A/N: sapphireglyphs asked: [one week later] you've already got me (under your spell) chapter 2 - "so don't pay no mind." please! :D

This takes place after chapter two of you've already got me (under your spell). You may want to read that first. (NB: reading chapter one is unnecessary.)


Once Coulson dismisses the very brief (and very distressing) briefing, Jemma goes looking for Grant.

It doesn't take her long to find him; as expected, he's in the munitions closet, going through the lockers and obviously considering his options. He falters briefly in checking the sight on a pistol when she opens the door, then resumes his search without looking at her.

"Come to tell me to take care of Fitz?" he asks, tone unreadable.

"Amongst other things," she agrees placidly, and watches him wince.

It's been a week since her jump from the Bus, from his confession on the raft that he doesn't hate her and their agreement to try starting over, and things are—for the most part—going well. There are times when they both slip back into aggression and derision, but that's only to be expected, really. Eight years of bad habits are not going to be rewritten overnight.

"Although you might be better off watching your own back over his," she suggests as brightly as she can manage. Which is to say—considering the circumstances—not very. "He's still unhappy with you, you know."

"Yeah," he says, smiling wryly. "I kind of picked up on that."

Dear Fitz—he's always so quick to hold a grudge on her behalf, and once he does, he doesn't let it go easily. It will take more than a daring last-minute rescue to convince Fitz that Grant is worth even a second of her time.

But she doesn't want to think of Fitz right now. She doesn't want to think of the danger he's about to walk into—danger about which she knows precisely nothing. Coulson's briefing was so vague as to be entirely useless, and all she really knows is that Grant and Fitz are about to venture behind enemy lines alone and unsupported. Overnight.

She knows how to send Fitz off, and she's already prepared his sandwich for him. But she doesn't know what to do or say for Grant, how to express her worry and hope for his safe return without getting weepy about it.

Whatever he and Fitz are going to do, it's obvious they'll be in serious danger. There's a not-insignificant chance that they could be injured—or even killed.

She doesn't want this second chance with Grant stolen away when it's barely even started.

She's silent for too long, and he finally turns away from his guns to face her properly.

"Hey," he says, gently. "I'll take care of Fitz, Jemma."

"And yourself," she instructs, and is somewhat mortified by the way her voice wavers. "You have to take care of yourself, too. I won't be there to patch you up and Fitz is horrible with blood."

"Noted," he says, and frowns a little. He sets his bag aside and rounds the table to take her by the shoulders, his frown deepening as he studies her face. "What is it?"

"What is it?" she echoes, incredulous. "You're about to walk into enemy territory with no one but my half-trained partner to watch your back! Does there need to be something more?"

"I've spent our whole marriage on these kinds of ops," he reminds her, and she sighs.

"I know. It's just—"

"You've never worried about me before," he concludes, letting go of her shoulders like he's been stung.

She laughs before she can stop herself. "Oh, no. I worried. Reluctantly and completely against my will, granted, but I've certainly worried about you before."

"Then what is it?" he asks, and she thinks he looks a little pleased. She has to marvel at it—how hurt he was by the distance between them, even though it was entirely his fault. "Jemma?"

"I've never had to say goodbye to you before," she admits quietly.

"Oh."

It's one of the worst parts of this whole business, really. She's used to him disappearing, to simply waking up to find him gone, his bedroom cleared out and bed neatly made. She's not used to waving him off.

It's one thing to know that he's walking into danger, and an entirely different thing to see it.

"So let's not say goodbye," he says, and she looks up at him, startled. "Let me promise you that I'm gonna bring Fitz and myself back, and you can promise to keep Skye out of trouble while we're gone, and we'll call it even, okay?"

He sounds so certain and so serious, the way he does when he gives orders in the field, and it makes her smile, despite herself.

"Okay," she agrees. "I promise to keep Skye out of trouble."

"And I promise to bring us back," he says, with a little smile of his own. It fades as his watch beeps. "That's my cue. Even?"

"Even," she confirms, and he's kind enough to ignore the emotion in her voice.

He grabs his bag off the table and slings it over his shoulder, then hesitates, searching her face. Before she can say anything—not that she has any clue what to say—an odd resolve settles over his expression. He cups her shoulders again and presses a soft kiss to her forehead.

"I'll bring us back," he says again, quietly intense.

Then he gently moves her away from the doorway and walks out, leaving Jemma standing alone in the munitions closet.