Disclaimer: I own nothing except this actual story.
AN: Fitz and Skye are playing a game that my elementary school just called "slaps" but wikipedia has a variety of names for, including "red tomato."
"This is idiotic," Grant says.
"It hones reflexes," Fitz says.
"And it's good for perception," Skye adds. "You know, being able to tell when the person you're up against is going to kill you."
Grant rolls his eyes. "I sincerely doubt Fitz is going to kill you. And if you can die from him slapping your hands, you're even more pathetic than I thought."
"Hey!" Skye yells.
In her moment of distraction, Fitz brings his hands out from under hers and slaps the backs of her hands. The sharp sound still hangs in the air as Fitz cries, "Victory!" and Skye bites her lip against the pain. She shakes her hands out and dances in place while Fitz runs around the lounge Rocky-style. Grant figures it only stands to reason the engineer's strong in his hands. He does spend all his time working with them. Still, it's kind of pathetic that Skye's hurting from it. They'll have to work on pain tolerance sometime soon.
"Rematch!" she bites out during Fitz' third circuit.
Fitz readily holds his hands out, palm down this time to give Skye the chance to attack. "But when you lose," he says mildly, as if not the slightest bit worried, "you're going to tell everyone tonight at dinner that I am the red tomato champion."
"You really want to publicize that?" Grant asks.
If either of them have a biting comeback it's cut off by a chime from Skye's tablet. Her expression falls and she begins turning away from Fitz.
"Forfeit means you lose," Fitz says quickly.
Skye makes a pathetic attempt at slapping Fitz' hands. He pulls out of reach easily and laughs once, mockingly.
The chime goes off again and her knees bounce in frustration. She looks hopelessly around the lounge and her eyes settle on Grant. He immediately begins rising from his seat, holding his hands out in front of him in defense.
"Nooooo," he says.
"But Waaaaard," she whines.
Fitz just smirks.
"You're the one," Grant says, "who insisted we bring the thing along instead of just dropping it-"
"We couldn't just abandon him! He's a baby!"
Grant drops his arms, a sour expression replacing his trepidation. "It's a dog."
"Exactly! And he would've been stuffed in some tiny cage in a shelter and what if nobody wanted him? What if no one adopted him, Ward? What then?"
She's playing him. Her big eyes and pathetic expression are meant to remind him that she was a girl nobody wanted. It's actually kind of impressive and it's only too bad he's playing her right back or he'd compliment her on it. As it is, he sighs heavily, letting her think she's getting to him.
"He's all alone down there and he's hungry! Someone's gotta feed him! Pleeeeease?"
Grant looks to Fitz for help he doesn't actually want and, just as expected, receives only a shrug in response. Skye once again tries to slap him and misses.
"That's two," Fitz says. To Grant he says, "As much as I'm enjoying the advantage this conversation gives me, I should point out that the more time Skye spends around the dog the more likely she is to name it."
Even if Grant didn't want to go down to the cargo hold, that would've convinced him. He makes a show of grabbing the bag of dog food off the counter and marching down the stairs. He hears Skye make another futile slapping attempt as he leaves.
The dog was a stray. His mother - at least they think it was his mother - got hit by a car during a chase on their last mission. Coulson actually let the smugglers get away because he was busy hovering over the poor thing. (Grant was just glad Coulson got there first.) The pup stumbled out of a nearby alley while his mother was still clinging to life. Skye cried when it nuzzled its mother's lifeless paw and there was generally a lot of sniffling all around.
It was kind of embarrassing how intense everyone got after that. The smugglers didn't last another hour before they were in SHIELD custody and all very much in need of medical attention. As for the pup, it somehow got into the back of their van without being noticed. (Grant 100% does not believe that at all.) When it came time to drop the little guy off at a shelter and head out, no one actually moved to do it. Eventually May mentioned SHIELD's K-9 unit and Coulson told her to set course for the Kennel.
Grant tries not to look too happy about his task as he heads downstairs. Simmons is still in the lab, examining the drugs they confiscated and it would defeat the purpose if she sees him looking eager.
He knows it would be good for his cover if he just admitted to being a dog person. It'd humanize him in a way almost none of his previous efforts have done - except then everyone would know. Grant doesn't have many weaknesses but this is one he'd prefer to keep to himself as long as possible. Especially given that Garrett has no idea Grant's attachment extends beyond Buddy. Not that he expects Garrett to ask him to kill any more dogs, but he'd really rather not test his luck.
He's three steps from the bottom when he hears the shriek. He knows because he's immediately aware he can jump the rest of the distance without risk of injury. He's at the lab doors in mere seconds. They slide open far too slowly, giving him time to take in the sight of Simmons across the lab, balanced atop one of the stools. It wobbles beneath her and the way she's repeatedly jerking backward isn't helping.
"Simmons!" he yells as he finally slips through the doors and it's completely the wrong thing to do.
She looks up at him sharply and that completely throws off her balance. He lunges and it's a miracle she doesn't take him down with her when he grabs her out of the air. She seems as shocked to find herself in his arms as he is to be holding her.
"What happened?" he asks and searches the lab for signs of whatever caused her distress.
"I- ah!" she cries again and curls into his embrace.
His arms automatically tighten around her. It's crazy and completely unhelpful at the moment, but he can't help but compare this to the only other time he held her in his arms. They were falling then and he was reluctant to shift her for fear he'd lose his grip, so it wasn't nearly as comfortable to hold her then as it is now. It's not even a strain; she's so tiny, he could hold her like this all day. Except that her terrified grip on his shoulder has him on edge and ready for a fight.
"What hap-" he starts to repeat but cuts off at a faint click-clack on the tiled floor.
He peers over Simmons' head, still pressed against his shoulder, to see the dog. Its tongue lolls out as it regards them. It gives a half-hearted little jump as if it too wants to be held and then sits, letting its tail drag back and forth.
"Make it go away," Simmons wails into his shoulder. She manages to pull herself away to give the dog a scathing look. "Dogs are not allowed in the lab!"
It yips happily in response and Simmons throws her arms around Grant's neck, clutching him even tighter. He steps past the dog and carefully maneuvers Simmons to sit on the stool. The dog darts between his legs to put its paws on the lowest rung. Simmons clutches her knees to her chest, bringing her feet out of its reach.
Grant rolls his eyes and gathers up the dog, who gives him a sniff and a lick before looking right at Simmons. She angles herself away so far that Grant worries she'll fall off again. He takes a half-step back to give her more room and she relaxes a hair.
"You didn't bathe in bacon grease or anything today, did you?" he asks, as he tries to grab the pup's attention.
"This isn't funny!" she snaps but she's slowly letting her legs down so he calls it a win. "There are to be no dogs in the lab. I told Coulson when he agreed to take that beast aboard."
"It's a puppy."
"It's an animal! A wild animal too! It was raised on the streets!"
"Ah yes, the mean streets of Filer, Idaho." He ruffles the dog's floppy ears and feels its tail beat against his ribs.
"You know what I mean! It doesn't belong here." She sound so pitiful when she says it, like she's ashamed of her own, perfectly reasonable rule. It's not like she's the only one. Coulson made it clear the dog wasn't allowed anywhere near Lola or anywhere with carpet. Hence its exile to the storage area behind the lab. So why would Simmons feel bad about wanting it out of here? The sight of her atop the stool, arms wind milling, flashes through his mind.
"You're afraid of dogs," he says.
"No," she says immediately. She won't look at him though, which is as much a confirmation as her completely unbelievable denial.
Grant leans back against one of the tables as he considers her. His fingers are busy teasing the dog and he can see her glance up every so often only to cringe at the little puppy teeth snapping ineffectually at his digits.
"Listen," he says, "I'm not gonna tell you it's silly to be afraid of dogs. I've got a scar, back of my left calf?" She nods slightly in recognition. "Had to steal a file from a businessman's home office. The guy had guard dogs."
Simmons winces in sympathy and Ward can see her fear solidifying in her eyes.
"But this guy?"
He lets the dog catch his fingers. Tiny teeth press down on the soft space between knuckles. The tongue convulses. Simmons' eyes go wide. The dog's jaw works awkwardly, trying to get his fingers out without doing any damage to them. Grant finally pulls them away and holds them out to Simmons. He's careful to turn his body so the dog is shifted away from her.
"Not a scratch," he says.
The dog wriggles, ready to be let down, and Grant catches him in both hands.
"Of course you should be afraid of dogs. The same way you should be afraid of people. There are bad people and there are bad dogs. But I can't have you almost killing yourself trying to get away from the harmless ones."
Simmons still eyes the dog warily. "I doubt he's harmless. We're taking him to the Kennel, after all." It goes without saying that there, the dog will likely be trained to take down assailants.
Grant cocks his head, wondering just how to fix this problem and if it's possible to do so before the dog gives up trying to escape and just pees on him. It takes him only a moment to realize he's going to have to commend Skye on her manipulation skills later, otherwise he'll risk having her find out on her own that he's about to use her tactic on Simmons. The gloating would be unbearable.
"I guess you're right," he says slowly. "He'll be trained to sniff out dangerous weapons and substances, slip in and out of enemy territory with only his own skin for cover, fight off multiple assailants."
Simmons nods along in agreement.
"It'll all be to protect people, sure, but how could anyone trust him after they see him take down an enemy while barely lifting a - well, a paw?"
He sees the exact moment it clicks in Simmons' brain and it takes all his training not to grin in triumph.
"Ward," she says gently.
Grant hitches the pup higher in his arms. It's stilled now, worried over his sudden shift in mood. It licks his chin and nuzzles his neck. Grant couldn't have planned it better. He cups a hand around its head and holds it close.
Simmons actually comes off the stool to approach him.
"I- I suppose," she says shakily, "that they're not all that bad. They do good work a-and they're trained to recognize when and when not to attack."
"Yeah," Grant says softly, uncertainly. He firms up his grip on the dog's head as Simmons lifts a hand toward it; it'll ruin everything if the dog suddenly tries to lick her.
"And they have handlers, human teams they're no less a part of for their lack of humanity. Or their skills."
Grant only nods, unwilling to talk for fear of scaring Simmons. She barely touches the dog's back; he doubts it even feels a thing. Still, it's progress.
"They're not … so scary. So long as you're on their side."
"Like people." Grant allows himself a small smile. Simmons gives him a much brighter one in return and he actually has to hold his back.
This is why he doesn't want anyone knowing he likes dogs. He really does have a problem if this one little dog is making him want to smile like an idiot at Jemma Simmons.
"How did he get in here, anyway?" he asks in an effort to gain back some of his usual control.
"Oh. I've no idea, actually. " Simmons' hand falls away and apparently the dog did feel her because it starts struggling again.
"Probably the door wasn't locked and the little guy managed to trip the sensor. I'll look at it after I feed him."
"You're going to feed him?" Though her shock is exactly what he wants, it still stings a little that she's so surprised.
He shrugs. "Skye," he says by way of explanation.
Simmons is looking him up and down slowly, as if seeing something new in him. "And when has Skye ever gotten you to do anything you genuinely didn't want to?"
Grant blinks. He knows his cover is blown. "I can kill you and make it look like an accident."
"Likewise," she returns coolly and he's almost impressed - until she starts laughing.
He's smiling again. Dammit, this dog is turning out to be a bigger problem than he anticipated. He hurries for the stairs and the fallen bag of dog food.
"Seriously though," he says over his shoulder and makes a watching you gesture. Simmons only laughs harder.
Grant keeps his back to the lab windows while he feeds the dog. It at least won't go blabbing to the rest of the team about the smile he just can't seem to smother.