"So how do you expect me to become someone I don't even remember being- don't even know that I was?" Jemma stares down at Fitz and Hunter from her place on the stage. Despite standing in front of them back in the old theater, she still cannot believe that the events of the day before had not been some bizarre dream, that she had actually agreed to be a part of their crazy scheme.
"We're going to help you learn everything you'll need to know," Fitz says as he ascends the small set of stairs leading from the floor of the theater to the stage.
"Exactly," Hunter exclaims as he follows behind Fitz. "I spent some time in court," he states matter-of-factly before continuing, his voice shaking a bit more. "Before they kicked me out, of course."
"Kicked you out…?" Jemma whispers nervously.
"Don't worry, Jemma," Fitz says placing his hand on her shoulder before suddenly jerking it back. "Hunter here isn't the only one who has experience with royalty."
Fitz's vague reassurances do little to relieve the tightness in Jemma's chest. She also can't help but notice the way Fitz's brow furrows when his eyes move up to meet her own.
"So where do we begin?" Jemma blurts, turning from Fitz to pace across the stage.
"First," Hunter says, stepping in front of her. "We have to make sure you can act like a princess."
"And what exactly does that mean?" Jemma huffs, his answer providing little new information.
"If you act like a street sweeper, the dowager empress will surely-"
"He means you'll need to know how to conduct yourself- stand, sit, walk, talk, even eat- like a princess should."
"Where do we start?" Jemma asks, her eyes locking on Fitz's steady stare.
-/-
The days following this feel like a whirlwind to Jemma. Each day she starts out with her turn at sweeping the streets- rising before dawn to check in at sunrise- before making her way to the Yusupov palace for her next round of princess training.
They start with her behavior- making her walk with books on her head, creating quite the sight, she is sure.
"You need to look- and feel- like you're floating when you walk. The princess would have been taught poise and grace- her walk would be a far cry from your street stomping," Hunter says matter of factly.
Jemma is able to take two steps before the books tumble to the ground. She can hear Hunter's exasperated sigh as she picks them back up and returns them to their proper place. She takes another step; it is shaky but she manages to keep the books in place.
"Am I floating?" she asks him, the wobbling in her voice matching that of her feet as she takes another step.
"Like a… sinking boat," Hunter sighs as Jemma takes another step and the books clatter to the floor. "Alright," he continues, "try again." His voice is softer but she can still hear his frustration. "If I can learn to do it, so can you."
The behavior lessons take a few days; the walking lessons are followed by lessons on formal dining which are followed by dancing lessons- another disaster.
"I think I'm finally starting to get the hang of this whole floating thing," Jemma says hesitantly, finally completing a successful circle around the room without losing the books. Hunter had insisted that she needed to review the previous day's lesson.
"Great!" Hunter exclaims. "Now we move on to dancing."
"Dancing?" Jemma asks, stopping suddenly.
"The princess knew how to dance by the time she was eight," he replies. "Fitz, come over here."
Fitz looks up from the notes he is making for her to stare at Hunter. "What…" he says, the look on his face one Jemma can only describe as confusion.
"You. Come here," Hunter says again, gesturing between Fitz and where Jemma stands. "You're going to dance with Jemma.."
Fitz slowly does as he is asked, crossing the room to stand a few feet from Jemma. Hunter steps behind Fitz and pushes him closer to Jemma before taking hold of his arms and putting them in position. Hunter then moves behind Jemma and places her hand in Fitz's before gesturing to Fitz to go ahead and get started.
Jemma follows Fitz's lead as he begins the slow steps of a dance she doesn't remember. She looks down at their feet, tries to anticipate his next move, and she sees that he is hesitating almost as much as she is. She is pulled from her quiet observations when Fitz's foot lands firmly on her own. She jumps at the pain and Fitz steps away from her.
"Oh come on, you two," she hears Hunter say as she feels his hand on her back gently pushing her back towards Fitz.
Jemma steps forward and places her hand back atop Fitz's and they begin the slow steps. This time, it is Jemma's foot that lands squarely on his.
"You did that on purpose," he exclaims, narrowing his eyes at her. She simply smiles in reply and returns to the pose she now knows is required for dancing. Fitz huffs and takes her hand for a third time, wasting no time before leading her around the floor.
This time as Jemma looks down at their feet, she doesn't see him hesitate. He seems sure of his movements and she finds that she is able to follow him without looking down.
After a moment, she closes her eyes to immerse herself in the way she is feeling. When she opens them, she sees that Fitz's face is no longer filled with frustration but with a look of satisfaction. She can feel her own expression changing to match his as they begin twirl around the floor faster and faster.
"You're doing wonderfully," Fitz whispers to her as they continue to spin.
"Well I have a good teacher," Jemma replies quickly before catching herself and covering her mouth with the hand that had been on his shoulder.
Fitz stops dancing at the movement and takes a small step away from her before bowing slightly. Jemma follows suit and curtsies low before lifting her head back up to find both men staring intensely at her.
"Where did she learn that?" Hunter asks, looking to Fitz for an answer.
"I didn't teach her," Fitz replies holding his hands up.
Jemma's smile falters and her body tenses at the exchange and she wonders if she had done something wrong. But when Hunter turns back to her with a wide grin on his face, she lets out the breath she had been holding in.
"You're a natural!" Hunter proclaims, finally putting Jemma at ease. "Well done, Your Highness," he adds, bowing slightly.
After the behavior lessons come lessons on anyone the Grand Duchess Jennifer would have known- family members going back generations, members of court, even foreign nobles. The three of them spend days charting out the princess' expansive family tree, Fitz and Hunter filling in Jemma on any details she might have to know about its members.
After three long days spent going over every minute detail, they are at it again as Fitz and Hunter quiz Jemma on the facts she should know.
"Where were you born?"
"Our palace by the sea. It was my mother's favorite," Jemma answers Fitz's question with ease.
"And how old were you when you began to ride horseback?" Hunter asks, pacing in front of her.
"Three," she answers again quickly.
"Good. Now on to something harder. Your great aunt Olga?" Hunter asks.
Jemma wracks her memory for what she knows about this particular family member. "She's very short!" she exclaims after a moment, looking at him to confirm she is right.
"How short?" he asks instead.
"She stood on a stool during her wedding so as to look her groom in the eyes more easily," Jemma said more confidently this time.
"Very good," says Fitz. "What about your uncle Vanya? What is he known for?"
"Um…" Jemma says, closing her eyes as she tries to focus. She pictures the intricate family tree they had pieced together for her to study, tracing back from the princess to where she can see Vanya's name. "He really liked his… vodka…" she says slowly, her previous confidence now gone.
"He's Russian," Hunter pushes. "Of course he likes vodka."
"He drank a lot, even for a Russian. Mama thought he had a problem," Jemma continues a little more loudly.
"Good," Fitz says, his smile growing wider. "One more. What was special about Count Sergei?" he asks slowly, his eyes locked on hers.
She doesn't have to think this time; she knows this fact. "He always wore a feathered hat!" she exclaims.
"Yes he did! And I've heard he's gotten a bit fat," Hunter muses.
"And I think I remember…" Jemma whispers slowly. "Didn't he have a yellow cat?"
"How did you know that?" Fitz asks, jumping to his feet and moving toward her.
"I don't know," she says, her voice shaking slightly. "I just did."
Fitz turns to look at Hunter who simply smiles wide in return before looking back at Jemma, his own smile matching Hunter's.
-/-
Eight days after she agrees to work with Fitz and Hunter, Jemma sets out, as usual, for her shift sweeping and studies the streets in front of her. She still can't see why they've bothered hiring street sweepers at all- the streets never get clean and it's not like anyone would even care if they did. Everyone was used to the dirt, most of them live on the streets after all. Jemma watches as the streets begin to fill with people- the bread lines forming, the market stalls going back up.
One person stands out from the crowd, however, as Jemma watches the people around her. A man, dressed in what seems to be a soldier's uniform, had been staring at her for too long to ignore. She tries to go about her work, keeping her head down, but she can still feel his eyes on her, a suspicion that is confirmed every time she looks back at him. But he doesn't say a word to her until she begins to head back to turn in her broom.
"Excuse me, comrade," the man says, stepping in front of her. "I need you to come with me. There's someone that wants to talk to you."
Jemma looks the man up and down- at first glance, he doesn't seem intimidating but she has a feeling he is stronger than he looks. She tries to take a step around him but he catches her wrist and holds her in place.
"Fine," Jemma says, fighting to keep her voice from shaking, as she follows him into the building across the street.
The building itself is unimposing but the inside has Jemma on edge. There are people everywhere, all dressed similarly to the man leading her through them, and the large room is very noisy, typewriters clanging incessantly Jemma looks around, her eyes darting from face to face, but few people look her way and no one meets her eyes. She continues to follow the man as he leads her through the maze of desks and people until they reach a small room at the back of the building. Inside, she can see another man standing behind the desk, his back to them and his eyes focused on the scene outside the large window on the far wall. The man beside her clears his throat causing the second man to turn toward them.
"Well hello there," he says, his cheery tone is a stark contrast to their bland surroundings. "Please take a seat," he adds, crossing the room to stand a few steps away from her.
Jemma keeps her feet firmly planted just inside the door. She looks behind her, hoping for any piece of support the man who brought her in could offer but she can't see him anywhere.
"Oh dear, you're shaking," the man says as he steps even closer.
"I'm just, uh, a bit nervous," Jemma mumbles, staring down at his shoes.
"I'm sorry about all that," he says, his smile adding to the uneasiness beginning to settle in the pit of Jemma's stomach. "I didn't mean to upset you. I just want to talk."
Something from the room behind her makes a loud noise and Jemma visibly jumps in response before freezing and clutching her broom tightly to her chest. She stays like this, her face to the floor and her breathing just a bit too fast, until she feels a hand come to rest on her arm. She jerks away from the sensation leaving his hand hanging in the air between them.
"Woah, woah," the man says from beside her. "I didn't mean to startle you further. But there's no reason to be scared."
At this, Jemma finally looks up at the man's eyes. His eyes are strange, seeming as though they are filled at once with both fire and ice. Jemma takes another step away from the man.
"It was just one of the girls in the office, clumsy thing knocked the lamp off her desk."
Jemma stays silent but she keeps her eyes locked on him, quickly looking him up and down. He is dressed in a soldier's uniform like everyone else in the building, though his is somewhat more elaborate. He stands straight and stiff, holding himself in a way that is all too familiar to Jemma. It's the one that tells her he thinks he's better than she is.
"I have to go," Jemma blurts out and tries to turn back toward the door, her gut telling her to run.
"Why do you always have to go so quickly?" the man says and Jemma can feel his hand land heavy on her shoulder.
"I can't lose this job. They're not easy to come by." Jemma pauses, still studying the man. "And what exactly do you mean by always ?"
"The name's Ward. I've seen you around the streets before, working, talking with others, always moving quickly. I've also heard some rumors about you."
Jemma shrugs his hand away and steps back again, finding herself backed against the wall. "I don't know what you're talking about," she says.
"I think you do," Ward says, stepping close, too close. "Let me tell you a little more about myself," he says, gesturing again to the chair in front of his desk.
Jemma sighs and sits down slowly on the edge of the chair, keeping a tight grip on her broom. He rests his weight against the edge of the desk so that he can face her.
"A lot of people, even people working here, don't know that I lived in Yekaterinburg when the royal family was being held there. My father was even a Chekist guard stationed at Ipatiev House. I saw the children through the gates, woke up to the gunfire that night. I am one of a few people who truly know what happened to the royal family."
Jemma slides back in her chair, putting as much space between Ward and herself as she can. "Look I don't-," Jemma says before he interrupts her.
"I'm telling you all of this as a warning," Ward says, returning to his feet. "If you really were who you're pretending to be, well… Let's just say it would not be pretty."
"I really need to go," Jemma asserts again, rising to her feet and pushing past him toward the door.
"Be careful comrade," she can hear him call after her. "Your eyes will give you away."
Jemma rushes through the large room she had been led through earlier, holding tight to her broom and keeping her eyes locked on the door ahead of her. When she finally steps out into the sunlight, she leans against the side of the building and takes a series of deep breaths. She stays like this for more than a minute, her eyes closed and her head resting heavily against the wall behind her, forcing herself to feel the calm she knows she needs. She is surprised when she opens her eyes to find Fitz resting against the wall a few feet away.
"What are you doing here?" she asks, her voice sharper than she really means for it to be, as she turns slightly to face him.
"Someone told me they'd brought you in," he says as his only explanation.
Jemma pushes off the wall and takes a few steps away from Fitz. "That doesn't really answer my question, you know?" she quips, still facing away from him.
"I wanted to make sure you were ok. Is that what you want to hear?" Fitz says, closing part of the space between them.
"Yes, actually," Jemma huffs, spinning to meet his eyes again. "That would be nice," she adds, her voice softening.
"Well in that case," Fitz says, "let's get you to a more friendly part of the city." He gestures down the road that leads to the abandoned palace and falls into step as Jemma starts walking that way.
They walk alongside each other in silence, their eyes focused on the street in front of them. Jemma waits until they are out of sight of the government building before speaking again.
"We have to be more careful from now on," Jemma whispers. "They know everything about us," she continues, her words becoming louder and more rushed. "They know who we are, where we're hiding out, what we're doing."
"Don't worry, Jemma," Fitz says, reaching out to rest his hand on her arm for just a moment before continuing in a whisper. "If they were going to arrest you, they would have done it then."
"I'm not so sure-" Jemma frets before a new voice interrupts her. She doesn't know the man's face.
"Well if it isn't Mr. Fitz himself," the man says, moving to stand in front of the bench he had been sitting on.
"I thought you were living in Paris now," another man says as he steps out of the quickly growing shadows into view. His words seem perfectly normal but his tone throws Jemma off guard.
"And who's this?" the first man teases, eyeing Jemma. "Your girlfriend?"
She's not my girlfriend," Fitz asserts, keeping his eyes locked on the men as he steps between them and Jemma.
"If you don't want her, Fitz, I'll take her." This voice belongs to a third man and Jemma spins as she hears him approaching behind her.
"Back off." Jemma can hear Fitz talking to the first two men but she is distracted as the third man comes closer.
He comes close enough for Jemma to touch him but before she can decide what to do,he reaches down and grabs at her skirt, encouraging the already near boisterous laughter of the group. Jemma does not ignore this action but instead pushes her knee in the direction of the man's stomach, knocking him breathless when she makes contact.
Everyone else turns to look at the sound but Jemma is focused as she pushes the man to the ground as hard as she can before turning her attention to the others to find that one of the other men has taken on Fitz. The last man seems to be waiting for her. She meets his intense gaze just before she grabs a stick from the ground so she can charge him with it. She makes it halfway to the man before he turns and runs the other way. Jemma can see that Fitz's opponent has also fled, leaving only the third man. Jemma moves to charge him as well but she is stopped but Fitz's surprisingly strong arms wrapping around her waist and lifting her just above the ground. Jemma lets out a small, surprised scream as her feet leave the ground that quickly turns to laughter as he releases her and she discovers that he is fighting back laughter of his own.
"Where did you learn that?" Fitz asks between loud laughs as they make their way down the street.
"I didn't walk halfway across Russia without learning how to take care of myself," Jemma replies.
"That makes two of us," Fitz jokes, closing the distance she had put between them as he had recovered his composure.
They walk along silently for a few moments, neither of them quite sure what to say now before Jemma speaks again.
"There has to be more to life than just surviving it," she sighs. All signs of sarcasm and joking have left her voice. Fitz can see her shoulders have fallen and her eyes are unfocused.
"Once upon a time, maybe," Fitz sighs in return. He wants to believe that she's right, that life is supposed to be better than living on the streets. But everything he's experienced tells him she is very much mistaken. Well, almost everything… "It's everyone for themselves now, Jemma," he adds.
"Is that why you act so tough?" Jemma teases, stopping so she can look him in the eyes.
"I am tough," Fitz asserts defensively.
"Right," Jemma jabs, her smirk growing.
"You think I'd be standing here is I wasn't?" Come on," he says, grabbing her hand. "I want to show you something special."
Jemma follows as Fitz pulls her down a path she had missed before. The path is dark, buildings towering over them on one side and trees coming up from the other to block out most of the moon's light. She is grateful for his hand; without it, she would probably have lost him already. After what feels like an eternity to Jemma, they exit the tunnel of trees and she can see that they've ended up back in the center of the city.
"I had no idea the different parts of the city were connected like that," she says as she looks around. She cannot help but notice that Fitz still has his hand wrapped firmly around her own but she doesn't say anything.
"Most people don't," Fitz says, watching her with a smile.
"So was that what you wanted to show me?" Jemma asks gesturing back at the path.
"Not exactly," he replies with a smirk that pulls just a bit at something inside Jemma. He finally releases her hand as he takes a few steps away before turning in small circles to look around the square. Once he spies what he is looking for, he gently taps Jemma on the shoulder.
"You see that little fruit stall over there?' he asks pointing across the square as she turns around.
"Yes…" she says nervously, unsure of why he's paying so much attention to it.
"It's been there, in that spot, for as long as I can remember. In fact," he adds with a small laugh, "it was the first place I stole from once I was on my own."
Jemma can't quite define the look on Fitz's face; nostalgia, fondness, and even a hint of sadness all show on his face. She is curious about the past he hinted at but the tone in his voice makes her think he doesn't want to talk about it and so she doesn't ask.
"Come on," Fitz says, grabbing her hand after a moment so he can drag her along as he runs across the square.
She follows him around most of the city and every time he stops, he lets slip pieces of his past; the walls he scaled running from the authorities, places her worked for scraps of food, various places he'd hidden out over the years. Jemma slowly begins to put them all together as they approach what, based on Fitz's attitude, appears to be their final destination.
"And here we are," he announces, throwing his arms out and stepping aside so she can see where they are.
"The park?" she questions slowly after looking around for a few moments. "Alright," she sighs, "you've got me. What's so special about the park?"
He doesn't answer at first, fighting back a growing smile. "Turn around," he finally says after a moment.
Jemma stares at him, confused, but his face gives her no further explanation and so she does as she is told. What she finds renders her speechless. She had not realized just how high above the city they had climbed as they wandered toward the park; they are high enough on the hill that they can see the whole of Petersburg.
"It's beautiful," Jemma says, her voice barely a whisper. "Is this finally the special thing you wanted to show me?"
"Well yes and no," Fitz replies slowly. This is the most special of the things I showed you but they were all important, really. They all make up my Petersburg," he finally explains as he leans against a nearby bench.
Jemma thinks about what Fitz said; she really had gotten to see his Petersburg. Most people, she thinks, would have shown a newcomer a very different tour of the city: the palaces, the cathedral, the large city square. But he hadn't done that; he had shown her Petersburg as only he knew it.
"My father used to bring me out here," Fitz muses quietly as they stare out across the city. "He'd put me up on his shoulders and point to the farthest thing we could see. 'Bet you can see all the way to Finland from up there, Leo,' he'd say,"
"Leo?" Jemma asks, turning to look up at him.
"He was the only one that called me by my first name," he replies, his gaze flitting to meet hers before returning to the scene in front of them. "He was an anarchist- he didn't believe anyone was born better than anyone else. He died in a labor camp for his convictions," he says, his voice only a whisper. "My mother was already gone."
Jemma watches him as he tells his story; his eyes are looking at something far away, farther than Finland. "Who raised you?" she asks after a few silent moments.
"I told you," he says, finally looking back at her. "I raised myself."
"So neither of us has a family," Jemma sighs.
" You don't know that yet; the answer is in Paris," Fitz assures her, placing his hand on top of hers where it rests on the arm of the bench. "What's that across the river?" he asks, pointing to a large building just on the other side of the water.
"The Fortress of Saints Peter and Paul," Jemma fires off.
"How many tsars are buried there?" Fitz asks.
"I don't want to do this tonight," Jemma sighs.
"What do you want to do?" Fitz says softly, moving to her other side and sitting on the bench.
Jemma sighs. What does she want to do? "I want… to be someone who belongs to someone, someone who knows who they are."
"Convince the Dowager Empress and you will!" Jemma says nothing in response to his attempt at encouragement and so he continues their earlier conversation. "Tell me about the little dog."
"His name was Puka," she huffs.
"Go on."
"I loved him so much," she whispers, her voice shaking at the flashes she feels fighting to be seen.
"Don't stop," Fitz says, his voice becoming a bit softer. He watches her- the slow deep breaths that move her whole body, her distant stare, the way she is wringing her hands ever so slightly.
"I'm not as strong as you think I am," she sighs after a while, her eyes focusing only on her feet below her.
"You're very strong." He cannot stop the laugh that follows the statement. The thought that the woman in front of him is anything but strong is not something he can believe.
"Not like you," she says turning to look up at him.
"Then I'll be strong for both of us for now," he says softly, bringing a small smile to her face. "Close your eyes."
"Why?" she huffs leaning back against the bench.
"Just do it," he says and she does as he asks. "Now put your hand out."
Jemma slowly stretches her hand out in the space between them and she can hear the sound of Fitz searching through his bag for a moment before she feels him place something small in her hand.
"Go ahead and open your eyes," he says. "You've earned it."
She opens her eyes to see a small, decorated box resting in her palm. It is mostly covered in gold, bright green and red jewels glittering as they come together to create breathtaking flowers. The trinket tugs at Jemma's heart and her hand flies to the pendant hanging from her neck.
"It's beautiful," she says as she pulls her necklace out from beneath her coat.
"It's broken," he laughs, "I can't even open it."
"It's not broken," she says, turning back to him with a wide smile filling her face. "It's just protected."
His eyes narrow as he studies her face before turning to study the music box. He watches as she plays with her necklace a moment before bringing it down to meet the music box in her other hand. She carefully places the pendant in a small hole in the bottom of the box and turns it. After a few clicks, the box pops open and he can see a tiny pair of dancers twirling before a small, ornate painting as a simple melody begins to play.
"How did you do that?" Fitz asks but Jemma is transfixed by the music box. "Jemma?"
Jemma's eyes do not leave the pair of tiny dancers as she begins to hum along to the melody coming from the box before quietly beginning to sing.
"Dancing bears, painted wings
Things I almost remember
And a song someone sings
Once upon a December
Someone holds me safe and warm
Horses prance through a silver storm
Figures dancing gracefully
Across my memory
Far away, long ago
Glowing dim as an ember
Things my heart used to know
Once upon a December "
Jemma slowly closes the lid of the music box as the melody comes to an end. They both sit silently for what feels like days before Jemma finally speaks again.
"How soon do you think we can leave?" she asks as if ignoring the last several minutes. "They're canceling trains right and left. Here," she says digging into her coat pocket. "I worked an extra shift this week. It's not much but it has to help." She looks up at him expecting to see relief or joy on his face but instead finds disappointment.
"We're not even close, Jemma," Fitz sighs, looking away.
"What are you saying?" she pushes back.
"I thought I could get you out before they closed the borders-"
"You were the only hope I had-"
"There must be someone else who can help-"
"I don't want your money!" she says pushing his hand away as he tries to give back the money she had just offered him.
"It's your money," he replies, pushing back with equal force.
"It's our money! I trusted you," she asserts, her voice growing sharper.
"I said I was sorry!"
"But perhaps I didn't trust you enough," she says more softly. "Now you close your eyes."
"What for?" he says, moving away from her slightly.
"You're the stubbornest person I've ever met," she sighs, "almost as stubborn as me. Put your hand out," she adds repeating his earlier instructions. "Alright, open," she adds after a moment.
He opens his eyes and what he finds shocks him. "It's a diamond," he exhales in surprise.
"A nurse at the hospital found it sewn in my underclothes and, for some reason I still don't know, she kept it hidden for me until it was time for me to leave. She told me to keep it a secret until I was sure I could really trust someone."
"You've had this all along without telling me?" Fitz asks, quickly pushing himself to his feet. "Why?"
"It's the only thing I have," she asserts rising to her feet to face him. "Without it I have nothing."
"How do you know I won't take it now and you'll never see me again?" he asks taking a small step forward.
"I don't think you will," she replies, mirroring his movement.
"If you weren't-" he starts before closing the distance between them and encompassing her in a tight embrace.
"Disaster!" comes a voice from behind them and they both turn to find Hunter racing toward them. "The Yusupov palace has been raided! We're done for if we go back there!" he exclaims. "Mother of Moses!" he shouts a moment later as he finally sees the diamond in Jemma's hand.
"She's had it all along," Fitz reveals stepping around the bench and moving toward Hunter.
"I didn't trust either of you with it," Jemma adds, following Fitz.
"I don't blame you," Hunter says calmly before continuing, his voice more full of joy. "But nevermind, all is forgiven. I love you, Jemma," he shouts wrapping his arms around her before lifting her off the ground in his enthusiasm.
"Can I trust you to get the exit papers?" Fitz asks, placing his hand on Hunter's arm as he returns Jemma to the ground.
"I talked my way into two coronations, Nicholas' and his father's!" Hunter exclaims turning to leave the park. "I think I can manage exit papers!"
"There's a train leaving early tomorrow from Finland Station," Jemma says, making her way toward the park's gate.
"I'm going to Paris on a train," Fitz muses. "I'm going to sleep in a hotel… and take a bath!" he adds excitedly as he turns to follow Jemma so they can prepare for the journey ahead of them.
