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Really, the trick isn’t actually getting days off. The trick is getting days off at the same time, together, without having them interrupted by work, danger, or heaven forbid, Fitz.
Paris
He finds the idea of a romantic night in Paris a bit overrated, but Jemma’s never been before, and he can’t really deny her anything. He doesn’t even bother trying anymore.
She pulls him along into all the pastry shops, and she wants to taste everything. He doesn’t mind, because she’s smiling and humming and kissing him every two minutes, so that’s a plus. Like he really needed one.
He’d made reservations for dinner at Le Jules Verne, up on the second floor of the Eiffel Tower, and she’s packed that flowy coral dress he likes that leaves most of her back open and visually accessible. He’s all for going back to the hotel to change, but they have some time to waste and she wants to take pictures in front of the tower.
She lets him take hold of the camera, and he’s happy to snap pictures of her all day in her flowered skirt, white tank top and her trusty maroon converse. Relaxed. But she insists she can’t visit the Eiffel Tower with her boyfriend and not get a romantic kiss picture out of it.
So she turns her big smile (warm eyes, bouncing curls, long legs) to an unsuspecting college guy walking past and asks him to take the picture for them. She has some kind of super power, Grant thinks, so the guy says he’ll do it.
Jemma’s smiling against his mouth when he kisses her, and giggles when he puts one hand on her back and the other on her thigh and dips her low. When they get the camera back, it’s a hell of a picture, so he does it again just for fun.
Paris is nothing new to him, but being here with her is miles better than any time he’s been before. He wants to live in this day for the rest of his life.
And then he wants to punch himself in the face for thinking that when both of their phones chime the second she gets both feet on the ground again.
She looks down at her screen and sighs heavily, giving the tower a longing glance and then turning a resigned smile to Grant. “I’m afraid duty calls, my love.”
Her sad face is the worst thing ever. So he calls over to the guy from earlier and he gives him the camera again, and they take thirty more pictures. At least.
They’re forty minutes late, and Coulson lectures him for it, but he finds Jemma hanging up the printed pictures in her bunk later that night, and he figures, you know… worth it.
Maldives
“I thought this was supposed to be our Paris reboot.”
“It is supposed to be our Paris reboot.”
“Hm. Are you positive about that?”
“I’m positive I’m sensing some attitude.”
“There were significantly less people with us when we were in Paris.”
“I believe Paris has a population of 2.3 million people in the city itself, not to mention over 10 million people in the suburbs surrounding-”
“And yet, I do not recall Tweedledee and Tweedledum being part of those millions of people-”
“Don’t call them names, that isn’t nice-”
“But not wholly inaccurate if you think about it-”
“Fitz and Skye are both incredibly smart and it’s not like they’re staying in the same villa with us-”
“You know they’re going to be knocking on the door and calling our phones and zip lining between the villas-”
“I think that’s a bit extreme, even for them-”
“You have met them, haven’t you, that’s not-”
“Also, they aren’t deaf, and they’re in the backseat, so you might want to lower your voice-”
“I am very aware that they are in the backseat, I’ve been aware for the past twenty minutes - Skye, quit kicking the seat!”
Grant tries to reach behind him and grab her foot, only succeeding in catching the bottom cuff of her pant leg and making the SUV swerve slightly.
Jemma pats his thigh gently, uncurling his fingers from Skye’s jeans and turning in her seat. “Feet on the floor, darling. Fitz, we’re going to have dinner when we get there, don’t eat too many pretzels.”
They both nod at her and then go back to whatever game they’ve been playing on Fitz’s tablet. Grant mumbles something about babysitting, side-eyeing Jemma for a moment.
“… You packed that black bikini, right?”
“Eyes on the road, Agent Ward.”
They’ve booked a six-day trip and it takes less than 48 hours for one of them to have an awful allergic reaction to food, one of them to get caught sneaking into places they aren’t supposed to be, one of them to get stung whilst studying jellyfish, and for one of them to get into a fight.
One of the resort’s managers calls Coulson, and they get picked up by the Bus five hours later while their leader mumbles something about babysitting.
Athens
She paces along the floor, fingers stuttering over the uneven stones in the wall. “I’ve always thought the beaches in Greece were lovely. Mount Lycabettus. Long walk, great view.”
Grant sighs from the other side of the room. “Jemma.”
“I’ve been waiting to visit the National Archaeological Museum for years. The Antikythera Mechanism is there, you know. 2,000 years old. Designed to predict the positions of stars and eclipses and such. Pulled from the Antikythera shipwreck-”
“Jem.”
“The Parthenon, the Temple of Poseidon.” She turns on her heel and makes her way toward where he’s sitting on the floor. “Oh, the beautiful sunsets, the wonderful food…”
When she’s close enough, leaning her hip against the wall, he loops his arm around her calf and nuzzles his forehead against her thigh. “I’m sorry.” He mumbles for the twenty-seventh time. He kisses the side of her knee. “I sort of forgot about the… thing.”
Her arms cross over her chest and she shifts her leg away and back to thunk him on the head with her knee. “The thing? Oh, do you mean the arrest warrant with your name on it from the government, or the price on your head from the Greek mob?”
He tries to kiss her knee again and she lets him, so he strokes his fingertips along her ankle. “Yeah, that.”
Jemma sighs again and shifts her shoulders against the wall of the cell. After a moment of tense silence, he feels her fingers brushing through his hair slowly. “Coulson’s going to be pissed.”
Grant groans and she knocks her knee against his temple again, grinning.
Zurich
This time they’re in side-by-side cells, he’s the one grumbling and pacing, and she’s the one sitting on the floor and trying her best to look innocent.
He’s not convinced.
New York
Jemma wakes up slowly, naturally. She’s comfortable, if a little too warm in the summer heat. The window’s open, the fan on. The bedroom door is shut, and she can hear quiet music from another room.
She tugs on one of Grant’s shirts and looks in the mirror to find her hair in a mad case of bedhead. Tugging it back into a sloppy bun to hopefully keep her neck cool, she opens the door and nearly collapses at the delicious smell of banana pancakes.
Grant’s at the stove, shirtless and in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles boxers. She giggles at the sight, wrapping her arms around his stomach and plastering herself to his back.
“Well hello, sleeping beauty.”
“Hello.” She mumbles against the warm skin between his shoulder blades. “Smells good.”
He flips a pancake. “Breakfast or me?”
She breathes in loudly. “You smell like me.”
He laughs and turns off the stove, jostling her about until he can turn and kiss her the right way. “Hungry?”
She bounces on the balls of her feet. “Definitely. I’m going to make some coffee.”
“Perfect.” Grant digs a pair of forks from the drawer by his hip and pulls the syrup out of the cupboard. “Breakfast in bed?”
Jemma leaves the coffee filters on the counter for a moment so she can stretch up on her toes and wrap her arms around his neck. “I think this is the best vacation we’ve ever had.”