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“You’ll be fine,” he reassured her as her turned off the car and got out, heading for the boxes in the trunk.
Jemma took a moment to compose herself before pushing the passenger door open and getting out herself. The silver Honda Civic was parked in the driveway of a two story house painted a buttery shade of yellow and nearly identical to all of the surrounding houses. Their new home, for the time being. It was the perfect place to settle down and try to start a family, or so they would be telling everyone. But, according to SHIELD’s intel, it was also the perfect place to create and distribute biological weapons.
And that’s why she and Grant were there, about to begin her first undercover mission. All they had to do was figure out who was running the operation, where they were producing everything, who they were selling to, and then stop it. Grant had assured her that it would be easier than a lot of their previous missions. And she wanted to believe him, in fact a portion of her sanity needed to believe him. But this was further from her comfort zone than anything she’d done before. This was more intimidating than dealing with foreign militaries and rogue scientists combined. Jemma could handle those, but blending in amongst these Connecticut suburbanites was a whole different challenge.
But she was determined to rise to the occasion.
Jemma nervously adjusted the sleeves of her cardigan before opening the door to the backseat to get the dog out. They’d been told that the golden retriever would be the ideal way to make them seem approachable and family friendly, without any children of their own. They’d named him Phil, although Grant had tried to get her to go along with calling him Fitz. She figured Coulson would take the joke better than her lab partner, who could sometimes have a chip in his shoulder when it came to Ward.
By the time she got Phil’s leash on and walked him to the door, Grant had gone in. She didn’t see him in the entryway, but the box he’d been carrying, full of glassware designed to analyze the content of whatever substance was poured in it, has been placed on the kitchen counter. Ignoring the unpacked boxes, she let the dog off his leash and went to go find Grant.
After searching the downstairs living room and office, she finally found him in the master bedroom, running one of Fitz’s bug detectors over a nightstand.
“What do you think, honey?” he asked with a wink and a gesture towards the device when she appeared in the doorway.
“It could use a few personal touches, and the second guest bedroom needs to be repainted, but otherwise I love it,” she played along. He was being thorough, even though they both knew SHIELD had already gone over the place with a fine-toothed comb.
“Is that the one with the green walls? We can go get paint tomorrow, but I think we should finish unpacking tonight. It looks like the movers took care of most of it.” He gestured towards the unopened cases laid out across the king-sized bed they’d be sharing for the duration of their mission.
Jemma tries, and fails, to focus on the cases, which were filled with her own equipment, rather than on the prospect of sleeping in such close proximity to Grant every night. She reminds herself that there were more important things than how her pulse sped up whenever he casually touched her. They had a mission to accomplish, lives to save. She could sort out her feelings afterwards.
__________
Nearly everything is unpacked and their Chinese food has been ordered when the doorbell rings. Grant looks at her and shrugs before getting up to answer the door.
The first thought that crosses Jemma’s mind is that their cover has already ben blown, so she reaches for the throwing knives she saw Grant bury in their utensil drawer earlier. Her accuracy is terrible and she knows it, but she still feels a bit safer when she has one of them in her hand.
“Honey, come meet our neighbors,” he calls from the front door.
She sighs in relief, then mentally chastises herself for being so paranoid. They’ve only been here for a few hours. Putting the knife back in it’s hiding spot, she joins Grant at the door.
“There she is,” he says with a smile he usually reserves for winning at board games and watching Skye or Fitz make fools of themselves. His tall frame blocks most of the doorway, so she can’t see whoever he’s talking to. She does, however, have a great view of how well his khakis fit. She definitely takes notice of that. He shifts slightly to the right to make room for her, before tucking her under his left arm.
She’s aware of how easily his body dwarfs hers in way she hasn’t been since his arms wrapped around her in midair as he stopping her from plummeting from The Bus to her death nearly six months ago. Now, much as it was then, she’s comforted by the feeling of his strong arms holding her close. She relaxes into him tentatively at first, before she remembers that they’re supposed to be married. This is a normal thing to do. So she decides to take advantage of the situation and sticks her hand into his back pocket. She resists the urge to squeeze. She’s fairly positive it’s as firm as the rest of him, she doesn’t need the hard evidence… yet.
“Jemma,” he glances down at her, “this is Steve and Tracey Miller. They live across the street. They brought us pound cake.” Turning to them, he adds, “This is my wife, Jemma Harris.”
The Millers both look to be about thirty. Tracey is tall and blonde, holding a tin foil covered pan in her hands. Steve is a couple of inches shorter than his wife, with light brown hair he’s grown out a bit in an attempt to compensate for a receding hairline. They seem friendly and normal to Jemma, and she briefly dismissed the possibility that they could be biological terrorists before she remembers that she and Grant probably seem normal too. And they’re spies.
“Welcome to the neighborhood. I was just telling your husband that we’re having a big 4th of July barbeque on Friday. You should come, and meet the rest of the neighborhood,” Tracey speaks so fast that it takes Jemma a moment to process what she’s said.
“We’d love to. Is there anything we can bring?”
“Just your wonderful selves,” Tracey responds at the same time her husband says, “Oooh, you’re a Brit. I spent a week in London when I was studying abroad in college. It’s nice there.”
“I’m from Birmingham,” she says and she retreats back to relative safety under Grant’s arm. She’s not, really, but Jemma Harris is. She also majored in English and is a homemaker. All things Jemma Simmons isn’t. The lying makes her nervous, and quite frankly, she’s surprised she’s made it this far without completely freezing up. It looks like the extra preparation that Ward and Agent Coulson insisted would help her has been successful. Still, she allows Grant to take over the conversation, and he does so, as if he senses her nervousness.
Once he’s gotten the party information from Tracey and Steve, their neighbors wish them a good night. All Jemma has to do is return the sentiments and take the pound cake from Tracey.
Once the door closes behind them, Jemma relaxes. Grant rests a hand lightly on her arms and tells her “Great job,” before heading to the kitchen to pull out silverware for their soon to arrive food.
Jemma absently lifts her right hand to touch the spot where his hand had just been. Then she sighs, hoping she gets used to being undercover sometime soon.
__________
After dinner, Jemma spends her night going over every piece of her own equipment and most of the gadgets Fitz sent along with them. Grant feeds the dog before taking the time to hide guns and other weapons throughout the house. When she raises an eyebrow at that, he tells her that they need to be prepared for anything.
She hopes he’s being overly cautious.
When her vision starts to blur around midnight, Jemma decides to call it a night. She usually stays up a bit later than this to read or watch something on her computer, but she’s had a long, stressful day. And it’s only the first of many long, stressful days ahead. She might as well get sleep while she can. She has to check in with the rest of the team tomorrow, and that means setting up the secure server she neglected tonight. Fitz will probably lecture her about that when they speak. That’s fine with Jemma, she knows he’s only worried about her.
Grant is in the bathroom, so Jemma takes the moment of privacy in their bedroom to change into her pajamas. She peels off her jeans and cardigan, throwing them in the wicker hamper in the closet, before pulling on a grey t-shirt and matching striped pajama shorts. That’s when Grant steps out of the bathroom.
He’s only wearing a pair of navy pajama bottoms, and Jemma has to remind herself not to stare at his chest.
“Nice abs.”
It’s only when he bursts out laughing that she realizes she actually said those words out loud. Blushing furiously, she ducks into the bathroom and slams the door behind her, humiliated. They haven’t even been in the house for a full day, and she’s already made a fool of herself.
He’s still laughing when she knocks on the bathroom door a few moments later.
“How about I say you have nice legs and we call ourselves even?”
She doesn’t respond, instead busying herself with washing her face and brushing her teeth.
When she emerges from the bathroom, he’s already in bed with his eyes closed. The lamp on her nightstand is the only light still on.
She tries her best to remain calm as she un-tucks the military corners Grant used when he made the bed earlier, but it’s difficult with him so close by and so… shirtless. She makes a point to not so much as look at his chest, very little of which is currently covered by the blanket. She feels better once she turns the light off.
Even though they’re not touching, Jemma can feel the heat emanating from his body. Despite her earlier exhaustion, she now feels wide-awake. She does her best not to move at all, in hopes that not brushing up against him will eventually help her relax, or that the stillness will help her fall asleep quicker. At one point, Grant’s left leg brushes up against her. She jerks away, but that spot now feels like it’s pleasantly on fire.
Frozen in place, she still can’t fall asleep, even though she’s been trying for over an hour. She’s too aware of everything, Grant’s body, and her body, and the mere centimeters between them.
Just when she’s about to get out bed and go back to work, Grant rolls over in his sleep. His right arm curls around her waist, and his chest presses against her back. Even though it’s dark, Jemma’s sure her entire body is bright red. He doesn’t move. She forces herself to relax, and she does, just the smallest bit. His arms are a comfort, once again, even if he isn’t awake to realize what he’s doing. She feels safe pressed up against him, both because of the physical protection his strong arms offer, and her own knowledge that he’ll keep her safe, regardless of what comes at them during this mission.
She finally falls asleep with his arms around her. Between the darkness and her closed eyes, she can’t see that Grant is smiling, and very much awake.