A/N: Once again, thanks for all the comments and kudos. People have really been looking forward to this chapter, so I hope it doesn't disappoint!
Thanks for reading and, as always, please be kind if you review!
Naturally, this means that Fitz has been working day and night on revamping it, and, as the most convenient specialist, Grant has been called upon to repeatedly test the various prototypes. He never holds back on the criticism, though he tries not to be too harsh. But if the night-night gun is going to be standard issue, he wants to make sure it's perfect.
He can admit that he's been nitpicking, but all of his complaints have been entirely genuine, and mostly born of experience on previous missions. It's not like he can explain that to Fitz, though, most of his missions being classified, and he knows he's getting on the engineer's nerves. Actually, Fitz has developed a habit of mocking him as soon as he leaves the room, apparently unaware or uncaring of how well sound travels in the storage area behind the lab.
Grant doesn't mind. Fitz is actually kind of entertaining, in an annoying sort of way.
Because of that, he's started pausing to listen before entering the lab. It gives him the chance to check if Fitz is doing an impression of him, and blank his face if that's the case. It wouldn't do to give the game away by laughing.
So, even though it's a little urgent, he pauses before entering the lab to fetch Jemma, Fitz, and Skye for their assignment. He had just left the lab when Coulson caught him and asked him to round them up, and he knows Fitz will have a lot to say about his order to make the gun an ounce lighter. To his surprise, though, it's not Fitz who's speaking, but Jemma.
"I'm Agent Grant Ward, and I could rupture your spleen with my left pinky. Blindfolded."
He has to physically clap his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud, because that? That was hilarious. Her impression is so awful he wouldn't have even known it was him she was mocking if she hadn't started with his name. And what was that stance? What was that even supposed to be?
Jemma has a long list of talents, but apparently impersonations don't make the list. It's all the more hilarious for all of the time they spend together. He'd expect her to at least be able to mimic his accent, but that was just as terrible as her attempt to lower her voice.
He takes a deep breath and does his best to wipe the amusement from his face. He really doesn't have time to be hanging around in the hallway.
"Hustle up and grab your gear," he says, entering the lab. "We're on a mission."
The three of them are obviously trying to stifle their laughter, and he honestly can't resist.
"Something funny?"
The three exchange wide-eyed looks, and then Jemma picks the night-night pistol up from the table.
"Poor, silly Fitz," she says, holding out the gun. "He mistakenly left a dummy round in the pistol. Should be proper now."
Somehow managing to keep a straight face, he takes the gun from her and tests out the weight again, noting as he does the way she wrinkles her nose, which is just…adorable.
Of course, the gun still has the ounce, but looking down at Jemma's attempt at an innocent expression, he knows there's no way he'll be able to keep a straight face for much longer.
"Great," he says, handing the gun back. "Thanks."
He leaves the lab and ducks into a storage closet so he can laugh for a moment. That was honestly the funniest thing he's seen in months.
He's barely taken three steps out of the storage closet when he hears Jemma call his name. He turns and finds her standing just outside of the lab.
"Sorry," she says. "But you didn't say, exactly what sort of mission do we have? Which equipment should I bring?"
"Right," he says. He takes a few steps closer so they don't need to shout. "We've got a body. A man was killed, cause unknown. HQ says lightning may be somehow involved."
"Thank you," she says a little absently. He can tell she's already planning what to bring, as well as considering how lightning might play into it. "And when do we leave?"
"Five minutes," he tells her. "Better hurry."
She nods and goes back into the lab, already calling for Fitz. He shakes his head and starts in the direction of the ladder that leads upstairs. He won't really need any gear of his own on this one, but it's November in Pennsylvania. He's going to need a jacket.
x
An hour later, they're at the scene: a campsite in Wrigley, Pennsylvania. Grant really hopes they wrap this mission up quickly, because he hates this part of the country. Being so close to where he grew up always puts an itch under his skin, like the nearer he gets to Massachusetts, the more his memories of childhood want to just crawl right out of him. It's not a fun sensation. Also, although it looks nothing like Wyoming, the campsite is in a forest. They're surrounded by trees.
Grant hates trees.
As Jemma and Fitz get their gear from the trunk, Coulson begins to brief the team.
"We've got a dead man, a Boy Scout troop leader. He died during some sort of electrostatic anomaly that also managed to disable the other troop leader's vehicle."
"Electrostatic anomaly?" Jemma and Fitz echo. They exchange confused looks, and Fitz puts down the case he's carrying to pull out his tablet.
"Nearest one was California," he mutters to Jemma after a moment of frantic typing.
Jemma makes a thoughtful noise.
"FitzSimmons?" Coulson asks, motioning in the direction of the scene.
"Oh, right, sorry," Fitz says, stowing his tablet and picking up his case.
"Yes, please proceed," Jemma says.
"Troop leader's name was Adam Cross," Coulson tells them as they begin walking. "Apparently he said he heard something in the woods, went to check it out. That's where the electrostatic anomaly occurred."
"What I don't understand is," Fitz says as Grant, Skye, and May break away to examine the campsite. "Usually they're caused by a massive electrical storm."
"But there wasn't a storm within a thousand miles of here last night," Jemma continues.
Grant spots something under a tree, and, crossing the campsite to get a better look, finds that it's a car battery. He's staring at it, utterly perplexed, when he hears May's voice.
"The battery blew straight up through the hood," she says from where she's examining the disabled vehicle.
Well, that explains it. "Landed over here," he calls. He looks over at the vehicle, then back at the battery, calculating the distance. "Hell of a force to create that kind of trajectory."
He stands, turning to face the tree, and Skye bumps into him. He twists to look at her.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm shadowing my supervising officer," she says, like it's obvious. Her insistence on pretending everything's normal, like she didn't betray them two weeks ago, is really starting to get on his nerves.
"Shadowing," he tells her. "Not smothering."
A closer look at the tree proves that it's covered in scorch marks. Grant takes a moment to be amazed that the entire forest didn't burn down, then moves on to where the rest of the team is gathered near the body.
Which is…floating.
Literally. The body is hanging in midair, no strings, no supports. It's completely bizarre, and like nothing he's ever seen before.
Fitz already has his computer out, and Jemma is pulling on gloves. She's appropriately respectful of the man's death, obviously genuinely upset that this complete stranger lost his life, but she can't contain her fascination at the fact that he's floating. Even more interesting, when Coulson presses the two scientists for answers, they admit they have absolutely no idea what could have caused this.
That's not a usual state of affairs for Jemma, but it seems to excite her, rather than upset her. It's one of the things he likes best about her, her gleeful fascination with everything to do with science. He once spent four months working security for a SHIELD lab in an active warzone, and the thing that stood out the most was the general attitude of the scientists there, who were always snappish and irritable. When faced with a problem they didn't understand, they would spend hours insulting the intelligence of anyone who dared question them, as though to point out that they might not know what was causing the strange events, but at least they were smarter than all of the field agents.
Jemma stands in distinct and favorable contrast.
Focusing back on the problem, he points out that if this isn't an unnatural event, it might be a new high-tech weapon. Skye suggests that it might be someone from the Index, but, as May points out, there's no one on it with this kind of power.
Coulson intends to contact Agent Blake at HQ and have him take a closer look at the Index—and presumably those who have been dismissed from it. As he's telling them this, Jemma calls Fitz's attention to some discoloration on the victim's forehead. She moves forward to take a closer look, then moves back with a little gasp as the body suddenly falls to the ground.
Grant checks his instinctive move for her, seeing that she's just startled.
"Freaky," Fitz comments.
"Freeeeaky," Jemma agrees. She takes a look around, then shakes her head, turning to face the rest of them. "There's really nothing more I can do here, sir. I'd like to bring Mr. Cross back to the Bus. This may require some of our less portable equipment."
"Right," Coulson says. "I'll arrange it. The rest of you should head back to the Bus. Skye, dig up what you can on Mr. Cross. See if there's anyone who might want to hurt him. May, question the other troop leader. Maybe he knows something. Ward…"
Coulson trails off, and Grant follows his gaze to see that Jemma and Fitz are crouching next to the body, their heads bent over Fitz's trifold computer. They're deep in conversation, which would probably be completely incomprehensible even if they were finishing their sentences.
"Try and contain your soulmate," Coulson finishes.
Jemma gesticulates wildly in her excitement, and Grant shakes his head a little.
"No promises, sir."
x
An hour later, they're back on the Bus, with Cross' body safely deposited in the lab—against Fitz's strenuous objections. Grant's seen a lot of dead bodies in his time. They don't bother him. Hell, he's created enough of them. But that doesn't mean he wants to stand around and watch his soulmate cut into one, so he excuses himself and heads upstairs as soon as Jemma puts her gloves on.
Skye's in the briefing room, presumably continuing the search on Cross she started in the SUV on the way back from the scene. He's sure she'll have results for them soon, considering how fast she usually works, so he doesn't go far, just takes a seat at the kitchen table.
He's concerned about Cross' death. If it was caused by a weapon, then it must be seriously high-tech to stump Jemma and Fitz like that. The natural presumption is that it's Cybertek work, and if it's Cybertek work, it's likely a commission of Garrett's.
He really, really hopes not. They've come across Centipede three times now (not that the team knows that, being unaware of the connection between Centipede and the high-tech eye Amador was sporting) and they've impeded Centipede's operations in some way every time. He doesn't like that. Every setback for Centipede is a setback for Garrett, and there's no way of knowing how much time Garrett has left. He's been in his current condition for nearly fourteen years. He needs to be healed, and he needs it quickly.
So Grant really, really hopes that this has nothing to do with Centipede. This mission is difficult enough, trying to gain everyone's trust enough that Coulson will eventually be willing to share the details of how he came back from the dead. All of the complications—whether bad, like constantly running into Centipede; good, like Jemma; or other, like Skye's presence—just make things harder.
He's pulled from his thoughts by the sound of footsteps on the nearby stairs, and he looks over to see Coulson coming down from his office.
"Skye's done searching," he says, and Grant stands and follows him into the briefing room.
Skye has a lot of nothing, basically, aside from complaints about the tracking bracelet. Cross was a teacher, a coach, and a volunteer firefighter, in addition to Boy Scout troop leader, and there's nothing to suggest he has any enemies. Not at first glance, at least. People are rarely as innocent as they appear on the surface.
Coulson agrees and tells Skye to dig deeper. After she leaves, he turns to Grant.
Apparently, Coulson thinks that Skye doing a basic background check on a victim is a good way to gain trust back. He also thinks that Grant is being too hard on her. Grant is, honestly, confused. He's still training her, he's still teaching her SHIELD protocol, and he hasn't once taken her to task for what she did in Austin. What more does Coulson want?
Coulson doesn't give him any clues. Instead, he says, "Put it up on the server. I want May to have a look when she's done with her interrogation."
"Yes, sir."
After putting the results of the background check on the server, he lingers in the briefing room. On a whim, he pulls up the security feed from the lab. Jemma's in there alone, running some kind of scanner over the body's forehead, and he watches her for a few minutes, unable to hold back a smile. Even though there's no one but a dead body to listen, she's obviously talking, keeping up a running commentary on whatever it is she's seeing.
At one point it looks like she's asking Cross' body a question, and Grant shakes his head as he turns off the feed. Jemma's not really used to working alone, and it shows. She's always talking to herself when she works, even if Fitz isn't in the room to respond to her observations. It's something he likes about her, the way she gets so excited about her discoveries, wants to share them with everyone, whether or not they're capable of understanding them.
That's part of why he likes spending his time in the lab—aside from the obvious reason of getting to be near Jemma. It's comforting, soothing to have her voice as background noise, nothing he's expected to listen or respond to but there to pull him out of his head if he gets caught up in dark thoughts. Everything about her is a comfort to him, but her voice is especially effective.
Shaking off his musings, he leaves the briefing room and heads for his bunk. There's literally nothing for him to do until they have more answers, so he might as well take a nap. First rule of field work: always grab sleep when you can. You never know when circumstances are going to require you to be awake for ninety-six hours straight.
Case in point: he's barely sat down to kick off his boots when the intercom activates.
"Ward! We've got another anomaly building, meet us in the cargo bay," Coulson orders.
Grant swears and grabs his gun and his jacket, then runs for the stairs. By the time he's down them, May and Coulson are already in the SUV, and he wastes no time in climbing into the backseat. May backs out of the Bus before he even finishes closing his door, and then they're tearing across the parking lot and out onto the street.
The SUV's comm is on, connected to the lab, and as they drive, Fitz gives them periodic updates about the electrostatic charge. It's growing fast, and they've got no idea where it's centered.
Skye's on it, though. "There's a farmhouse a mile north of you, right at the center of the signal. That's got to be it."
"Skye, dig up everything you can on whoever lives at that farm," Coulson orders. "We need to know who we're dealing with."
Fitz mutters something, then, before they can ask him to repeat it, says, "Ehm, it's gone."
"What's gone?" Coulson asks.
"The electrostatic signal," Fitz clarifies. "It seemed to pulse, then disappear."
Coulson looks at May. "We need a shortcut."
She nods, taps at the nav screen for a moment, and then turns sharply, cutting through a field. They pull up at a barn thirty seconds later, and all three of them hurry to get out of the car. Grant's pretty sure that the dissipation of the electrostatic energy means that whoever is inside this barn is dead, but the killer might still be around, so he keeps his gun up as he circles the SUV and approaches the barn.
Coulson pauses at the door, gun down but ready, and points out that the door is barred from the inside.
"Hayloft's open," Grant notes.
"We could ram it with the truck," Coulson suggests.
May kicks the door in. Well, that works. Grant leads the way into the barn, gun at the ready, doing a quick sweep as he moves forward. Then he stops, eyes fixed on the body floating above him.
"Scan the perimeter," Coulson orders after a moment. "Whoever did this couldn't have gotten far."
Grant nods and leaves the barn. They didn't make it in time to save this man, whoever he is, but they can sure as hell catch his killer before anyone else dies.
Except there's no sign of a killer. No tracks—human or vehicle. No cars down the road. No sign of anyone trying to make a quick getaway. A quick visual examination proves that there's nothing out of place in the farmhouse. He heads back into the barn and reports this to Coulson, who frowns.
"Skye, we need real-time sat surveillance on this area, right now," Coulson says into his comm.
"Hang on," Skye says. "I think I found something you might want to see first. Sending it over now."
Coulson pulls out his phone, and Grant glances over his shoulder to see a picture of four firemen, one of whom is Adam Cross. Skye fills them in that the owner of the farm, Frank Whalen, was a volunteer firefighter at the same station house as Adam Cross. Furthermore, they were both responders during the Battle of New York.
Well, that'll help narrow down the suspect list. Of course, it could also mean that the rest of the firefighters at that station house are in danger. They need to move fast and figure this out before the killer can get to anyone else.
Coulson seems to agree.
"Skye, Fitzsimmons, we need you on the scene," he says. "The fleet SUV we brought to the campsite earlier is still parked outside the Bus. Take it and come here, find out what you can. The three of us are going to that firehouse."
"Yes, sir," Jemma says.
"On our way," Fitz agrees.
Coulson and May go back to the SUV, while Grant does one last scan of the perimeter. He's pretty sure that whoever did this is long gone, but it doesn't hurt to double check, especially when his soulmate is about to be on site.
"Ward!" Coulson calls.
There's no one here. Jemma, Fitz, and Skye will be fine.
x
The firehouse is several hours away, so the others reach the barn while they're still en route.
Twenty minutes after the other three call in to say they've reached the barn, Skye reports that the firehouse sent a dozen volunteers to New York after the Chitauri invasion, Cross and Whalen among them. It's possible that the two men were killed by an alien weapon. Since the only other possibility Grant can think of is Cybertek, he's really hoping that's the case.
It's dark when they reach the firehouse, and when they enter it, they find several men playing cards in the garage. Coulson introduces himself, says they're from SHIELD, and tells the chief that they'd like to take a look around. Grant and May split off to do just that.
Grant's rifling through a hall closet when Coulson says, "Cover the back door. Nobody comes in or out."
"On it," Grant says, abandoning the closet and heading toward the back of the firehouse. When he reaches it, there's no one in sight, so he takes up a position outside, next to the door, with his gun drawn. The comms are still open, so he hears Skye announce that another event is starting, this time at the firehouse. He also hears Coulson talking to one of the firemen, a Mr. Diaz, but he doesn't move until Coulson orders Diaz to stop whatever he's doing.
That, combined with Skye's news of an event starting at the firehouse, seems to make it obvious that Diaz is behind the deaths of Cross and Whalen, which means there's no need to guard the door. He heads back into the firehouse as May alerts Coulson that she's found the weapon—except it's not a weapon, it's a Chitauri helmet.
Diaz is claiming that he hasn't done anything with it, that it's just a souvenir and all he's done is clean it, when Jemma figures things out.
"That wasn't rust," she mutters. Then, louder, "May, don't touch it! Sir, he's not using a weapon. He's infected. I think the helmet was the source of an alien virus."
He nearly runs into May when he turns the corner, and she motions down the hall. They're close enough that they can hear Diaz talking without the comms. They reach the kitchen just in time to see the horrified realization on Diaz's face when he realizes that the other two people to clean the helmet are the ones who are dead.
"Mr. Diaz," Coulson says gently. "I'm putting the gun away now, okay?"
As he does so, Jemma speaks again. "Sir? He's at 600 megajoules and climbing. Sir?"
Coulson turns to look at Grant and May.
"Clear everybody out," he orders. When they hesitate, he repeats, "Clear everybody out. Now."
So they do. The firefighters put up a bit of a fight, not wanting to leave Diaz behind and demanding to know what's going on, but eventually everyone's out of the building. Except Coulson and Diaz, that is. All the while, he can hear Coulson over the comm, talking to Diaz about death. Grant listens closely, but all of Coulson's talk is about death itself, about what he felt while he was dead. He doesn't say anything about how he came back.
He says it was beautiful there, wherever there was. Grant doesn't know what to think about that.
"You better get going, buddy," Diaz says hoarsely. "Go."
Coulson doesn't respond, but a few seconds later he's walking out of the firehouse, the garage door closing behind him. He makes it just in time; the door has barely closed before the entire building lights up blue and then goes dark.
There's a long moment of silence, in respect of the fact that Diaz is dead. Then Coulson pulls out his phone.
"I'm going to call this into HQ, get a containment team out here," he says. "Tell FitzSimmons to get here as quickly as possible. We need to contain this virus, and we'll all need to be checked for infection."
"Yes, sir," Grant says quietly. It makes sense; they were all in the building with Diaz, barely made it out before he died. There's a good chance that the three of them and all of the firefighters were infected.
Grant's just glad that Jemma was safely on the Bus, far away from any alien viruses.
x
They spend all night at the firehouse, waiting for the containment team, dealing with Diaz's body, and searching the building for any other alien 'souvenirs'. Jemma, Fitz, and Skye arrive sometime after dawn, and Fitz immediately orders Grant, Coulson, and May to line up so he can scan them for infection. Usually, Grant would have something to say about Fitz trying to order him around, but this time he just silently obeys. He'd never admit it to anyone, but his heart is in his throat.
There's nothing he can do against an alien virus. Against any kind of virus. A virus can't be fought off, not with weapons or hand-to-hand, and it can't be manipulated or threatened into leaving someone alone. If Grant is infected, he'll have absolutely no way of doing anything about it.
Luckily, though, he's not infected. None of them are. Fitz gives them a clean bill of health as a SHIELD Hazmat team leads the firefighters out to a bus that will be taking them to a containment facility for quarantine. The helmet, however, is going with them, as Skye points out worriedly.
"We're flying it to the Sandbox," Coulson tells her.
"Sandbox?" Skye echoes, confused.
"It's a SHIELD research facility across the Atlantic," Jemma explains without turning around. She's staring after the firefighters, clearly concerned for them. "They specialize in hazardous materials."
"If what you suspect is true," Coulson says, gaining Jemma's attention. "That this is a virus? Then those firefighters could be infected. And they're gonna need a cure. Find one."
That's a lot to put on Jemma's shoulders, but Grant doesn't say anything. The fact of the matter is, Jemma is the best hope those firefighters have. If she can't figure out how to cure this virus, no one can.
"Yes, sir," Jemma says. She looks worried though, and he lingers next to her as the rest of the team heads for the SUV.
"You all right?" he asks her.
"I'm fine," she says, smiling up at him. "A chance to examine an alien virus? It's an amazing opportunity. Dr. Staffer will be green with envy when he hears about this."
"Uh huh," he says, unconvinced. Still, he knows that pushing her to admit she's nervous about the weight of the responsibility that's just been placed on her won't help anything. "Come on. The sooner we get back to the Bus, the sooner we can make Dr. Staffer jealous."
Not that he has any idea who Dr. Staffer is, but the comment makes Jemma smile, so. Mission accomplished. He follows her to the SUV feeling slightly better. There's nothing he can do against a virus, but Jemma can do plenty. He knows she's got this.
x
They take off for the Sandbox as soon as the Hazmat team drops the helmet in the Cage and leaves. It's a long flight, nearly nine hours, and there's no time to waste. The sooner that thing's off the Bus, the better.
After checking that Jemma's okay in the lab, Grant heads up to his bunk. It's still early morning, BST, but he was up all night and he's exhausted. There's nothing he can do to help Jemma find a cure for the virus, so he might as well catch up on some sleep.
x
Five hours later, he's woken by the sound of someone knocking on his door.
"Ward?" It's Fitz. "Agent Coulson wants to see us in the cargo bay."
"Yeah, be right there," he says. He doesn't dawdle getting dressed and pulling on his shoes, but he doesn't rush, either. If it were urgent, Coulson would've used the intercom instead of sending Fitz as a messenger.
When he gets downstairs, he's surprised to find that it's only him, Fitz, and Coulson. Skye and May are nowhere in sight, and neither is Jemma. The lab is empty.
"You wanted to see us, sir?" he asks when Coulson doesn't say anything. Coulson looks terrible, and Grant's starting to get a bad feeling.
Coulson opens his mouth, then closes it. The bad feeling increases.
"Grant," he says. "Leo."
He and Fitz exchange worried looks. Coulson has never called him by his first name before. No one on the Bus does. No one except—
Jemma. Something's happened to Jemma, he thinks, and he feels strangely dizzy. The only thing he and Fitz have in common, the only thing that would require them being pulled away from the rest of the team, is Jemma.
"What's happened?" Fitz demands. He's figured it out, too. "What's wrong with Simmons? What is it?"
"I'm sorry," Coulson says quietly. "She's been infected."
Grant grabs at the hood of the SUV as his knees threaten to buckle under him. No. No, it's not possible. Jemma's always careful when she's experimenting, when she's investigating. She'll have been wearing gloves the whole time she's been working with the infected cells from the victims, and he knows she had no plans to go near the helmet.
"How?" he croaks out. He can barely speak. He can barely breathe. He definitely can't think. All that's in his head is a constant stream of notJemmanotJemmanotJemmaIcan'tloseher.
"She thinks she was infected when she received a shock from the first victim," Coulson says quietly.
"No," Fitz says. He sounds like he's about to cry. "No, that's not—that was nearly thirty-six hours ago, if she was…No. No, it must've been after that, maybe—if she—no."
"What?" Grant asks him. He's obviously panicking about something, and Grant feels his own panic surge in response. He doesn't know how he's still standing. He doesn't know how much longer he can manage it.
"We estimated—earlier, we estimated that the virus runs its course in…" Fitz trails off, swallowing.
"Thirty-eight hours," Coulson finishes for him.
No. No, that's not possible. Fitz is right—obviously, she must have been infected at a later point. She has more than two hours. She has to have more than two hours.
His eyes swing back to the lab, and he realizes that it's not empty. He missed Jemma, before, because she's not standing at one of the tables or sitting at her workstation. She's on the ground, back against the counter, and she's watching them with sad eyes.
No. This isn't happening. He's standing at the window in three strides, and Jemma's face crumples when she sees him. She stands and approaches the glass.
"He's wrong," he tells her. "Tell Coulson he's wrong."
"I'm sorry, Grant," she says quietly, her voice shaking. "But it's true."
"No," Fitz says, suddenly appearing next to him. "Don't be ridiculous, Simmons, this is no time for your nonsense. Stop playing around."
Jemma doesn't say anything. She doesn't have to. Behind her, a wrench slowly lifts off of Fitz's workstation and hangs in the air, silently accusing. Fitz lets out a little sound and falls to his knees. Grant barely even notices.
It's true. She's infected. In two hours, if she can't find a cure, Jemma will…
He can't even think it. Suddenly he can't bear to be in the cargo bay. He wants to run far away, as far as possible. He can't look into his soulmate's eyes and see the devastation there. He just can't.
But how can he leave? If she only has two hours…
He has to stay. He's going to stay right here. All he can do is stay. There's absolutely no help he can give Jemma in finding a cure, but he can stand right here in the cargo bay, support her, and never let her know how badly he wants to run.
Jemma already knows, though. Jemma always knows. She smiles at him through her tears. It's okay, she mouths, and gives him a little nod.
He wants to stay. He should stay. But he's just not strong enough to stand here and watch while Jemma…
So he flees up the stairs, back into the lounge and then his bunk. The intercom clicks on, Coulson summoning May and Skye to the cargo bay, and suddenly his bunk is too small. He waits until he hears Skye and May pass by, then leaves.
He's angry. He's desperate. He really wants to hit something, but the punching bag is downstairs, in the cargo bay, right next to the lab where Jemma…
He has no memory of moving, but the next thing he knows his fist is halfway through the wooden wall next to his bunk. There's a crack, and a sharp pain, and he's pretty sure he's broken something in his hand. That's good, though. It gives him something to focus on. With the pain comes clarity, and he can think straight for the first time since he got the news. He goes into the briefing room and pulls up the lab's security feed. He can't be down in the cargo bay, not if he wants to keep his composure, but he can watch from up here. It makes him slightly sick, remembering yesterday, how he stayed in the briefing room and watched her through this very feed because…what? Because he was squeamish? Because he didn't want to watch her dissect someone?
How could he have thought that mattered? How could he have chosen to be in the briefing room, so far away from Jemma, when he had the option of standing right next to her?
He doesn't have that option now. He can't be in the lab. It's under quarantine—Jemma is under quarantine. And while he'd be perfectly willing to break the quarantine, he knows May and Coulson wouldn't let him. There's no point in trying.
So he stands in the briefing room and watches. And as he watches the wrench fall to the ground, he's struck by another realization. The pulse. All of the victims let out an electrostatic pulse when they…when the virus ran its course. Cross blew the battery out of a vehicle fifty meters away. Diaz shorted out every piece of electronics in the entire firehouse.
If Jemma doesn't find a cure in time, the Bus' systems will be knocked out, and the plane will fall right out of the sky.
There are protocols on what to do in these situations. And according to those protocols, Jemma should be tossed from the plane before she…before she can fry the systems.
He's not going to let that happen. Jemma will not be thrown from the plane. And if one single person on this Bus tries to follow that protocol, he'll cross them off. No questions. No excuses. No one is going to harm Jemma. No one.
So he stands there, leaning against the table, and watches. He watches as Fitz builds something, as Jemma runs tests, as she brings out mice and infects them with the virus.
As he does, he keeps finding himself rubbing at his right wrist, where his timer used to be. Where it should be. He wishes it still were. If she…if he loses her, that's it. He'll have nothing. No red bar, no sign that his soul is gone, no indicator of what he's lost. No one will be able to know, looking at him, that Jemma is…
But then, how could they not? He thinks he'll break apart as soon as it happens. He'll shatter into a million pieces.
It's difficult to watch the feed, but he has to know. He needs to watch her move around, to keep eyes on her, to know for a fact that, in this moment, she's still alive. If he still had his timer, he wouldn't need to watch. He could watch his timer instead, bask in the comfort of the steady green glow. Instead, all he has is the security feed—and the soul bond, which has never felt so weak, so tenuous. It could snap any second.
For a moment, he finds himself hating Garrett. He would still have his timer if Garrett hadn't put him on this path. If Garrett hadn't pushed him into becoming a specialist, into giving up his timer in exchange for Garrett's crusade.
He's pulled out of those thoughts by Skye entering the briefing room.
"Why aren't you down there?" she asks. She doesn't sound accusing. She sounds like she's been crying.
"I can't be," he tells her honestly. "I can't do anything to help. All I'd do down there is upset Jemma."
His voice breaks a little on her name, and Skye turns to go, intending to give him his privacy. He doesn't want her to, though. He's been standing here, watching, for nearly an hour—half of Jemma's time is gone—and he doesn't want to do it alone. Not anymore. His doubts about Skye's loyalty, his anger at her betrayal, none of that matters any longer. He can't be alone. Not right now.
"You can stay," he tells her. "If you want."
She hesitates, then comes to stand by him. She lets out a slow breath. "I hate this. I just feel so…"
"Helpless," he finishes.
"Yeah," she agrees.
Suddenly, he can't hold back anymore. "I wanted it to be a person," he says. "Some super-powered psychopath, someone I could hurt, someone I could…punish. That I could do."
He looks at her briefly, then fixes his eyes back on the screen. "What I can't do is protect you guys—protect Jemma—from stuff I can't even see. Or understand. There's nothing. All I can do is stand here and watch while Jemma is…while Jemma is…"
He can't say it. He still can't even think it.
"So what do we do?" Skye asks quietly.
He has to take a few deep breaths to regain control of his emotions. "We wait. And get ready."
"Ready for what?"
"For whatever it is we're called upon to do," he tells her. He doesn't know what that is. He doesn't know what comes next. He has no fucking idea what to do or how to do it. He's completely, totally helpless.
It's nearly half an hour later that something happens. Fitz has spent this whole time right outside the lab (where Grant would be, if he were stronger), and Jemma suddenly approaches him. She looks like she's had an idea, some kind of breakthrough, and Grant holds his breath when Fitz runs away from the lab, obviously going to fetch something.
He pushes away from the table when Fitz suddenly reappears, breaks the quarantine, and rushes into the lab, holding the case that contains the Chitauri helmet. Obviously, something's going on. He only manages to spend another ten minutes in the briefing room, and then he can't stand it anymore.
He goes down to the cargo bay.
Coulson, May, and Skye are already there, standing outside the lab, looking with something akin to hope at the frantic movement within. It's encouraging, the sudden surge in activity. It means they have an idea that just might work.
There's still something wrong, though. Well, there's plenty wrong, but it suddenly strikes Grant that everyone is completely silent. Including Jemma. She's not chattering on as she works, telling all and sundry about every step she's taking. She just silently goes about her work.
She's pale and sweating, and his heart clenches every time she looks towards the cargo bay. As he waits for her to finish whatever it is she's trying, he has to turn away for a moment. He pinches the bridge of his nose as his eyes burn with unshed tears. This can't be it. It can't be. He's barely had six weeks with her. That can't be all he gets.
Finally, finally they're done, and Fitz approaches the last mouse with the injector he built earlier. There's a little spark as he injects the mouse, then he sets it down.
"I can't breathe," Skye whispers.
Neither can Grant. He doesn't even bother trying. He just stands and waits, his eyes fixed on the mouse. His heart is pounding, his blood rushing in his ears. For a moment, when the mouse seems to continue on as normal, he thinks…
But no. There's a flash of blue, and suddenly the mouse is floating, just like the others. Just like Cross and Whalen and Diaz.
Just like Jemma will, when she's dead. Because she's going to die. There are no more mice for testing, and there's no more time. It's been one hundred and fifteen minutes, and she only gave herself one hundred and twenty.
In five minutes, Jemma will be dead.
She's crying when she approaches the glass, and he is, too. He doesn't try to stop it, and he doesn't try to hide it. There's no point. There's no point to anything.
Jemma's speaking, asking Coulson something—something about her parents? He can't make it out. He feels like he's underwater, unable to breathe or move or hear. He wonders distantly if this is what Ashton felt like, drowning in that well.
Jemma meets his eyes, and she nods at him. She doesn't say anything. What is there to say? He's going to lose her. In five minutes, she'll be dead. And surely he will be, too, because there's no way he survives that. No way.
He can't take it anymore. He presses his hand—his broken hand, it's almost definitely broken, as badly as it's bruised and swollen, but what does that matter—against the glass briefly, then turns away. He goes back upstairs.
He's the worst kind of coward. He's weak. He's so completely useless and pathetic. He can't even be there for his soulmate in the last minutes of her life? He can't do this one thing right?
No. He really can't.
The soul bond seems to shake with every step he takes, like it's sentient, like it knows he's walking away from Jemma for the last time. Like it's ready, just waiting to break as soon as the next five minutes are up. He's going to lose it, too. No more warmth, no more comfort.
No more Jemma.
Seconds after he takes his place in the briefing room again, Skye and Coulson enter.
"She wanted a minute alone with Fitz," Coulson tells him gently. Skye's crying too hard to speak.
He wonders distantly where May is, and then the question is answered when she enters from the other door, the one closer to the cockpit.
"Agent Blake is on the line. He wants to know what's going on," she says. He knows what that means. Blake wants to know if they've followed protocol yet. He wants confirmation that they've thrown Jemma from the plane. "If you won't answer, he's asked for Ward."
Suddenly he's back on the surface, out of the water as he realizes what that means, and for a moment, Grant is so furious that he can't even breathe. It's worse than he's ever felt before—not even the hate he felt that day at the well can compare to the pure rage sliding through his veins. How dare they. Does Agent Blake actually think he can order Grant to toss his soulmate out of the plane? Does SHIELD actually expect Grant to follow their orders like a good little soldier when their orders are for him to murder Jemma?
In that moment, he promises himself that when Jemma's gone, he'll tear SHIELD to the ground. Screw Garrett's plan, screw Garrett's life. No one is more important to him than Jemma. No one.
All day he's been waiting for a target—someone to punish. And while there's no one to blame for Jemma getting infected, he can sure as hell punish SHIELD for their response to the infection. He can and he will. He'll burn SHIELD into nothing. He'll kill them all.
And he's willing to bet that Fitz will help him do it.
He's still trying to regain his calm when an alarm begins to blare. May moves to the computer table and taps at it for a moment.
"Someone's lowering the cargo hold ramp," she says.
Grant's blood turns to ice in his veins. Of course. Of course, Jemma knows the protocol, too. Of course she knows—better than he does—what effect her death will have on the Bus' systems. Of course she would want to avoid that.
That's why she let him go so easily, why she asked to be alone with Fitz. She's going to jump.
He doesn't even consciously plan it, but he pushes away from the table and leaves the briefing room. Then he's running, through the lounge and past the Cage. It doesn't matter that Jemma's going to die anyway. He can't let her do this. He can't let her die, all alone, in the air. He just can't.
He doesn't bother with the stairs, leaping over the edge of the catwalk and landing in the cargo bay. Fitz is near the ramp, fumbling with a parachute and mumbling to himself. Grant doesn't say anything, just rips the parachute from Fitz's shoulders.
"The anti-serum worked," Fitz hollers over the sound of the wind, shoving the injector into Grant's hands. "But she jumped!"
He doesn't have goggles, or a jumpsuit, or gloves. His boots have hooks on them and he doesn't even have the parachute all the way on. But none of that matters. There's a cure, a working cure, and if he can get to her in time she won't die at all.
He throws himself out of the plane, struggling into the parachute's other strap as he goes. He buckles it across his chest, then snaps his arms to his side and dives.
It feels like forever before he spots her, falling below him, but it can't be long because he's not that much closer to the water below. He angles his body, aiming for her, and uses the throbbing of his broken hand, clutching tightly to the injector, to keep himself calm as he starts to near her.
She's going to be fine. He's going to reach her, and inject her, and she won't die. For once in his life, he's going to get something right. Just this once.
And miraculously, he does. They're still far above the water when he reaches her, latching on to her tightly and injecting her with the anti-serum. She immediately goes limp, and he drops the injector to adjust his grip on her, pulling the cord on his parachute as he does.
There's a jerk as the parachute opens, slowing their descent, and Grant manages to adjust Jemma so that her legs are around his waist, her arms over his shoulders.
There's a spark, and then a pulse, much smaller than the one from when Diaz died. He can feel the rise and fall of Jemma's chest against his, and he closes his eyes, weak with relief. He keeps a tight grip on her, clutching hard enough to bruise, as they slowly drift down towards the water.
When they hit it, he immediately disentangles them from the parachute. It's difficult, holding Jemma above the water and struggling with the parachute at the same time, and he's just beginning to wonder how he's going to keep them both above water until she wakes up when he makes a startling discovery.
Fitz, whether by accident or design, grabbed one of the parachutes whose pack can be converted to an inflatable raft. Grant wastes no time in activating the automatic pump. Jemma's still unconscious, but her heartbeat is strong and her breathing is steady—which is more than he can say for himself.
He can barely breathe at all under the weight of his relief. She's alive. The anti-serum worked, and he caught her in time, and she's alive. He's not going to lose her.
As soon as the raft is done inflating, he maneuvers Jemma onto it and then pulls himself up. It's a delicate process, trying to get on the raft without rocking it enough to knock Jemma off of it, but he manages. Once he's situated, sitting up on the raft with Jemma's head in his lap, he looks down at her peaceful face and has to swallow, hard, to keep control of himself. He places two fingers on her neck, against the strong beat of her pulse, and matches his breathing to the steady rise and fall of her chest.
She's alive.
He doesn't know how long he just sits there, breathing with her and struggling to gain control of his emotions. His watch was fried by the pulse she let out, and while he usually has a pretty accurate internal clock—well, it's been a really long day.
As he breathes, the anger seems to drain out of him. Some of it is still there, simmering just beneath the surface, but enough of it is gone that rational thinking returns. He won't pull down SHIELD. For one thing, Jemma's alive, so there's really no need. For another, it would completely ruin everything he and Garrett have been working for for years. Also, Jemma loves SHIELD. She's completely loyal to the entire organization, and she would never forgive him for destroying it.
So he'll leave SHIELD be. But he won't forget this. This goes onto the list of crimes SHIELD has committed against the people Grant cares about, right next to the time they abandoned Garrett in Sarajevo. And while SHIELD as a whole is not responsible for what happened today, there is one name that stands out—one thing that Grant cannot forgive.
Agent Felix Blake would have ordered Grant to kill his own soulmate, and one way or another, Grant's going to make sure he pays for that.
x
After a while, Jemma stirs. He holds his breath as her eyes flutter open, and she blinks at him in surprise.
"Grant?" she asks, struggling to sit up.
"Steady," he says, helping her. Once she's mostly upright she looks around, taking in the raft they're floating on and the vast ocean surrounding them. He can see the exact moment she remembers what happened.
"Oh," she says. "I'm alive."
He can't help it. She sounds so surprised, so confused, to find herself not dead, there is absolutely no way he can stop himself from kissing her. He all but slams his lips against hers, all of his restraint left behind in the cargo bay, and Jemma stills in surprise—but only for a moment. Then she melts against him, her hands clenching in his shirt as he slides one hand into her hair so he can control the angle of the kiss. His other hand cups her shoulder, squeezing it tightly—probably too tightly, even, but he's helpless to let go.
The kiss might last for hours or it might last for only a second, Grant has no idea, but he doesn't break it until his lungs are burning for air. He doesn't pull back far, just enough so that they both have room to breathe.
"You scared the hell out of me," he gasps against her mouth. "Don't ever do that again."
"I'm sorry," she says between ragged breaths. "I'm so sorry, but I didn't have a choice. I couldn't take all of you with me. I just couldn't."
His hand spasms on her shoulder, and he forces himself to let go when she winces. He pulls back a little further and cups her face in his hands.
"I love you," he tells her. Jemma's eyes go wide with surprise. Grant's surprised at himself, honestly. He's never said those words before, not sincerely. Not when he wasn't playing a part. But this time he means it, completely. "You're my soulmate, and I love you, and I can't live without you. I won't."
"I love you," she says. "That's why I had to do it, don't you see?"
"Jemma—"
"I couldn't bear it," she interrupts. "To die, knowing that I was going to take you with me—to take Fitz and Skye and May and Coulson—how could I stand that? What else could I possibly have done?"
"The anti-serum worked," he tells her, suddenly incensed. "If you had just waited a few seconds—"
"I still would have had to jump, Grant! There just wasn't enough time to fabricate another dose of the anti-serum. Even if I'd gotten dosed with it on the Bus, I still would've let out a pulse large enough to knock out all of the systems. The only way to make sure I was far enough from the Bus not to hit it was to jump right then."
He lets out a slow breath, and his anger disappears as quickly as it came.
"There was no time. What else could I possibly have done?" she asks again.
"You could have told me," he says. There are tears slipping down Jemma's face, and he wipes them away with his thumbs. "You could have let me come with you."
"No, I couldn't," she tells him. "I'm sorry, but I really couldn't. And you'd have done the same, I know you would."
He sighs and slumps forward, letting his forehead come to rest against hers.
"Tell me I'm wrong," she whispers. He closes his eyes.
"You know I can't."
"Then you understand, don't you?"
"Yeah. I just—you scared the hell out of me," he repeats.
"I know. I'm sorry."
They sit like that for a while, foreheads pressed together, his hands on her face, hers resting on his knees for balance. Finally, she sits back, and he lets go of her face.
"You just jumped out of a plane for me," she says, her eyes wide.
He nods, not sure where she's going with this.
"How did you know?" she asks. "I thought—you went upstairs, didn't you?"
"To the briefing room," he tells her. "The alert popped up that the ramp was being lowered, and I knew exactly what you were doing."
"Thank you," she says quietly. "Thank you very, very much for saving my life."
"Always," he promises. And then, because she should know, he continues, "Fitz was going to, if I hadn't."
"What?"
"When I got to the cargo bay, Fitz was putting on this parachute," he says, patting the raft. "He'd have come after you himself, if I hadn't taken it from him."
"Oh, Fitz," Jemma chokes out, closing her eyes. "I didn't mean for him to—I knocked him out, you see."
"You what?"
"Well, there's no way he'd have let me jump," she says, and Grant has been wondering about that, honestly. "So I used the fire extinguisher to knock him out once his back was turned. But he woke up and he—he was screaming my name when I jumped."
He cringes at the thought of it. That's…horrible. It was bad enough, racing through the plane trying to get to the cargo bay in time, but if he'd had to watch? If he'd been trapped helplessly in the lab, standing by while Jemma…
He owes Fitz. He owes Fitz a lot. He won't forget it.
"Grant!" Jemma suddenly exclaims. "What happened to your hand?"
He looks down as Jemma cradles his right hand in both of hers. "Oh."
"Oh? What does 'oh' mean?" she demands. She runs her fingers over his knuckles, then moves his fingers gently, obviously trying to determine what kind of damage has been done. It doesn't even hurt.
Well, it probably does, but he can't feel it. He's too relieved. The time he spent thinking she would never fuss over a minor injury again, never look at him with that 'why won't you take your health seriously?' face again, never say his name in that tone again, is too fresh in his mind. There's nothing but sweet relief in him right now.
"I punched a wall," he tells her.
Jemma's eyes go wide in understanding, then soften.
"Well," she says gently. "That wasn't very smart, now was it?"
"I think you've got us confused," he says. "You're the smart one here, not me, remember?"
She rolls her eyes, but before she can reply they're distracted by an approaching vessel. He'd absently noticed it before, but hadn't given it much thought, too focused on Jemma. Now he realizes that it must be their rescue. He can see, as the boat gets closer, that it has the SHIELD logo painted on the side, and he's relieved. Any civilian vessel would have been sure to ask questions, but SHIELD will already know the situation.
Jemma's alive. She's alive and she loves him, and she knows that he loves her. Everything in the world is absolutely perfect right now, and he doesn't even mind that they're about to have to go through at least twelve rounds of debriefing.
x
Hours later, back on the Bus, freshly showered, in their own clothes, and fully warm, they stand in Coulson's office as he yells at Jemma for pulling that kind of stunt. She doesn't defend herself to him the way she did to Grant, just smiles to herself and nods.
Once they've been clearly dismissed (or clearly to him at least, Jemma is a little less sure), he leads the way out of the office and down the stairs. As they walk towards the lounge, he realizes there's something he's forgotten to tell her, in all of the emotion of the last few hours. Something important.
He stops and turns to look at her. Her hair is down, a little frizzy from air drying, and she looks so beautiful, so alive, that he completely forgets what he was about to say. He bends down and kisses her for what must be the hundredth time in five hours. He keeps it soft, and brief, well aware that they're in the middle of a common area, but it's enough to calm him again.
"I forgot to tell you earlier," he says when he pulls away. "I still don't like what you did. But…it was incredibly brave. It was the bravest thing I've ever seen."
She smiles up at him for a moment. "Thank you."
Then her smile fades, and he's gripped with dread.
"There's something you should know," she says, looking strangely sheepish. "I suppose now's as good a time as any to tell you that I may have misled you earlier. You see, when I gave you back the night-night pistol, I lied. It's still an ounce off."
He'd completely forgotten about that. It seems like weeks ago that he was trying to keep a straight face as she tried to deceive him, to cover for the laughter she, Fitz, and Skye couldn't hide after her terrible impression of him.
He smiles at her. He can't help it. "I know."
"You do?" she asks, startled.
"Of course," he says, and he must still be a little giddy from relief that she survived, because he really can't help what he does next. He puts his hands on his hips, hunches over a little, and imitates her terrible impression of him. "After all, I'm Agent Grant Ward. I just jumped out of a plane without a parachute on and saved your life."
Jemma laughs. "Actually, that's not quite it," she corrects. "It's a bit more nasally than that."
He has to laugh. Really, she's correcting his impersonation of her impersonating him? He has to laugh, or he might actually cry, because he came so close to losing her today. He hears footsteps, and Jemma's eyes shift past him.
"Oh," she says. "Hello, Skye."
Skye doesn't say anything, just rushes forward and throws her arms around Jemma, who lets out a surprised little 'oh!' and hugs her back. Grant missed Jemma's reunion with Fitz, busy with a debrief as he was, but he's glad to witness this one. Skye clutches Jemma tightly, and Jemma squeezes her right back, and he can see how much the two women care about one another.
Here, once and for all, seeing the way Skye embraces Jemma after spending all afternoon crying over her…He lets go of his suspicions and his anger. Skye joined this team under false pretenses, but she's a real, fully invested member now. She's no threat to them.
In fact, as he watches Jemma smile, he's honestly grateful for her presence. Skye makes Jemma happy. Their friendship is important to her. Not as important as Fitz's, maybe, but it's no less sincere. So he'll protect Skye, the way he'll protect Fitz. For Jemma's sake.
x
Later, after they've dropped the helmet off at the Sandbox, after Fitz has been comforted and Skye has been hugged again and May has given them a very rare smile, Grant and Jemma are given new orders. Mandatory five day traumatic leave, no excuses.
Jemma tries arguing with Coulson, tries to fight it, but Grant is honestly grateful for it. He so very nearly lost her, and those two torturous hours he spent watching her through the monitor won't be leaving his thoughts any time soon, to say nothing of his desperate dive out of the cargo bay. A little time to rest and recover from this whole experience is exactly what he needs before going back out into the field.
And, he thinks, it will be nice to spend some time alone with Jemma. Five days with no one to interrupt them? Thus far, they've been lucky to get five minutes.
So, once Jemma has given in and accepted that there's no getting out of the traumatic leave, Grant quietly requests that the plane drop them off in Italy on the way back to America. It's a bit of a detour, but Coulson agrees right away.
"Italy?" Jemma asks as Grant leads her out of Coulson's office. "What's in Italy?"
"Good food, great wine, beautiful scenery—" Grant begins to list. Jemma rolls her eyes and gives him a little shove. "I have a place on the Bay of Naples. I think you'll like it."
It's a nice little villa, belonging to one Lorenzo Marchetti, which is one of Grant's more innocuous aliases. It's quiet and secluded, with a lovely view—perfect for a nice, romantic getaway. He's sure it will do wonders for Jemma's mental health. It'll definitely do more than his twelfth floor apartment in Paris would.
"Fitz won't take it well," Jemma says worriedly. "I certainly wouldn't, if I were separated from him so soon after he nearly died."
"We really don't have much choice," he points out, but he can definitely understand why Fitz will be upset. "You want me to tell him?"
"No, I'll do it," she says, shaking her head a little. "I need to apologize again, in any case. That was a horrible thing to do to him, regardless of the necessity."
He can't really argue with that. "I'll go give May the coordinates, then. Meet you in the lounge later?"
"See you there," she says, squeezing his good hand. (As it happens, his right hand is not actually broken. It is, however, very badly bruised, and seriously hurting now that his adrenaline has worn off and Jemma is no longer dying.)
He watches her walk away, in the direction of Fitz's room, and then goes to search out May. She's at the bar, and as he takes a seat next to her she holds up a glass in wordless invitation.
"No, thanks," he says. "If I start drinking right now I'll never stop."
She tilts her head in understanding. "It's been a long day."
"Yeah."
"What do you need, if not a drink?" she asks, taking a sip of hers.
"Jemma and I have traumatic leave," he tells her. He puts his back to the bar, resting his elbows against it, so he can survey the room. He looks at the briefing room, wonders if he'll ever be able to enter it without thinking of those torturous two hours, and is once again glad that they're going to have a few days away from the Bus. "We're going to take a little vacation with it. Would you mind setting a course for the airport in Naples?"
The villa is actually just outside of Sant'Agnello, which is a small town outside of Sorrento. It's close enough that they can go into the city if Jemma so desires, but far enough that they're not likely to be bothered by too many tourists. From Naples it's a bit of a drive, nearly an hour, but he thinks Jemma might enjoy the scenery. And in any case, it would be difficult to find a private airstrip which will let them land on such short notice.
May gives him a searching look, then nods. "Of course. Wheels up in five, then. So you can warn Simmons first."
"Thank you," he says sincerely, then pushes away from the bar. May's right, after all—after her very recent skydiving adventure, it might make Jemma nervous to be in the air again. She needs time to prepare.
Jemma and Fitz are sitting on the couch in the lounge. Grant's not bothered by Fitz's presence. After all, he did help save Jemma's life today, and Grant's about to have Jemma to himself for five days while Fitz does without. He can spare the few hours to Naples.
"Hey," he says, sitting on Jemma's other side. She immediately takes his hand. "We're taking off in five."
"Okay," Jemma says with a little nod. "That's nice."
He exchanges a glance with Fitz. "Are you gonna be okay?"
"Yes, of course," she says at once. "The Bus is perfectly safe."
He nods a little, but honestly he's just humoring her. He's pretty sure this is going to be the most difficult flight she's ever taken.
"Only," she continues, squeezing his hand a little. "Do you think we could spend the flight right here?"
On the couch, away from any windows, he completes silently. With he and Fitz, the people she's closest to, on either side of her.
"I've got nowhere else to be," he says. "Fitz?"
"Nope," Fitz agrees, leaning back further into the couch. "Here is fine. It's a very nice couch."
Jemma smiles a little and takes Fitz's hand in her free one. She leans her head against Grant's shoulder, and though her breath catches a little as the plane starts up, all she does is squeeze their hands a little tighter.
As they begin their ascent, Fitz distracts her with a question about the anti-serum's potential for mass production, and Grant sits back and watches as they argue.
Jemma's alive. His beautiful, brilliant, kind, brave, amazing soulmate is alive and well, and he's about to have five days alone with her. Five days to decompress, to let go of all of the fear and anger and grief he can still feel within him, swirling behind a wall that wants to break.
He looks down at their clasped hands, at the reassuring green glow of Jemma's timer. She almost died today, but he caught her, and she's fine. She's fine.
So why is it that he still has such a bad feeling? Now that his relief has faded and his adrenaline is gone, why has the dread he felt earlier today returned to the front of his mind?
Even as he smiles at Jemma and her enthusiastic conversation with Fitz, he can't shake the feeling that something's wrong. There's something coming. Something big.
And next time, he's afraid he might not be able to catch her when she falls.
A/N: After a lot of thought, I decided that I'd rather keep this story composed of just the main plot. My question for you, dear readers, is would you be interested in a side-story about Grant and Jemma's time in Italy? Or would you rather I just move on to The Hub? Let me know what you think!