A/N: First of all, I want to thank everyone who has reviewed and faved and followed. It really means a lot. Second, I feel the need to apologize, because this chapter is ridiculously massive. I don't even know what happened. The next chapter won't be anywhere near as long, I promise. Third, I do want to warn you that this chapter-and in fact, this whole fic-contains violence and strong language. Grant's vocabulary gets colorful when he's upset.
As always, thanks for reading, and please be gentle if you review!
Between needing to fill up the plane and file a flight plan, they won't actually be leaving for Peru until the morning. Since they have nothing to do with that, Grant and Jemma spend hours sitting in the lounge, getting to know each other a little better. They discuss their favorite books, movies, and music; what they do in their downtime (funnily enough, the answer is 'not much' for both of them. SHIELD agents, whether scientist or specialist, don't get a lot of down time.); and their time at their respective Academies.
By the time they say goodnight and head to bed, Grant is feeling uncharacteristically optimistic. He's never had a conversation that long without needing to dip into one of his undercover personas for help, but talking to Jemma is so easy, so effortless, that it never even occurs to him. He's glad that Jemma doesn't seem to mind his deadpan sense of humor, even if her own is a little lighter. He does get so tired of being called humorless just because he isn't cracking jokes every two seconds like some people he could name. (He's not. Naming, that is. But he is absolutely looking at you, Barton.)
Best of all, the soul bond seems to have finally settled. The tether around his heart has loosened significantly and no longer feels like it will snap if he takes more than three steps away from Jemma. He can still feel it, though. Strangely enough, it reminds him of the three months he spent undercover as a surfer. He spent every day wearing a truly obnoxious puka shell necklace, and though it drove him crazy at first, by the time the assignment ended, it was a comforting, familiar weight. That's what the soul bond feels like as he settles into bed: something that's supposed to be there.
He'd still be happier to have Jemma beside him, of course, but that's probably a ways off. For now, this is more than enough.
x
He's up before dawn, as usual, and by six thirty he's in the cargo bay, beginning his morning workout. There are no weights, free standing or otherwise, but there's a punching bag hanging by the stairs and a decent bar to do pull-ups on near the bay doors.
He's just started his final set of push-ups when he feels a strange tug in his chest and looks up to see Jemma coming down the stairs. She doesn't say anything, just takes a seat on one of the bottom steps and smiles at him, so he goes back to his push-ups.
Once he's finished, he sits back on his heels instead of going straight to the punching bag. "Good morning."
"Good morning! Don't mind me, I'm just…" Jemma tilts her head thoughtfully. "Enjoying the view."
Grant laughs a little. He can't help it. (But it's not because he finds her adorable.) "Really."
"Really," she nods.
He stands up and crosses over to the SUV, where he left his water bottle sitting on the bumper. As he unscrews the cap, he looks Jemma over. She's in shorts and a tank top, her hair pulled back into a messy braid, and has clearly just rolled out of bed. (His eyes do not linger on her shoulders. Obviously.)
"You always up this early?" he asks.
"Oh, no," she says, wrinkling her nose a little. (Also not adorable.) "I'm actually something of a night owl. It's just I never sleep well, the first few nights in a new place. Are you? Always up this early?"
"Usually," he answers as he puts down the water bottle and pulls on his gloves. "Gotta keep up with my training."
Jemma shakes her head. "I must admit, your career sounds exhausting."
"Likewise," he says, which is just…ridiculous. Likewise, Grant, really? "Judging by what you told me last night, I bet I wouldn't last ten minutes in SciOps."
"Oh, I'm sure that's not true," she says.
"Trust me," he says. "It's definitely true." He stretches his arms out a little, testing the ache in his shoulders. He's definitely feeling that fight with Peterson, and it might be best to skip the punching bag this morning. No pain-no gain is all well and good, but it's stupid to push yourself too hard and risk injury in the name of routine.
"Something wrong?" Jemma asks, her eyebrows scrunching together in concern.
"Just a little sore," he tells her as he strips off his gloves. "Gonna have to skip the bag this morning."
"Do you want me to take a look?" she offers. "I'm not that kind of doctor, but I do have my field med certification."
He's briefly distracted by the way her accent wraps around the word 'certification', so it takes him a moment to process the offer. It's certainly tempting, but he's not sure he's ready to have her hands on him, even if just in a medical capacity. He's been trying to take this slow, avoiding touching her too much and trying to give her space, and he's pretty sure his self-control won't be able to stand up to a medical examination, especially if she does it dressed like that.
"Thanks, but there's no need," he says. "I'm just a little bruised."
It's even the truth. When he got back to the Bus yesterday he'd been a little concerned about the possibility of glass in his back after breaking that display case, but luckily his leather jacket protected him.
"Well, if you're sure," she says a little hesitantly. She still looks concerned, which should not make him feel as good as it does.
"I'm sure," he confirms. "There is one thing you can do for me, though."
"And what's that?"
"Join me for breakfast?" he suggests with what he hopes is a charming smile.
It must be, because she smiles brightly and nods. "It would be my pleasure."
He needs to take a shower and Jemma's still in her pajamas, so they agree to meet in the kitchen in fifteen minutes, and that's exactly what they do. Over breakfast, they discuss their food preferences. It's probably the single most inane conversation Grant's ever had, but he savors every minute of it. He enjoys watching the emotions play over Jemma's face as she tells him about her adventures in cooking ("It's just like chemistry, but with more delicious conclusions!") and her favorite things to make. She's so enthusiastic, so cheerful, and he can't help the warm feeling that's growing in his chest.
He is in serious trouble with this whole soulmate thing.
He's just taken their plates over to the sink when Coulson walks in and promptly ruins his morning.
"Oh good, you're awake," Coulson says. "We'll be taking off just as soon as Skye finishes loading her things."
Grant pauses in the act of reaching for the faucet. "I'm sorry, sir?"
"Skye," Coulson says. "She's going to be joining us."
Apparently feeling that that is the end of that, he leaves the kitchen. Grant follows after throwing an apologetic look to Jemma.
"Skye?" he asks, trailing Coulson into the briefing room. "That girl's not qualified to be a SHIELD agent."
"Agreed," Coulson says as May enters from the other door. "That's why I've invited her on as a consultant. SHIELD does it all the time—technically, Stark's a consultant."
"And technically, Skye's a member of the Rising Tide—she hacked our RSA implementation."
"Twice," Coulson interjects, apparently not aware that this only supports Grant's point. "From a laptop. Imagine what she'll do with our resources."
"I am," Grant tells him, deciding to appeal to Coulson's sense of humor. "That's exactly what I'm imagining during this frown."
The joke makes Coulson smile, so at least there's that.
"You brought me on for risk assessment? She's a risk." Grant takes a deep breath and leans forward. "She doesn't think like us."
"Exactly," Coulson says, and Grant looks to May for help, which she obligingly provides.
"We have two kids on this Bus who aren't cleared for combat, you're adding a third," she says.
"At least Jemma and Fitz are trained SHIELD scientists," Grant points out. It's mostly because it helps their argument, but maybe a little of it is him feeling the urge to defend his soulmate and her lesser half. "But Skye? You said this was a select team, assembled to work new cases, to protect people. I don't see how letting some hacker tag along—"
"I'm looking for an objection I haven't already anticipated," Coulson interrupts. "I'm calling this. But your frown will be on record."
"We've been called in to investigate an 0-8-4," Grant says, deciding to switch tactics. He might as well try playing the risk card. "We all know what that means."
"Yes we do," Coulson agrees in a much lighter tone. Grant knows then he's lost the argument. Not that he ever had a chance of winning, of course. Relaxed attitude towards protocol (exhibit one: Grant and his soulmate are still on the same field team) or not, Coulson is still his commanding officer.
Frankly, Grant's surprised the argument lasted as long as it did. Garrett would've knocked him out twenty seconds in. Coulson's method, closing the subject with nothing more than a change in tone, is much more palatable.
"It means we don't know what that means," he continues as he hands May a tablet. She leaves the briefing room with it, and as Grant's eyes follow her, he notices Jemma and Fitz entering the lounge with Skye.
"Don't think I didn't catch that, by the way," Coulson says, drawing Grant's attention away from the smile on his soulmate's face. She, at least, seems happy enough to have Skye on board.
"Catch what, sir?"
"You called her Jemma," Coulson notes. "It's almost cute."
Knowing absolutely no way to respond to that without embarrassing himself further, Grant opts for a strategic withdrawal. He picks up one of the safety pamphlets from the table in the back of the briefing room and takes it out to Skye.
She starts to say something, but he talks right over her. "Might wanna read that. This isn't like other planes."
He walks away without giving her a chance to respond. He'd seen Jemma and Fitz head back in the direction of the lounge, presumably on their way back to the lab, but he decides not to follow right away. He's got thirteen hours to talk to Jemma, he can let her have some time with Fitz.
He also has thirteen hours to deal with the fact that he's about to take his (non-combat-ready) soulmate not just into the field, but into an active war zone. He needs to get a handle on his feelings about that before he talks to Jemma again, otherwise he's likely to order her to stay on the Bus.
And he may have only known her for a day, but he already knows exactly how she would react to that.
x
Six hours into the flight, he leaves his bunk with the intention of tracking down Jemma. He hasn't exactly dealt with the situation, but he has, he thinks, successfully compartmentalized it. The fact of the matter is that there's no way he can just accept taking Jemma into certain danger that she's completely unprepared to face. All he can do is protect her, and in order to do that, he has to put his feelings about the situation away. That's the only way he'll be able to think clearly.
He hasn't spent the whole six hours dwelling on his emotions, of course. He knows that protecting Jemma (and Fitz and Skye, he supposes) becomes easier the more variables he eliminates. So he's spent his time carefully planning and preparing.
He's read over all of the information SHIELD has on the political situation in Peru, the demonstrated weapons capability of both the rebels and the police, and the 0-8-4—the last of which took all of three minutes. He's studied road and satellite maps of the archaeological site they're going to and its surrounding area, just in case they have to make a quick exit. He's identified six different escape routes they can use, three on foot and three by vehicle. He's cleaned his sidearm and his backup and sharpened his knife. He's as prepared as he can be.
It still doesn't feel like enough, but they've still got another seven hours to Peru, so there's no point in worrying about it anymore. So he goes to find Jemma.
He finds her in the lab, of course. She and Fitz are standing on the far side of the holotable, looking at a projection of some kind of weapon. They're tossing parts back and forth and talking over each other at a rapid pace.
Jemma spots him through the projection.
"Grant!" she exclaims, breaking into a wide smile. He can't deny the thrill it gives him that she looks so happy to see him. "Come take a look at this."
He crosses the room to stand next to her and takes a closer look at the schematic. It's similar in shape to a handgun, but in style…not so much. "What is it?" he asks.
"It's a night-night gun!" Fitz says enthusiastically.
"It's designed to deliver rounds of dendrotoxin," Jemma tells him. "Which is a paralyzing agent. So you can knock people out without causing them harm."
Grant doesn't honestly have much of a problem causing people harm, but saying that…probably wouldn't go over too well with Jemma. "Could come in handy," he says instead.
".45 caliber cartridges, semi-automatic, and each mag," Fitz says, putting the projection back together, "Will contain eight therapeutic rounds of dendrotoxin."
"In case you miss," Jemma interjects playfully. He raises an eyebrow at her, and she rolls her eyes. "Or…have multiple assailants."
She feels comfortable teasing him. That's definitely major progress for a single day. In order to keep himself from doing something stupid, like kissing her, Grant looks back at the projection. "So why haven't you built it yet?"
"We're still perfecting it," Jemma says.
"But we'll have the new night-night pistol working in no time," Fitz finishes.
"Great," Grant says. "One thing. We're not calling it that."
Jemma makes a smug little sound. "Told you," she mutters to Fitz.
"Yes, we are," Fitz mutters back. Grant chooses to ignore it. There is absolutely no way he'll be using a weapon called a 'night-night' gun, no matter how useful it may be.
So instead of continuing the argument, he turns to Jemma.
"I did promise you another talk, didn't I?" she asks.
"You did."
"Well, I wouldn't want you to think I'm in the habit of breaking my promises," she says. "And in any case, there's not much more I can do with the dendrotoxin rounds. The rest of this is all Fitz. Shall we go up to the lounge?"
"Lead the way," he says, and follows her out of the lab and up the stairs.
In the lounge, Grant takes a seat on the couch and Jemma, after an almost imperceptible moment of hesitation, sits down next to him instead of in one of the chairs. Trying to hold back a smile at this development, he repositions himself so he can comfortably face her without actually moving away.
"So," he says. "Where were we last night? You were telling me something about a class you had to take in…bioinformation?"
"Bioinformatics," she corrects. "But I think I've talked quite enough about myself. I'd like to hear about you now."
"Fair enough," he nods. He wants to keep things light, though. Sooner or later he'll probably have to tell her about his childhood—enough to explain why he has no intention of ever introducing her to his parents, at the very least—but for all that they've spent literally hours talking, they've still only known each other for a day.
So he tells her some (declassified) stories about his career—the most ridiculous aliases, times assignments have gone hilariously wrong (not often, they usually go lethally wrong), that sort of thing. He makes her laugh with stories of Marco the surfer, Ethan the hippie, and that time in Vienna when he and Trip had to do some emergency restrategizing when they realized the 'strip club' they'd followed their target to was actually a ballet studio.
And it's nice. Aside from a brief trip to the kitchen for lunch, they spend nearly six hours sitting on the couch, just talking. At one point he puts his hand on her thigh for emphasis and then leaves it there, and she just smiles.
Of course, he doesn't spend the whole time talking. He doesn't have that many declassified missions, and while he's more comfortable with Jemma than he ever has been with anyone else, there's a reason that Maria Hill was reduced to crude drawings in evaluation of his people skills. So after lunch he steers the conversation back in Jemma's direction, getting her talking about her research.
It goes way over his head, of course, but he enjoys listening to her enthusiastic explanation anyway. She just enjoys it all so much, and it's completely baffling to him, if endearing. He hasn't spent much time with SHIELD scientists, but the ones he has only ever showed incredible fascination with their discoveries. They never approached it with the sheer glee that Jemma does.
She's amazing. Grant's never been so grateful for his ability to keep a blank face, because otherwise he's sure he would be wearing a ridiculously, pathetically sappy expression.
Jemma's just finished explaining the premise of her second doctoral thesis (of which he understood maybe seven words) when she catches sight of the time on his watch.
"Oh," she says. "We're nearly there, aren't we?"
"Yeah," he replies after checking it himself. "It'll be another hour, maybe."
"Then I really should go get my equipment gathered," she says, looking gratifyingly disappointed. "I'm sure Fitz has already started."
"That's fine," Grant says. "I should probably talk to Coulson about the plan anyway."
"I'll see you later, then," she says, standing. "When we leave. To go into the field."
He manages to hold back his wince at the reminder, if only because she looks so excited about it.
"Later," he agrees.
Jemma takes about two steps away from the couch, pauses, and spins back around to face him.
"Thank you for the conversation, by the way. I had a lovely time." She leans down over the arm rest and kisses his cheek, then is gone before he can react. Not that that's saying much—he sits there, frozen, for at least thirty seconds. When he unfreezes, he definitely does not bring his hand up to touch his cheek where she kissed him. Definitely not.
x
An hour later, when they're pulling up to the site, Grant's grateful for that hour by himself. He needed the time to collect himself, to put some distance between his quickly growing feelings for Jemma and his need to do his job. If they had come to this site directly after their conversation, there's no way he would have been able to pull himself away from her side long enough to do anything that he needs to. As things stand, it's still going to be a serious effort.
He's never in his life been a religious man, but he's sincerely praying that this 0-8-4 is a false alarm and they can leave right away.
"Tire tracks forty meters back," he says to May. "I'll check 'em against the site's trucks, make sure we're alone."
"Too much exposure here," she replies as he circles around to the back of the SUV. "I'm gonna find a place to park."
He finds Jemma and Fitz pulling their cases from the trunk and barely resists the urge to drag her along with him. He limits himself to resting his hand on her shoulder for a moment, then walks away without saying anything.
"What was that about?" he hears Fitz ask as he heads for the nearest truck.
"I don't think he's very happy about me being in the field," Jemma replies.
He's relieved to find that the tire tracks he spotted are a match to the professor's truck, and heads back to the temple feeling, if not more optimistic, a little less uneasy. At least there aren't any rebels lying in wait to kill Jemma as soon as his back is turned. Or, if there are, they're on foot, which will make it much easier to get away from them.
Grant's not in the habit of running away, but he's not about to risk Jemma's life over something as pointless as pride. Also, he really would like to avoid letting her see him kill someone for as long as possible.
When he reaches the temple, he finds May standing right outside it and the professor just leaving.
"Tires match the prof's truck," he tells her. As she walks down the steps toward him, he's surprised to realize she's unarmed. "Where's your sidearm?"
"If I need a gun, I'll take one," she says. Grant's not entirely sure how he feels about that, considering the fact that he's counting on her to help him protect Jemma (and the others, he supposes), but, well. She is the Cavalry.
"Right. Forgot I was working with the Cavalry."
She gives him a sharp look. "Don't ever call me that."
"Apologies," he says, raising his hands slightly. May is the last person he wants to offend, so he's about to drop the subject when he spots movement in the nearby bushes. He keeps talking while he moves, trying to appear casual. "I've heard the stories. What went down in Bahrain. About you in action."
He can see that May's getting annoyed, but there's definitely someone in the bushes. He keeps himself from tensing up by sheer force of will. "You know, it was smart of Coulson to pull you out of retirement. It's nice to have a…trusted friend who has your back."
Before he even finishes speaking, he reaches into the bush and pulls out the man who was hiding inside, flipping him to the ground. He keeps his gun trained on him as May knocks out another two, but then two vehicles pull up, blocking both of the roads and expelling more men. Grant hauls up the one from the bush and uses him as a shield as he aims his gun at approximately five men.
They're far outnumbered, and Jemma is just inside the temple, without even a door to hide behind.
"Shoulda taken more guns," he says to May, trying to distract himself from that thought.
A woman comes out of one of the trucks, and he's surprised to notice that she's wearing a patch of the national police. A quick look around proves that all of the men are dressed the same way. It's possible that this is all just a misunderstanding, in which case Coulson and his diplomacy skills are needed. Even if it's not, Coulson should be informed so that he can protect Jemma. And Fitz and Skye, of course.
He activates his radio. "Sir?"
"Go."
"We have a situation," he says, still keeping a wary eye on the men surrounding them.
"I'm on my way."
Coulson comes out of the temple and introduces himself in Spanish, telling the surrounding troops that he's from an international security agency. Before he can get any further, however, the woman steps forward and says, "Phillip?"
Grant exchanges a glance with May.
"Camilla?" Coulson asks, sounding just as surprised. "Do you mind?"
"After you," the woman says, and Coulson gives Grant a nod.
He reluctantly releases the man he's been using as a shield and lowers his gun. May follows suit, and the woman tells her men to lower their weapons. Once they comply, the woman goes up the steps to kiss Coulson on each cheek.
"Commandante," Coulson says. "A promotion, congratulations."
"Three years ago, but thank you."
"Agent Melinda May, Agent Grant Ward, this is Commandante Camilla Reyes. She's with the Policia Militar de Perú," Coulson says. "We used to work together back in the day."
As happy as Grant is that he doesn't have to fight his way past twenty armed men while his soulmate is defenseless, this is a bit too much of a coincidence for his taste. He resolves to keep an eye on Reyes. He can tell May is thinking the same thing, and they exchange a look.
"Let the team know everything's okay," Coulson orders, and Grant nods and heads into the temple.
Jemma and Fitz are kneeling on the ground, looking over tablets while some of their flying robots (what did Jemma call them? Dwarves?) hover over what Grant presumes is the 0-8-4, which Skye is standing worryingly close to.
"We've got company," he tells them, flicking his eyes over Jemma to make sure she's still unharmed. Not that there's any reason for her to be harmed, since she's been in the temple this whole time, but still. He thinks he should be commended for restricting himself to a quick visual examination instead of bodily dragging her back to the Bus. "National police."
"What?" Jemma asks.
"Why are they here?" Fitz continues, twisting around to look at the door.
"They heard about this object, they're probably here to protect it," Grant tells them, approaching the 0-8-4. It's firmly lodged in the wall and glowing a slightly disquieting blue. "This area has lots of rebel uprisings."
"Yeah," Skye says, giving him a dirty look like he's personally responsible for the political situation in Peru. "People are fighting back against the government's mining policies. It's pretty kickass."
Grant turns to look at her. "Yeah," he agrees. "It's kickass, all the violence."
"That's not what I'm saying," Skye says quietly.
"No, it's what you're typing. Alone, in your van, where it's safe." Dismissing her, he turns to look at Jemma and Fitz. "How much longer?"
"What's the hurry?" Jemma asks, looking up from her tablet.
"Are we in danger?" Fitz demands at the same time.
"Not if everyone does their job," he replies, then looks at Skye. "What is yours, exactly?"
She looks uncomfortable, which Grant can't help but enjoy. Hearing her call the violence 'kickass' when he's worrying so much about Jemma's safety really rubs him the wrong way. And honestly, even if Jemma were safely back on the Bus, it would still be a tacky thing to say. He's spent a lot of time in unstable regions. There's nothing kickass about it.
He turns away from Skye and moves closer to Jemma. She looks away from her tablet to give him a slightly worried smile.
"We heard the shouting," she says quietly. "Did you have to fight someone? Have you injured your back further?"
He has to admit he's pleased that she remembers he was sore this morning, especially since it was only a brief exchange and they spent most of the day talking.
"I'm fine," he tells her. "And the shouting was just a misunderstanding."
She looks unconvinced, so he gives her a smile. "Really," he promises. "It's nothing to worry about."
After a moment, she looks back down at her tablet. Fitz asks her a question, of which Grant only understands the articles, and she's quickly distracted, showing him something on her tablet.
Their incomprehensible conversation is interrupted by the sound of a distant explosion, followed quickly by gunfire and another explosion. The temple shakes slightly and dust falls from the ceiling. Grant barely manages to check his instinctive move to cover Jemma.
"Sounds like they're engaging with rebels," he says, turning to the door. "Let's go!"
He pulls out his gun and, when the others fail to react quickly, prompts them again. Fitz and Jemma fuss with the robots, shooing Skye away when she tries to help, and he ignores them until Jemma says, "We need a containment case for the 0-8-4!"
"No time," he tells her.
Fitz says something about a power core, but Grant's distracted by another explosion that shakes the temple.
"Sorry," he says, holstering his gun as he crosses the room and reaches for the 0-8-4. "Science class is over."
"Whoa!" Fitz yells as Grant pulls the 0-8-4 out of the wall. "You did not just pull that out of the wall, what is the matter with you?"
Grant shoves the 0-8-4 into a duffle bag and puts it on Fitz's back as the other man continues to babble. Grant ignores the constant stream of chatter as he pulls his gun out and heads for the door.
"Stay close," he says to Jemma. Then he leads the way out of the temple. After a quick check that there are no friendlies in the line of fire, he begins shooting. The rebels have machine guns, so he orders Jemma and the others back as he pulls out a sonic staff. Not exactly standard issue for field work, but he'd thought it might come in handy, considering the 'field' is an active war zone today. He's not glad to be proven right, but he is glad he's got it.
He hears Reyes shout for her men to get down and rolls down the stairs, stabbing the sonic staff into the ground. Once he's sure it's activated, he ducks to avoid the sonic blast. It's highly effective, and he can hear the rebels shouting as they're knocked down. He pulls the staff out of the ground as he stands up, then motions Jemma and the others away from the temple.
May pulls up in the SUV just as one of the rebels manages to get a few shots off, and Grant yells at the others to get in even as May opens the passenger side door for him. He hears them scramble into the back seat as he closes his door, and risks a glance over his shoulder to make sure Jemma's okay. Then he turns back to May as she floors it.
"Coulson's secure in PMP's truck," he tells her as they set off, followed quickly by a jeep full of rebels. He's grateful that he spent those hours memorizing maps of the area, as it's hard to read the GPS when they're driving so quickly over uneven ground. "Take the south right to the airfield."
"Gotcha," May says.
There's some discussion in the backseat about overheating and the need for slowing down (Fitz is joking, right?) before Jemma rolls down her window slightly. There's the sound of more gunshots, and the three in the backseat shriek.
"Do not roll down your window!" Skye says.
"Stay quiet and keep your heads down," Grant snaps at all three of them. Then he turns back to May. "Head left, the ravine empties."
He's grateful for the adrenaline flooding his system. All of his fear, all of his worry over Jemma, is so much easier to push to the back burner when he's focused on making sure they get to the Bus as soon as possible.
"But Ward—" Fitz tries to protest.
"Quiet!" he and May snap in unison. She reaches out and hits the nav screen, lowering the Bus' cargo ramp in anticipation of their quick entrance.
"How fast can you have the wheels up?" he asks her.
"Fast."
Finally, they reach the Bus, and May drives directly up the ramp, coming to a screeching halt as the PMP truck peels off. Coulson must have told them there's no room for another vehicle in the cargo bay.
"Ramp!" May shouts as they exit the SUV.
"On it," he says, running to the control panel.
"What are you doing?" Skye asks him. "Coulson's still out there!"
Frankly, Coulson and his resurrected ass can stay out there, as far as he's concerned. What the hell was the man thinking, letting Jemma and Fitz onto a field team? Only his long years of practice at holding his tongue keeps him from voicing that thought as he pulls Skye away.
"Get off the ramp," he tells her. "You're in the line of fire!"
He heads down the ramp and provides cover fire as Coulson and the PMP men get out of their truck and head for the Bus. The ramp starts to rise before the last man even makes it fully on board, and the plane starts to rise at the same time.
"Cut it pretty close, sir," Grant says to Coulson as he holsters his gun. He's proud of himself for keeping his tone respectful.
"Didn't wanna leave anyone behind," Coulson replies, holstering his own weapon.
"I gotta say it," Skye mutters. "I miss my van."
"Now," Grant says, looking Jemma over. She looks slightly pale, but otherwise fine. "What was the problem?"
"As I said before," Fitz says breathlessly. "This device has a high-frequency fluctuating…"
Grant automatically tunes him out, which is unhelpful in the extreme.
"Fitz," he interrupts. "In English."
"The 0-8-4," Fitz starts again, sounding exasperated. "Is fueled by tesseract technology. HYDRA, World War II, Captain America. It's full of lethal amounts of gamma radiation."
Grant has to call on his training to keep from flinching at the mention of HYDRA, but there are more important things to think about at the moment.
"Gamma," he echoes. "You're saying it's nuclear."
There's a nuclear device on board, and they're in flight. Fucking perfect.
"No," Coulson says. "He's saying it's much, much worse."
As one, they all move back from the bag containing the 0-8-4—even Fitz and Jemma, who already knew about the danger the device posed.
Coulson heads to the cockpit to report in to HQ while Jemma gently picks up the 0-8-4.
"Let's get this out of the cargo bay, shall we?" she asks shakily. She goes into the lab before he can respond, and Skye follows her. As much as he hates to leave Jemma alone with a device which has just been described as being worse than nuclear, Grant decides that he needs a moment before he joins her. The adrenaline's beginning to wear off, and he needs to regain his calm before he does something stupid like order her to resign from the team and go back to a lab post.
She won't listen, he reminds himself as he heads further back into the cargo area. Ordering her around will only make her angry at him, and even if she does leave the team, she'll only transfer to another. At least if she's on this team, he can keep an eye on her. There's no one else he'd trust her safety to, not even Garrett.
Of course, there's always the chance that the experience today will be enough to change her mind about wanting to do field work, but his luck's not usually that good.
He detours into one of the storage closets and pulls some gauze and antiseptic wipes out of a drawer. There's a burning in his side where he's pretty sure a bullet grazed him, and he wants to check how bad it is before he decides whether or not to bother Jemma with it. If it doesn't need stitches, he can handle it himself, and there's no need to worry Jemma. He's just lifted his shirt to take a look at the wound when he hears footsteps in the hall. He slides the first aid supplies into his pocket and exits the closet to see Fitz approaching.
"I need—" Fitz says, indicating the closet.
"Go ahead," Grant says, moving aside.
Fitz goes into the closet and comes out a moment later holding a small black case.
"Need to run scans on the 0-8-4," he mutters, lifting the case slightly in explanation.
"Yeah," Grant says, his anger suddenly rushing back. "Why exactly didn't you say anything about the 0-8-4 being worse than nuclear?"
He knows he's being unreasonable. Even if he had known how dangerous the 0-8-4 was, there really was no other option but to bring it on board. It's not like they could have just left it for the rebels. But he can't stop thinking about all the things that could have gone wrong today, all the times Jemma could have been hurt. He can't yell at Coulson, not if he wants to keep his position on this team, but Fitz is fair game.
"Are you mental?" Fitz demands as they enter the lab. "I did explain in great detail exactly what I meant, using the Queen's bloody English!"
"I use normal English," Grant replies. "Words like duck, and run, and might blow us to pieces."
"Oh, wow! Wow, congratulations, Agent Ward," Fitz says, pulling a remarkably gun-shaped instrument from the case. "You managed to string three words together in a sentence."
Grant refrains from pointing out that that was significantly more than three words, and instead takes a deep breath. This is Jemma's best friend. She said, yesterday, that they're like siblings. She won't take it well if Grant hauls off and hits him.
Instead, Grant steers the conversation back around to the fact that Fitz needs to learn to speak simply when they're in peril. Grant can't protect anyone from danger if he's going to need a science-to-English dictionary just to know that the danger exists.
Naturally, however, Fitz takes this as an opportunity to continue insulting Grant's intelligence, and Grant is getting very close to punching the annoying engineer, regardless of what Jemma might think, when Coulson enters.
"Do we have a problem in here?" Coulson asks.
"No, sir. Just working on our communication," Grant replies. "Not everyone was prepared for a firefight."
He can't help looking at Jemma when he says it, and she rolls her eyes. He can tell he's upset her with his treatment of Fitz, but he's in no mood to placate her. To be honest, he's just as likely to yell at her as anyone else at the moment.
"We got out, didn't lose anyone, saved a few of theirs. I'd say we did all right. Anything else?"
Catching movement in his peripheral vision, Grant turns to see Skye raising her hand.
"Uh, yeah," she says. "I have a small question. Because I've been feeling like the tagalong hayseed rookie, but now I get the sense that Ward doesn't know which one's Simmons and which one's Fitz, and they've seen even less gunfire than me, and I'm no rocket scientist, but…is this your first mission together?"
Grant's slightly insulted that Skye thinks he can't tell his soulmate from her significantly more annoying partner, but he's also amused to note that Skye motions to Fitz when she says Simmons, and vice versa. Maybe she's projecting.
"No," Jemma says at once, and Grant turns to look at her. "Of course not! It's our second."
And that, despite his bad mood, is just adorable. His anger decreases, just a little.
Of course, Skye brings it all right back. "I was your first? That's sweet."
"You're amused?" he asks her, disbelieving.
"I'm terrified!" she corrects him. "I am in way over my head, but I have been on this team just as long as any of you. I might as well be team captain."
Jemma scoffs and turns away, while Coulson just stares at Skye, blank faced.
"Joking," Skye mutters. "But, maybe that's not a bad idea, because these guys do not like each other much."
Grant rolls his eyes at that and turns back to Coulson.
"This isn't about that," he says. "I'm a specialist. Today, I could have eliminated the enemy threat myself if I was working alone, but I had non-combat-ready agents..."
"Whoa, whoa. Wait. You work alone?" Fitz interrupts as Jemma passes Grant to stand next to him. He tries not to take it personally and fails.
"So typical," Jemma says angrily. Maybe he was meant to take it personally. "Who do you think designs your equipment?"
"Or the polymers for your weaponry?" Fitz asks.
"Yeah," Jemma agrees. "Trying going into the field with just your bare bum!"
"People like us do it," Fitz says over her, motioning between the two of them.
Skye, meanwhile, has walked around the table to stand with Coulson. "See them proving the point I just made?"
"You're not wrong," Coulson says loudly. "We still need to iron out the kinks. But Ward, you can speak six languages. Simmons, you have two PhDs in fields I can't pronounce, and Fitz, you are a rocket scientist. So work it out."
As he turns and walks away, Skye calls after him, "I'm—I'm good at stuff, too!"
Grant can't even be amused at her continued discomfort. He sighs and turns back to face Fitz. He knows he's going to have to apologize if he wants to stay in Jemma's good graces, so he will. Even if he is still completely irritated at Fitz's tendency to pull out his six-syllable words when simple words like 'explosive' would work better.
"Fitz," he says to get his attention, since the engineer has turned away. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. It's not your fault the 0-8-4 is so dangerous."
"Oh," Fitz says weakly, sounding completely stunned. "Well. That's. You're—you're forgiven, I suppose."
Grant turns slightly to include Jemma in the conversation. "And I'm sorry if I made it sound like I don't value the work you two do. I know how much SHIELD scientists contribute to field work. I'm just not used to needing to watch anyone's back but my own."
"Apology accepted," Jemma says after exchanging a look with Fitz. "And Fitz is very sorry for insulting your intelligence, aren't you Fitz?"
"Yes, well," Fitz grumbles. "I may have been a bit harsh."
"Apology accepted," Grant says, despite knowing that Fitz isn't even a little bit sorry. It's fair enough—Grant's not actually all that sorry, either. At least not for arguing with Fitz. He does regret upsetting Jemma, though. Speaking of whom, she still looks like she might faint. Or cry. It could just be the adrenaline wearing off. In fact, it probably is. But it couldn't hurt to make sure.
He takes a few steps closer to her, hoping to block Fitz and Skye out of the conversation.
"Are you okay, Jemma?" he asks, putting his hands on her shoulders. "You look a little pale."
"Oh, I'm fine," she says, in what is probably supposed to be a nonchalant tone. Mostly she sounds like she's about to be sick. "I'm just—I'm not accustomed to being shot at, as you know. It was…rather more exciting than I was expecting."
"But you're not hurt?" he checks.
"I'm not hurt, Grant," she promises, giving him a small smile. "Are you? I saw your leap down the stairs, you know. It was very impressive, but it couldn't have been good for your back when you're already injured."
"I'm fine," he tells her, squeezing her shoulders a little. He can't help it. It's not like he hasn't spent every moment of the last thirty-eight hours wanting to kiss her, and her clear concern over his well-being is just increasing the urge.
(And he is absolutely not getting a rush from touching her shoulders. They're just shoulders, for God's sake, there's nothing sexy about it. He's definitely not remembering the way the tank top she was wearing this morning showed off her collarbones and how weirdly appealing that was. Definitely not.)
"Well, good," she says. She gives a little nod and then raises her hands to wrap them around his and pull them off her shoulders. Once she does, though, she doesn't let go, and stands there holding his hands as she looks up at him. "Fitz and I need to run more tests on the 0-8-4."
"Right," he says. He glances down at his watch. "Almost dinner time. You want me to bring you some food down later?"
"No, thank you," Jemma says. "No food in the lab. But…if you could please come down and remind us to go up and get some? Fitz and I do tend to get a bit absorbed in our work."
"I can do that," he says. He squeezes her hands once and then lets go. "I'll come get you in about two hours."
"Thank you," she says, giving him a bright smile. She still looks a little pale, but no longer like she's on the verge of collapse, so he steps back and, after a brief nod at Fitz and Skye, leaves the lab.
Of course, he goes through the door that leads back to the storage area, rather than the cargo bay. He saw the look on Skye's face just now, and he has a feeling he's going to want to hear the conversation that follows. It's much easier to eavesdrop without getting caught when you're not standing beside a glass wall.
"What was that?" Skye demands, sounding entertainingly freaked.
"What was what?" Jemma asks distractedly.
"Ward. Calling you Jemma and touching you and smiling at you. It's like he was suddenly replaced with a real human being!"
"Oh, that," Jemma says. "No one told you?"
"Told me what?"
"Grant and I are soulmates."
There's a long moment of silence, and Grant takes the opportunity to check on his side. He pulls the antiseptic wipe out of its package and quickly cleans up the blood around the wound. It's just a graze, as he thought, and he can definitely take care of it himself. He's just lucky his jacket covers the growing bloodstain on his shirt. He's going to have to get rid of this one.
"You're what?" Skye finally chokes out. It's almost funny, how stunned she sounds. He knows she has some very strong ideas of who he is (as evidenced by the crack she just made about him not being human), and a soulmate as sweet and kind as Jemma probably doesn't fit into those ideas very well.
"Soulmates," Jemma repeats patiently.
"Wow. I did not see that coming."
"Yes, that does seem to be the general reaction," Jemma muses.
"When did you meet?" Skye asks. "Because until that weird scene, I never would have guessed."
"Yesterday," Jemma replies. He hears movement, and Fitz hisses a sharp, "Careful!"
"Yesterday? Seriously?" Skye asks incredulously. "It only took Ward one day to unbend enough to show you human emotion?"
"They've been very cozy," Fitz grouses. "I'm surprised you didn't see them this afternoon, hanging all over each other in the lounge."
"We were not," Jemma sighs. "We were sitting next to each other, that's all. We were talking! I'm allowed to speak to my soulmate, Fitz."
"You were not just talking," Fitz argues. "He had his hand on your thigh!"
"Oh, well if he had his hand on my thigh!" Jemma exclaims. "You might as well turn him in to HQ for the high crime of touching his soulmate, then!"
Grant can't quite make out what Fitz mutters in response, but it seems to placate Jemma, at least a little.
"Fitz," she says in a much gentler tone. "You are my best friend, practically my brother, even, and Grant is my soulmate. It would mean a lot to me if you would learn to get along with him."
"I can't promise that," Fitz replies a little sulkily.
"Can you promise to try?" Jemma wheedles.
"Oh, fine," Fitz says. "I'll try."
"Thank you," Jemma says. "And Skye, I know Grant's been a little…abrasive, but to be fair you did hack our organization just yesterday. Give him a chance, please."
Skye sighs. "Yeah, okay."
"I really think you two will get along very well, if you allow yourselves," Jemma continues thoughtfully. "Your sense of humor compliments his quite nicely."
"Ward? Sense of humor?" Skye echoes. "Are we sure we're talking about the same person?"
"Yes," Jemma says. "I'm sure. Now, I don't mean to be rude, but we really do need to run these tests."
"Oh, right," Skye says sheepishly. "Sorry."
Grant turns and heads down the hallway, not wanting to get caught eavesdropping. He needs to take care of this graze anyway.
x
Two hours later, after treating his graze, changing his shirt, and a quick meal of his own, Grant goes back to the lab and ushers Jemma and Fitz upstairs for dinner. It takes four tries, and Grant would be annoyed if it weren't so funny, the way they keep saying 'five more minutes' like children who don't want to get out of bed. Eventually he gets them upstairs, and is treated to the FitzSimmons show as they spend the whole time theorizing over the possible origins of the 0-8-4.
They mostly ignore him the whole time, but he finds he doesn't mind it. Perversely enough, Fitz's persistent dislike of him actually makes him like the engineer more. He likes that Jemma has someone in her life who's so protective of her, who cares about her so much.
He remembers being seventeen, alone in those woods with Buddy and hoping that his soulmate had a loving, supportive family. It's becoming increasingly obvious that whatever her relationship might be with her parents, she's found a brother who loves her dearly in Fitz. He can only be grateful for that, and it makes him more inclined to forgive Fitz's annoying quirks.
Ten minutes into their meal, Jemma suddenly gets hit with an epiphany that Fitz immediately picks up on, and they rush back to the lab, leaving their dinners half eaten. Grant rolls his eyes and gives it up as a bad job. At least they've eaten something, and it's not like the kitchen closes. They can always come get more food when they're done in the lab.
Grant cleans up after them, his training not allowing him to leave a mess alone when he sees it, and then detours to his bunk to pick up Matterhorn before making himself comfortable on the lounge couch. He could read in his bunk, of course, but he'd like to keep an eye on the PMP soldiers. He knows there was no other choice, but he's really not happy about having highly trained men he doesn't know on the Bus.
He's been reading for less than an hour when Skye walks up.
"Hunger Games?" she asks.
"Matterhorn," he tells her. "One of a hundred books my SO gave me that I'm…just getting around to." Seeing her blank look, he continues, "SO? Supervising officer?"
"Got it. Hackers have lingo, too, but I'll pick yours up," she says, then takes a deep breath. "I feel like you and me? Wrong foot. Can I…buy you a drink?"
He's amused that she's already complying with Jemma's request to give him a chance, and even more amused that she apparently thinks the best way to do so is with alcohol. However, he has a feeling that as soon as she has him alone, Jemma's going to ask him to give Fitz and Skye a chance, so he waves her at a chair.
"What I said before," she says, choosing to sit on the table instead. "When I said the uprising was…whatever I said. A good thing? I don't want you to think I'm oblivious. What I was talking about was…the tweets."
Grant has no idea how she thinks that's going to improve his opinion of her. The tweets? Seriously?
"Tweets," he echoes. "You trying to make things better or worse?"
"Peruvians have organized for the first time in decades," Skye tells him as she opens the bottle. "Thousands of suffering people who've never met, uniting over a common idea? It's…mind blowing. And, I don't wanna bring it up, because I don't wanna see your hate face, but…that's what the Rising Tide is all about."
"Okay," Grant says slowly.
"Usually, one person doesn't have the solution. But, a hundred people, with one percent of the solution? That'll get it done. I think…that's beautiful. Pieces solving a puzzle."
She breaks off and takes a deep breath.
Grant's getting the sinking feeling that Jemma and Skye are going to get along really well, which means he's going to have to get along with Skye, in order to keep things pleasant. Certainly, that little speech would definitely resonate with Jemma.
And he has to admit it sounds nice. It's a complete pipedream, of course. You can't trust people like that. You can't depend on other people to want the same thing you want. If you have one hundred people with one percent of the solution, the whole thing will come crashing down, because they'll all be working for their own ends.
But it's a nice fantasy, and he can see where Skye's coming from.
"You and I see the world differently, is all," he says, sitting up and taking the drink she'd poured while she was talking.
"I've never been in a warzone…during a war," she tells him. "'Til today. It was…crazy. Take it you've seen that a lot?"
He's not about to answer that question, so he takes a sip of his drink and then leans forward to put it down. This is apparently a mistake, as Skye lets out a little gasp.
"Wh-did you get shot?" she demands. "You told Simmons you were fine!"
"Skin deep," he tells her, glancing down at his side. He resists the urge to swear when he sees the blood near the hem. He must've bled through the bandage. That's two shirts ruined in one day. "Nothing to worry Jemma over."
"You got shot," Skye says. "Did that happen protecting us?"
"Don't worry about it."
"Well, no wonder you were so pissed."
"I wasn't pissed," he corrects her. Well, he was, a little, but that was everything to do with Jemma being in the line of fire and nothing to do with being hurt himself. Still, he's not about to admit that to Skye. He goes with a truth that's a little less emotional. "I was trained to be the whole solution, to eliminate variables. And today, they keep adding up."
Skye looks down and sighs a little, then suddenly straightens.
"You don't have a timer," she says.
"What?" Grant asks. He's distracted, looking over at the men playing cards by the window. Something about the scene just isn't right, but he can't quite place it.
"Simmons said you're her soulmate," Skye expands. "But you don't have a timer. Why not?"
"SOP—standard operating procedure," he explains, looking back at her. "All specialists have our timers removed as soon as we graduate from the Academy. Can't go undercover as a married man if you've still got a timer counting down in plain sight."
"Oh."
"Why don't you?" he asks, genuinely curious. That pieces of a puzzle speech didn't sound like the kind of thing someone who was against the idea of soulmates would say.
"Didn't take," she says uncomfortably. "Went to get a timer when I was ten and they couldn't make it stick."
Grant winces. He can't help it. Less than one percent of the population are incompatible with timers, but it was still a constant fear of his right up to the moment he woke up after his installation. It's always seemed, to him, like a particularly cruel quirk of genetics, to deny some people the chance to count down to that meeting.
He's saved from having to find a response to the revelation when the plane suddenly starts to turn, distracting Skye.
"We're turning," she says, looking up.
"We've entered restricted airspace," he tells her, "so we have to follow certain flight paths. It's regulation. This plane is capable of fully automated flight, but May has to be on the stick herself tonight."
Skye huffs out a little laugh. "You've got an SO. May's got to be on the stick. Lots of good lingo on this plane."
"Yeah," he agrees. "We just can't seem to understand each other."
He looks back at the men by the window and suddenly realizes what's wrong with the picture. They've been over there since before he sat down, and both still have full drinks. He takes a casual look around the lounge and only keeps himself from tensing up by sheer force of will. One of the men is missing.
Suddenly everything clicks into place. The 'coincidence' of the PMP sending out a woman that Coulson used to work with. The rebels appearing so quickly—probably tipped off, meant to cause a distraction, and when that didn't work, it gave Reyes and her men an excuse to board the Bus with them.
It's tempting to run straight down to the lab, make sure that Jemma's not in danger. But it would be stupid. If he were going to take over this plane, take down this team, he'd start with May. They need to take her out before she realizes what's happening, or they'll never have a chance. More than that, if they take out May, they'll be the ones flying the Bus.
He needs to get to May before anyone else does. If they're the ones flying the Bus, it won't matter if he's standing right in front of Jemma with a machine gun, she'll still be in danger. He needs to get to May first, or at least get close enough to tip her off that something's going down.
Cursing himself for leaving his weapons in his bunk, he turns to Skye. "Skye, hand me the bottle."
"Okay, turbo," she says with a little smirk. "But you're still…nursing the one you got."
He takes the bottle from her. "I'm not the only one."
She darts a glance towards the men, apparently picking up on his meaning. He'll admit to being slightly impressed by that.
He sees movement, one of the men by the window—the one with the cap—about to stand, and he's up and off the couch in a moment. He shoves Skye out of the way and uses the momentum from that to shove the man's arm to the table and then smash the bottle on his hand. Grant punches the guy over the back of the couch, then makes a move for the cockpit.
He's delayed by another one of Reyes' men, who blocks him and then grabs him. Grant shoves the guy against a column, manages to hit him and knock him out, but it's too much of a delay, he's too slow—
He looks up to see Coulson run down the stairs and his gaze catches on the monitor showing the feed from the lab. One of Reyes' men is in there, holding a scalpel to Fitz's neck. Jemma's there, too, but she's standing back, obviously not willing to do anything that might cause Reyes' man to hurt Fitz.
He hears one of the remaining men grab Skye, but he can't pull his eyes away from the terrified look on Jemma's face. As Coulson moves to confront Reyes, Grant promises himself he's going to kill Reyes and every single one of her men for putting that look on his soulmate's face. He's going to do it quickly, with extreme prejudice, and he's not going to face even a halfhearted reprimand for it, not after this.
x
Reyes needs Coulson to confirm the change of course with SHIELD HQ, but the rest of them get tied up in the cargo bay, including an unconscious May. They're left with only one guard, which is a little insulting, but Grant plans to take full advantage of it. Just as soon as he figures out a plan.
"Are you okay?" he asks Jemma.
"Yes, fine," she says. "Fitz is the one who got held at scalpel point." She sounds indignant, like she can't believe anyone would have the nerve to threaten Fitz, and it almost makes him smile.
"This is my fault," Fitz says gloomily. "Should've learnt kung-fu."
"Uh, yeah, but I shouldn't have pushed you into the field in the first place," Jemma says. "You weren't ready."
Despite the situation, he's a little amused by their attitudes towards this. Especially the way Jemma sounds like she thinks Fitz learning kung-fu is something she should have waited for. But he can't let them continue to think that this is their fault, because that's just ridiculous.
"It was my job to make a proper threat assessment—" he starts to say, but he's interrupted by Skye.
"This couldn't have happened if Agent May wasn't on the stick. She would have…busted out some of her ninja know-how."
Fitz and Jemma turn to look at her, incredulous. Apparently they missed the Cavalry memo.
"Agent May? No. No, no," Fitz says. "She transferred from administration."
Jemma nods in agreement.
"Well, I've seen her destroy a guy, so…" Skye trails off, and Jemma and Fitz turn to look at Grant.
(This is absolutely not the time to be noticing how adorable Jemma looks when she's confused. Get with the damn program, Ward.)
"You've heard of the Cavalry?" he prompts.
"Yeeeah," Fitz and Jemma say at the same time.
"Everyone at the Academy talks about sto—" Fitz suddenly stops. He and Jemma seem to realize it simultaneously.
"She's the Cavalry?" they ask.
"I told you never to call me that," May says. She sounds distinctly unamused.
"Oh, I can't believe it," Jemma says, obviously relieved. "Oh, we're sure to get out of here now." She leans forward to look at May. "Um, how do we get out of here?"
May sits up. "Can't go through the doors, they're bolted—tied to the pressurization lines. You two geniuses have nothing?"
"Yeah, well, it's hard to concentrate in these intense situations," Fitz says. He's obviously on the verge of panic, and Jemma doesn't look much better. He needs to keep them calm. And, looking past them at Skye, it suddenly occurs to him how.
"Hey," Grant says softly. "Don't freeze up. Take a breath. You don't need to come up with the whole solution. Just…part of it. Right?"
"Yeah," Skye agrees. "Pieces, solving a puzzle." She pauses, then says, "Wait. Pressurization."
"What?" he asks.
"The doors are tied to the pressurization lines. So if the plane is depressurized, the doors will open. Right?"
"Okay, but the only way to depres—" Fitz breaks off. "You want to blow a hole in the bloody plane? No!"
"Do you have a better idea?" Skye demands. "They've got Coulson, and they're flying the plane. We don't have much leverage here."
Fitz starts to argue, but Grant interrupts.
"Even if it is our best play, there's no way to depressurize the main cabin from down here. If we blow a hole in the cargo bay, all we'll do is end up getting sucked out of it ourselves."
"Oh," Skye deflates. "Good point."
Jemma makes a little noise, staring at the lab. She's obviously thought of something, and as Grant watches she turns to Fitz and says, "We were lucky."
"What?" Fitz asks.
"We were lucky," Jemma repeats, like that means something. It obviously does to Fitz, because his eyes widen.
"No, no, no," he says. "No. You have got to be bloody joking."
"Well I'm open to other ideas if you've got them, Fitz!"
Fitz starts to argue, so Grant interrupts, "Guys! What are we talking about here?"
"The 0-8-4," Jemma tells him. "We've discovered that it has an amplifier, which is highly—" Fitz nudges her, and she stops and takes a deep breath. "You don't care about that. The point is, if we can send one of the drones up and set it to scan the 0-8-4, it will be set off. It should emit a laser beam which will easily damage the plane enough to depressurize the cabin."
Grant exchanges a look with May and then Skye. "Okay," he says. "That's a pretty good start."
x
Their plan is basically insane, but it's insane enough to work. There are some elements of it that he's not happy about—like the part where Jemma goes to get the 0-8-4 instead of staying safely in the lab until everything's taken care of—but he's just going to have to live with it. All five of them are going to be necessary to pull this off.
Time is of the essence, but he can't help taking a moment, once the others have all been harnessed together and the drone is off into the ventilation, to talk to Jemma.
"Be careful," he tells her. There are so many things that can go wrong with this plan, it honestly makes him a little sick just to think of it.
"I will if you will," she says with a shaky smile. "Please don't get sucked out of the airplane."
He smiles a little as he triple checks her harness. "I'll do my best."
Then it's time to go, and they head up the stairs to stand on the walkway above the lab.
"Simmons," Fitz says. "Forget what I said before. This is the moment that we'll regret."
Then he presses the screen of his tablet and all hell breaks loose.
x
Once they're in the lounge, he loses track of Jemma and the others. He deals with the soldier with the gun first, and then takes the others down, one by one. It's not easy, fighting in these conditions, and it gets even harder when the plane suddenly pitches, likely due to May fighting the man in the cockpit. He has a seatbelt wrapped around one hand, which keeps him from getting sucked out of the plane, but it also means he's fighting one-handed against an enemy force which greatly outnumbers him.
He hears shouting from Jemma and Fitz, but he can't afford to focus on them. He's just finished knocking out another of the soldiers when something slams hard into his back, making him lose his grip on the seatbelt. He just barely manages to anchor himself on one of the wooden columns of the glass screen in the middle of the lounge and grabs the soldier that just slammed into him.
He's still furious at these soldiers for taking over the Bus, and for threatening Fitz and scaring Jemma, and he will absolutely kill Reyes if given the chance, but, after a few hours cooling his heels in the cargo bay, he's not so determined to kill all of Reyes' men. He can be satisfied with maiming them, and in any case getting sucked out of an airplane is a fucking horrible way to die.
"Hold on!" he shouts at the soldier, but he's no sooner said it than his shirt tears under the other man's hold, and he's swept right out of the plane.
Grant has bigger problems at the moment, though. Left off balance from the sudden departure of the soldier, he loses his grip on the column and gets pulled towards the hole. He can hear Jemma screaming his name as he scrambles for something to hold onto, but there's nothing.
He doesn't have time to think of anything, to ponder his regrets, or even see his life flash before his eyes. One minute he's sure that he's about to be sucked out of the plane, and the next he slams into something and bounces off. At the same time, the sound of the howling wind is abruptly decreased.
On the floor, he looks up to see that one of the inflatable life rafts is covering the hole in the side of the plane. He has no idea how the hell it works, but he's incredibly grateful it does. He watches as Coulson knocks out the last of Reyes' soldiers and slumps back against the raft.
He's still trying to steady his breathing when Skye stumbles over and offers him a hand up. He accepts it and, once he's standing, gives her an expectant look.
"I read the safety pamphlet," she tells him smugly.
"You might be the first," he says as he turns to look for Jemma. Before he has the chance, though, she slams into him, wrapping her arms around him tightly.
"You—you almost—" she stammers. "I saw you, you were going to be—I thought I told you not to get sucked out of the plane!"
"Sorry," he says, returning her hug. It's not that he minds it—God knows he could use a hug after nearly getting pulled to certain death—and it's always nice to be touching her, but he's a little concerned. She's clutching on to him desperately, and he thinks she might be crying. "Hey. Jemma. I'm fine. Are you okay?"
Jemma nods into his chest and tightens her grip on him. She's shaking like crazy, but that's really to be expected, considering what just happened. He rubs his hand across her back, hoping to calm her down a little, and looks at Fitz, who is holding tightly to the other column.
"You okay?" he asks.
Fitz nods unconvincingly, but he doesn't look hurt, just like he's going to be sick, so Grant looks to Skye.
"I'm fine," she tells him before he can ask.
Coulson looks mostly unharmed. He's clearly been beaten, but he shows full ease of motion as he comes over to the bar, picking up a glass and setting it on the surface.
"No other way in, huh?" he asks. "I was just starting to warm up to this place."
Bizarrely, Skye picks up a coaster and puts it under the glass. Coulson gives her a smile, then looks around at the rest of them. His eyes linger briefly on Jemma, but he doesn't say anything, just nods a little to himself.
"The 0-8-4 is cooling and stable," Fitz eventually says. "But we should call HQ and get it to the Slingshot as soon as possible."
Coulson turns to face Reyes. "Told you they were good."
Jemma takes a deep breath and finally pulls away from Grant. He resists the urge to draw her back.
"Sorry," she says. "That was—that was quite something, wasn't it?"
"Yeah," he agrees. He looks her over briefly. "You sure you're not hurt?"
"I'm positive," she says, then gives him a worried look. "You, however, are."
He follows her gaze to the blood on his shirt and pauses, not sure how to tell her it's hours old.
"Oh, he got that at the site," Skye pipes up. When Jemma turns to look at her, the hacker nods. "Yeah, he got shot protecting us."
"Grant!" Jemma exclaims, whirling to face him. "You said you hadn't been injured!"
"Technically," he says as she pulls up the hem of his shirt and 'tsk's at the blood-soaked gauze he'd taped over the graze, "You asked if I hurt myself diving down those stairs. You didn't ask if I'd been shot."
Jemma gives him a distinctly unimpressed look.
"I am not going to list every possible injury you could conceivably sustain every time we return from the field," she tells him sternly. "So in the future, when I ask if you've been injured, please answer honestly. I can't take care of you if you won't let me."
He nods silently, not trusting his voice. No one in his life has ever showed so much concern over him. Not Garrett, not any agents he's been partnered with in the past, hell, even Ashton never says anything when Grant shows up on his doorstep beat all to hell. He just accepts it as part of the job. And here's Jemma, who hasn't even known him a week, looking like she honestly might cry over a simple graze.
Her staunch loyalty to SHIELD is inconvenient, sure, and he really wishes she didn't come as part of a set—although Fitz is definitely growing on him—but looking down at Jemma, Grant realizes there's absolutely no one else he could, or would, ever want for his soulmate.
x
A few hours later, when they've safely arrived at the Slingshot, Grant finds himself sitting on the edge of the cargo bay door, his arm around Jemma's shoulders and a beer in his free hand. His graze has been more securely bandaged, courtesy of Jemma, and despite the fact that he's pretty sure May just tricked him into agreeing to mentor Skye, he's in a surprisingly good mood.
He's alive, Jemma is alive, Reyes is in custody, and the goddamn 0-8-4 that caused all of this trouble is about to be launched into outer space. So he doesn't mind sitting here with his new team and enjoying a few beers.
"It's an anomaly," Jemma is saying of their near-death experience. "An irregularity. Not…the norm."
"Speaking of not the norm," Coulson says. "Whose idea was it to blow a hole in the plane?"
There's a moment of guilty silence, and then Skye speaks.
"May said that the doors were tied to the pressurization, so I thought—"
"So we thought," Jemma interrupts her. "It was the only way to release them."
Grant tightens his hold on her for a moment, seeing how nervous she looks, then turns to Coulson. "It was everyone's idea, sir."
"Yeah, it's quite genius, really," Fitz contributes.
Coulson looks them over. "Nice work," he says.
An announcement comes across the base's loudspeakers that everything is clear for liftoff.
"Oh! Time for blastoff," Fitz says, then pinches his nose. "Launching in three, two…"
Grant smiles when he hears Jemma laugh.
"The trajectory will take it beyond the Lagrange point so it doesn't hit Herschel," Fitz tells him like that's supposed to mean something.
"And there haven't been any coronal mass ejections, so it shouldn't lose telemetry," Jemma adds.
Grant honestly can't resist the opening. "Guys. English."
Jemma laughs a little and leans on him as they all watch the rocket blast off. He has to admit it's a pretty impressive sight. He also has to admit that the team worked pretty well together today. It's possible this assignment won't be such a disaster, after all. But he's not going to hold his breath.