Paris; Grant/Jemma; Grant & Steve
He's in Paris with Jemma - naked and nestled against his side - when Steve gives him the call. The incessant buzzing of his phone at the bedside table waking him up at five in the morning.
And honestly, for someone as acclimated to paying mind to the details and his surroundings, the past day in a half has been more of a blur than anything else.
Yup. It's true.
Grant Ward has his mind on other things right now.
The past few hours - or however many hours, depending - have been an odd, happy blur.
He vaguely recalls being dropped by The Playground by Cap and Falcon (after spending what had felt like a decade searching for Bucky Barnes and still coming up empty). Feeling pleased and relieved to have at least some respite from spending time in suspicious areas of the world in this mission that's become his life recently.
Something that's never really bothered him before but, well...
And then, he's there being hysterically welcomed by Skye and Fitz. Smothering him with hugs he half-heartedly tries to toss off. Both of them babbling nonsensically about what's changed since he's been gone. Coulson being named Director. New agents put in place of the many either dead, missing, or compromised.
He'd even congratulated Skye on nabbing The Cavalry as her new SO in his absence. She could become a great field agent yet.
(he knows something is also different between his two friends. can almost smell it. they keep stealing glances at each other and the engineer's ears keep flushing red when they do.
whatever. he'll get it out of them eventually. he just hopes they know what they're doing.)
Regardless, his need to ask them any questions is taken out of him when he sees Jemma. Beautiful, brilliant Jemma. Whom he'd missed for all the months he had been away. Whom he had dreamed of while he'd been away.
Then, before he knew it, she's in his arms. Smattering kisses over his face. Gripping his neck in a vice with her arms as he'd tossed up into an embrace.
And then, she'd kissed him properly. Firmly. On the lips. Right in front of god and their friends and god knows how many others.
"Hi." She'd whispered against his lips after pulling away. Arms still around his neck. Eyes shining and smile, wide and happy.
He smiles, setting her down on her feet, somewhat reluctantly. "Hi."
He's running a greedy hand through her hair. Over the pulse at her throat because god, he's missed her when he realizes... "You changed your hair?" He asks, only now just taking in the shorter tresses between his fingers.
"Oh!" She, unfortunately lets him go and runs her own hands over the haircut. "Yeah."
He likes it, he wants to say but then...
Of course, that had been when he had to be tugged away to go see Director Coulson. Saving one more smile for the blushing biochemist and promptly ignoring the hoots and winks from Fitz and Skye. The dorks.
He does find her again, later. In the lab. Wearing that white lab he'd always dreamed of stripping off her.
As well as those damn goggles. He fucking loves those goggles on her.
(And, him being who he is, their conversation goes something like this:
"Paris." She repeats after asking him if he'd come back and then where's he's headed instead. Looking at him in surprise and disbelief. "You're going to Paris?"
"Yes-"
"You're taking a vacation? At a time like this?" She continues skeptically, doing that wrinkle thing with her nose that he finds utterly adorable.
He finds a lot of things about her adorable though, so whatever.
"Yeah." He answers, holding her hands in his. Keeping her gaze on his. "I want a break." He utters, surprising even himself because he's never said that but, these last few months... He'd been more than a little drained then ever before. And right then, he'd been looking at her. Taking her in. And a thought occurred to him.
"Grant-"
"Come with me." He interrupts, peering into her eyes.
Her caramel-colored orbs widen a bit more. "What?"
Well...)
It takes a bit but, he manages to convince her to take a break and go to Paris, where a penthouse he still very much owns, is located. To go there before so, he could take care of some business before meeting her there.
Which he does... And before he knows it, he's standing in front of the apartment building he hasn't been inside of in over a year.
He's got money and IDs stashed all over the world and this is his one indulgence. So sue him.
It's another blur after that. He recalls quickly saying hello in perfect French to the doorman and heading upstairs towards the penthouse. Recalls using the key he's thankful he still has. Letting himself in. Calling out Jemma's name in cautious greeting. And then... Seeing her there. In blue jeans and a silk blouse. Looking gorgeous and smiling at him from her perch by the window, no doubt catching the view of the Eiffel Tower from there.
He's starting to doubt his self-control when it comes to her. Even if it had been there to begin with.
From then on, it's vivid recollections of sex, hot caresses, and heated words said against naked flesh. He could hardly get enough of her. He's surprised he's lasted this long, to be honest.
And that's how, many hours later, he's lying in the rumpled sheets of the bed that he's never really had much use for in a long while, trailing his fingertips on Jemma's spine on the curve of her bare back as she nuzzles her nose into his throat with a contented sigh. Half snoozing on top of him. A welcome, warm weight embracing him.
They hadn't talked about this. Not yet. He'd wanted to when he had arrived but, well... He glances at her sleeping face. It's elegant angles. Those cute freckles scattered on her skin. The purse of her rosebud mouth. The feel of her slender fingers on his bare chest.
(He hasn't felt like this in... ever and just stays there for however long gazing into that face. Savoring the feel of her on his chest. Trying to ignore the tightness in his chest.)
And he might have dozed off because the thing he knows, he's hearing that damn buzzing and trying to blindly reach for the phone with closed eyes and then gently rolling away from Jemma to avoid waking her up, even as she cuddles up to the pillow he abandons when he has to get up from the bed. Shrugging on his boxer-briefs as he goes.
He drinks in the sight for a minute longer before heading to the balcony and answering the phone without looking at the call ID.
He doesn't need it. He knows who it is.
"Ward." He says by way of greeting.
"We have a lead." Captain Steve Rogers informs him instead of saying a simple hello. Gotta love the guy. He wastes no time. "There's been a spotting near Switzerland."
His gut clenches. His heart squeezing unpleasantly. The implications making him alert instantly. "Whereabouts?" He asks calmly even though he feels anything but. He has a feeling about where this is going.
And as it turns out, he's not wrong. "The... Alps." He hears filtered through the phone line in a long, drawn out sigh.
"Steve, is that-"
But, of course, his friend is already two steps ahead. "It is. I know."
Fuck, I'm sorry. Is what he wants to say but, instead what comes out of his mouth is. "I'm in Paris. Can you-"
"I can get there. Where are you exactly?"
He tells him the address and directions on how to get there and is in the process of hanging up when he hears from behind him. "Grant?"
The soft, feminine voice jolts him from the reverie of this recent piece of news, turning and seeing Jemma at the open French doors of his balcony, draped in his thin bed sheet. Looking like the most tempting, lovely sight he'd ever seen in his life. Half-highlighted in moonlight.
She walks into his arms when he reaches for her. "Was that Captain Rogers?"
"Yeah." He replies, resting his chin on the top of her head. Her slim arms around hugging his waist. "He's gonna be here in a few hours." He adds, sliding his hands up her back.
"Good news?" She asks, bless her, with a bright, encouraging note in her voice.
Yet, he can't even find it within himself to lie to her. He's learned enough from the last few months with Steve that lying to avoid hurt feelings just won't wash. "I hope so."
He takes her again.
First, right after the aforementioned call from Cap. A better than good roll in the sheets stripping him, for the time being, of the feeling he'd gotten during that phone call. Hands mapping her body everywhere. Tearing out as many sounds of pleasure as he could manage.
And he could manage. He could manage real well.
(She even takes him for a ride herself. What this pretty scientist lacks in experience, she more than makes up for in enthusiasm and self-confidence... and a happy willingness to experiment.)
Regardless, he maybe would have had the time to be dressed already and put together by the time Steve is knocking on his door but, then he's stepping out of the shower in only a towel to see Jemma lying in his still rumbled bed and singing along off-tune to French music.
Wearing only his shirt.
So, that's twenty minutes gone.
He's actually shrugging on a shirt over jeans, his feet bare, as the knocking continues - polite, with pauses in between, two-knuckled, obviously Steve's - looking through the peephole just in case before unlocking and opening the door.
His friend, dressed in down home civvies of blue t-shirt and khakis under a darker jacket, does a one-over on him. Cocking a single brow at his own casual wear, still damp hair, and bare feet. "Am I interrupting?" He asks dryly, lips quirking upward.
Steve Rogers and Captain America aren't one in the same. Something Grant has come to know well during their friendship and partnership these fast months. Cap is an entity. A symbolic ideal for hope, justice, and the American Way. He's perfection personified. Flawless. A cardboard goody-two-shoes.
Captain America isn't standing in front of him now. Steve Rogers is. The man who's become his best friend. His partner that's watched his back. The same guy who happens to enjoy a few beers with him every now and again. Who also has a dry sense of humor and irony that even Ward could appreciate. And who could actually roll with the punches a lot better than anyone would realize.
And yeah, despite what everyone may say, he's very much not as pure as the proverbial driven snow.
In spite of that though, he could hasten to guess that his buddy will become as red as a tomato if he lets him know he'd been busy between his woman's thighs not five minutes ago so, he says. "You did. Come in."
The flaxen-haired man shoulders past him into the apartment, toting a duffle bag over said shoulder. "You know, when you said you had a nice place in Paris, you never specified that it was the penthouse."
He watches his friend eye around the living space. The large, comfy couches surrounding a coffee table. The open balcony French doors. The café style table with two chairs near the pristine kitchen. "Jeez, this place is massive."
It is pretty damn nice. More than nice. It had been one of his more impulsive buys in recent years. A buy he's glad he'd made.
"It's not like you live in a shoebox." He gestures towards the couches and coffee table. "Have a seat."
"Yeah, well..." Steve says, sitting down on one of the couches - the one conveniently facing the open, daylight view of the Eiffel Tower that Grant chooses not comment on. "...This is literally miles from what I'm used to so..."
He takes a seat across from him. "You got the plans?"
Steve gives him a nod and rolls out an enormous map from the duffle because yup, that's how this is going. Fuck technology when you've got old-fashioned paper maps.
And it's only a couple of minutes before Jemma is waltzing her way out of the bedroom. Again, wearing his white button-up, this time with the same blue jeans she'd worn when he'd gotten to the penthouse. In the process of rolling up the sleeves of the shirt as she's walking out into the living area.
She looks lovely and refreshed. Especially in her afterglow and bathed in golden sunlight.
"Captain Rogers!" She greets cheerily. Sweetly. The voice she uses when she knows someone has gotten a bad bit of news and wants to make the day brighter for them. "How nice to see you!"
(He'd told her as vaguely as possibly about this mission with Steve because he knows his friend wouldn't want it broadcast and although Jemma Simmons is one of the most trust-worthy people he knows and Cap has met her around the labs down at The Hub before the fall, it's just not gonna fly.)
Either way, her words seem to have the intended affect and Steve sends her one of his big, thousand-watt smiles and soon, he finds himself watching one of his best friends and woman of his dreams chat like old pals. Jemma going through the motions as she talks with her hands and tries explaining science jargon that he understands - through knowing her for as long as he has - somewhat even as Steve looks at her with a mix of fascination and utter befuddlement.
He's not even gonna begrudge the guy. He completely understands.
Of course, they do have to get back to business and once Jemma catches wind of that, she starts heading towards the kitchen. "Well, I'm off to make lunch. Any preferences, boys?"
They really don't and her presence, from then on, is a constant buzzing nearby. Comforting even though she's clanging and banging and fluttering around in the kitchen. He's so distracted in keeping his nose buried in their plans and maps and where the hell Barnes really is that he only has a distant thought that it reminds of the way she moves around in a lab. Her beakers and vials replaced by cookware and kitchen utensils.
She had told him once that cooking is just like another experiment. Albeit, with safer and edible results.
Soon enough, in the midst of their brainstorming, the smell of herbs and melted cheese starts expanding in the room and a few minutes later, he gets why as Jemma walks over to them with a covered porcelain tray. "Come on then. Lunch time." She says, waiting after they move the many papers and maps out of the way before settling down said tray.
Turns out she'd made them croque-monsieurs. The sandwiches still steaming and hot and really delicious as they dig in gratefully, thanking her in mouths full of toast and melty cheese as she serves them fresh iced tea she'd also made.
She takes their praises of her culinary skills with pink cheeks and beams at them before walking back into the kitchen.
"I like her." Steve admits after she's out of earshot.
He nods, spidey senses going on high already. Because the other man is speaking in the same tone that he'd adapted after finding out about that Lewis girl last week. "Okay."
"She's sweet." Steve affirms, nodding. "I really like her. For you, I mean." His friend supplies needlessly with a glint in his eye that spells trouble. "She makes you... nicer. Lighter."
"Alright." He mutters, taking a drink of the tea. "Out with it."
Steve just shrugs, acting so fucking innocent when he's anything but. Bastard. "Nothing. I'm just saying... she's good for you." He elaborates. "Are you gonna ask her to be your girl?"
He nearly glares at his friend because honestly... "Really? What is this, high school?"
"It's just a question."
Nothing's ever just a question. "I know what you're doing. Now stop."
The supersoldier chuckles, taking a big bite of his sandwich and speaking through his full mouth, a chipmunk grin on his dumb, knowing face. "Be sure to invite me to the wedding." He teases in that way that he does and seriously, if anybody had ever thought that Steve Rogers is a humorless boy scout have clearly never met the man.
"Fuck off."
"So, you'll phone me, then?" Jemma asks, sliding her hands over his arms in their close embrace, even as The Bus hovers nearby at an airfield in the French countryside. Gazing up at him - way up because she's tiny and it must be a fetish of his with the way it makes him feel - in that soft manner he doesn't know what to do with.
"I will." He assures her, cupping the side of her face, unable to help himself. "Just as long as you return the favor. Keep yourself safe while I'm gone." He orders kindly, sweeping his thumb over her cheekbone.
"Away." She utters, following a small pause, her nose scrunched up adorably.
"What?"
"Away. I'll keep myself safe while you're away. Not gone." She explains, the expression painting her face almost too much for him to handle. "Gone implies that you're possibly never coming back and I don't like that so, no. I won't keep myself safe while you're gone. I'll keep myself safe while you're away. For now." She adds firmly, expressive hazel eyes challenging him.
He doesn't wanna lie to her. Doesn't wanna sugar coat things. Never has before. He may very well not come back out of this alive.
But... he also doesn't want to dash her hopes away. And he does wanna come back to her again. Share moments like this in the long run a thousand times over. Until then, though, this is something he can have. Something he can keep for the lonely nights ahead.
So, he smiles at her, feeling a burst of fondness at the sweetly stern look on her face because she's just blinding and perfect and he wants to keep this branded in his memory forever. "Okay. Keep yourself safe while I'm away, then. Sound good to you?"
"Very." She chases him upward for a kiss and they stay there for a bit. As though savoring the contact here while they still can. Inhaling breath and feeling lips and mouths and committing to memory banks.
And when he slowly pulls away, he finds himself gazing down at her, Steve's earlier words swirling around in his head. Images of a future he'd never thought he could want or had been possible. "Jemma?" He murmurs, his heart hammering.
"Yes, Grant?"
"While I'm away..." He starts teasing, hoping to keep the mood light. "...don't, y'know, give up on me."
(Code for don't fuck anybody else. Code for don't give anybody else those looks you give me. Code for... don't ever give up on me. Don't ever realize you're too good for me.)
She stares at him for a long moment and he nearly contemplates taking his words back before she simply asks. "Are you asking me to go steady with you, Grant Ward?" And when he meets her eyes, she's got a bright, pleased smile on her lips and his pulse speeds up without his permission.
But, he mans up anyway and says. "Officially, yeah." He admits hesitantly before adding. "If you want."
She kisses him again, whispering her yes into his soul and laughing happily as she pulls away and he is made to watch her walk to the Bus. His heart tugging in that strange way that she tends to inspire.
We'll always have Paris. He thinks unbidden as she disappears into the aircraft.