A/N: Been a bit since I've updated, so let's just get right to it, shall we? Notes at the end!

Chapter 3: Home Again, Home Again

Engaged.

The news made the world come crashing down on her. No, it made the room spin around her. No, time came to a standstill. Or perhaps it was all three. Yes, she thought, as she burrowed further under her bedcovers. All three.

Engaged.

The word echoed in Jemma's head like a gunshot. The pain in her heart spread through her body as if carried in her blood, to the very edge of her fingertips until her entire frame was huddled in a ball to ward off the massive ache the revelation had invoked.

A knock at the door made her peek out from beneath the duvet. When she did not answer, Antoine called to her from the other side. With some reluctance, she freed herself from the bedclothes and answered the door.

He was carrying a box of pastries and a cup of coffee for her. "Angeline mentioned you were unwell," he said.

She leaned into the doorframe, "You could say that."

He offered her the cup and she took it with a muttered, "Thank you".

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She took the pastries from him as well, then without a word pulled him inside her flat. After setting both the coffee and the pastries on the kitchen counter, she led him to the bedroom and pulled him onto the mattress. Why not, she figured as she kissed him. They'd held hands once and she liked the way his dark skin had contrasted hers when their fingers were laced together. Surely she would like the look if more than their hands were entwined. He was handsome in his way, all warm and smoldering, no sign of the icy blue that hurt her heart to think about. Her hands went to unbutton Antoine's shirt.

His gentle but firm grip on her wrists was the only thing that stopped her. Pulling his lips away from hers, he said, "I am in Paris but you are somewhere else." She held his gaze defiantly, but did not confirm or deny the accusation. He hovered over her, his face inches from hers, and she suddenly felt very, very small. "What hurts you," he began again, "cannot be fixed in bed. It must be fixed here." He tapped a finger to her heart, "And here," he pointed to her forehead, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear as he did. Then, Antoine kissed the tip of her nose and withdrew from her without another word. A few seconds later, she heard the sound of the door clicking closed behind him.

She was alone and so she cried. She cried tears for the love she'd harbored since her youth, no matter how foolishly it was done. She cried for herself, for being so silly as to imagine a future that she was now bidding goodbye, for it would never come to pass. She cried the night through, and when morning arrived as a pale yellow glow through the slats of the blinds, she wiped her face on her sleeve and sat up. She was physically exhausted, and though her heart felt very raw, it also had the strangest inkling of hope being kindled within.

She had lived through worse heartbreaks, she reminded herself. She survived her parents dying, survived leaving her home country. She could certainly survive losing Fitz, once and for all. Couldn't she?

She had no choice but to try.

What remained of her internship passed in a blur. Angeline never again had to worry about Jemma calling in "sick", and neither Jemma nor Angeline ever mentioned Fitz again. Despite Jemma's desperate and misguided effort to get Antoine in her bed, he refused to allow things to get awkward, happily resuming his role as one of her dearest friends. Even Martine warmed up to Jemma as her departure drew closer, though her version of "warming up" just meant she relayed orders in a nicer tone, and still without adding "please".

Her last week in Paris, Antoine gifted her a camera and Angeline treated her to a proper makeover. Her hair, which had reached the middle of her back for as long as she could remember, was cut short enough to brush her shoulders. Seeing all of the dark waves fall away made Jemma feel a thousand pounds lighter. Angeline then offered a quick lesson on makeup and gave her a matte red Lancôme lipstick that made her look positively vampy. When both the hairstylist and Angeline had finished, Jemma looked in the mirror. She was barely recognizable, and yet she felt like she had never looked more like herself. Like the true Jemma had emerged at last.

"Hello," she said to her reflection. Seeing her own lips painted red was a sight she hoped to never get over.

Three days before her departure, she went to the bridge where she and Angeline had first walked. Taking a seat on a wrought-iron bench nearby, she took out her pen and a postcard she had purchased just for this reason, and began to write her uncle a letter.

Dear Uncle Phil,

I'm writing you from beside my favorite place in the world, three days before I come home. I may even be back in the states before this even reaches you.

Amazing. It's gone by so quickly, and yet I feel as though I've always been here. How was I ever so content to live within my tiny sphere when all the world awaits? Thank you, Uncle, for convincing me to leap from the branch. I think I've at last found my wings.

All my love,

Jemma

There was an unmistakeable yapping sound that could be heard as Grant passed the large oak that marked the entrance to the gardens. As he crossed the lawn, he noticed Rose -the head maid- was unwittingly causing quite a scene as she chased a young, yippy King spaniel that had gotten off its leash. As she passed him, she paused long enough to curtsey in acknowledgment of him before continuing the chase.

Fitz was watching the excitement from the comfort of the large white dining tent that had been erected first. He was nursing a beer and produced a fresh one from a cooler beside his folding chair, handing it to Grant once he got close enough.

"Working hard I see."

"Melinda wanted me to oversee the start of the party set up," Fitz explained.

"And the dog?" As if to punctuate his question, the canine chose that moment to howl.

"A gift from Skye," was Fitz's answer. "She's giving a TED talk tonight so she's missing Melinda's party. The dog is a combination birthday-slash-apology present."

"Hate to see what she'll give to apologize for the dog," Grant joked and took a sip of his beer. "What did you end up getting Melinda?"

"A little Picasso. I'm having it wrapped in the city."

"Jeez. What did that cost me?"

Fitz shrugged. Then, after downing the rest of his beer, he stood. "I gotta go pick up Mel's present. Be back in time for the party." He patted his brother's shoulder as he walked by him.

Fitz was surprised to see Phil in the garage when he went to grab his car. "Doesn't Jemma come back today, Coulson?" he asked.

Phil nodded. "Yes. I expect her any time, but she doesn't want me picking her up. Says she wants to surprise me."

"That's nice," Fitz replied, though he sounded vaguely disinterested. "I won't ask you to drive me into town then. Mind if I take the 'vette?" He ran one hand over the hood of the vintage red Corvette.

"Keys are in the glove compartment."

It was all the permission he needed.

Jemma had departed America as a quiet mouse. Not only was she part of the crowd, just one face imperceptible from the others, she was absorbed by the crowd, completely invisible. This was not so now.

Perhaps it was the clothes. She could hardly have been in the world's fashion capital and not learned how to put an outfit together. Or was it the makeup? She'd been blessed with good skin, but now she knew how to highlight her features. The haircut definitely made a difference in how she carried herself and as an added bonus showed off her slender, elegant neck she'd once overheard Antoine describe as "délicieuse".

Whatever the cause was, it put confidence in her step. Now, rather than carried by the flow of the crowd, it seemed to part for her, giving her a wide berth as she maneuvered through the airport terminal, her wheeled suitcase trailing behind her.

From the airport, she took a tram from LaGuardia to the nearby Marriott associated with the airport. From there, she planned to hail a cab to take her home. She was just beginning to grouse over what the trip would cost in cab fare when she saw him. Fitz. Her breath caught in her chest..

He was only a few feet away from her, jangling a set of keys in his hand, a small, thin square package tucked under his left arm. He glanced at her as he passed, then looked again, longer the second time.

"Hi," she stammered.

He grinned that cheeky, knee-melting grin. "Hi."

"How are you?"

"Good." He paused, still grinning. "How are you?"

"Honestly, a little shocked to see you here! It's all so... serendipitous."

"Well, you know me... right?"

Jemma laughed and nodded once.

"Do you need a ride?" He asked.

"Are you on your way home?"

"...Yes?"

"Well, how convenient." She said and promptly handed him her bag. It was a novel image, Jemma thought, and quite ballsy on her part. Allowing one of the masters of the house to assist the help with their luggage? Talk about upending social norms.

He had taken the red Corvette into town for his excursion, which she loved. The Corvette was her favorite. As she sat in the passenger seat, she ran a hand over the cream leather of the dash. "I've always loved this car," she said.

"Yeah. She's a beauty, for certain," he agreed.

Jemma chuckled to herself. "You don't recognize me, do you?"

"What? Sure I do. But, um... can you tell me your address again?"

Little did he know that he had just inadvertently confirmed how clueless he was. She swallowed a laugh, managing to say, "Dusoris Lane."

"Th-that's my street."

"You don't say," she teased, then followed it with, "You really have no idea who I am?"

"Sure I do... you're my neighbor from Dusoris Lane."

She laughed. "And you're Fitz."

"Yes, the lesser Ward."

"I wouldn't say lesser."

He shot her a meaningful glance. "I swore I knew all the pretty girls on the north shore."

She chuckled. "I swore you took in a fair bit more territory than that."

"Ouch."

"Am I wrong?"

"Not at all. But it stings to think my reputation precedes me so."

"I wouldn't know about your reputation."

"No?"

"No. Not when I've known you for years. Isn't gossiping about reputation reserved for strangers and the jealous?"

They passed the car ride just this way, with Fitz trying to get her to reveal her identity and Jemma teasingly rebuffing him.

Five minutes out from the Ward estate, Jemma broached the subject that so far Fitz had neglected. "I hear you're engaged to be married."

A muscle in his cheek twitched, but he played it off by smirking. "I am. But we are both very, very busy people. It's been hard to set a date."

"Ah," she said and nodded in understanding. "She is a jet setter, then?"

"By way of her job. She owns Quake Technologies."

"Sounds like a smart cookie."

Fitz deflected by turning the conversation by pointing out the estate's driveway.

"Would you like to come in for a drink?"

"I would like that very much, thank you."

As they rounded the fountain, Jemma remarked on the bustle of people and the many delivery trucks that cluttered the drive. "Looks like a party," she said as Fitz parked.

"My stepmother's birthday party is tomorrow," Fitz explained as he hurried to the passenger side of the car and opened the door for her. He offered her his hand to help her out, then retrieved her luggage from the trunk.

"Listen," he began as he handed her the handle to her suitcase. "The party is tomorrow night at nine o'clock. My fiancée is in California for the week and I hate going stag. Will you please come?"

Jemma felt her face grow warm, but she kept her composure, if only barely. "Do you really want me to?"

"On one condition: will you please tell me who you are?"

She couldn't help but smile. She opened her mouth to speak just as Grant walked up to them.

"Hello Jemma," he said to her, though his eyes were locked onto his mobile phone. "Just back from Paris?"

She tore her eyes away from Fitz, who was looking more stunned by the second. "Hello, Grant. Yes, just this morning."

"Jemma?" Fitz sputtered in disbelief.

"Wonderful. You look all grown up," Grant said and slid his phone into his pocket. "Has your uncle seen you yet?"

"Jemma?" Again, this came from Fitz.

"No, not yet," she admitted, feeling a bit sheepish.

"Jemma?!" A third time.

"Why does he keep saying that?" Grant asked.

"I need to go find my uncle," Jemma said suddenly and began to stalk off. Over her shoulder she called, "I'll get my bags later." When Fitz tried to call her back, she interrupted with, "Thanks for the ride."

Once she was gone, Fitz appeared rather crestfallen. Grant knew what that look meant and put a staying hand to his brother's chest just as he tried to take a step in the direction of the garage.

"No, Fitz."

"I just-"

"No."

"For going out," Jemma said as she draped a silk tie over Phil's left shoulder. "For staying in," and she pressed a bottle of champagne into his right hand. Last, she placed a black beret on top of his thinning hair.

"For laughs!"

And laugh he did as he considered his presents. "It's better than Christmas," he said as he removed the beret and set the tie aside. He put the champagne in the freezer, hoping to get it chilled quickly so he and Jemma could toast her return in a few minutes.

She had her back turned to him and was removing a gown from a garment bag. It was a lovely, night blue satin dress from three seasons ago and had been kept in the back of the samples closet collecting dust. Angeline had let her buy it for a steal. The bodice and skirt were a little wrinkled. "Oh I hope this shakes out by tomorrow."

"Tomorrow is Melinda- I mean, Mrs. Ward's birthday party," Phil informed her.

"I know." Jemma held the dress against her body, already planning how to do her hair and makeup for the evening. "I've been invited."

"By whom?"

"Fitz," she said, and her pulse fluttered in her veins when she said his name, determinations to forget him be damned. "Of course he didn't recognize me when he invited me, but that's what he gets for flirting when engaged."

"And now that he knows it's you?"

She considered it. "I'm still invited. I think."

"You think?" He sighed. "Oh, Jemma."

She draped the dress over the back of the couch and looked at her uncle with large, pleading eyes.

"Uncle Phil, please?" She wasn't asking for his permission, per se, but she preferred to do things knowing she had at least his approval. "I promised myself I would go one day. Hundreds of times, thousands of times, always in that tree, and now I'm invited."

There were few things he had ever been able to refuse Jemma, and though he worried attending the party on Fitz's arm would reopen the wound, he did not have it in him to contradict her wishes. Not when she looked so happy.

She looked radiant in her navy blue dress, her hair curled and pinned back on one side, her lips a dramatic burgundy shade. Phil snapped a few photos of her with his cell phone's camera.

"One last touch," he said, then went to the small safe in his closet and withdrew a black velvet box. He opened it to reveal a slender white gold chain. Suspended from it was a dainty diamond pendant. "It was your grandmother's. I was supposed to save it for my future wife, but since that never happened... It's meant to be worn, Jemma. Would you like to?"

She nodded and allowed him to place the necklace on her. "It's lovely. I promise I'll return it as soon as the night is over."

"No rush. It's doubtful I will ever find someone to give it to."

"Don't say that, Uncle Phil," Jemma said, touching his arm. "Never count yourself out." She asked him how she looked one last time, and one last time he told her she was beautiful.

He bade her goodbye from the front door of their home, watching as she crossed from the garage, across the circular drive, to the lighted stone path that led to the garden. She paused for a moment by the tall oak tree, pressing a hand to the rough bark of the trunk. Then, when it seemed she had gathered herself, she entered the party and disappeared from his view.

A/N: Many thanks to Daisy/stargazerdaisy for editing this. Thanks to everyone who has followed, favorited, subscribed, left kudos, or reviewed. Please let me know what you think of this chapter!