The problem with long field ops missions is that when Jemma is stuck on the bus, all she has is time. Time to worry, time to wonder, time to watch screens, and time to hope that everything will turn out alright. She’d like to think that she’s gotten better at coping, because it’s a part of the job but the team had become as much a part of her family as her parents. The latest in a string of covert information retrievals was a messy one thus far, the comms hidden on Melinda and Ward were badly damaged and the sounds of gunfire punched holes in the silence and it set Jemma’s teeth on edge. Fitz was keeping an eye on the rapidly moving screens and changes on the radar and tapping his fingers on the edge of the display table; while Skye was reviewing the preliminary reports, looking nauseous.
Both agents were coming up to the extraction zone, with a transport team waiting for them and it wasn’t enough to soothe her nerves. “I’m leaving. We don’t know what state they’ll be in when they come back and it’s most likely going to be colorful.” Making the lab ready for her newest job of nursemaid to the wounded wasn’t the most pleasant thing in the world, but the sharp stink of bleach helped distract her. They really did need a proper trauma surgeon on board, even if Coulson seemed to think she was fine in the role. Pulling bullets out of her teammates while they were inadequately sedated was not a part of her job description.
The lab doors opened with a hiss and in came Ward, holding his shoulder and grimacing. Jemma wasn’t going to rush him, she simply indicated for him to sit and got the scissors. His shirt was filthy with dirt, what looked like motor oil, and blood. He caught her looking and grinned, still in pain but downplaying it slightly. “It’s not all mine, so don’t look so upset.” He hissed, eyeing the scissors. “You know, i’m not going to have many shirts left if you keep using those.”
Jemma rolled her eyes and injected him with a local anesthetic, doing her best to gingerly cut away the bloodied fabric from his torso. “Well if you stop getting shot, i’ll stop ruining your shirts, Agent Ward.” She handed him a rag Fitz used to clean his machines. “Hold on tight. We both know how much fun this is.” Grant nodded, his jaw tightening as he took hold of the rag in his good hand. This wasn’t their first time in this position and while Jemma was gentle, bullet wounds were bullet wounds.
Jemma really hated this part but on she went, taking a small set of forceps in hand to separate the open wound; inserting a small set of medical pliers into the wound and clamping down on the bullet. Grant began swearing and it didn’t help her much, but Jemma eased the bullet out into a small bowl full of rubbing alcohol, then set to work re-sterilizing the area. She methodically swabbed down his shoulder, and made sure her materials were as clean as the day they mere made before suturing the skin together. “One of these days, we’re going to have someone here to do this who isn’t me.” she said, concentrating on the needle and evenly threading the nylon polymer. She was a steady hand with sutures but she hated having living people on her table, especially when they were Grant Ward. He was almost always the one she was fixing up, because he was always the one taking the extra risks to ensure that the job got done.
"Well you’re the best we have and i’d rather you do it than anyone else. Finish me off and next time we’re in a city overnight, there are cupcakes with your name on them." Grant said, carefully testing his level of mobility before Jemma glared at him. "Tear those and next time I won’t be so gentle. Cupcakes or not." Ushering him into a chair, Jemma began applying a square of gauze and medical tape over her handiwork. Grant smiled up at her, he might not enjoy being shot but he found Jemma’s company to be preferred above everyone else’s most of the time. She was an excellent foil for his moods, she always smiled at him, and she had a way about her that lifted the weight he carried. He caught himself watching her sometimes, and it felt like a miracle when nobody else noticed. He had a feeling he’d have a lot to answer for should someone else’s gaze stray to her like his.
"Do you have a preference? Since it’s my money i’m going to steal at least one, so i’d like to know just where your tastes lie." he asked as she stepped away from him, and began gathering the bloodied tools in a sterile bath. She paused and her brow furrowed for a moment, she had options and that was good. "Red velvet, coconut, and chocolate. Yes, definitely red velvet." Jemma said, now sorting through and finding the remains of Grant’s shirt, throwing it in the incinerator.
"Those are all acceptable for piracy. Thanks for taking care of me." Grant stood, gave Jemma’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, smiled at her again, and left. "It’s my job…" Jemma replied as she watched him leave. She hadn’t had time to really admire how incredibly toned Grant was with the blood everywhere. Though she had seen him sans shirt in the laundry room and for exams, his back was as glorious as his front. She whistled to herself, and smirked. Cupcakes were all well and good but sweet things weren’t the only thing on the menu now. He was a good agent, a great friend, and an amazing man, his time in her company was something she’d increasingly begun to treasure. She could feel him watching when he didn’t think anyone was paying attention, maybe she should start giving him a better excuse.