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He takes her skydiving. Almost two years after she jumped out of the cargo bay with no parachute, she jumps out with one. And she holds his hand until they have to let go.
Grant touches down first, and he’s got his arms open for her even though the momentum sends them both tumbling to the ground.
“Are you alright?” He asks quickly, hands bracketing her hips and then cupping her face as she rests on top of him. “Jemma?”
She means to use her words, but the laugh bubbles out of her before she can stop it. So she just dissolves into a fit of giggles, her cheek pressed to his chest. His arms wind around her back, and he doesn’t laugh, but she can feel his smile when he kisses the top of her head. “That was incredible.”
He taps at her shoulder until she tilts her head to look up at him. “Really?”
She nods. “Really. I mean, I’m pretty sure that I don’t intend to do it ever again in my entire life, but it really was incredible.” She can’t reach his mouth from where she is, so she presses her lips to his chin and down the line of his jaw. “Thank you.”
“Of course. Anything, for you.” He says it so carefully, so honestly, so damn genuine, that she thinks her heart must be swelling in her chest.
Then, in true secret-side-of-Grant-Ward-for-Jemma-Simmons’-eyes-only fashion, he tugs the fabric of her parachute up and over them, and rolls until he’s the one sprawled on top of her.
“We have a whole hour before the Bus is supposed to come and pick us up.” He whispers, grinning all inappropriately. It’s adrenaline-fueled, she’s sure, but he’s also gazing down at her like she hung the moon or something.
She just laughs again and lets him kiss a long line from her ear to her neck.
—
There, in the middle of some field in Iowa, wrapped up in a parachute, is the first time she says, “I love you.”
—
She and Skye take any opportunity to go dancing whenever they’re on the ground. Jemma lets Skye dress her up and they do their makeup and pick out cute shoes. Sometimes they drag Fitz along, even though he refuses to put his feet on the dance floor and makes it his personal mission to fight off any man that even looks at either of the girls.
Every time, she and Grant go through the same routine.
“You sure you don’t want to come with us?”
He shakes his head. “I’ve got paperwork to do, and I told May I’d spar with her for awhile.”
Jemma looks at him through the mirror, raising an eyebrow. “Did you? Because May’s going with us tonight.”
“Right, but, you know… paperwork.” He scratches the back of his neck and then along his collarbone.
“If you don’t want to go, darling, you certainly don’t have to. I wouldn’t want you to have a horrible time. I just think it might be fun.” He’s quiet where he’s stretched out on the bed in her bunk, so she reaches into her closet and starts to step into her dress. She tugs her hair over her shoulder and gives him a look when she can only wiggle the zipper to the center of her back. “Will you zip me up?”
He stops picking at the comforter and looks up. “You’re wearing that dress?”
Jemma tries to hide her smirk in her hair. “Yes. Zip up?” She pushes her foot against his shin when she feels the zipper start to move. “Hey. I said up. Not down.”
He sort of (definitely) bites gently into the juncture of her neck and shoulder, followed by a soothing kiss. She sort of (definitely) lets him. His eyes stay locked on hers in the mirror.
Later that night, when she’s waiting by the bar with Skye to get the drinks, a perfectly pleasant young man taps her on the shoulder to simply ask if she’s planning on taking up the stool beside her. She’s not, and she tells him it’s all his, but she supposes Grant can’t tell all of that from where he’s sitting with Fitz.
So he makes a bit of a show of planting a toe-curling kiss on her, and spinning her out onto the dance floor. She’s never seen him dance, and she can’t believe she’s missed out on it. She also doesn’t plan on taking her eyes off of him for the rest of the night.
Or, you know… ever.
—
There, in the middle of a dance floor in California, wrapped in each other, is the first time he says, “I love you.”
—
They’re on opposing teams for this particular round of laser tag, which was the idea of their teammates, not themselves. So Grant’s looking for vests lighting up with blue while he ducks behind the various walls and into little hiding places.
He can hear Skye swear every time someone turns her vest off, and he can hear Fitz scream every time he goes around a corner. Coulson and May are predictably silent, of course, which leaves Jemma making adorably pleased sounds when she actually hits her target.
Grant does his best to move away from the sound of her voice. Usually the competitive streak miles wide between the two of them keeps them going after each other, but he’s learned that in this scenario (even though it’s fake) he just can’t bring himself to point a gun at her and shoot.
Fitz screams and Skye swears almost simultaneously from the other side of the room. “Jesus Christ, Fitz!” Skye yelps. “I’m on your team! Calm down, you keep scaring the shit out of me!”
Grant laughs and starts to head for their voices, leading with his laser gun because he can’t get the muscle memory to go away. He starts to hum the theme to Jaws, and he’s pretty sure the dull thud he hears a few feet away is Fitz running into a wall.
“Ward! That’s not funny anymore!”
It is, actually, but he’s sufficiently distracted from said hilarity when a tiny little biochemist (whose pale skin is practically glowing in the dark room) blindsides him and tugs him into the corner.
That streak of competitiveness kicks in a bit and he lifts her and spins until he’s got her wedged between him the wall. He raises an eyebrow. “Are you trying to distract me from taking out your teammates, or is this a sacrifice play?”
She cocks an eyebrow back at him and blows a strand of hair from her face. “Maybe I just like looking at you in that vest. It’s like your tac-gear. Does something to a girl.”
When he leans forward and kisses her, she shoots him in the chest.
—
“I don’t think you’ve ever looked at me like that.”
He wants to tell her that this is the way he always looks at her (like she’s otherworldly, magical, awe-worthy, the solid point at the center of his universe) she just never sees it.
Instead, he hooks his fingers in her belt loops, pulls her close and kisses her soundly.
—
On their wedding day, when Jemma’s father walks her down the aisle and gently places her hand in Grant’s, he can’t stop smiling. Or staring at her.
So, when they’ve been pronounced and he’s finally permitted to kiss his wife, he wraps his arms around her and he whispers in her ear that he’ll love her for the rest of his life.