A/N: safelycapricious asked: "Jemma's parents are HYDRA 6 months later. (two!)"
The Jemma's parents are HYDRA drabble is chapter 34 of a prompt response (is only polite). There is also a continuation, which is chapter 48. You may wish to read thsoe first.
Jemma is halfway through transcribing her notes from the morning's autopsy (of a civilian who was unfortunate enough to stumble across some form of alien virus) when she becomes aware that the lab is oddly silent beyond the sound of her own voice. She hits pause on the recording, tugs her earbuds out, and swivels on her stool to face the rest of the room.
The reason for the silence is immediately apparent: the others have all cleared out, leaving her almost alone in the lab. It's a welcome action—because the only person she's happy to share lab space with is Fitz, and he's been out sick for a week, his absence rendering the rest of their colleagues intolerable—but not nearly as welcome as the reason for it.
Grant, leaning attractively back against the workstation directly behind hers with his arms crossed, grins.
"You know," he says, mock serious. "You really should pay more attention to your surroundings. If I was an assassin I could've killed you twenty minutes ago."
"You are an assassin," she points out, sliding off her stool.
"Among other things," he agrees. He watches with heat in his eyes as she shrugs off her lab coat and carefully drapes it over the back of her stool. "So, fair enough. If I were a different assassin I could've killed you twenty minutes ago."
"No, you couldn't," she says. She lets her hair down from its ponytail and shakes it out a bit, watching his face. He gives her a slow grin but remains where he is, waiting for her to come to him.
Usually she'd play along, stretch it out for a while and wait to see who would break first, but she hasn't seen him since his shoulder finished healing and he returned to the specialist rotation—nearly four months ago, now.
So she stops the game there and closes the distance between them. It's not far—only six steps and she's sinking into his arms. She closes her eyes for a moment, enjoying the warmth his touch always causes in her—warmth and a touch of that effervescent happiness, still, even now that she's moved past her girlish crush on him and straight into a real relationship.
"No?" he asks. "And why's that?"
It takes her a moment to remember what they were talking about; when she does, she opens her eyes and leans back to smirk at him.
"Because if you were another assassin," she says, and pauses to go up on her toes and kiss his jaw, "You wouldn't dare to touch me."
He considers this for a moment, then moves, grabbing her around the waist and lifting her even as he turns. He sets her on the workstation, putting them at eye level, and rests his hands on her knees. She holds her breath as he leans in close, but he doesn't kiss her.
"Well, then," he murmurs instead, his lips scant millimeters from hers. "I guess it's a good thing I'm not a different assassin."
"I guess it is," she whispers. Then, tired of waiting, she grips his shirt by the collar, tugs him forward, and finally—finally—kisses him.
(It's hours before they leave the lab. None of Jemma's colleagues make eye contact the next day.)