Chapter 7: Riding in Cars with Rivals

The day was bright, sunny, and warm, and it seemed the people of New York City had determined to take full advantage of the pleasant weather. From far above, Grant watched the city pulse with activity. Tourists, lifelong city-dwellers, businessmen, starving artists… they all looked the same from up here, little dots in a rainbow of colors that milled about so purposefully.

It had only recently become strange to him that he'd been using this office, formerly his father's, for over a decade and had never before taken in the view. He was accustomed to coming in head-down, ready to put his nose to the proverbial grindstone. Usually, he sat at his desk as Palamas rattled off his daily itinerary. Today, he took the briefing standing at the window. If she found it odd (which he was certain she did), she had the good sense to hide her surprise.

"Quarterly reports will be live at four today," Palamas was saying. "Analytics will be available shortly-"

"-Where do you live, Kara?" Grant asked. He was still gazing out the window.

He heard her stammer at the interruption. "W-where do I… I'm sorry sir. I don't think I quite understand you."

"Never mind, then. Do you know the old brick building I own in Martha's Vineyard?"

Another topic change, but now that she realized the briefing was being set aside for now, she was more ready to follow his lead. "I do. I believe it used to be a private Montessori school."

He nodded. "Have the Rons see if there's any tax advantage to donating the building to the city. I want to see it made into a halfway house."

"And if there isn't? A tax advantage, I mean."

Grant considered the possibility, but only for a second. "Donate it anyway." He finally turned away from the window and faced his assistant, his expression inscrutable as he asked, "Have you ever heard me called 'the world's only living heart donor'?" She didn't reply. "It's okay; you can answer. I won't be offended."

"I've heard…" Palamas admitted slowly, "… things to that effect, over the years."

"Hm." And here he was, thinking he'd carved out a solid reputation as a savvy businessman. He never stopped to consider what social repercussions his ambitions might have had. To be fair, it hadn't mattered to him before, and he didn't care to dwell on why it might matter now.

"I need two tickets to a Broadway show," he said, again changing the subject. "Whichever show no one can get tickets for, and a table for two at the Carlyle for drinks after."

Palamas' fingers hovered over her tablet. "Tickets?" she repeated. "For the theatre?"

"Yes."

She cleared her throat. "Well, it's nearly impossible to get tickets to Hamilton."

"Great. Get them."

"… You do know that it is a musical? And that the actors frequently burst into song and dance and… rap?" He knew his request would come off strange, but Palamas harping on the details to make sure he knew what he was getting into was really too much.

"I know I'm not a theatre buff-"

"- buff?"

He decided to drop it. "Just do what you can, please, and clear my schedule for the afternoon. I'll look at the quarterlies tomorrow."

Now Palamas was nothing short of aghast. She made a small gasping sound, which she smartly disguised by coughing into the back of her hand. "I'll get this taken care of right away, sir." she said, and turned to leave.

Grant called to her once more. "Just one more thing." He watched as she unlocked her iPad, ready to take more notes. "I want you to take a two-week vacation next month. Anywhere you want, on my dime."

Her brown eyes went wide with shock. "Sir, I… don't know what to say. I couldn't possibly-"

"Don't make me phrase it as an order, Palamas. Take the vacation. Go to Florence, or Barcelona… Disneyworld, for all I care."

"Sir… thank you."

"You've more than earned it, Kara." Grant said, very seriously. "You can't just work all the time." And he turned back toward the window.

ooooooooooooooooo

The first thing Jemma did when she awoke that morning was review the photos she'd taken the day before. She intended to edit them, yes, but she was also searching for proof that the previous day had actually occurred. She had gone to Martha's Vineyard, to the famed Ward family cottage, and gone with Grant, no less. Her disbelief of her own experiences was understandable, she decided. Any one of those facts on their own was nearly beyond imagining. The three combined? It still didn't feel real.

But she connected the memory card to her laptop, and there it was; evidence in color of her time on the Vineyard, of the house, and of Grant. She flicked through the pictures rapidly. Even at a glance, she could tell they would require very little editing; at most, just a little color correction and balancing. It was the perfect day for shooting outdoors; just a little overcast, the slight cloud cover acting as a natural diffuser for the sunlight. The architecture of the cottage was designed to take advantage of as much natural light as possible, which only made her job easier. With the drapes opened in every room, the house had been filled with soft light. She was pleased to see that all the warmth she'd felt the home lacked in person had somehow manifested in the pictures.

Towards the end of the card, she found the picture she'd taken of Grant and paused to study it closer. Obviously, he was attractive. Jemma wasn't a fool or so prideful that she wouldn't admit he was handsome; handsomer, even, than Fitz. He had very expressive eyes, the most interesting shade of brown she'd ever seen. They looked nearly amber in the daytime. Perhaps his stoic work persona was to blame -he rarely smiled- but it was only yesterday she noticed long dimples set proportionately on either side of his mouth. And oh, did she have a weakness for dimples.

Yes, she'd agreed to delete the picture, but it seemed a shame to do so. She felt she'd captured something special in his face in that second, something unguarded and true. Jemma was still a novice photographer, regardless of how much faith Grant had put in her skills. Finding something authentic in a person and managing to capture it was not easy. This picture had been a matter of luck, of reading his face and his posture and pressing the right button at the right time. She was loathe to delete it and lose it forever.

She spent a little time picking her favorite pictures of the house, editing in Lightroom, and copying them onto a thumb drive for Grant, then cleared the memory card. She didn't keep pictures of the house for herself. It was beautiful, but she had so many pictures of beautiful things already, and her computer's available memory was almost full. She kept only one photo for herself, moving it to a folder on her desktop called "Special Things". It was where she kept her favorite photographs of France, readily accessible for her to click through and reminisce.

The picture of Grant ended up at the end of the folder, next to a picture of the Seine at sunset. She rather liked him there, beside a river that had become as familiar to her as an old friend, the city she loved in the background under a pink and purple sky. She deleted the generated label attached to Grant's photo, some impersonal combination of letters and numbers that told her nothing about the picture itself, and changed it to something more appropriate. There. Much better.

"A Dear One", it now read.

She realized that, to some, the title would seem romantic, but Jemma had reasoned with herself that it was not so. Through their trip the day before, she had gotten the sense that Grant opened up to very few people; it was possible he was regarded with affection only by those in his family, and that made her very sad. Calling him a dear one was a little bit of wishful thinking on her part; the hope that sometime in the future, someone (certainly not her) would hold Grant dear. She knew that a person could live without love, but she felt strongly that he needed it more than most of the poor souls she'd come across in her life, herself included.

Once she had finished with the pictures, Jemma lingered about the apartment taking time to savor her tea, perfecting her makeup (simple with a red lip), and planning her outfit for the day. She would never be considered fashion forward, not by a long shot, but her time at Marie Claire had taught her how to throw a look together with ease. Today, she chose skinny black pants, a white blouse, and a tan jacket worn over her shoulders. She had two people to visit today, and she wanted to look nice for both of them. She hemmed and hawed over whether to wear flats or heels. She considered Fitz, who was not too much taller than her, and then Grant, who towered over her the day before when she had worn ballet black pants hit below her ankles, making her legs look especially short when she tried on the flats. She knew she owned a few pairs of heels that weren't so extreme she would get uncomfortable fast.

"Oh, what the hell," she decided and grabbed a pair of glossy, nude, pointed-toe pumps. She was going into the city, for heaven's sake. One must look the part, or Angeline would never forgive.

Jemma smiled, remembering her former boss fondly, and slipped into the shoes. Yes, perfect. That was just the look she wanted. Casual enough to visit a recovering friend, but the heels added a touch of formality that would help her blend in with corporate America when she dropped off Grant's photos that afternoon. It was still strange to think that she saw more of Grant in the past two days than she'd seen in years, but she tried not to dwell on it. Neither did she care to dwell on how easily and frequently thoughts of him entered her mind lately.

For now, she pushed Grant out of her thoughts, determined to focus on Fitz and his welfare for the time-being. Her head had cleared since the night of Melida's party, and she was humbled by how foolishly she'd behaved that night. He was engaged! She knew better than to entertain romantic thoughts of a practically-married man and had determined to set that right today, once and for all.

Provided he was lucid, of course.

Her hopes were thwarted when she approached his room. Fitz's nurse was posted outside, dressed smartly in scrubs and comfortable shoes, and seated in a chair reading a book. She looked up only briefly as Jemma drew closer, then back down at her book.

"How is he today?" Jemma asked in a soft voice.

"Recuperating. Doctor said he should have no visitors today." the nurse, a middle-aged woman, replied tersely.

Jemma blinked in response to her interesting bedside manner. "Well, could you tell him Jemma came to see him?"

"I could tell him the Duchess of Cambridge came to see him, but I don't think it'd make a difference." Finally, the nurse looked up from her novel. "I'll let him know."

Jemma nodded her thanks and withdrew, leaving the way she came. Drat. She supposed the conversation would have to wait until a later time.

As she was making her way down the stairs, another woman was coming up. She was roughly Jemma's age, clad in all black, and a concerned expression was on her very pretty face.

She spotted Jemma as she descended and cornered her. "Are you a doctor? Are you treating Fitz?"

Jemma shook her head, but hazarded a guess as to whom the other woman was. "Are you Skye?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I'm Skye Johnson. How do you know Fitz?"

"We're old friends," Jemma said, adding, "my uncle works for Mrs. Ward."

"Oh!" Skye said, the pieces clicking together for her. "You're Phil's niece! Jemma, right? How did you like Paris?"

Jemma was surprised that Skye knew of her at all, but she replied, "I loved it. I don't miss it yet, but I will."

Skye glanced up the staircase. "How is he doing?"

She relayed what little she knew. "They had him on some pretty heavy meds yesterday, but I don't know how he is today. The nurse wouldn't let me see him. Said he wasn't taking visitors today."

Skye pursed her lips, her eyes narrowed. "Well, we'll just have to see about that."

Jemma soon learned firsthand what a force Skye was when she was determined. She stormed up the steps, Jemma close behind, sidestepped the nurse (ignoring her protests as she did so) and banged on the door.

"Leopold Fitz Ward, if you don't get your cute, stitch-riddled ass out of bed and open the door right now-"

"- ma'am! Please!" The nurse hissed, then narrowed her eyes at Jemma, who could only look at her apologetically.

"Don't worry. I won't get you into trouble." Skye promised the nurse, then banged the door again. "I'll break this door down. Don't think I can't." She smirked at Jemma and whispered, "I can't, but it's fun to pretend."

"Ah." She really didn't know how to respond to that.

There came a clicking sound from behind the door as Fitz unlocked it, opening it narrowly to peek out. He looked at Skye timidly.

"I'm supposed to be resting. Doctor's orders."

"We won't stop you." She replied, forcing the door open wider so that both she and Jemma could enter the room. A little strangled cry escaped Skye's mouth at the sight of Fitz leaning on a cane.

"Melinda said your injuries were superficial!"

"They are." Fitz reassured her. "The cane is temporary. It's just an aid for a few days."

"Oh, sweetheart." All the gusto Jemma had seen just moments before had fizzled. Beneath the bravado, Skye was a nurturer. That much was evident as Jemma watched her help Fitz back to bed, where she lay him down on his stomach, took a seat beside him, and ran her hand gently through his hair.

"Jemma? You came, too?" Fitz asked dreamily as Skye's hand continued to stroke through his curls.

She nodded, forcing a tight smile. "Just wanted to see for myself that you were okay." She couldn't very well address their broken plans for a rendezvous with Skye in the room, now could she? Perhaps it was better to let well enough alone. Maybe her heart (and his poor arse) had been through enough.

"It's so nice of you to come, Jemma." Skye said, and Jemma could tell she meant it.

Fitz turned his head to the side and looked at her. "You look very nice today. Headed somewhere?"

"Oh," Jemma glanced down at her clothes, suddenly self-conscious. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm supposed to go see Grant today."

Fitz's eyes widened. Skye made a small noise of excitement. "Fun! Is it your first time going into the city since coming back?"

She nodded. "I suppose I should call a cab or something."

"I can drive you." Skye offered. Both Jemma and Fitz looked at her with surprise.

"You really don't have to."

"It's no trouble," Skye promised.

"But you just got back." Fitz protested.

She ruffled his hair as she rubbed it. "Oh, like you're going anywhere. I thought the doctor said you needed to rest?"

"He did, but-"

"So, it's settled then. I'll drive Jemma into town and you can get a little more rest." Fitz opened his mouth to protest, but Skye had made up her mind. "Honey, please." She pressed a kiss to his mouth. "Give me my way this once."

"You always get your way." Fitz groused, but he was smirking.

"I know. That's why I love you." She put her lips to his forehead, whispered "I'll be back soon," then asked Jemma, "Ready?"

She knew she meant, "ready to go". And yes, Jemma was. But was she ready to be trapped in a car with the woman who should have been her romantic rival? She wasn't so sure.

ooooooooooooooooo

The car ride was not nearly so torturous as Jemma feared it would be. Skye was naturally a very gregarious person, and they had barely made it out of the drive before she was pulling details of Jemma's life out of her. She was one of those rare, insanely charismatic people who could develop rapport with anyone. Jemma had never allowed herself to hate Fitz's fiancee, but now that she'd met Skye for herself, she found she rather liked her.

Her uncle's prediction that, in another life, the two of them would have been friends was not far off after all.

"So, what's the deal with you and Grant?" Skye asked as they pulled into the city.

Before she could school her expression into neutrality, Jemma made a face. "There is no me and Grant." she said.

Skye shot her a sidelong glance. "You're going to see him dressed like that, and there's nothing going on?" She snorted. "All right."

Jemma glanced down at her clothes. "These are perfectly modest!"

"You saw your butt in those pants, right?"

Her jaw dropped, but Jemma flushed all the same. "I… may have noticed that the heels propped things up more than usual…" Skye snickered and Jemma hurried to finish, "but Grant and I are just friends. I am bringing him photos of the cottage on Martha's Vineyard. I guess he's thinking of selling it."

Another glance. "They're not selling it." Skye said, a confident, matter-of-fact tone in her voice.

"They're… not?" Jemma was surprised. Then why would Grant have asked her to photograph it for selling? And how was Skye so sure?

"No!" Skye laughed. "The cottage has way too much sentimental value to the boys for them to sell it, even if they hardly ever use it." It was odd to hear Fitz and Grant called, "the boys", but Jemma didn't focus on it. "I think you need to get good with the fact that Grant was looking for an excuse to spend time with you."

Jemma didn't know how to answer that. She fiddled with her purse strap, absently spun the ring on her right-hand middle finger.

"I really don't think I'm Grant's type," she admitted quietly.

"And I really don't think you're giving yourself enough credit," Skye answered, then added, "but hey, I could be wrong. I guess you'll just have to see how today goes."

"Yes," Jemma agreed. "I guess I will."

Skye dropped her off shortly after, complimented her outfit as she got out, then said, "Let's make a bet. If I'm right, you're a bridesmaid in my wedding."

Now that made her laugh. "You can't be serious!"

"I am! Believe it or not, you make only so many female friends in tech, and my side of the aisle stands to be a real sausage-fest. I'm a little desperate, so if I'm right, you'll be a bridesmaid." Skye waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "I'll even make sure you walk back up the aisle with Grant so you guys can get a feel for it."

Jemma had gotten enough of a handle on Skye's brand of humor to know that that, at least, was definitely a joke. "Thanks for the ride, Skye," she said drily, but her smile was real as she shut the car door.

"Anytime!" Skye said through the open window. "You're sure you don't need me to pick you up later?"

"I'm sure. You just…" she paused. "You go take care of Fitz."

Skye smiled. "Later, Jemma."

"Later." Once alone (or rather, as alone as one could be in NYC), she turned to face the building that housed the Highware corporate offices.

A lump formed in Jemma's throat as she looked up, up, and up, as far as her eyes could strain to see. It was a newer building, the brick a cold and ugly gray. She couldn't put a finger on the particular style, having only the barest knowledge of architecture, but it seemed the building was meant to be functional more than it was meant for beauty. In a way, it made her long for Paris, and she was reminded anew of how very different hers and Grant's worlds were.

Skye was wrong. Of that, Jemma was certain. There was no affection to be found for her here, in the Wards' world, from either brother. Jemma rolled her shoulders back, summoned all of her courage, and walked inside.

A/N: Don't worry. This story is not abandoned. It may take me a while to update, but it will be finished! formatting is a nightmare, so I had to improvise on line breaks. Sigh...

I really enjoyed writing Skye and Jemma in this chapter. The characters they represent never meet in either version of Sabrina, but I couldn't have a whole story with them in it and keep them apart. Their bond is one of my favorite parts of AOS. Let me know what you think by leaving a review, please!