Do your worst.

    “I was raised a gentlemen for the most part,” there’s a teasing smile there as he steps out behind her and shuts the door. It had been a common courtesy, but it’s nice to hear a thank you for it. For what it’s worth, he’s trying to play nice and learn this new team around him. Working with others isn’t his specialty, not in the least, but he’s going to actually try to make the best of this. Besides, out of all of them, Jemma was a good place to start, even if her science talk half of the time lost him. Reaching into the cupboard in the pantry room, he snags two – one for Jemma’s tea and one for his own cup of coffee. As much as he hates to admit that he’s addicted to the drink, it serves as a nice wake me up when he’s stuck on the jet all the time and being up in the air. “I’m not going to lie, I’m not the best at it. But I’ll try my best, yeah? Milk and two sugars coming right up.” A tea bag is snagged on his way to heating the water, and then he grabs the milk and sugar, setting them down so he won’t forget them. Leaning back against the counter, brown eyes run along Jemma for a moment, an almost comforting silence settling between them. 

    “What has you so rattled in there? Besides having to learn how to be a medical doctor when you’ve already got so much on your plate?” Grant still thinks it’s wrong to put that much on her shoulders; how could Coulson really think it was a good idea? He knows that SHIELD is tight knit and that they can’t afford to have too many people on the Bus. But something like this would surely be something to spring for, right? And it’d take the pressure off of Jemma who already looked like she was about to tear her hair out, and it had only been a few weeks on missions. “I’m serious, I can have a talk with Coulson and see if we can get someone. You don’t…need to stress yourself out.” He knows all too well though how it feels to try and fit in constantly, and he pours the hot water into the cup as he waits for the tea to steep. “I heard you had high qualifications in the Academy – it’s impressive.” The ingredients are added and he passes it over to her, pouring himself a cup of coffee before he takes a seat. “What made you even say yes to this whole ordeal?”

  The kitchen on the bus is very well stocked considered it was on a plane, but then everything on the bus is built to the highest standard (most of it having been rebuilt since they’d started their trip) so the kitchen being very good was hardly surprising. She opens the fridge and removes the items needed for making sandwiches. Fresh ingredients is also a luxury she really hadn’t considered when they’d first arrived. The idea of having to grocery shop for a plane was interesting and she had thus far greatly enjoyed being able to stock it up with decent food, even if the SHIELD budget didn’t run too far. Everyone had their little quirks about eating too, she’d noticed. It was just another fun challenge. More fun than having to patch people up after they’d gotten hurt anyway. 

If Deke thought that she might finally start to look better, well, he would be wrong, because she seems to look worse than before. He stops babbling because he’s really run out of things to say. He doesn’t really know what to do and to be quite honest, he’s never really had anyone to be concerned over. Life at the Lighthouse means protecting yourself, putting yourself first, there was never time to be concerned about others. At least, not for someone like him who was an orphan with no family. But now here in the past, or the present, or whatever this time is, Deke does have a family and he thinks he’s rather rusty at this whole caring thing. Maybe that’s why his grandmother looks worse. He’s about to reach out again when she pulls away and takes off running. Deke blinks for a few seconds before running after her. If nothing else, right now it’s his job to look after her, make sure she’s okay first. He finds her right as she’s puking into the sink and winces as he looks at her. She must be feeling awful. “I’m sorry…I…uh…what can I do? To help…I mean…”

It takes him a minute to move, to get his hand to obey his brain and move. His fingers twitch around the blanket, the tremor in his hands making it difficult to hold on.

“J-Jem…” he tries again, chokes again, trying to get words out, but nothing happens. A low hum passes his lips, a whine, a desperate attempt to speak.

“… Jem… Jemma…”

He lifts his hand a little, reaches out, tries to take her hand, but every move he makes is slow and shaky, and it’s nearly impossible to manage.

“Jemma.”

It’s heartbreaking beyond belief. She feels her own lip tremble and forces it to stop, forces a smile to her lips, hides the way her eyes burn with the almost desperate desire to break into an unending flood of tears. 

He looks so small. He sounds so weak. She just wants to help, but in this she is completely helpless. There’s no making it better, nothing can make it better but time and she knows that it must be ten thousand times as frustrating for him as it is for her. 

His hand reaches out for her, small and shaking and moving in jerky movements. She curls her fingers around his hand and runs her thumb over the back of his knuckles.