A/N: So here's the next chapter, guys, and I hope you'll enjoy it :)

Ask the Brit

The next couple of days felt as if the whole universe was out to get him–or at least was actively trying to sabotage his plans.

Whenever Grant happened to have five Skye- and distraction-free minutes to try and think about his grand proposal plans (Jemma might have dubbed them that), somebody was just ought to come up to him and ask how things were going, or pester him with their own, mostly outrageous, ideas (no, he absolutely did not want skywriting, no matter how much Fitz thought it would be fitting). Of course Fitz and Simmons were the most adamant about it–he counted it on the third day, the two of them combined went up to him a total of eight times regarding the matter before dinner–, and even Mack pulled him aside once to wish him luck (how the mechanic learned about it, Grant didn't even want to know). So by the fifth day he reached the point that he swore if somebody asked him one more time when he was going to propose, the answer would be never, because he was going to kill that person, go to jail, and never get the chance to marry Skye.

And to make matters worse, Coulson had asked him to his office again to inquire about his progress and to offer his help once again, which, on a certain level, Grant even thought was nice of him, but on the other hand it only served to agitate Skye even more–since it was another trip to the director's office he couldn't really talk about–, and, with things going on like this, Grant knew that she was bound to get suspicious and sniff out what was happening sooner or later. Which meant that the clock was seriously ticking, and he really had to make a move, the sooner the better, before he blew this whole thing.

The only problem was that he still had absolutely no idea what to do.

By the seventh day, Grant could practically feel the noose around his neck. Especially after the previous night, when he had to listen through Skye's longwinded theory about how Fitz must be planning something for Jemma, because he seemed so nervous all the time–all the while keeping a carefully guarded and neutral face and sometimes adding a noncommittal grunt or a "sure" or an "absolutely" to the conversation.

So he had reached the point when–after having spent an hour in the sole company of the punching bag, who couldn't provide him with a better solution–he was actually considering going for Coulson's idea of doing things in the traditional way. Although, he kept thinking in the Playground's locker room after his post-work out shower, Skye deserved so much more than a clichéd ring-hidden-in-the-dessert approach (she deserved way more than him, period, and he was the luckiest man on Earth that she still wanted to be with him). Also, his mind kept turning back to another reservation of his regarding this approach: the audience. After all, wasn't proposals supposed to be… intimate? Weddings, as he saw it, were for the friends and family, but a proposal was supposed to be just about them, and he doubted it would be possible in a fully packed restaurant where everybody else would turn to them, watching them hawk-eyed the moment he pulled out the ring.

Maybe he should reserve the whole restaurant?

He only got so far in his train of thought, because the next moment the door of the locker room opened, and Hunter walked in, humming something that sounded suspiciously like Taylor Swift under his breath. He shot a curt, but not unfriendly, greeting to Grant as he reached his locker, which Grant returned, and with that Hunter went on with his business, opening the locker and pulling his gym clothes out, while resuming his humming.

Although they had never been really close, Grant liked the Brit well enough (not counting the first week or so, when Grant had been absolutely convinced that Hunter had a thing for Skye, but that was ancient history). They might not have always seen eye to eye about certain things, but Grant appreciated Hunter's tenacity, boldness, and unique way of handling things, and, to be honest, he usually found him rather amusing (when he didn't want to strangle him, that's it), as his company was a nice change after the cool professionality of specialists he had been used to.

But this did not mean that Hunter's sudden presence didn't throw him completely off track, making him unable to go further than the decision that the "restaurant solution" was definitely no way to go. His concern just grew when he noticed that Hunter was sneaking sideway glances at him, always looking away before Grant could have actually caught his eyes, but not quick enough not to notice it; it was as if Hunter wanted to say something to him, but couldn't decide whether he actually should open his mouth or not.

The third time Grant caught him doing that, he cocked an eyebrow at him, not prompting, but daring him to speak. Hunter let out a long, overly dramatic sigh, tossed his work out shirt to the bench, then turned to Grant, feet planted firmly on the ground, arms crossed in front of his chest.

"Alright," he started, sounding a bit impatient, "what's going on here? And don't tell me that nothing, or that it's classified or need-to-know, because I'm so over that crap."

Grant felt his eyebrows shot in a most likely very comical way.

"What are you talking about?"

"Whatever is happening here," Lance snapped. "The thing everybody" he made a sweeping motion with his arms, almost as if everybody at the base was in the room, "seems to be on but me. The thing I see everybody whisper about, and what has had FitzSimmons' knickers in a bunch for like a week."

Grant blinked. "You don't know," he said, stating, not asking, barely believing what was happening.

"No, that's what I'm saying! And you know what, mate? It's getting really frustrating, always getting caught up in these hidden agendas, stumbling upon big S.H.I.E.L.D. secrets I'm not being told, even though I'm supposed to be in the "in" circle by now, and… Why are you laughing?"

Grant really was laughing–it seemed like the only sensible thing to do in this situation. He would had never though that the always noisy and obnoxious mercenary would be basically the last–not counting Skye–person to learn about his plans about proposing Skye, especially since in the last week, to his best knowledge, it had become the hottest gossip at the base.

"Sorry, it's just…" he told Lance, who was staring at him with wide eyes, mouth slightly open. Grant sighed, run his hand through his hair, then sat down on the bench and cleared his throat. "There are no hidden agendas or big S.H.I.E.L.D. secrets," he assured Hunter. "It's just…" He paused, then decided that he might as well tell Hunter. "I want to propose to Skye. I wanted to do it in secret, but then things went in a way that I had to come clean to Coulson, and then had to bring in Fitz, and he told Simmons, and then… Well, I guess you can figure out the rest."

Hunter's stance relaxed right away, his shoulders falling slightly forward as he let his arms fall to his sides. "Hm," he said, cleared his throat, and then went again, "hm…" Then shook his head, and said, "You are a moron." And with that, he turned back to his locker.

Grant let out a surprised chuckle in spite of himself.

"Excuse me, what?" he asked.

Hunter glanced at him from behind his locker's door, cocking an eyebrow at him. "You heard it right–you are a moron. An absolute, total moron. Why would you want to destroy a completely good relationship with marriage? Honestly, mate, there are no stories that start with a marriage and end up with a happy ending."

Grant snorted and felt as his mouth pulled into an awkward grin.

"I hate to contradict you, Hunter," he really didn't, "but I'm pretty sure that in most stories–fairytales and the like–the whole point is marriage. You know, the knight rescues the princess, they marry, and live happily ever after?" (Grant couldn't believe they were actually talking about this.)

Hunter shut his locker's door, and made a little indignant noise that sounded almost like a chuckle.

"Bah, humbug," he dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "Lies and sugarcoating. But really–why?" He looked pointedly at Grant. "I know for fact that you re tight with Skye as it is, you are all over each other all the time. Honestly, sometimes it is sickening to watch. Not to mention that I bet that you are as terrified as me of Coulson raiding the SUV's with a black light." he said, making Grant shiver. He really did not want to think about how Hunter and Bobbi jumped each other's bones in the S.H.I.E.L.D. SUV's, and he hoped the feeling was mutual. Although, on the other hand, the Brit was painfully right. "Going at each other like bunnies…" Hunter added, muttering under his breath, shaking his head. "So, anyway, why would you destroy a completely good and well-functioning relationship with such a fickle thing as marriage? Which, in itself, is a stupid and outdated institution? I just don't understand you, mate. You are a reasonable guy, you are not stupid–why would you sprint towards your doom willingly?"

Grant looked pointedly at Hunter, and, in a completely level voice, said, "You married Bobbi."

Hunter froze for a moment, then blinked at him, once, twice. "That…" he started, then cleared his throat and yanked his T-shirt off. "That was a momentary lapse of judgement. Something I have regretted about a million times ever since. And something to which I lost my car, my favorite gun, my nerves, my dignity…"

Grant's lips pulled into a smug smirk. "You'd marry her again, today, if she asked."

Now that made Lance shut up. He gaped at Grant for a moment, then, reaching for his gym shirt again, said, "That's up to debate, and I'll vehemently deny it at court. And anyway, we were talking about you."

Grant let out a loud laugh, and somehow this seemed to close the topic, at least for a while, as the two men went on with their business. But a couple of seconds later Grant found himself turning to Lance once again, unable to keep himself from asking him about one thing.

"Speaking of Bobbi," he started, and hearing him Lance stopped tying his shoes and looked up at him with a questioning gaze. "How did you propose to her?"

The slow grin that spread on Hunter's face told Grant that he wasn't so anti-marriage as he acted to be.

"Oh, that is a fun story!" he smirked, leaning back a little on the bench. "But," he pointed out before getting started on how it went down, "to my defense, it wasn't a premediated act. Also, if it was, I wouldn't have fretted over it like you do. Pathetic," he mumbled the last word under his breath, then cleared his throat, "Anyway, it happened in Pakistan. We were on a mission, going against… somebody. I'll be damned if I remember. It was a messy job. So it was some bad guys. Some locals, I guess, but it could have been Hydra." He paused, thinking something through. "Even though thinking about it now, we might have been Hydra. But, moving on, it wasn't your fancy, champagne-sipping undercover job–it was the kind with heavy gunfire and a trip to the dentist afterwards. But we got through it–finished the job, got out alive, all the nine yards. Then, still high on adrenalin, we went to this hotel, you know, that wacky roadside kind with a goat at the front of the building, got a room and… well, things happened. You know what I mean," he winked at Grant, who groaned. "Anyway, I had a moment of weakness–I wasn't thinking clearly–, exhausted, sore, running on fumes and all, and I just blurted it out, tangled in the sheets. And Bobbi must have had her mind misplaced for a moment, too, because she said yes." Hunter shrugged. "And so we were engaged, no fanfare. But," he added after a moment, scratching his chin, "to be honest, it was rather fitting. I mean, our whole relationship started with bullets and sex, so I guess it's only right the whole proposal-business went down the same way. Hey, mate, alright you alright?" he asked, as he saw Grant suddenly jump up from the bench.

Oh, he was better than alright; he was great. There was something in what Hunter said–about how his proposal to Bobbi had recalled the very start of their relationship–that suddenly made everything click in his head, and now he knew exactly what he had to do. And this realization came with a surge of nervous energy, something making him restless, not letting him to sit idle for a moment longer–he had to act now.

"I'm splendid," he told the staring Lance as he pulled on his shirt in haste, already on his way towards the door. "It's just… I have to talk to Fitz and Simmons, right now. See you later, and thank you!"

And then he was out of the room before Hunter could have asked what he was thanking him for.

Despite the still relatively early hour, Grant managed to round up Fitz and Simmons in a record time, herding the two scientists into a secluded part of the base to be able to talk with them in private, where, not even caring about the fact that Fitz still seemed to have a problem with keeping his eyes open, he got to the topic right away.

"It's about the proposal," he said, and, hearing it, Jemma brightened up right away.

"Oh, good thing you are bringing it up, I wanted to talk with you about it anyway–I wanted to remind you not to forget to get down on one knee. Really, don't. It's very symbolic, and romantic, and I bet Skye'd–" Grant raised his hand to make her stop talking, then turned to Fitz.

"I'll need the ring," he told the Scot, then looked at both scientists. "And I'll need your help." He grinned nervously in spite of himself. "It's going down today."

(He could have waited, really, it wasn't like he was on a deadline, at least not strictly speaking; but he didn't want to wait a second. Now that he knew the how, he was too excited to hit the brakes. He just wanted to see that ring on Skye's finger too much.)

Two pairs of wide eyes looked back at him in the moment of silence that followed his words, then FitzSimmons started speaking at the same time.

"It was bloody time, really…"

"Oh, this is so exciting!"

"Skye's gonna be so happy…"

"What do you need help with?"

"Maybe you should shave before it–just a suggestion…"

Slightly overwhelmed, but nonetheless glad for his friends' enthusiasm, Grant formed a T with his hands, willing them to stop talking and let him speak. When they finally quieted, he took a deep breath.

"First of all, I'll need candles," he said as Jemma pulled her phone from her pocket, presumably to take notes.

"What kind of candles?" she asked.

"It doesn't matter," Grant shook his head. "Whatever you can find or get. Just get a lot, will you?" Jemma nodded, assuring him that it'd be done, not even lifting her eyes from the screen–while Fitz were looking over her shoulder to see what she was typing. "And maybe petals… Rose petals? Can we get that this time of the year?"

"It can be done," the answer, surprisingly, came from Fitz.

"Great. And I'll need somebody to distract Skye for an hour or two, so she won't stumble upon it early. But…" He looked at the overly eager scientists who looked back at him, waiting. They really still weren't the best at covert operations, so to say. "But maybe I'll ask somebody else to do that–you just get the candles and the flowers. Let's say we'll meet up again…" he glanced at his watch, "…in six hours. Does that work for you?"

"Sure," Fitz nodded, speaking for both of them. "But what have you got planned?"

Grant, already anxious to be on his way to make sure everything would go down smoothly, was just turning to leave, but then stopped, and looked at Fitz and Simmons.

"Funny thing is, it was actually Hunter who gave me the idea," he said, smirking. "I'll tell you all about later, I promise, but now I have to go and… get ready." And true, to his word, he was already walking away.

"Wait!" Jemma called after him. "Where should we meet?"

Grant stopped and looked back at them. "At the Bus," he said, then, with a spring in his step, he was gone.

A/N: I honestly don't remember if it was addressed how the Huntingbird proposal went down, so I might have taken some liberties with that.