so sad and lonely when I went to the shelter to help Daisy pick out a cat and - "
"Is that a pit bull?" Grant says, rounding the corner to see Jemma curled into her corner of the couch, her lap full of puppy.
"An American pit bull terrier, technically," Jemma says as she stands carefully, tucking the little ball of fur under her chin when it shivers. Two big sets of brown eyes turn on him, pleading. "I've already run it by the condo board and given the deposit, and researched a service to take him for walks when you're travelling and I need to work late and… please say you don't mind if we keep him. I didn't mean to get him without consulting you, truly, but he was the only one of the litter without a home."
His lips want to quirk into a smile – she can't help her big heart, he really should be surprised she didn't adopt the whole shelter - but he can't help his reservations. "Jem, sweetheart, I'm not opposed to us having a dog, but…isn't this breed dangerous? I'm not going to say yes to anything that might lead to your getting hurt."
"Oh, no," she shakes her head. "They just have a bad reputation, is all."
"Is all?" He quirks an eyebrow, and doesn't miss the way she blushes. Not from a lie, though; she remains a hilariously bad liar, not that she's in the habit of deceiving him. No, the colour that rises to her cheeks is followed by the subtle shift of her weight that signals he's done something to turn her on. He's not sure whether it's the stubble he hasn't had the chance to shave away or the protective mode, but once he figures it out, it's going to bear repeating.
"Yes, Grant," Jemma nods even as the little guy lifts his face to lick her chin. "I mean, they are very strong and can be good fighters, if they are brought up to be. But they are actually very loving and incredibly loyal dogs, even with young children. Not that that's a factor here," she adds hastily.
"No," he gives a small grin He leaves the "not yet" that's been cropping up in his head more and more lately unsaid. He's got a ring – the right one – to find first. Then, because he hasn't done it yet, he reaches to tug Jemma against him, dog and all, so he can kiss her.
"So not dangerous to you?" he says once he's kissed her breathless.
"Mmm?" she says, distracted and dreamy-eyed. "Oh! Pit bull terriers. No, not if properly trained and socialized. In fact, the research I've done into the breed says their their courage is unmatched and they will defend their family with their lives."
She gives him that soft smile of hers and cuddles into him as he reaches the hand that isn't around Jemma's waist to scratch behind the little guy's floppy ears. He leans into Grant's touch as well.
"It reminded me of you," she says, nuzzling closer.
"Yeah?" he says, his voice dropping to a husky pitch.
"Yeah," she says.
"Just tell me you didn't name him Grant," he teases.
"Of course not, darling." She stands on her toes to press a kiss to his jaw and another to the corner of his mouth. "His name is Baxter Fuzzington."
"What?! You're kidding, right? Jemma? Jemma!"