“Will you marry me?” Jemma chokes out nervously, fumbling, and sighs again, watching her chest heave unhappily in the mirror. No, that sounded too silly, too self-conscious. Perhaps she should have listened to Mack rather than Fitz, and be planning to wing this.
She adjusts her sweater for the umpteenth time, and checks that the box is in the pocket of her trousers. Her anxiety spikes when she hears the apartment door click shut; Skye’s made it to their bedroom before Jemma has any chance to prepare herself for being joined.
Skye’s arms wrap around her, pulling Jemma tight against her, totally clueless as to why Jemma’s breath hitches when she grabs haphazardly at her pocket.
“What’s this? A present? Or, oh, are you just happy to see me?”
“I’m always happy to see you, darling.”
“Always,” Skye repeats at a worrying murmur, and her smile droops as she reaches to push some hair back behind her. Jemma furrows her brow.
Skye purses her lips.
Skye sighs shakily.
“Can I ask you something?”
Confused, Jemma nods rapidly.
“Yes, of course, Skye, anything,” she replies emphatically, grabbing Skye by her forearms; Skye momentarily presses her eyes shut, but then…
“Will you marry me, Jemma?”
Jemma thoughtlessly bursts into laughter, and urges Skye a few inches away from her just long enough to shove her hand into her pocket and hold out the ring box, beaming in delight.
“Only if you’ll marry me back.”