A/N: Here's the next chapter, guys :) And the (good?) news is that now I can surely say that this story will be five chapters long in total. So… stay tuned for the last two, and please, enjoy this chapter :)

Spies Can't Keep a Secret

There are days when you wake up and simply feel that a disaster is just waiting to happen in the coming hours.

For Grant, the next day felt exactly like that.

Alright, to be honest, it didn't start out that bad–he actually managed to coax Skye out of bed at a decent hour, early enough that they could go a couple of rounds on the gym mats before the others woke up (she didn't even complain about it, at least not after they topped the workout with a different kind of round in the showers afterwards), and he did all this without giving her the slightest sign that he was up to something. No, the problems started at breakfast.

He knew he was in trouble the moment Jemma stepped into the common area just as he was turning on the coffee machine. It was simply written on her face. Almost as if a switch was turned inside of her, the second her eyes fell on the two of them, she perked up, morning grogginess forgotten, the corner of her mouth twitching as she tried to fight down a grin.

She knew it. He didn't know from where (although he didn't need to be a rocket scientist to figure it out), but Grant knew that Jemma knew everything–she knew about the ring, about his plans, about what was going to happen (sooner or later; the moment he figured out how to do it).

Which, in itself, wasn't a problem. It only meant, based on what he'd seen so far, that he had another person in his corner, something he was grateful for. But the fact that Jemma was about the most fidgety, most nervous, and least subtle person he knew simply screamed trouble.

But to give her credit, at least she tried.

"Good morning!" Jemma greeted them in a sing-song voice, her words having a lilt that felt terribly false to his ears. "Isn't this simply a beautiful day, Ward?" she continued as she walked to the counter, pulled a box of cereal and a bowl from the shelf, and winked at him.

"Sure," he answered curtly (and no, it wasn't a beautiful day; it was cloudy with a promise of storm and maybe even hail, so the exact opposite of beautiful) as he glanced at Skye, who, thankfully, was engrossed in her tablet, reading the news. "Good morning, by the way."

"Yeah, good morning, Jemma," Skye joined in a little late, not even raising her eyes from the screen. "Huh… Apparently someone has made penis-shaped lipsticks," she snickered, and Grant let out a silent, relieved sigh–apparently, she hadn't caught on the strange exchange. He was saved. At least for now. "What would you say if I used one like that?" she asked, looking up from the tablet and innocently fluttering her lashes at Grant.

"It depends–what color?" Were they just the two of them, he would have had a different answer for her–a much raunchier one–, but he tried to be considerate to Jemma. Not that the scientist seemed to care even a little bit.

"So, Skye," Jemma started as she took a seat opposite of Skye at the table and poured milk over her cereal. Grant watched her warily from the corner of his eyes as he picked his toast from the toaster, ready to intervene if he needed to. "I was thinking…" she went on, her voice still awfully false with forced nonchalance. "Don't you think we are due for a girls' day?"

Skye locked the screen of her tablet, pushed it away, and cocked an eyebrow at Jemma.

"What do you have on your mind exactly?"

"Oh, well, you know," she flipped her hair in a way that was just so not natural that it made Grant cringe, "go to a spa, get our hair and nails done… That kind of stuff…"

Skye examined the end of her still slightly shower-damp hair, looking for split ends, then shrugged.

"I'm still good on hair," she said, "and honestly, if you want a girls' night, I'm more into some chick flick at the movies and drinks."

"The two are not mutually exclusive." Grant had to hand it to Jemma, it was actually a nice save. Taking his plate with the buttered toast to the table, he sat down next to Skye, and observed Jemma's attempts from there. "And I say we really deserve a little pampering."

"Oh, believe me," Skye replied with a wicked smirk he knew all too well, placing a hand on his knee, "I'm plenty pampered." He gave her a tiny smile–he appreciated being appreciated, even if it was in a not so innocent way–, biting into his toast, then Skye turned back to Jemma. "But why are you so into doing this all so suddenly… Oh!" Skye's eyes went wide, and she leaned a bit forward in her seat. "Is this about Fitz?"

(What was this with women and their keen interest in others' love life?)

Jemma shook her head, clearly confused.

"How would Fitz come to this?"

"Well…" Skye started, taking it down a notch, just as the coffee finally started to drip. "I just thought you're planning something for him–you know, something… intimate–and you need moral support," she shrugged, to which Jemma answered with an awkward little laugh.

"What would I… Oh!" she finally put two and two together, and shook her head. "No, not at all. Not even close. Really. Why would you even… hah!" she stuttered, her cheeks getting a pinkish hue. (Alright, as awkward and embarrassing it was, Grant had to admit that– as long as Jemma didn't give away his proposal plans accidentally–it was rather entertaining to watch.) "No, all I am saying is that we need, as already mentioned, a little pampering. By professionals. Not that kind of professionals!" she added quickly when she saw the corner of Skye's mouth twitch, ready to make a remark. "Manicures, we need manicures. And the like. To make us pretty. Don't we, Ward?" she turned towards Grant.

"I know a tricky question when I see it," he replied, standing up to fix them some coffee, "so I am going to pass on answering this one." He poured coffee into three mugs, added milk and sugar, and glanced back at Skye in the process. "But just to make it clear–and to avoid any further accusations," he added in a slightly teasing tone, "you are absolutely breathtaking. I rest my case," he said, placing the girls' coffees in front of them.

"Right back at you," Skye said, then took a sip of her coffee and let out a little, appreciative moan. "And you are also perfectly trained," she went on, placing her mug down and licking her lips (he might have wanted to contradict her on that last point, but he just prepared her a cup of coffee just the way she liked it, without being asked to, so she might have had a point). "Anyway," she said, standing up, "I still have to finish installing your tablet–but I swear you'll have it back in an hour," she addressed her words to Jemma, "and then I have a report to write for Coulson, which he actually asked for yesterday, so… I'd better get started on it," she shrugged with an impish smile, then stepped to Grant, who went back to leaning against the counter while he sipped his coffee, and gave him a quick kiss. "So see you later. You too, Jemma," she added, touching her friend's shoulder as she passed behind her, tablet under her arm, coffee mug in her hand. "And I'll think about your idea," she added with a wink. "Might even improve it a little." And with that, she was gone, leaving Grant and Jemma alone in the kitchen.

For a very long moment–longer than Skye would have needed to get out of earshot–neither of them spoke; Jemma took another bite from the cereal, but never looked away from Grant, as if she was waiting for him to speak. And after a while he simply gave up, put down his mug, rested a hand on the top of the counter, pinched the bridge of his nose with the other, and said, "Fitz." It wasn't a question; it was a resigned statement. Honestly, he shouldn't have even been surprised.

Jemma put down her spoon. "Don't be mad at him, it wasn't his fault," she said, genuine concern for her partner in her voice. "Well, I mean, it kind of was, after all he left the ring unattended, and I just…"

"You know what?" Grant interrupted her, raising his hand to make her stop talking. "I don't even want to know. Just tell me: he hasn't lost it yet, right?"

"Of course not," Jemma assured him. "I made sure he put it in a good place. You know, after he left it lying around in the lab, where I found it and… I'll stop talking now," she said as she noticed Grant's deepening frown.

"Thank you," Grant nodded, then walked back to the table with his mug and took a place where Skye had been sitting only minutes before.

"So…" Jemma started cautiously, pushing her half-eaten breakfast away. "When is the big day?"

"Excuse me?" Grant blinked.

"I mean, when are you going to ask her?" Another blink. "Because I need to know."

"You need to know?" Grant echoed, his voice rising almost ridiculously at the end of the sentence.

"Well, yes, since, you know, I think–as Skye's best female friend–it's my duty to make sure that–" she started her explanation, but she was cut off mid-sentence by Grant's strained chuckle. "Is everything okay?"

"I'm just appreciating the irony in my situation," came the reply as he ran a hand through his hair. "You know, twenty-four hours ago not a soul knew about my… plans on changing my marital status, so to say. I was milling over it for weeks, thinking it through, talking it through with my therapist, finding the perfect ring and buying it without alerting anybody, especially Skye… And now everybody and their brother are nagging me about my next move."

"Now, I don't think–" Jemma started wanting to point out the three of them–Fitz, Coulson and herself–nowhere near constituted everybody, bust she was, once again, interrupted in the middle of the sentence.

"Jemma," Grant said calmly, putting his hand together as his elbows rested on the table. "I love you, you know that, but please, take a step back!" When she just kept looking at him, slightly confused, he added: "Because, how could I say this? You are not exactly a subtle person."

"That-that is completely–" Jemma stuttered, trying to find a decent refutation of that.

"Terribly true?" Grant said, helping her out. "Jemma, Skye told me how that thing went down with Sitwell back in the Hub."

"That was one time," she pointed out, raising a single finger, as if it would make her claim stronger.

"…And if not for the penis shaped lipsticks, Skye would have picked on that something is amiss just now. I did. You weren't nearly as unsuspicious as I bet you think you were."

This actually made Jemma shrink back a little, her shoulders falling. "Really?"

Grant couldn't help his mouth curling into a small smile. "It was painful to watch."

"Sorry?" Jemma winced.

"It's okay, I appreciate it, really," Grant assured her. "And I'm sure Skye'll be more than happy to have you help with the wedding if she says yes–"

"When," Jemma corrected him.

"If she says yes," Grant repeated with a sigh, "but right now, please, just… stay put, okay? Don't drop hints, don't try to take her to a spa out of the blue, don't… I don't know, leave bridal magazines lying around. Just act like as if you knew nothing. I'd like it to remain a secret, without Skye suspecting a thing, if that's possible–and without anybody else finding out, for that matter."

Jemma nodded, honoring his request, but already opening her mouth–she had so many things she wanted to ask! Like, did he had any ideas yet how he was going to propose? (Fitz had told her that Ward hadn't figured out yet how to do it, but that was twelve hours ago.) Was he planning anything special? And how about the wedding? And the honeymoon? And what should she give them as a wedding gift? (She might have run a little ahead, but that's how her mind worked). Only she didn't even get to say a word, because the next moment someone else walked into the common area, making both her and Grant fall silent at once.

"Morning," May greeted them curtly as she stepped to the fridge.

"Good morning," came their somewhat tense, I-didn't-do-anything kind of answer.

May opened the fridge, pulled out a yoghurt, shut the door, and then just stood there for a moment, moving her gaze between the silent Ward and Jemma, as if she could look into their very souls, while they simply stared back at her, not saying a word. Well, Grant couldn't exactly blame her–their somewhat forced and uncomfortable silence, coupled with Jemma's wide-eyed expression really wasn't that convincing.

But then, to his utter surprise, the ever impassive Melinda May smiled slightly.

"You know," she said, looking at them, amusement clear in her eyes, "you really shouldn't stop talking about Ward's proposal on my account." And with that, she turned to leave.

Jemma looked at Grant; the corner of his eye twitched strangely, but otherwise, he didn't move a muscle for three whole seconds. Then he closed his eyes for a moment, turned his face towards the ceiling, and said, "I give up." And then he got up and, his coffee to be damned, left without another word.

To be honest, Jemma couldn't really blame him.