A/N: astonishes said: "Sorry. Fresh out of sweet forgiveness."


"Jemma—"

"Sorry," she interrupts, sounding about as far from apologetic as it's possible to get. "Fresh out of sweet forgiveness."

He pauses, briefly caught off guard by the phrasing (she has been spending way too much time with Skye), but decides that saying anything about it can only make things worse.

"Look, I know you're upset," he says. "I made a mistake, and I—"

"A mistake?" she asks, tone worryingly pleasant. "Is that what you call it?"

He sighs. "What would you call it?"

"A crime," she hisses. "A horrid, unforgiveable betrayal. A tragedy."

"All I did was answer your phone!" he says, exasperated. "You were in the shower, and the last time you missed a call from your parents, your dad had a breakdown because he thought you were dead! You felt so guilty you cried every night for a week."

"Yes, well, he's better now," she says, waving off the reminder. "And, frankly, I'd rather he have another breakdown than talk to you."

"Okay," he says slowly. "I'm trying really hard not to be insulted, and it's not really working."

"Don't be ridiculous," she snaps, rolling her eyes. "It's nothing to do with you."

"Then what's it to do with?" he demands, completely lost. "So I answered your phone and spent thirty seconds talking to your parents! Why is this a big deal?"

"The big deal, as you so quaintly put it, is that my parents are now aware that I'm seeing someone!"

He stares at her. "Seriously? We've been together for eight months and you still hadn't told your parents?"

"What of it?" she asks, attempting nonchalance. She's…really not good at it, and she seems to realize it, since she immediately switches to the defensive. "You haven't told your parents about us, either!"

"That's because I haven't spoken to my parents in fifteen years," he reminds her, rolling his eyes. "You talk to yours twice a week." He crosses his arms. "Seriously, Jemma. What's the issue, here? If you're not serious about us—"

"No, I am!" she assures him instantly. "It's just…" She sighs. "My parents are a little…over-eager in this department."

"In the department of you dating?" he asks, confused.

"In the department of grandchildren," she corrects. "To be precise." She sighs again, heavily, and pulls her phone out of her pocket, holding it up for his inspection. "In the three hours since you spoke to them, my parents have sent me twenty-six text messages asking about you. Specifically, your feelings on marriage and fatherhood."

As he stares at the phone, speechless, it lights up and chimes a message alert.

Jemma grimaces. "Make that twenty-seven."

"Okay," he says eventually. "Maybe it was more than just a mistake. I am very, very sorry. Really."

He thinks about making a joke—about how cutting off contact entirely has done wonders for him, and maybe she should give it a try—but decides, after a quick look at her expression, that it wouldn't go over well.

"Let me make it up to you," he requests instead.

She gives him a flat stare. "And how could you possibly make up for giving my parents reason to text me every four hundred seconds?"

"I could tell you," he says, holding back a smile at the fact that she actually did the math on how frequently her parents are texting her. She's just…amazing. "But I'd rather show you."

"Oh?" she asks, trying (and pretty much failing) to hide a smile of her own. "Go on, then."

"With pleasure."

He plucks the phone from her hand, puts it on silent, and drops it onto the table. Then he proceeds to make things up to her. Thoroughly.