A/N: anonymous asked: "If you're still accepting time stamp prompts, could I request eighteen months after that crackfic please?"
Follows from previous two chapters.
Jemma is more than tired. She's exhausted. She's sick of basically everything—the interpersonal drama at the Playground, HYDRA's unending schemes, Coulson's constant, unrealistic expectation that she draw a miracle out of her pocket every time he needs one—and everyone. She's perhaps two days away from quitting, changing her name, and moving to Brazil.
In short, she needs a holiday.
Once the most recent problem of the week (a twisted HYDRA plot involving puppetry, mouse traps, and enough poor-quality coffee to supply every police station in the southern United States) is wrapped up, Jemma packs a bag, drops a (somewhat scathing) note on Coulson's desk, and leaves the Playground. She walks two miles to a nearby public park, takes a seat on a bench, and waits.
Less than ten minutes later, Grant drops down next to her.
"Going somewhere?" he asks, nodding at her bag as he slings an arm around her shoulders.
"Yes," she says. "And you're coming with me."
He stills as she leans against him, and no wonder. As the months have passed, he's slowly been increasing their level of physical contact. She's allowed it—to a point—but she's never reciprocated.
In a week or two, she's sure to regret this, but right now she's exhausted, frustrated, and she misses her husband. So bugger morals and sides and right and wrong. She's going on holiday and she's taking Grant with her.
"Am I?" he asks, sounding delighted. He tightens his grip on her slightly, as though expecting her to try and shove him away. "Where are we going?"
"I don't care," she says. "Somewhere sunny and warm. Somewhere no one can find us."
"I can do that," he says, nodding thoughtfully. Then he pauses. "Did you tell the team you were leaving?"
"I left a note."
He makes an amused noise. "You know they're gonna think I kidnapped you again, right?"
"Probably," she agrees. "But at this point their opinion of you literally cannot get any lower, so…"
"Fair point," he says. "Okay, give me an hour to get some things in order, and we can go."
He makes no move to stand, however, and she nudges him. "Would that hour be occurring today?"
"What, I can't revel in my victory for a minute?" he asks, all wounded innocence.
"Revel later," she advises, and gives him a shove. "I want to be gone before the others find my note."
"Work, work," he teases, and stands. Then he hesitates, staring down at her with consideration. "You know, you're kind of tempting fate here."
"Oh?" she asks. "How so?"
"Well, you're pretty close to the Playground," he points out. "If the others start looking for you, you won't be hard to find."
True enough. "I suppose you have a suggestion?"
"Funny you should ask," he says, and holds out a hand. "Come with me. I can show you my new place; you'll love it."
"Are you asking because you're expecting me to disappear as soon as you go?" she asks.
"Absolutely," he says shamelessly. "I don't want you to have a chance to change your mind."
"I won't," she assures him. But it's a cold day and she didn't really want to spend an hour sitting on this bench anyway, so she takes his hand and lets him pull her up. "All right, then, Grant. Lead the way."