Chapter Text
If there was one thing Grant Ward could say about himself with absolute certainty, it was that he was not a people person. Despite his adopted father’s help and insistence that he interact with others from time to time, Grant often felt awkward and uncomfortable in social situations, and he never could manage to be approachable and easy to read unless he was playing a role. That, of course, was entirely contrived; as himself, Grant was prickly and hard to read until one got to know him. And very few people had the chance to get to know him.
Ward’s experiences with his birth family had made it hard to trust, and it was only because of Phil that he could at all. The simple fact was that a team of agents in the field had to trust one another to be successful, and Grant found that difficult. Consequently, he only willingly worked with a handful of people. That select group included Phil Coulson, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov (more recently, as it took both of them a while after she came on board to become friends), Antoine Triplett (who was about the only person he had been forced to work with on a mission and actually liked), and Kara Lynn Palamas (whom he had befriended at the Academy).
He actually thought that five people that he could trust with his life was a pretty good number, all things considered. It was probably more than Natasha, at least, though that was hardly saying much.
The main downside of being a solitary specialist was that, when something went wrong and he was injured on a mission, there was no one to help him until he reached the extraction point. And sometimes there was no extraction team. That typically led to any sustained wounds getting worse. That had been the case on his last mission, when Grant was shot through the shoulder, so he was assigned light duty for several weeks, much to his displeasure. With little to do, he would at times go pester Coulson, who was one of those few people he liked that wasn’t off on a top-secret mission across the globe.
“If you’re bored, I can find something for you to do, you know,” Phil told him, not even looking up from his paperwork as Grant entered the office.
“Sure,” he answered, taking the chair across from the older agent, “I’d love to have some real work to do.”
“You realize you can’t just magically heal from a bullet wound, right?” he asked drily.
“I’m fine,” he grumbled, more or less good naturedly, “I can barely even feel it anymore.”
Phil raised an eyebrow at him skeptically but chose not to say anything about it. “A team just got back from Denmark today and brought back an interesting artifact. It needs to be properly examined, if you don’t mind taking it down to the lab for me.” He nodded to a sealed container on the floor by his window, which had been dropped off during the mission debrief.
“Oh, am I playing courier now?” Grant asked, and Phil chuckled quietly.
“You’re on light duty, remember.”
“Oh, fine, but only because it’s you.” Ward stood and picked up the case carefully, “Who do you want to look at it?”
“Take it to Fitzsimmons,” he told him, “They’re young but the best we have.”
“Alright. At least it’s something to do.”
Grant Ward rarely visited the labs, but he knew the way well enough. He had also never met Agents Fitz and Simmons but knew their impressive reputation, so he was somewhat curious to meet them, even if he had generally found scientists that notable in their fields to be incomprehensible and condescending. Still, even he might concede that he would be dead several times over without SHIELD’s superior technology and weapons, so he appreciated their work, if not their superior attitudes.
There were a handful of men and women working industriously when he entered the main room, and a couple of them looked at him curiously. After consulting briefly with the friendliest looking woman near him, Grant was directed to a door on the side to a more private section of the lab. He walked in to see a short, curly-haired man hunched over some sort of device – it looked a bit like a metal spider to Ward – and muttering thoughtfully to himself. The specialist walked over to him, but the engineer remained as he was.
“Agent Fitz? Or Simmons?”
The man gave out a little yelp of surprise and dropped his tool, a minute solder iron used for internal wiring.
“Do you Operations types have to stay in ninja mode all the time?” he asked irritably. “I’m Fitz. Simmons is actually off today. She got the flu, and I finally managed to convince her to stay home.”
Grant smirked but merely informed him, “Agent Coulson sent something for you to take a look at.”
“Ah, yes, from Denmark,” Fitz said, any annoyance quickly replaced by curiosity as he eagerly snatched the case from Ward, “Apparently the physicist on the field team determined it’s an advanced type of lie detector test, well beyond anything the civilization where it was found could have made.”
“Oh? Sounds like it could be useful if it works.” Like all specialists, Grant had been trained how to trick lie detectors and had more practice than he would like both using them and having them used on him. They were easier to fool than most people thought, though he was definitely one of the best at doing so (behind Natasha, of course, but possibly equal to Clint).
“I don’t suppose you could stick around and help me try it out?” Fitz asked hopefully, “I’ll need to run some tests first, of course, to make sure it’s safe, but it would be helpful to evaluate how well it works.”
Ward hesitated. Being a guinea pig was definitely not the way he wanted to spend his day, but he really did find himself feeling curious and had nothing better to do.
“Fine. I don’t have much to do today, so I’ll just let Coulson know and get back to you in a bit.”
“Excellent!” He was already growing absorbed in his work, so Grant shook his head in bemusement and headed back upstairs.
“Are you trying to get me to befriend people again?” Grant asked Phil as he called from a nearby empty room.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he answered mildly, much too innocently.
“Sure you don’t.”
“I guess this means you’ll be sticking around the lab?” Coulson asked in the very intentionally neutral tone that usually meant he was pleased but didn’t want to show it.
“Yeah. Fitz asked me to help him test how well the lie detector works.”
“Good. I guess that means you’ll let me get back to my work?”
Grant gave him an unamused huff before he hung up, musing on how his father often thought himself funnier than he actually was.
After he returned, Fitz had him hooked up to the lie detector within ten or fifteen minutes. The equipment was one that wrapped around Ward’s wrist and arm, looking rather like a snake made of wires and metal.
“Alright, let’s start with the basics and establish a base line. Answer truthfully for now. What’s your name?”
It occurred to Grant that he had never actually introduced himself, so Fitz wouldn’t be able to tell if it was a lie or not. If this was a real situation, he would be able to use that to his advantage. But he figured it would be best to do as the engineer said.
“Grant Ward.”
“What’s your job?”
“I’m a specialist for SHIELD.”
It went on like that for a few minutes – favorite color, birthday, where he was born – before Fitz said, “Now, I want you to lie for the next few questions, no matter what I ask you.”
“What is two plus two?”
“Thirty-five,” Ward answered perfectly calmly.
He answered the following two questions with the most random and untrue responses he could think of, some of which caused a few chuckles from Fitz.
“I’ll ask a few more, with you either lying or telling the truth, and we’ll see if the machine picks up on it.”
They took another half hour or so to finish. The experience ended up being less annoying than he expected. For all their differences, Ward couldn’t help but feel a bit of kinship Fitz, who appeared to be just as awkward and to have just as much difficulty communicating with others as he did. Of course, he lied whenever the questions got at all personal or uncomfortable, and he learned a fair bit about Fitz as well, since he chattered on almost ceaselessly the entire time. A lot of the technical details went over his head. Why were intelligent people so inclined to use a dozen words when two would do?
“Either you’re very good at this, or the machine’s not as advanced as we’d hoped,” Fitz told him, detaching the equipment as they wound down. “It only determined whether you were telling the truth or not about three quarters of the time.”
“I have a lot of practice,” Ward said, “so I’d say it’s actually pretty good, but you’ll probably want to try it out on more people.”
“Yes, you’re quite right. Well, thanks for your help, Agent Ward.”
“No problem.”
“Feel free to swing by anytime. For a specialist, you’re not terrible to talk to.”
“Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”
As Ward left, he thought that maybe this whole making friends thing that Coulson was trying to get him to do might have some merit. Maybe, occasionally.
Considering how inseparable the Fitzsimmons team was supposed to be, Ward was surprised he managed to meet both members of the team separately. He met Simmons about two months after he first helped Fitz (he had dropped by twice to say hello over the following weeks but had managed to miss the biochemist both times), after he had been exposed to a potentially deadly contagion on a mission and was in quarantine on base. She was dressed in a hazmat suit, so he could see very little of her besides her face.
“Hello, Agent Ward,” she greeted, “I’m Jemma Simmons, and I’m afraid I need a sample of your blood for testing.”
He nodded and held out his arm. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Agent Simmons. I’ve heard a lot about you from Fitz.”
“Ah, yes, he mentioned making a friend in operations,” she said, swabbing a spot on his arm and expertly inserting a needle into his vein. “I’m glad. Fitz could use more people to talk to. So, tell me Agent Ward, how are you feeling? Any nausea, dizziness, blurriness of vision, or other possible symptoms?”
“Nothing that I’ve noticed.”
“Are you sure? Because I know how you specialists are, thinking you need to be the strong silent types that never complain of an injury or illness, but it’s really very important that you tell me if you’re experiencing any symptoms because even with safety precautions, this contagion could spread to other agents on the base. I know you wouldn’t want that.”
Grant nodded, analyzed his health once again to be sure and assured her, “Really, Simmons, I feel fine. I promise.”
“Good. If you were infected, we should be seeing signs of it, so you may be in the clear. We’ll just need to run some blood tests, and if they come back negative, you’ll be kept in observation overnight then be sent on your way.”
The specialist nodded, and Simmons gave him a reassuring smile (as far as he could tell through the protective covering) and patted his arm kindly.
“Agent Coulson is on his way,” she informed him, “We informed him of the situation when you first arrived, so he should arrive in four or five hours.”
Ah, right. It was standard procedure to inform next of kin if at all possible (it often wasn’t, considering the secretive nature of the organization), and Ward felt an odd mixture of annoyance – Phil would try to make him rest and take it easy – and relief – his father also meant comfort and safety. He nodded at the doctor.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes, and I can keep you company while we wait for the test results, if you’d like.”
“Alright.” He had to admit that he was curious about the young scientist, between her reputation and Fitz’s stories. This seemed as good a time as any to get to know her, even if he could have done without being quarantined. She returned fifteen minutes or so later, telling him that the test just needed to sit and would be complete after approximately an hour.
This time, she remained on the other side of the glass, which allowed her to remove her cumbersome safety gear while still talking to Ward. When he could see her properly, Grant realized she was, well, adorable was the best word he could think of to describe her. She exuded the same innocent inquisitiveness and cheer that he had observed in Fitz.
It turned out that, much like her partner, Simmons loved to talk. She spoke at great length about her time at SHIELD, her work, and times with Fitz, and Grant found himself enjoying listening to her enthusiastic descriptions. After nearly ten minutes, she seemed to realize she had been the only one speaking and blushed.
“I’m sorry for going on like that. I’m sure you don’t want to hear about any of that.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s nice seeing someone so passionate about their work, and I’m enjoying it.”
“Regardless,” she said authoritatively, “It’s simply not good manners to seize the attention so much, and it hardly constitutes a conversation if I’m the only one talking. Then it’s more of a monologue.”
Grant chuckled. “I doubt you’d want to hear about my work, even if you had the clearance to hear about it.”
“Yes, well.” She seemed a bit subdued at that but perked up quickly enough. “Surely even specialists have lives outside of SHIELD.”
“Depends on the specialist.”
She smiled at that. “Well, do you have any hobbies?”
“I like to read,” he admitted, “and I enjoy hiking and camping when I get the chance. It’s nice to be outdoors without anyone trying to kill me.”
“Yes, I should think so. What kind of books do you like?”
This led to a pleasant discussion about literature which filled the time nicely, and they meandered into other subjects such as where they had traveled and what foods they liked. Much too soon, Simmons’s alarm was ringing, and she was standing to return to her tests. With her absence, the room was suddenly much too quiet, and Grant was surprised to find that he wished she would come back soon.
Fortunately, the blood tests cleared him, and Agent Simmons gave him a clean bill of health shortly before another doctor arrived to relieve her of her shift. She seemed almost reluctant to leave (at least, Grant thought so, but maybe it was wishful thinking) but looked ready for a break and merely wished him well and invited him to come see her and Fitz in the lab some time. Despite his better judgement, he ended up agreeing to do so.
“This was a terrible idea. Why did I ask her to do this?”
“Relax, Grant. It’s just a date,” Clint teased, “You’ll sweep her off her feet with your awkward charm and brooding.”
“Clint, you’re not helping,” Natasha pointed out from where she was sprawled in a chair across from her partner. “I remember you being a bundle of nerves the first time you went out with Laura, so you don’t have any room to talk.”
That at least got an anxious little laugh out of Grant.
“It’s just, I haven’t been on a serious date since Kara and I broke up,” he sighed, “and I don’t want to mess this up.”
“Look, kid, you won’t mess it up,” Clint said seriously, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder, “Just don’t overthink this, and you’ll be fine.”
“Thanks. And don’t call me kid.”
“Get a move on, Ward,” Natasha said, suddenly beside him and pushing him toward the door, “If you keep stalling, you’re going to be late.”
“Okay, okay, I’m going.”
The ride over did little to calm his nerves, and for some reason neither did telling himself that he had face much more scary situations without missing a beat. When Jemma opened the door, Grant was struck by just how breathtaking she was (though, of course, he thought she was stunning in a lab coat), and it took him a moment to do more than stare.
“Hi.” Her voice was quieter and shier than usual, so he smiled softly to put her at ease if possible.
“Hey, Jemma. You look beautiful.” She blushed but seemed a little surer of herself, which Grant counted as a win.
“Thank you. You’re not looking so bad yourself.”
“Ready to go?”
“Oh, yes. Let me just lock up.”
They went to a local Italian restaurant, and there was a subtle tension and hesitancy that had never existed when they spent time together before. Grant made sure they sat at a back corner close to three different exists, where he could observe the room, and at some point, Jemma noticed he occasionally looked suspiciously around the room.
“You know, I doubt anyone’s going to attack over dinner,” she pointed out with a gently teasing tone. "We're not even on a mission."
“You never know. I could have enemies in the food industry,” he answered, but his mouth twitched into a half-smile. And suddenly the tension was broken.
“Yes, I’m sure chefs do probably get pretty protective of their secret recipes, and you could be a spy for a rival restaurant.”
“Well, I have been told the bread sticks are to die for.”
She laughed, and a warmth spread through Grant, feeling very pleased that he was the one to cause it. They turned their attention to the menus, and silence fell for a few minutes except for stray comments from Jemma about what she was considering.
“So, why did you join SHIELD?” Jemma asked curiously after they ordered, “Obviously, Fitz and I joined because there’s nowhere else quite on the cutting edge of science, except perhaps for Stark Industries, and even SI doesn’t really compare to some of the things we get to see.”
Grant hesitated before answering, as the more complex answer could get terribly personal, and as much as he wanted to, he wasn’t sure yet how much he could trust the biochemist. He decided on an abbreviated form, honest but leaving the details unsaid. “When I was a kid, I did some things I’m not proud of. But Agent Coulson took me in one day and said I could be better. He helped me get into the Academy, and I’ve been trying to be the good man he thinks I can be.”
Jemma took his hand tentatively, and Grant looked up to meet her eyes, kindness and warmth shining out of them. “I know I haven’t known you very long, but if it means anything, I do think you’re a good man, Grant Ward.”
He nodded gruffly in thanks, his throat too thick with emotions to speak. A moment later, Jemma seemed to decide to lighten the mood.
“That must be why Agent Coulson actually shows emotion when you’re around. I swear he’s even better than most of you stoic field agents at never revealing what he’s thinking. Honestly.”
That surprised a chuckle out of him, and Jemma smiled brightly at him. The evening only improved from there.
“So you’re Jemma Simmons.”
“Oh! Oh, goodness,” Jemma startled violently at the unexpected voice and looked around wildly to see a red-haired woman who held herself with deadly poise. Jemma felt a shiver run though her as she realized it was Agent Romanov, who had a frightening reputation from both before and after she joined SHIELD.
“A-agent Romanov,” she stammered nervously, “How can I help you?”
The spy gave her a hard stare before saying, “Agent Ward is a good friend of mine, and I can’t say that about many people. If you break his heart or otherwise hurt him, I will be seeing you again, and the conversation won’t be so pleasant. Understand?”
Speechless, Jemma could only nod fearfully, and with another stern glare, Natasha Romanov stalked out of the room as silently as she had entered. Jemma stared at the empty doorway for some time.
“Is something wrong?” Fitz’s concerned voice broke her out of her reverie, and Jemma turned to him.
“I think the Black Widow just threatened to do something violent to me if I’m ever cruel to Grant. Am I dreaming?”
Fitz burst out laughing, and it took nearly half an hour for him to calm down. Jemma was much less amused and thought he wouldn’t find it nearly so hilarious if he was on the receiving end of Natasha Romanov’s threatening stare.
It turned out to be a moot point. Nearly two years later, Grant proposed in a characteristically simple but sweet way, in a nearby park that they both loved, with no one else around to intrude. Naturally, Jemma accepted (and it had absolutely nothing to do with being afraid of Natasha).
They were married in a garden in Jemma’s hometown of Ashburton in a small ceremony with the handful of people they loved most in the world. As Grant watched Jemma walk the grassy aisle on her father’s arm, he reflected that twelve years previously – as a sullen teen just beginning to heal with the help of a member of a secret agency – he never would have thought he would have ended up there. Beside him, Fitz was beaming and Clint was tearing up (though he would never admit it), much to the amusement of the two bridesmaids opposite them.
And as if in a wonderful dream, Grant Ward married Jemma Simmons.