Written for RarePair Fest 2014, for angelette. The usual disclaimers apply - not my toys, just borrowing. Also, watch out for vaguely implied polyamory and lots of angst.

Chapter 1 is Biospecialist and Chapter 2 is FitzWard, taking place during Season 1. Can be read individually.

Chapter 3 is complicated and takes place post-finale.

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"I won't let you fall"

Jemma's rational mind understood exactly what Ward was doing: a time-honored practice of reassurance and distraction that allowed him to persuade her into an action she didn't want to do. He was really good at it. Not surprising, that. As a specialist, he would have used this technique on dozens – perhaps hundreds – of targets to achieve S.H.I.E.L.D.'s aims.

Her irrational mind, however, was caught up in his calm, gently teasing voice. The same voice that had told her "It's okay, I've got you," as his arms wrapped around her, arresting her fall. The same voice that had repeated "You're safe now, you're not sick, it's okay," as she sobbed salty tears into a saltier ocean. The same voice that smiled at her even as his face remained expressionless.

Jemma thought that she might have a bit of a thing (as Skye would say) for Ward's voice.

"You took a bit of a tumble, didn't you?"

Jemma's sharp sarcasm was meant to hide her shock at the extent of Ward's injuries. Clearly, she failed, because he placed his hand over hers and gave a reassuring squeeze.

"Nothing you can't fix," he said, ducking his head to look her in the eyes.

Jemma stared back, comforted but still somehow uncomfortable. Ward had a paradoxical effect on her these days: putting her at ease in a general sense but on edge in a very personal one.

"Well of course." Fitz's irritable voice broke the moment. "If she can cure alien viruses, she can fix a few bumps and bruises. This Night-Night gun, on the other hand... What did you do? Jump up and down on it?"

She felt Ward's fingers tighten around hers. His face, however, stayed placid.

"Nah, it never made it out of the holster. Just got in the way of a couple good kicks."

Jemma looked over at the mangled weapon and what she saw had her reaching for the scissors. A few quick snips revealed the horrible truth.

"Oh, Ward."

Lurid bruises were just beginning to rise to full bloom. She palpated gently and winced in sympathy as Ward shifted aware from her prodding.

"Soft tissue damage only," she reassured him (herself? She wasn't sure). "I've got an ointment for that."

"That's what I was hoping to hear." Ward's smile was in his voice and eyes, even though his lips barely quirked. "I knew I would be in good hands."

She glanced down involuntarily and took in the sight of her pale fingers spread across his bruised-darkened skin. Looking up, she saw that his attention was also on her hands. Her fingers flexed against his serratus anterior, brushing his hip bone. She heard his breath stutter, and she froze, afraid she might have hurt him. Then he tipped his head up to meet her eyes. There was an intensity in his gaze that brought warmth to her cheeks. To other places, too, she acknowledged.

"Jemma," he began, his voice a quiet rumble. "I want..."

She never found out what he wanted, thanks to Fitz choosing that moment to remove the Night-Night gun's chambered round by discharging it into his thigh.

Jemma let gravity take over and pull her to ground. She rolled onto her back and panted for breath. Loose strands of hair stuck to her sweaty neck, and she scratched at them irritably.

"Had enough?"

Jemma sighed deeply and looked up at Ward. He was smirking at her.

"We can stop, if that's what you want," he offered.

"What I want is to learn how to defend myself in the field." She pushed herself up to her hands and knees, then to her feet. "If that means we keep doing this, that's what we're going to do."

"Well, one lesson you'd better learn is how to stand up without turning your back on your opponent. I could have taken you out any number of ways just then."

Jemma huffed irritably. "Fine, then. Show me how to stand up. I think I've covered falling down pretty thoroughly."

Ward's smirk softened. He placed his hands on her shoulders. "You know you don't have to do this, Jemma. This is why May and I are here."

"I need to know I can take care of myself."

"Don't you trust me to protect you?"

"You can't always be there, Grant. And I prefer to take care of myself."

"So you don't have rely on me?" He stepped back, his hands dropping to hang by his sides.

"That's not it. I do trust you to keep me safe, to keep the team safe," Jemma reached out to take his hand. "I rely you to know what to do with things go bad. But you know me, I need to know something inside and out before I can be comfortable with it."

"Well, you must know me pretty well, then. You've certainly given me a thorough going-over once or twice." Ward waggled his eyebrows suggestively, tension abandoned.

"Oh, hush," Jemma squeezed his fingers before letting go. "If you'd stop getting attacked by technology of indeterminate origin, I wouldn't have to examine you so often."

"I'm not saying I mind." Ward stepped back into her personal space and took both her hands. "In fact, I'd be up for more private examinations," he said, his voice low, "if that's something you'd be interested in."

Jemma stared at him in shock for a moment, before starting to giggle. "Did you just ask me to 'play doctor' with you, Grant?"

For a moment, Ward's face was a textbook illustration of embarrassment, but it quickly passed. He grinned down at her, his cheeks slightly pink.

"It sounded more sexy in my head?" he offered. "I do mean it, though. I like you, Jemma. I think we could have something together."

She had to admit it was very flattering, his somewhat muddled offer. It was also hard to ignore how appealing the idea was, as he stood before her in a singlet and trunks. Somehow, he made sweaty look, and even smell, sexy.

"I understand if you think that this, us, might make things complicated." Ward's voice pulled her back from her examination of his trapezius.

"I don't believe that relationships have to be complicated," Jemma replied honestly. "My advisor at the Academy always told me to keep sexual relationships clean and simple until I was certain of my emotions. It was good advice: I need to keep a clear head for work."

"That sounds very sensible." Ward's surprise was poorly hidden. "As long as you're sure about this. I wouldn't want to hurt you."

"Oh, I'm capable of judging the risk of that for myself." She found herself examining his physique in a distinctly non-medical way. "When I choose to care for someone, I accept the possibility of them hurting me. And if my heart gets bruised, I'll survive it and learn from it."

"You're really something, Jemma." Ward's smile caused an unexpected warmth to crash through her.

"Yes, well, I have thought this through quite thoroughly," she explained. When his eyebrow quirked up she stammered "not this this, exactly. I haven't been thinking of you. I mean, not like this." She closed her eyes and mentally counted to three. "I have put the requisite thought into how I approach non-platonic relationships. It seemed prudent, given the complexity of my life and work."

"Very prudent," Ward teased.

"Oh, get stuffed," Jemma said. "Besides, what about you? Aren't you worried about the possibility of complications?"

Ward shrugged expressively. "I know how to avoid complicated."

"Of course you do, James Bond." She rolled her eyes. "You want to know if I trust you, if I am worried about having feelings for you, and there you are: unreadable and unknowable. I have to wonder if you trust anybody."

Jemma lay on her side, wedged between the wall of her bunk and Grant's wide, warm body. She idly traced designs on his chest: simple compounds, surgical incision paths. He shifted sleepily and stilled her hand with one of his, turning his head to smile at her.

The bed was ridiculously crowded with the two of them in it. Normally that would have bothered her, being crushed into a small space with another human being, but somehow his presence wasn't as much of an imposition as it might be. Still, if she didn't move, the arm she was lying on would soon begin to exhibit symptoms of impeded circulation, and Jemma abhorred the sensation of pins and needles.

"Would you mind...?" Jemma wriggled her torso, attempting to free her arm.

Grant clearly understood her unvoiced need, because she abruptly found herself lying flat on her back with him curled beside her. Well, to be accurate, curled around her, with her head tucked into the crook of his shoulder while his other arm rested lightly across her waist.

"Better?" he asked.

"Yes, thanks."

"Bit cramped in here, isn't it?" Grant tipped his head back to look at the ceiling curving above them.

"A tad," she agreed. "I'm surprised you don't bash your head getting out of bed."

"I did. Now I duck. Learned the hard way."

His deadpan delivery was offset by the minimalist smirk that she was becoming very fond of.

"Anyway," he continued. "It's not the cabin that's the problem, it's the bed. Why didn't you go for the double mattress?"

Jemma tipped her head up to look around at the contents of her bunk: bookcases, bookcases, a desk, and then more bookcases. "I've never liked large mattresses. Seems like such a waste of space."

"Space that could be better used for recreating the Library of Congress?" he teased.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said severely. "The British Library, of course."

He laughed, a quiet rumble that she felt more than heard.

"Besides, when I chose this layout, I wasn't expecting to be sharing with an overgrown American."

"You had someone else in mind? An undersized Scotsman?"

Jemma scoffed. "Fitz and I..."

"Aren't like that," Grant cut her off. "I know. I was teasing."

That hadn't been what she intended to say, but it was sufficient for the moment.

"I didn't have anyone in mind," Jemma informed him. "I came here to work, not have international intrigues of the romantic kind."

Grant snorted. It should have been distasteful but, unexpectedly, Jemma found it to be one his more adorable, humanizing habits.

"International intrigues, huh? You and Skye have been drinking while reading Modesty Blaise novels, haven't you?"

Jemma raised an eyebrow, attempting to be as imperious as possible while naked. "What we do in the name of research is none of your business."

Grant smiled down at her, an open, affectionate expression that filled his entire face. Jemma felt a twinge in her chest that a more poetic woman might attribute to her heart contracting. As it was, the happiness she felt at seeing him grin filled her with warmth.

She reached for him, bringing his smile-curved lips down to hers.