The first thing that Grant did when he got into the office that morning was take off his tie.

The second thing he did was call in Palamas.

"Good morning, sir," she began as she walked in. "How was the theater?" She looked up from her tablet and studied him then, noted how tired he looked and his lack of tie, and said, "That bad, huh?"

He shoved the tie in one of his desk drawers. It felt like a noose around his neck today, and he wanted it off and far away from him. "I want you to get me two tickets on Air France to Paris. One for me…" he hesitated, then added begrudgingly, "and one for Jemma Coulson."

Her finger hovered over her tablet. "And what day are you flying out?"

"Tomorrow."

"… And for how long?"

He was done answering questions. He slammed the desk drawer shut, making Palamas jump. He tried not to make a habit of acting angry in the office. He was usually more level-headed than he was currently behaving. Grant knew it probably unsettled Kara, but he had very little capacity to care at the moment. "It doesn't matter, Palamas. Just get the damn tickets, will you?"

She nodded and quickly excused herself. Left alone, Grant looked around his office. He had a full schedule that day, and no will to work. The air in the office seemed oppressive; stifling, even. He tried to check his email, but couldn't focus long enough to read beyond the subject line with any of them.

Not long after Palamas left, Melinda entered unannounced. She didn't say anything, didn't even greet him hello, so Grant spoke first.

"It's under control." he said.

She didn't look convinced. Her eyes narrowed, her lips pressed into a straight, thin white line as she took a seat across from him.

"I worry what you might mean by that," she said, finally speaking.

"It's a long story."

She crossed her legs, crossed her arms, and leaned back in her chair, becoming a picture of intimidation. All the while, she kept her gaze level on him. He nearly felt like a kid again when she glared at him like that.

"I like long stories." she replied.

"You won't like this one."

"Try me." That somehow managed to sound like both a challenge and a threat.

He sighed and pressed his nose between his forefinger and thumb. He didn't want to do this with Melinda. He had enough on his plate.

He also knew he couldn't very well kick his stepmother out of his office when she was determined to get answers. She may not make a scene if he tried, but she'd never forgive him. Given that the list of people who cared about him was already small and sure to shrink by one in the next twenty-four hours, he didn't want to alienate her.

"Things have progressed with Jemma," he began. "We've bonded… been confiding in each other. I've said… a lot of things… I told her I was thinking about getting away, going to Paris."

"You did?"

"Yes. She thinks it's a great idea."

"And she believed you."

Leave it to Melinda to see through all artifice. "More than that. I think she'll go with me if I ask."

"How can you be sure?"

"I just am." And now came the worst of his confession, where Grant bared his plan entirely. His stomach roiled even as the words tumbled from his lips. "So here's how things will go. Jemma will go to Paris with me. Fitz will marry Skye. I'll come back from Paris to sign the papers. The merger will close. We'll make a lot of money. And you can take a trip to St. Barts, or wherever the upper crust vacations these days."

Melinda was unconcerned with what she stood to gain. "What happens to Jemma?" she asked. Her strong sense of morality was an admirable quality, if inconvenient to Grant in this particular moment.

"She grows up." It was as simple as that.

"You're going to ditch her?"

"What choice do I have? How did you think this was going to happen, Melinda? What do you think I meant when I said I'd take care of the problem? Were you hoping for a sweet and simple solution?" He scoffed. "You and I both know there is no such thing in this business."

"Jemma is not a business decision."

"Everything is a business decision. My whole life is a series of business decisions. Ever since I was nineteen years old." He looked square at her. "In all those years, you've never once seen the face of a person the day after we've taken over their business. You're out celebrating, or at the trainer, or whatever. But I'm there, and I can promise you it's never easy. It is always painful."

"But Jemma… I don't want her to be unhappy."

"She won't be." To the best of his ability, he would ensure that. "She'll be in Paris." He'd even venture to say she belonged in Paris. She didn't belong above the garage, living in the shadow of the Ward mansion, on the fringe of the glitz and glamor of their world. And she certainly didn't belong with him, no matter how Grant may have wished to the contrary.

It was Melinda's turn to sigh. Her face was no longer hardened, but her eyes were downcast, her expression sad. "I feel terrible."

"It's business, Melinda." he repeated. "And you and Dad taught me everything I know."

She rose to leave. He thought she would go without another word. Only when she got to the door did she turn to add, in the most disappointed tone he'd ever heard, "We didn't teach you this."

ooooooooooooooooo

Jemma had hardly slept the night before. This was easily the most conflicted she'd ever been in her life, and pondering the last few days had kept her awake. Every time she tried to close her eyes, some memory or another would bubble to the surface of her consciousness; the feel of Grant's hands, the sound of his laugh, the way his dimples showed themselves when he smiled. Her stomach would feel like it flipped inside her body, she would roll in her bed, and sleep would continue to elude her.

Dawn was peeking through the curtains when she finally managed to catch a wink. When she arose only a handful of hours later, Phil was long gone for the day. That was convenient because she knew if she faced him, he would have questions, and she did not yet have any answers to give him.

She made herself a late breakfast. She must not have been paying close enough attention, because when she sat at the kitchen table with her plate, she noticed the scrambled eggs were rather underdone. It reminded her of what an old chef had told her in France. "A woman happily in love burns the souffle."

She didn't know what runny eggs meant, but it was probably not good.

She decided to ignore the eggs, ate her toast, and drank her tea. She had no plans, nothing on her agenda, no tasks assigned to her but the glaringly obvious one pertaining to her personal life; and that, she was determined to put off for as long as she could.

"As long as she could" was still not as long as she would have preferred. Just as Jemma drank the last of her tea, her phone rang.

"Good morning," the person on the other line said when she answered, and she was embarrassed by how her heart leapt in her chest at the sound of his voice.

"Grant. Good morning." she replied, hoping she sounded more calm than she felt.

"Any chance you're coming into the city today?"

"Today?" She hadn't planned on it, and said as much.

"Well, do you mind coming anyway? I'll send a car for you." She didn't respond, and he barreled on with an explanation, even though she hadn't asked for one. "I don't have a reason to ask you to come. I just want to see you. I… I miss you. Is that okay?"

"You're asking me if it's okay?"

"Yes."

She wanted to say yes, but she was hesitant. She also wanted to ask what he meant by "okay". What did he want to know was okay? That he wanted to see her? Or that he missed her?

Everything was happening so fast. They'd been practically strangers just days ago, and now he was calling her on her cell phone, asking to see her. Saying he missed her.

"Okay." she said. She could hardly say no. Besides, even though it had only been twelve or so hours since she last saw him, she sort of missed him, too.

She got ready in a rush, foregoing the heels and black pants of the day before and choosing instead a large beige sweater from her pre-Paris days. Martine had hated the sweater. Angeline had too, but she recognized it as a comfort item of Jemma's, and so made a point to not critique it too harshly. She did teach her how to dress it up, though, and Jemma employed those lessons now, rolling the sleeves into a cuff halfway up her forearms, slipping into her tightest dark-washed jeans, and putting on a pair of flat black booties. She only put on a little makeup, but did dab perfume on her wrists and behind her ears. The final touch was the lone accessory; the dainty diamond pendant her uncle had loaned her the night of Melinda's birthday party. She put it on and regarded it as a sort of good luck charm; Lord knew she needed all the luck she could get.

ooooooooooooooooo

The car dropped her off right in front of the Highware office building. Jemma waited until it had pulled away to take off in the other direction. She would go see him. She just needed more time.

She walked mindlessly, letting her feet carry her wherever they wanted, until she found herself in front of the diner they'd been to the day before. She wasn't hungry (she blamed that on nerves), but she still went inside and took a seat at the bar on an old stool.

The waitress from the day before -Nora, so said her nametag- offered her coffee, which she was glad to accept.

"Where's your fella?" Nora asked as she poured the dark brew into a large white ceramic cup.

Jemma was surprised. "You remember us?" She tried not to dwell on the fact she had just referred to Grant and herself as an "us".

Nora grinned. "Guy as cute as him, woman as pretty as you? You tend to remember folks like that." She put a dish of tiny creamer cups and a container of sugar packets next to the cup. "How long have you been a couple?"

"Oh, we're not- he's not…" After several false starts, she sighed and said, half to Nora, half to her coffee, "It's a little complicated."

"Doesn't surprise me," Nora said. "He's a person, you're a person… we're complicated by nature."

An offer for apple pie was made, which Jemma also accepted, even though she only picked at it with her fork.

"Something on your mind?" Nora asked when she refreshed her coffee some time later.

She nodded. There was no point pretending otherwise. "Have you ever been scared of a good thing?" She asked.

The older woman seemed to think about it. "I was terrified the night before my wedding day, even though I loved my husband." She set the coffee pot aside. "I think it's not the good thing that scares you, but the not-knowing. Anytime a good thing comes your way, it creates a new norm, and that can be a lot to take in; not the getting the good thing, but the growing to make room for it."

It wasn't quite the answer Jemma was expecting, but she was grateful for it nonetheless. "I thought I had everything figured out." she whispered.

Nora patted her hand kindly. "Well, you know what they say about making God laugh."

"What's that?"

"If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans."

ooooooooooooooooo

It was later that day - much, much later, long after coffee and pie and Nora's wise words- that Jemma walked into Grant's office. Kara had scolded her politely when she arrived, saying that Mr. Ward had been expecting her much earlier, but that she would send her right in.

He was standing at the window when she entered, and turned when her heard her walk his way. She noticed he wore no tie, and the stubble of yesterday had grown in even more.

"I was beginning to worry." Grant said, and she was relieved he spoke first. It removed a little of the pressure she felt, but only a little.

She now felt pressed to explain. "I've been walking around Manhattan all afternoon. I must have circled your building six or seven times, just trying to work up the courage to come here… to see you."

"Courage?" He repeated the word, his voice colored with disbelief. "Surely you're not scared of me anymore."

"No. No, not of you." She closed the gap between them. If she couldn't be bold with her words (and great, she was stumbling over them already), she could at least be bold with her actions. "I guess I just… well, I have more questions than I do answers at the moment… but maybe I'll have answers soon… or maybe I'll have more questions, I don't know."

"Jemma," Grant said gently.

"Yes?" She looked up at him, and her eyes were so trusting it made a lump form in his throat.

"I want you to come to Paris." he said, after a moment's pause.

She blinked. "You mean, go to Paris?"

"No, come to Paris. With me. You've convinced me that there are things missing from my life."

"Like what?"

"Like a life."

He raised his hand to cup her cheek, brushing a lock of her brunette hair away from her face. Her hazel eyes widened, her porcelain skin turning pink as she turned her face up towards him, expectantly.

The kiss was soft and gentle, just her lips against his, but not without passion. There was no battle for dominance, nothing sloppy and heated, but he felt as if his lungs were robbed of all oxygen. For all that their lips did not do, he still noticed that she'd pressed herself against him, with one hand around his neck and the other over his heart. Her body, like her mouth, was all soft and warm curves. He felt like he could melt into her and they would would still not be close enough for him.

"Don't say no," he whispered against her lips when the kiss broke an undetermined amount of time later. Had it been minutes? Hours? The concept of time seemed fluid when her mouth was on his.

Two rapid raps on the door were followed by Palamas entering the room, finding them still entangled. "I did knock," she said drily as she placed two envelopes on his desk. "Here are your tickets, and the other things are being taken care of." Then she saw herself out.

The mood had broken. Grant let go first. Jemma let her arms slide off his neck and down his chest before letting them come to rest at her side.

"I don't understand what happened." she began, sounding breathless. "I hardly know you."

"That's not true. You know me better than anyone."

"I wasn't even interested in you."

"Ouch."

"I wanted Fitz so much, I had to get away. And I did! I went to Paris!" She was laughing, he realized, at herself. "And I cut my stupid hair and I wrote in my stupid journal, and I came back stupider than ever. Trust the universe to reveal me as a fool the moment I think I've figured things out. Oh, Grant!" She threw her arms around his neck again, kissing his cheek. He felt warm where she kissed him and realized she was crying joyful tears. "I'm so, so happy." She held him tighter. "You have made me so happy. Happier than I even knew I could be."

She must have sensed the shift; felt him grow stiff and motionless in her arms, or something. Before he truly realized what he was doing, Grant was shrugging off her arms and telling Jemma in a low voice, "I can't do this." Of course, she didn't understand. He was obliged to explain. Every word that followed filled him with self-loathing. "You were right in the solarium. Everything I did, everything I said… I was sent to deal with you. I sent myself."

"I don't believe you." But he could tell by the way she regarded him, all the love in her eyes gone, that yes, she did.

"There was a merger. A marriage. You got in the way. The plan was to take you to Paris, then leave. I'm sorry." He kept his voice as even and emotionless as possible, but not because he was trying to be cold. Grant was ashamed to admit he was holding back tears. Not from any inflated sense of masculinity, but he refused to let himself cry when he was the one doing the hurting. He didn't get to do that.

Jemma, for her part, was not openly crying, but her eyes were beginning to shine with new tears. She looked at him now with a level gaze of disappointment. He hated it. He would rather she hated him.

"What else is there?" she asked quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"Kara said the other things were taken care of. What other things?"

"Oh…" He knew that, no matter how well she took his honesty, what he offered next would infuriate her for sure. "There's an apartment for you in France. A bank account. And a slot in the masters of biology program at the Pierre and Marie Curie University."

"With the exception of the university, you describe a kept woman." Her voice betrayed her disdain.

"It's not like that." Even if that's exactly what it looked like.

"Was I really so bad for Fitz? So wrong? A chauffeur's niece?"

"You've never been just the chauffeur's niece."

"And you really must think I'm a fool if you think I'd believe that."

"No." He was insistent now. "You're not a fool. You're not a fool. I'm a liar."

"You're right. You're a liar. And you're the fool." The tears that had been threatening to spill over her lashes did so now, streaking down her face. He wanted to wipe them away, but he held his hands steady at his side. He didn't get to comfort her. He'd forfeited that right, if ever it was his. "If you'd just asked me, Grant… God, if you'd just talked to me." She turned away from him, walking towards his desk. With her back facing him, she reached for the envelope with her name on it. "May I?" He didn't answer, so she took his silence as a yes. "Paris is always a good idea. I was happy there." She turned around, looked at him with her eyes gleaming, her face tear-streaked, and still managed a small smile. "You would have been happy, too."

"Let me drive you home." he offered quickly, even though he knew she'd refuse. Offering was the least he could do after asking her to come to the city just so he could break her heart.

She shook her head. "No, thank you." She looked down at the envelope, then back up at him. "I'm flying home."

A/N: I'M SORRY. Depending on how you guys respond, I might try to get the final chapter out sooner than next Saturday so you're not left hanging for too long.