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“Ward, we’re goin’ out!” Reynolds hollers from across the parking lot as they all head for their cars at the end of the day. “You and the wife in?”
Grant keeps his eyes on the car as he tosses his gym bag and jacket into the backseat, so he won’t get any shit for the enormous smile that takes over his face. Wife. “Sorry, Kevin, you’re gonna have to count us out.”
Bennett, who just finished her shift with Grant, wiggles her eyebrows. “Busy night planned?”
He has to laugh a little because Maura is usually so quiet and innocuous that he never expects her humor - usually rather dirty in nature - to appear until it does. She’d get on well with his sister. And his wife, probably. Wife. He’s still grinning. “Sort of. In-laws are coming to dinner.”
Reynolds gives a full-body wince. “The parents?”
Grant nods, propping his arms against the roof of the car. “And the brothers.” Now Reynolds actually looks a little pale. Grant might have to ask around about the man’s own in-laws. But if he’s late, his wife - wife - will surely throttle him in his sleep. So. “Wish me luck!” His coworkers shout nonsense things at him as he climbs into his car and pulls out of the parking lot.
He’s stopped at a light about halfway home when his phone chimes in the cup holder with a text message. Lifting it up and swiping the message open, Grant glances ahead of him to make sure the light is still red.
J: QUICK. HELP. SOS. EMERGENCY. CODE RED.
Grant sighs.
G: Actual code red or are you out of words?
J: No, actual code red. I burned dinner. Pick something up? xoxo
--
Grant walks into their apartment half an hour later with his arms full of take-out. He also picked up a bouquet of tulips (the favorite of both his wife and his mother-in-law) which is almost annihilated by the little orange kitten that comes flying at him from the bookshelf the seconds he clears the door.
He swears loudly and barely manages to catch the damn animal before it thumps to the floor. “Jemma! He ambushed me again!”
Jemma comes down the hall from their room with a smile. “Aw, he just missed you all day, didn’t you, Pip?” She scoops the kitten into her arms and nuzzles her nose against the top of his head. She does not ignore the opportunity to direct big hazel eyes up to Grant, turning Pip to face him too. “He just wants to play.”
Grant sighs and shoots a look across the room. “Because someone is being difficult again?”
Taking the food from his hands, Jemma clicks her tongue disapprovingly. Once the bags are settled in her grip, she deposits Pip in the crook of Grant’s elbow and grabs the tulips as well. (She buries her nose in those too, and god, she’s just the most incredible thing in the entire world, he’s sure of it.) “Don’t be mean.”
While she disappears into the kitchen, Grant takes the time to properly give Pip a scratch behind his ears. The kitten reclines back at the attention. “She’s mean to me.”
“Nonsense!” Jemma declares, making her way back into the living room and over to the window where the gray tabby is stretched all the way out on the sill and watching him menacingly. “Peggy loves you.”
“She loves you.” Grant corrects, carefully tucking Pip into his pocket until the kitten mews happily. “She hasn’t liked me since you moved in.”
Jemma is cooing gently to the cat, who takes her judgmental eyes off of Grant long enough to lick the bridge of Jemma’s nose before nuzzling against her cheek. “Go get changed.” She hums in his general direction, still occupied with snuggling as close to her cat as possible without moving Peggy out of the window.
Grant watches her for another moment or two before trucking back toward the bedroom to change, Pip mewling along. (Peggy may eye him with disdain every time he gets within three feet of Jemma, but Grant can offer Pip a taller jungle gym and bigger pockets.)
He comes out in khaki shorts and a button down, Pip still arching out of his pocket so he can swipe his little paws at Grant’s fingers. On the other hand, Jemma has made her way to the dining room to set the table, Peggy perched against her shoulder and halfway across the back of her neck.
“She’s not a scarf.” Grant says with a grin, pulling a vase down from the cabinet.
“And Pip is not a pocket square.” Jemma responds easily. She sets down the last plate and reaches a hand up to rub under Peggy’s chin. “Yet here we are.”
There’s a knock at the door, and Pip shrinks further into Grant’s pocket until he can hardly be seen. Grant smirks down at the kitten. “Come on now, if I can handle them, so can you.”
Jemma rolls her eyes dramatically and deposits Peggy on the couch before darting toward the front door. Flinging it open, she throws herself into the already open arms (Jemma has a tendency to ambush people, Grant’s sure Pip got it from her) of Jack and Eleanor Simmons. “You made it!”
“Of course we did, love, wouldn’t miss a visit for the world.” Her father insists, kissing her forehead noisily until she giggles. “I take it your brothers are late.”
“As usual.” Jemma agrees, leaning against her mother.
Eleanor hugs her only daughter tightly for a few moments, then takes a step back to pat her cheek. “You’re looking thin again, dear. I worry you’re not eating well.”
Before Jemma can launch into explanations of all her ongoing research and experiments, Grant intercedes with a grin. “She’d be eating a lot better if she didn’t burn dinner all the time.”
“It does not happen that often!” Jemma retorts as her father laughs and reaches to shake Grant’s hand. “It doesn’t!”
Eleanor just shakes her head fondly and gestures to Grant. “Let’s have a look at you, then.” She pats her hand against his stomach when he nears her. “You could stand to eat a bit more as well, my dear. What is it the two of are doing all day, hm?” Her brow arches in a way Jemma hasn’t mastered.
“Mum!” She shrieks, her face burning red.
They’re saved from that line of conversation when the door slams open again, the Simmons brothers making their way into the living room. “I smell Thai food!” Ben, the younger of the two, immediately explains as he intentionally bumps his shoulder against Jemma. “Jemmy burned dinner again, must be.”
“Now, Benjamin, be nice to your sister.” Jack warns his son with a fond smile. Grant won’t admit to many people how nice it makes him feel, just observing Jemma’s family together. “And give your mother a hug and an explanation for your tardiness.”
“Mattie!” Jemma calls to the older brother, Matthew, who’s still trying to haul a few bags into the room. He kicks the first two in with his feet, but the third he hefts over his shoulder carefully. (Grant assumes it’s full of gifts from his travels.)
He’s got a big smile on his face though, one that nearly rivals Jemma’s, and he wraps his arms around her shoulders and rocks her back and forth. It lasts for a good ten seconds before his fingers poke along her ribcage and she’s shrieking with giggles.
“Alright, alright, settle down!” Their mother calls, pointing toward the dining room. “Let’s all go and sit down, the food’s getting cold.”
Jack and Eleanor lead the way, and as soon as they clear the doorway to the dining room, the boys are on Grant, trying to wrestle him to the floor like they’re teenagers.
“Hey, be careful!” Jemma insists, trying to disguise her smile. “The kitten is in Grant’s pocket!”
By the time the four of them make it to the dining room to sit down to dinner, Pip is perched on Jemma’s shoulder, little blue eyes wide, and the three boys are laughing until they’re sore.
-
Grant is reclined back against his and Jemma’s bed, phone in hand to text his sister and remind her that she and Fitz are supposed to meet them for lunch tomorrow. He can hear Jemma talking quietly with her brothers in the living room, trying to be quiet and not disturb their parents in the guest room. Matt and Ben had been trying to decide (arguing, really) who would get the couch and who would get the air mattress when Grant had headed for bed a few minutes ago.
Skye has texted him back with an array of random emojis - that he hopes mean they’ll be at lunch on time - when the door opens and Jemma slips in. “They’ve decided to arm wrestle for the couch, those children. I’ve told them that if they break anything, they have to replace it.”
Grant chuckles, plugging in his phone and setting on the bedside table. When he looks up, his wife is looking at him with her head tilted to one side, bottom lip caught between her teeth. “What?”
She jolts a little, like he’s interrupted a long thought process. That sort of thing tends to happen when you marry a genius. At his raised eyebrows, a bright flush starts at her neck and moves up her face. “Hm?”
His grin turns into a bit of a smirk, he’s sure, because her gaze has turned more into ogling. “Something I can help you with, Jem?” A question he’s been dying to ask, since they’ve both been working crazy hours for the past week and a half, and he just knows there’s something he can help her with. A few things. Plenty of things.
She seems to agree, because he barely blinks in the time it takes her to cross the room, climb onto the bed and straddle his hips. She whips her tank top over her head and plants her hands on his bare chest to lean down and kiss him.
She tastes like the chocolate cake they had for dessert, and the strawberries her mother brought, and her favorite tea. Her skin is warm, which tells him a lot because she usually runs a little chillier than most people. She’s soft and delicate and she smells really good.
Her forearms drop to the pillow under his head, and he moves to kiss her neck as she breathes wetly against his ear. Her breasts press to his chest and her thighs are clenching against his hips and wait, wait, wait-
“Jem-” Her lips are moving against his jaw, the thumping pulse in his neck, the hollow between his collarbones. “Jemma, your brothers are here, your parents are-” She finds the spot on his chest right above where his heart lies, bites down, and sucks.
He cannot be held accountable for the (slightly embarrassing) sound that escapes him. Really.
“Jemma.” He tries again, even though his voice cracks like he’s thirteen.
“I can be quiet.” She mumbles against his skin as she trails kisses across his abs.
Grant actually laughs. He can’t help that either. “Yeah, right. And your brother doesn’t work for MI6.”
Jemma’s slowly working her way down his body. “That’s classified.” She intones with a completely serious face before she nips at the skin just below his belly button. His hips jerk up and she tilts her face up to grin at him with dark eyes.
“Make sure the door’s locked.” He groans, covering his face with his hands while she scampers across the room and then comes back to let him tackle her to the mattress.
-
They’re all trying to move around the kitchen for breakfast the next morning when Eleanor reaches to fix Jemma’s collar and nearly uncovers a monster hickey. She doesn’t seem to notice, thank god, but then-
“Did you sleep well, darling?”
Jemma’s pushing bacon around in a pan, not even making eye contact with anyone, but her face turns scarlet. “Um, of course, we slept j-just fine, fine like always, just slept right away in the bed.”
Grant tries to send her a look, but now she’s determinedly avoiding looking anyone in the eye. Her parents don’t seem to notice, but her brothers definitely do, MI6 or not.
They’re sending each other significant looks over Jemma’s head and Grant’s sure he’s gone white as a sheet. Shit.
“Are you sure, Jemmy?” Ben asks, poking her ribs. “Thought we could hear you guys moving around after you went to bed.”
Grant palms his face, afraid to look up, and Jemma grits her teeth at her brother. “Benji.”
“Let’s tuck in, shall we? We’ve got a lot of things to do today.” Eleanor says, apparently oblivious to the conversation. Hopefully. “Jemma, love, dish up that bacon before it burns.” She hands her husband the plate of eggs, grabs a bowl of fruit and follows him to the dining room.
Matt shoves Grant’s shoulder. “You better hope Dad doesn’t find out you dished up bacon last night when they were in the next room over.”
Jemma wails and practically flings the spatula at her brothers.
Grant sighs. If Matt and Ben tell Skye and Fitz about this…
This is going to be a long day.