AN I own nothing, this is a smutty beginning but I swear plot follows. Please give it a try, I swear this is not what it seems at a glance and I'm super excited to explore this story line if you guys are willing to go with me! Thanks to my Betas Myranda and Pixie, this story has been bubbling in me for months now not only did you guys listen while I waffled on it, and thought it out. You help make it better so thank you.

Grant keeps every single one of his safe houses heavily secured. When he gets a notification the security measures have been passed on one in particular, he pulls up the CCTV on his tablet to check things out.

Walking leisurely up to the door is none other than his ex-wife, lugging a heavy looking duffle on her delicate shoulder.

"Baby, what is up with you?" he wonders aloud.

He knows, from his source inside SHIELD, that Jemma had been freed from some kind of portal. All his source knows is Fitz thought it was a black hole, but little else. Grant's first reaction was to burn SHIELD down to get her back, but logic prevailed. If anyone was capable of finding where exactly the thing had flung Grant's wife, it was Fitz. He did think, for half a second , he was sure he was going to have to fix Coulson's little red wagon when he tried to end Fitz's mission. As turned out, Fitz was determined enough all his own. What he doesn't know is what would drive her to seek refuge in a place he knows she's fully aware he has full access to.

"Pickens, " he summons as he zooms the tablet in on Jemma's face in the camera feed. She's exhausted; it shows in her eyes. As well, he's made her mad enough times to know the angry furrow between her brows spells trouble. "Fuel up the jet. I gotta go home for a bit." He heaves himself from the hotel room bed he'd been sprawled out on.

"Home Base sir?" the burly man steps up. The guy is built like a brick wall. The silent loyal type, Grant is keen to employ more men like him.

"No. Chicago." Pickens only raises an eye brow before doing as he's bid.


Grant keys in the security codes and stands before facial scanner, waiting for the beep that allows his entry. He's momentarily proud of Jemma for locking the doors behind her. Personal security and awareness had never been very high on Jemma's list.

He steps into the foyer, grinning widely, unable to resist calling out "Honey, I'm home!" The men pour in behind him, ready to go about their perimeter and security checks.

He hears stomping, and then she's standing in the door to the living room. She's wearing a hoodie with the Tardis across the front, soft ball shorts, and her Beaker house shoes. She holds a half full wine glass in her left hand. The hand still bare of its wedding band. No matter how many times he's sees it, how many times he's faced with the reality of where they are now, it's still hurts like hell.

"I thought you might show. I was hoping you would actually."

"Why? Why are we here, Jemma?"

She takes a gulp of her wine. She looks at him for a long second. Measuring him, deciding something.

"Would you believe I missed you? Missed this?" she gestures to their surroundings. Her eyes brim with tears. Normally he'd be uninclined to believe that, but Jemma hardly ever cried. It's the specialist's wife in her, trained not to show emotional weakness. Instead, her tears and the absolutely torn expression on her face make him believe her.

She takes his silent appraisal as disbelief and continues making her point, unconscious of the tears dripping down her face.

"Maybe I missed making my own choices, not ones based on survival or what science demands of me! I miss simple choices," she confesses, wiping her tear-littered face on her sleeve.

"Baby, are you okay?" he approaches her hands up and slowly, like she was a skittish animal caught in a trap. He wants to free her but knows he needs to be gentle about it.

Her eyes go hard. "Oh for fuck's sake! Not you too!" She shakes her head and laughs bitterly. It's the one she uses when she feels fucked over.

"Why does everyone analyze every tear, every moment of stress, silence? I just want to spend five minutes not fucking thinking! Am I okay? Am I okay? I survived six months on a foreign planet! I'm fucking fantastic, all things considered!"

His men curl inward toward them, ready to protect him. He cast his eyes sideways at Pickens so they beg off. Jemma has a death grip on her wine glass, poised to defend herself, a stance built of habit and instinct even with eyes glassy from too much wine. That's definitely not her first glass, given all the F-bombs she's dropping.

He nods in acceptance. "Okay, baby, I won't analyze a thing. Can you tell me what it is you want? What you came home to do?"

Another planet. The thing had flung her onto a different planet. He can't think of what that means for them now. If she was capable of hurting him, time has proven she either would have already done it or simply doesn't want to do so. Now, he needs to get her out of that head space. He knows how to do it to, but he's going to make her put voice to her desires.

He steps up and, taking her wine glass, he steals a sip before sitting it aside on the cherry wood entry table.

Her hands now empty, she moves closer to him and places her hand on his chest, over his heart. Her mouth trembles as though she may cry again, and her fingertips tap out an unconscious S.O.S. on his chest. She inhales and exhales and for a moment he thinks she might retreat.

"I want to feel something other than lost and terrified. And I don't want to be coddled and wrapped in bubble wrap to do it. " She finally tears her gaze from his "Alice in Chains" t-shirt to look him in the eye. "I want to be treated like the woman I am, not the traumatized, helpless child SHIELD seems to think I am."

He slips his hand over hers. "Understandable. And I've always seen you as a woman first." He lifts her hand away from his chest and kisses her palm. There are callouses where once there was only soft skin. It's a novelty that makes wonder if her hands will feel different on him as a result.

"I sense a "but" in the near future."

He shrugs. "No buts, you want something from me, ask for it."

She waits a moment, seemingly in a stalemate with herself. She opens her mouth to speak but one of the men shifts his weight and the gun he's holding jostles, knocking Jemma from her thought. Her mouth snaps closed.

"Pickens, you and the rest of the team are dismissed."

"Sir, we haven't finished the sweep."

"It's not needed; SHIELD would have made their move by now. My wife requires privacy for this next bit of conversation. You are dismissed," he demands not looking away from Jemma.

She is technically still his wife, and since Skye erased their identities it isn't like she can even file for divorce. And if he's truthful with himself, he only refers to her as "ex" when he needed to ease his conscience about Kara.

"You still consider us married?" She says it as if she can read his mind.

"Does it matter?"

The door slips closed behind Pickens and the team.

He watches her and waits.

"I want you; specifically, I want to have sex with you," she says instead of answering the question.

He laughs. "You hate me and, well, you tried to kill me. Which I suppose I deserved from your point of view. We don't exactly have the best foundation to rebuild our relationship on."

She chews nervously at her bottom lip. It makes him want to kiss her. "I hate being numb more than I hate you," she admits. "Besides, we never really got around to break up sex. If you don't want this, I can simply find someone else to have sex with…"

"Do not say Fitz," he warns her dryly. She smiles slightly, and he's bolstered by it. He can get her back if he plays this right.

"But I don't want to have sex with someone else. I want what I feel when I have sex with you. If you'd rather we-"

He brushes the hair escaping her messy bun behind her ear. "I didn't say no, Jem. I just want to be sure you know full well who you are getting in bed with."

Her chin kicks up, defiantly. "I don't care about Hydra or SHIELD or what you've done right now. It's reckless as hell, but I want you. You are my choice. Now, do you need written consent, or are we getting naked?"

By way of answering, he grabs the hem of her hoodie and tugs her toward him. He kisses her with his eyes open. She might decide to shank him while he's distracted.

Her lips are as soft as they ever were. Her eyes flutter open and then she bites his bottom lip, hard. "If I was going to end your life I'd have already done so, which you know full well. Stop staring, Grant. It's off-putting."

He kisses her again, deeply. She tastes like red wine and just Jemma.


When she bit him, it seemed to flip Grant's switch, much to Jemma's pleasure. It feels like it used to feel. He explores her mouth and nips at her lips. It's a heady sensation to be so thoroughly kissed after forcing herself to stay the course for so long. She's missed the part of herself he brought out. A part long held in check by his attempt on her life. All that alone time shifted her perspective on that. As much as she was loathe to admit it, she's missed him. Missed them. They had always been good together; no matter their issues, this part had been perfect.

She rips her mouth from his panting for air. "Bed, Grant. I don't want to shag in the foyer again, the floor is cold."

At the absence of her lips, he makes a growling sound. She tilts her head back, knowing what he wants. He trails biting, sucking kisses up her neck to that spot behind her ear. With each kiss, a lightning bolt slides up and down her spine. He moves to the other side to repeat the action.

When he sucks deeply at the hinge of her jaw, her insides turn to jelly and leave her clenching her thighs together in anticipation.

"Fuck. This is definitely a bad choice that feels good."

He chuckles darkly at that and yanks her off her feet. She wraps herself around him. They don't stop kissing even as he carries her down the hall. "

Take off your top," he commands. She breaks away enough to strip out of the heavy, dark blue hoodie and drop it to the floor. He loses his grip on his control a little at her easy acquiescence, and slams them into the wall outside her study.

"Sorry, did I hurt you?" he murmurs, kissing down her chest in apology. Ducking down, he kisses her breast and sucks her nipple into his mouth, laving it with his tongue and scraping with his teeth until it pebbles it into hardness. A stabbing heat shoots from her belly down to her core.

She throws her head back into the wall and cries out. She wants to keep him there forever, but he switches sides. The heat rises even more, her core tightening on nothing.

"Grant," she begs breathlessly.

He stops what he's doing and looks at her so intensely and tenderly her heart catches. She can't begin to guess at his play. Maybe there isn't one. Maybe she doesn't care if there is.

"What do you need, babe?"

The pet name makes her want to weep. There was a time not so long ago she thought she'd die without ever hearing another voice. She had no idea just how much missed the exact timbre of his until this moment.

He still reads her as well as he ever did, because he pulls her back to look at him. "Don't go there, Jem. Just tell me what you need. I've got you."

"Take me to bed," she pleads.

He takes her directly there, he drops her gently on to the mattress. He laughs his real laugh, loud and amused, when he goes to remove her Muppet-bedecked house slippers.

"They're my favorite! Don't be judgey," she explains.

His fingers trace the raised scar marring her shin. His eyes definitely have questions but all he says is,"I know."

He smiles at her seconds before hooking his fingers into the elastic band of her shorts. He pulls them down and off. His eyebrow raises at her absence of underwear, one of his old kinks she's subconsciously fed into.

"You're still dressed. I like to touch you, that might be an issue," she points out while naked lying on top of the covers.

"I like when you touch me. Give me five seconds."

She watches him undress with amused eyes. There's only one time she'd seen him do so this fast. It was as he was heading for a shower after a week in an African desert whose exact location she didn't have clearance to know.

She's smiling at the memory; he's yanking down his jeans when he catches it.

"What, babe?" He asks. He's yet to take his eyes off her.

"Never knew you wanted me equally as much as you hate sand."

He nods. "That's accurate."

He loses the boxer briefs and in the seconds before he climbs on to the bed she notes the hard length of him. Her body flushes in anticipation.

He looms over her on the bed. He dips his head down to kiss her even as he spreads her open with his fingers. His thumb zeroes in on her clit, rubbing, circling and pressing as his fingers thrust inside her. It's a gentle, teasing rhythm meant to prepare her but it has been so long, he brings her off in about ninety seconds.

She arches up into him, clutching his shoulders and gasping into the kiss. The skin of his shoulder blade feels different, bumpy. Like new scar tissue. "Who shot you?"

"You'll just be mad it wasn't you." He shoves into her hard, severing her train of thought. He remains utterly still letting her adjust, waiting for her to let him know she's ready for him to move.

"Whoever patched you up? They did a shit job."

"You alienate your doctor wife and you can't be too picky," he says through gritted teeth. He kisses her and she gives the go ahead.

He moves fractionally, in and out, again and again. He keeps up the slow, rocking rhythm for what seems like ages. If there's one good thing she can say about Grant is that he has truly spectacular stamina. This time, her orgasm is slow to build and steady. She feels so stretched and full, she's almost over-sensitized. Her muscles ache from clinging to him. Sweat beings to sheen on her body as she tries to move in time with him, but he only holds her still and continues to fuck her as he pleases. Keeping her on edge. Holding her to his whims.

"Grant..." she whines as her orgasm builds but doesn't crest. He doesn't let her. "Harder, I won't disappear. For right now I'm yours alone." He keeps his face buried in her neck. "I'm not going to shag you then vanish into the night. Look at me."

He does as she asks. "I'm here. I chose this, so please, for fuck's sake, put your back into it, love." He smiles at like he used to, wide and free, and her heart aches of its own accord.

He pulls nearly entirely out before grabbing the head board of their four poster bed and pushing back in. She chokes on air. "Jesus Bloody Christ."

He knows her body more intimately than she knows her own. With each thrust he hits her g-spot. Once, twice, four times, and then six and she comes so hard she sees stars. Her body goes vice-like around him and she distinctly hears, "Fuck I love you," groaned into her hair.

They go at it twice more. The second time, he takes her once from behind quick and dirty until he leaves her screaming into the decorative pillows. The third time, though, she's sits n his lap in the center of the bed, facing him. This time, unlike the first two times, it feels like they're making love. She blames her confession, then, on the post-multiple orgasm haze.

"You're the reason I survived. I used everything you taught me. Everything I thought was useless, it saved me. You and Fitz. I know, I'm sorry, I broke the no saying Fitz's name while naked rule," She babbles. To make up for the slip, she presses a kiss to his shoulder.

She leans back so she can see his face.

"I'm glad you made it. I have never in all my life been so glad to see the angry eyebrows." He uses his thumb to flatten out said wrinkle. "I was prepared to motivate Coulson differently, even it meant tipping my hand. I'm glad Fitz pulled it off."

She can't hide her confusion. What does helping the enemy get him? "Why would you do that? Ruin your strategy for me?"

"You're my girl. You're technically the enemy, currently, sure, but I love you. Do you believe me?"

"Does it matter?"

"More than I want it too." He kisses her chastely "Food or sleep? "

"Sleep, then food."

He lays them both back on the bed, pulling her to lay atop him. Between the measured cadence of his breathing and the deep steady beating of his heart beneath her ear paired with all the dopamine flooding her brain, she is finally pulled into the oblivion she always found in Grant.


She awakens tucked into the covers and completely alone. There is a little pink box emblazoned with the name of their favorite downtown bakery sitting atop the night stand along with a bright red post-it with the Hydra logo at the top.

She reads Grant's scratchy scrawl. "Reality called and I had to go. You can stay here in our bubble as long as you need. I left you the maple glazed donuts. Love you!- Grant.:)

No matter how mind-blowing the post-traumatic sex had been, she flat out refuses to be charmed by his sweetness in the harsh light of day, and the bloody octopus logo is a cold dose of reality. To be fair, he's not entirely evil so much as decidedly less moral than she is, and who is she to talk: she'd fucked him knowing who and what he was.

She serious considers staying in the bubble like he'd suggested, but she can't truly do that. Staying means forgiving herself for more this momentarily lapse and accepting she wants more than she can have. She packs her things and returns to SHIELD, a return to pretending she doesn't need Grant or the peace he can provide.

The fantasy of that only last two months. With missed menstrual cycles, unbaiting nausea, and six pregnancy tests, it all comes crashing down.

She's pregnant with Grant's child.


Bobbi is still sidelined by the injuries Grant gave her so has been relegated to the labs with Fitz indefinitely. It pains Jemma badly; she doesn't excuse Grant's actions, even if she does understand the way his mind works. That is what makes what she's about to ask for that much harder.

"Bobbi, I know you're busy, but at the earliest convenience I need a battery of blood work done. Andrew hasn't cleared me for lab work yet."

Bobbi looks away from whatever it is she's analyzing beneath the microscope. She looks at Jemma hard and critically. Jemma knows the instant the other woman puts two and two together, but still what she says still stings.

"You traitorous bitch. You can go to hell."

"I can explain, I-" Bobbi just walks out before she can even finish.

"You can explain what Jemma? What's happening? Leo asks as Daisy wanders in to investigate, having clearly been drawn by Bobbi's exit.

Jemma doesn't bother to beat around the bush. "I'm pregnant, and I need blood work done to make sure the alien world environment didn't affect my reproductive system or the fetus."

"It's Ward's isn't it?" Daisy says. She's not accusing, merely coldly factual.

"Does it matter?"

The room is so silent she can hear her own heart beating wildly. It undoubtedly matters a great deal.