Chapter 3
They make it to Italy in a matter of a couple of hours, courtesy of the Quinjet that drops them at an air field far off from the Playground and then the private plane (staffed by SHIELD personal, no less) that finally lands them in Rome and then all the way to the penthouse to be used for their stay as well as their cover as Sophie and Joseph Rossi. Newly married, rich couple on a honeymoon.
Newly married couple, god. He thinks as he grabs their bags from the trunk of their car. Newly married couple on honeymoon. Great.
He could have dealt with playing married with time in. Considerably young married couple who've grown bored with each other. Which would make it a lot easier to... not do things newly weds normally do on their honeymoons.
Like... kissing. PDA. Sweet talk. And touching. Lots of touching. Acting in love, basically.
But, no.
'Course, even if they do have to play a long-married couple well past the early love phase, anyone would take one glance at Jemma and wonder how the hell he'd ever not act as besotted with her as the day they met.
Hell, he's already there without them having done anything.
They're supposed to have money on this one. Well, she's supposed to be from money and he's supposed to have come from comfortable enough roots to have caught her eye in the first place.
Hence, the penthouse.
"Oh my." She says upon them walking into their new home. Well, their cover's home. "Oh my god."
It's big. Even he, having already gone undercover as millionaires and the like before now, can attest to that. Even his eyes can fully appreciate the warm, pleasing tones of the space. Shades of cream and warm reddish-browns decorating the living room with variants along the kitchen (the part of him that so enjoyed being undercover as a chief is kinda fanboying over that, too), a space every bit as elegant as everything else, with it's dark wood cabinetry and marble countertops with the plentiful induction stove.
He even likes the balcony in the-
Bedroom.
Shit. Their bedroom.
Whatever turmoil may be going on in his head is obviously not echoed from his partner as she gasps over the area. "Oh my god." She repeats, covering her mouth with both her hands and he tries (and fails) to not find it adorable. "Everything is beautiful. They've really... put things together, haven't they?"
Of course, she means their boss. And the help they'd called in the short few hours before getting here.
"Yeah. It's quite a place." Is all he can say, staring numbly at the big, king-sized canopy bed in the center of the room. Almost calling him out for every filthy thought he's ever had about the brilliant, gorgeous woman who's gonna pretend to be his wife. Maybe end up sharing that bed with him.
It also doesn't help anything that most of his most vivid fantasies have been almost exclusively in this kind of setting: Nice spacious, comfy, sturdy mattress where he learns every inch of her by golden light for hours upon hours. Murmuring sweet terms of endearment onto her naked skin. Sometimes the opposite. Either way, it's -
"Grant."
He snaps to attention abruptly and turns his eyes towards Jemma, very much clothed and composed and lovely... and who's giving him a funny look. All scrunched up nose and squinted eyes. God, she's cute. "Are you alright? You went somewhere just then. Do you feel unwell?"
The real concern expressed on her beautiful face causes his answer to clog up in his throat. This? This right here is why he's beating himself up over having said yes to this assignment (or rather, not refusing after Coulson had handed it to him). The look on her face and the things it does to his heart. The way in which any in a multitude of emotions shine in her eyes squeeze at his insides and makes him wanna reach out to her and never let her go.
How he can't not look after her. Even when he'd barely known her and she had uttered something off-hand about being a little hungry because of forgetfulness, he had instinctively scoured the base's kitchen and made her a turkey club that she'd taken with a confused, pleased smile and a tired word of gratitude. Or in the months following, learning her favorite foods and snacks and what her tea preference is. Sometimes raiding dig sites to get the strangest oddity for her to examine and even keep, knowing that she alone would appreciate something like that.
Hell, it'd even come to the point where he would prepare and leave behind a specific meal for her during her particularly late nights. His spaghetti and meatballs a particular favorite of hers.
God, he's so gone on her.
One of the many reasons he should have said no to this. Should have shoved aside the jealousy that arose in his throat when Coulson, eyes gleaming knowingly, had asked after he had spotted the specialist's hesitation, if he'd rather Simmons go with Tripp, instead. Which... he loves Tripp. The man is one of his closest friends and despite his inability to put it into exact words, Tripp knows how he feels about the biochemist.
But, yeah, the very thought of she and the other man alone, in Italy, together still makes him wanna vomit so...
Thus, he's sealed his own fate. Perfect.
And there's also the question of her. He honestly doesn't know how Jemma feels about him. For all that she's naturally sweet and warm and open, she has remained more than professional during their interactions, if friendly and un-standoffish. More than him, admittedly. But, it's in the other encounters that he can call into question. The way he knows she smiles at him differently than anyone else. The way she'd blushed a few times when she would examine him after a mission after his shirt would inevitably come off, though with a shyness he rarely encountered with another woman before. A delicious, unforced coyness he'd wanted (still wants) for his own.
The signals are mixed at best but, they are there. Whether she's aware of it or not, she's giving something off. He's a specialist, he's trained for a variety of situations. Meant to read these things. Signs of attraction. Meant to see them in a mark and take full advantage, if need be. Though... she's not a mark. Not in that way, at least. And he would never use any perceived reciprocation on her part against her.
But, like he'd mentioned before, he is an opportunist.
And this particular opportunity - time spent alone with the most beautiful women he's ever seen in his life, in one of the most romantic places on earth, with signs that she may be receptive to something with him, at least - just might be the greatest yet.
He doesn't what'll happen if (when) he ends up making a move but, he knows that all he needs is a little more time and patience and then... it will hopefully pay off. Some way. Somehow.
He smiles at her. Revels in the color high on her face as a result. "I'm better." He utters with complete honesty.
"Good." She says honestly with her own smile. That smile. The smile that she'd unknowingly (maybe?) tailored for him. He doesn't know. He's just glad it's there. "I'm pleased to hear it."
And with that, they move on to unpack and he goes on to contact Coulson to let him know that they've arrived without trouble while Simmons takes the shower first - and isn't that an image he doesn't need clinging to his brain when he's calling his superior? - after they make plans for dinner. For the assignment, of course. He's done and accomplished many of these missions. He has a few methods to keep things even and not liable to fall apart early in the game. In the past, when he and Bobbi have been on such assignments, they'd go out on the town (depending on who they were portraying, obviously) and make appearances as their covers to avoid any and all suspicions. Get a feel of the surroundings. Maybe take a gander at their target, if need be. Cover their bases, as it were.
But, he's not partnered with Bobbi. He's here with Jemma. Whom he... anyway, it's different.
He and Bobbi have known each other for years and he often thinks of her as a super annoying sister - bringing a whole new level of non-awkward awkwardness to their having played romantic couples in the past - and with Jemma it's... the very thought of playing her husband brings a stupid warmth to his chest that he would rather do without. If for the sake of professionalism.
Yet no. Here he is. A total mess. Over something as innocuous as dinner.
Aw fuck.
He gets himself ready as well. Tucks out his best dress shirt and slacks for the evening and takes over the apartment's second bathroom to handle his own business of cleaning up and (because he hadn't had the time to do so) grooming up his beard down to a five o'clock shadow to look a little bit more polished. Slapping on some aftershave and cologne to finish up. Not willing to get into how this is feeling more and more like a date as the minutes tick by.
They're staying just outside of the city limits between Rome and Florence so, the restaurant they're headed to is right in front of the Trevi Fountain because, of course, he has to push, doesn't he?
He just needs to calm his nerves before he does something idiotic like make this more romantic than it has to be. Which, technically, it kinda needs to because they are play-acting a married couple but, he still wants to keep it professional enough to focus on their mission.
Mission being the investigation of suspected scientist Roberto Ianucci. A filthy rich man with a rumored pension for women and dirty dealings. Like selling biological weaponry to the highest bidder in the black market. A kind of deal that's said to be going down in the near future. One of many reasons why there'd been such a rush to get to Italy should they miss anything pivotal in this particular case.
And the main reason - next to another that Ward suspects Coulson knows more than he lets on about the interpersonal relationships among his agents - that Simmons had been partnered with him on this op. She's the brains here. She doesn't put together weapons but, she knows biochemistry, which could prove important should anything go down.
He's in the process of doing his tie when he hears a soft voice behind him. "Grant?"
He turns without a second thought and Jemma is standing there in a golden cocktail dress - whoa - and high heels. Her shoulder-length hair now up in a loose bun with bits of tendrils trailing down her neck and collarbone as revealed by the low-cut neckline of the dress that shimmers and clings and hugs every inch of her body in ways he's always dreamed of and he's now convinced that somewhere in the world there's a small Italian man pleased with himself about giving him a heart attack because of this particular creation.
He's certain that this won't be the most revealing piece of clothing that he'll be seeing on anybody, especially here in Italy, but it is the most revealing on Jemma and that's the thing that his mind holds onto to justify his probable gaping at her dressed like that.
She's already the most beautiful he's ever met in real life and honestly he could give a shit about her wardrobe choices - they'd met whilst she had been in a lab coat and goggles that'd barely put a dent in his desire soo - and now, she's notched it up to ten and how the hell is to survive around her like that?
And also, he's been silent too long, probably staring at her like a fucking idiot who'd never seen skin before, because the expectant look on her gorgeous face falls into a frown. The effect like the sun dimming before it's time.
"It's too much, isn't it?" She starts asking with a fidget towards the hemline barely touching her knee and god, he hadn't known she had legs (there are nice legs and then there's what Jemma Simmons hides under her modest pants). Simmons has legs. Why hadn't anybody thought to tell him about this?
"I'll just-" She turns around and the movement is enough to snap him out of it and the next words out of his mouth are without any forethought-
"You're beautiful!"
Shit.
He doesn't even realize that he's blurted those particular words out until she's turning around and looking at him with a look of mild yet delighted (he hopes) disbelief on her face. That tell-tale splash of pink spreading on the high points of her face. That perfect mouth of hers forming into an even more perfect 'O'. Eyes big, bright, and beautiful in her surprise.
The whole picture sorta reminds him of her back at the Playground after a new discovery that has put a similar expression to what she's wearing now. Only lab coats and goggles accompanying the whole look of wonder in place of an expensive dress. All surprise and unquenched curiosity. Expressive, lovely eyes and round, rosebud mouth.
He wants to sink his teeth into her.
And, once more, therein lies the issue.
"What I meant was..." He stammers before he could tell himself to please shut up, Grant, before you make a bigger fool of yourself and gestures off-handedly towards the number so lovingly wrapped around her frame - just holding barely keeping from actually air sweeping her up and down like the secret pervert that he is. "...Is that you look, um..." When the correct phrase comes back to him, he holds back from snapping his fingers in triumph and instead adds as casually as he can. "...Lovely. You look very lovely."
That word sounds... odd coming out of his mouth. He's been using that word (among many others) to describe her in his mind for almost a year and yet this is the first time he's actually said it out loud and though it embarrasses him greatly, the sweetly pleased expression on that takes over her features removes a good brunt of the school-boy feeling he's having right now. "Really?"
He nods, not trusting himself to speak anymore because, uh, well...
"Thank you." She peers down at herself and he can't help but follow her gaze and - goddammit, legs! - then looking away a second before she can returns her eyes back to him and his heart goes taut in his chest with how flattered and flustered she seems at the simple compliment. "I, um... it's not mine, you see." She blushes deeper and he literally digs gis heel into the floor beneath him to keep from getting closer to her. Hold it together, Ward. "Bobbi and Skye thought it would well, ideal for this mission in particular so..."
'Course they did. He thinks spitefully, wanting to simultaneously send both his cohorts a great big gift basket and then also, give them both a tongue-lashing of a lifetime because despite his best efforts, they know. They fucking know all about this and still they'd convinced her to pack a dress that had been designed to fuck his entire world up, he's sure of it.
"And you don't look too bad yourself." She adds with a wide smile and sparkling, sincere eyes and jesus, he's way too young to be having a heart attack right now. "Very dapper."
It happens real quick. Quick enough that he almost misses it... but, he doesn't have the reputation that he has for no reason and he knows that in between the words very and dapper her lovely, twinkling gaze had swept him up and down much like he had tried not to do earlier before returning to their original place on his face and yeah, he's pretty impressed with how fast she'd almost been able to hide it.
It makes him recall that moment in her quarters when he had gone to get her to leave the base all those hours ago. The way he's certain she had tried to subtly eye whilst he'd helped her find her toiletry bag and then when he had asked her gently to use his first name if for the sake of this assignment.
It makes him feel a whole lot better and skims off the top of his embarrassment and he straightens, gaining a bit of his old confidence back. "Thank you." He gestures towards the door and steps to wrap a hand over the handle. "Shall we?"
She nods primly, smiling at him in a way that never fails to make him feel warmer. "We shall."
And if he happens to take a long deep breath as she walks out of the door he's opened for her to sniff in her scent and if after he has closed the door behind them, he's placed his palm on her lower back and doesn't take it away when she doesn't say to, that's his business.
She may just kill him by the end of this and to his worry, he's starting to care less and less.