A/N: The Concorde supersonic jet fleet was retired in 2003, but for the sake of this story, let's pretend that never happened. Ok? :)
It was after dark when Jemma's taxi pulled into the curved driveway of the Ward mansion, but still early enough that most of the house was lit up. She could see a few of the maids -people she'd known since adolescence- through the windows, bustling about with preparations for the night and the following morning. She heard distant yapping as Rose, the head maid, leashed up Melinda's puppy for a walk. In the lowest level of the house, not far from the indoor pool, she could see Fitz in the game room.
She decided to go there first.
He was at the billiards table when she entered, circling it with only the smallest hitch in his step.
"You look better." she said.
He smiled to see her. "I am better. Doc says the stitches can come out tomorrow, and not a moment too soon." He lined up a shot, hitting the cue ball expertly before finishing his thought. "Skye is getting too much fun out of me having to sit on a hemorrhoid pillow."
She laughed. "Yes, I can imagine that's a sight… but she's a good woman, your fiancee."
"I'm glad you think so. I do, too."
"I hope you'll give her my apologies when you tell her I won't be in the wedding."
Fitz set his cue stick aside. His smile had vanished, but he didn't seem serious yet. Just curious. "You won't be?"
She shook her head, but tried very hard to smile. It wasn't easy. "Turns out I've won a ticket to Paris. I leave tomorrow."
Jemma would never know what inkling or instinct made Fitz ask his next question, but all he said in response was, "One way?"
"As a matter of fact, yes." If ever she left Europe, she would never step foot on the grounds of the Ward estate again. She was certain of that.
"I think I knew that." He walked to the mini fridge in the corner and withdrew two beers. He removed the caps and handed her one. "I know it's not champagne, but you're leaving and I still owe you a drink."
She took the bottle from him. "I thought you were giving up on glass." she said and tapped the glass neck of the bottle for emphasis.
"I'll make an exception for an old friend." He clinked his bottle against hers. "Are you traveling alone?"
A lump formed in her throat, so she nodded soundlessly and hurried to take a sip of her beer.
For the first time since she'd come to see him, Fitz looked sad. "Will you be all right?" he asked.
She forced another smile, but tears threatened the corners of her eyes. She prayed he did not notice them. "Better than all right. I'll be in Paris."
ooooooooooooooooo
Phil wasn't shocked when Jemma came home and announced she'd be leaving the following day. He wasn't shocked, but he was still saddened, and watched with a heavy heart as she packed.
Not that there was much to pack… she'd only been home a handful of days.
"What will you do?" he asked as she folded her clothes neatly and placed them back into her large black suitcase.
"I don't know." she said, and he nearly commended her for how even she managed to keep her voice when she said that. She didn't sound afraid. It took a minute for him to consider that she didn't sound afraid because she wasn't. She was so different from the Jemma he had sent off to Paris a year ago; he was only just beginning to see it.
"You really are going home, aren't you?" he whispered.
Jemma smiled at him. "There's still time for you to come with."
"No, Paris isn't for me." He shot down the idea instantly. "I belong here."
Her face fell. "I don't think anyone belongs here, except the Wards themselves."
He didn't respond to that. Instead, he started in with a story. "When I first came here, I had no expenses. The upkeep of the car, my meals, my boarding… all of that was handled for me, so I got to keep the majority of my paycheck. Wasn't long before I amassed fifteen thousand dollars. I was driving Mr. Ward -the elder- at the time. He never closed the window between us. He transacted a lot of business on the daily commute, and I paid attention. When he bought, I bought. When he sold, I sold."
Jemma laughed at him, blithely. "Uncle Phil, are you really telling me you've hidden a million dollars somewhere?"
"Not at all. It's actually a little over two million."
She wasn't laughing now. Jemma stared at her uncle, and as she did, he stared at her. He had a slight smile on his face as he watched her reaction, his hands firmly in his pockets. He may not have made a sound since dropping such a bombshell, but his eyes were laughing at her. Laughing, but not lying. Phil wasn't kidding about his secret fortune.
"Uncle Phil…" she whispered in disbelief.
"Yes… Two million dollars may have exceeded my expectations a bit. But then, you've always exceeded mine." He walked towards her and took both of her hands in his. "You've rejected my help in the past, but I hope you'll take it now. I want to do this for you, Jemma, but I won't force you to take my help."
She didn't know what to say, so she just nodded and embraced her uncle, holding onto him as tightly as she could. She was anxious to get away from the world of the Ward family, but there was no doubt in her mind that she would miss her uncle terribly.
ooooooooooooooooo
Fitz got his stitches removed first thing the next morning. The second thing he did was drive into the city, screech to a stop in front of the Highware building,and storm into Grant's office.
Kara and Grant were conversing over his desk when he burst in.
"I need to see my stepmother as soon as she gets in," was all Fitz picked up on before the conversation froze and both of them looked his way. One glance at his face -red with anger, his brows low and furrowed over his blazing blue eyes- and Kara saw herself towards the door with half-meant offers of coffee and water before she shut them in the office.
"I got a surprise for you." Grant said as Fitz stalked over to his desk.
He rounded the desk. "That's funny. I have one for you, too."
The Ward boys never got into physical fights. Never in their lives. Grant would have owned him in a match, for one thing, and Fitz preferred to spar verbally instead of physically. But now, with anger surging through him and the advantage of height, towering over his older brother as he sat at his desk, Fitz's fist flew almost of its own accord and landed square on Grant's jaw with a loud crack.
"There's really no limit for you, is there? No line you won't cross, nothing sacred?" His hand was aching, but he clenched it at his side and ignored the pain. "How could you do that to me, Grant? To Jemma? What the hell makes you think you have the right to move us around like pawns on a chessboard?"
Grant had been holding his hand up to her jaw, but lowered it when he spoke through gritted teeth. A bruise was already blooming on the left side of his face. "Call it a force of habit." he bit out as he rose to his feet. Now Fitz was on the defensive, expecting a retaliatory blow at any second. His posture betrayed him and Grant rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to hit you. Jesus. Everybody thinks so low of me these days."
"And with good reason." Fitz relaxed, but not much, and his brows remained knitted together.
"Yeah, I know. I screwed everything up." He looked away. "I manipulated Jemma. I confused her." He glanced at Fitz. "But she's loved you all her life. You're what she really wants. Not me." He opened one of his desk drawers and removed a white envelope. "One ticket to Paris. Your assistant has already picked up your passport and packed you a bag. I think she was surprised at having something to do." He forced the envelope into his brother's hand. "Go with her, Fitz. You can make her happy. And…" he added a little reluctantly, "I don't want her to leave here alone."
Fitz looked between the ticket and his brother. "But what about the wedding? And the merger? You'd blow a billion dollar merger for Jemma?" Grant didn't answer. Realization dawned over Fitz. "I see."
He withdrew without another word. As he passed Kara's desk, he said, "Ms. Palamas, I need to see you in my office right away. Also, where is my office?"
ooooooooooooooooo
It was a small send-off for Jemma that day. She'd said her goodbyes to the others at breakfast in the staff quarters, but only Phil and Melinda walked her out to the taxi when it arrived. Melinda held onto her for a long time before she got in the car, and they both stood in the drive and waved goodbye as the car pulled away.
"I'll never understand you, Phil," Melinda said as they waved. "You had that money squirreled away all that time, and you never told me."
"Would it have mattered? Because if it matters, then marry me, Melinda. Marry me for my money."
She shot him a look. "I don't think that's very funny."
"You're right. You don't need my money, and I don't need yours. Marry me for love."
She didn't say yes or no, but from the corner of his eye, Phil saw her smile.
ooooooooooooooooo
"I knew what his instructions were, but given that they were stupid instructions, I am electing to ignore them and ordering you to do the same!" Fitz was on the phone yelling at the Rons. He was a little surprised they had answered his call (since when did he work in the office, one had asked), and even more surprised that they seemed likely to defer to his authority. Rumors of an upset in Highware must have reached the stock market. The numbers weren't exactly plummeting, but there was a marked movement downward that was making him nervous. He wanted to right the course as soon as possible.
He looked up from his computer at the sound of the door opening. It was Skye. She seemed to be, in a word, pissed.
"Rons, I'm gonna have to call you back." Fitz said and quickly hung up. Then, before she got a chance to speak, Fitz walked over to Skye. He took her by the shoulders. "I'm going to tell you a story, and I need you to tell me how it ends."
He let it all come spilling out; everything that had transpired since Jemma returned, Skye soon came to know. He spared no detail, even the ones that risked making him look like a jerk.
Thankfully, Skye was understanding. She didn't accuse him of entertaining infidelity, as his brother and stepmother had done, and she accepted his apology concerning the optics of his encounters with Jemma. She was less gracious to Grant. Fitz only knew some of the specifics, but what little information he had, he gave her.
"Does he love her?" Skye asked when he had finished.
Fitz shrugged. "I don't know. I don't know what my brother looks like when he's in love. But I've never seen him like this."
"And does Jemma love him?"
He was a little more certain of his answer. "I think she does. Or she did."
Skye didn't want to hear anymore. In fact, she didn't need to hear anymore. She may have known Jemma for a grand total of two days, but Skye considered her a friend, and at the moment, her friend was hurting; the one who had hurt her was conveniently located just two doors down.
Without another word, Skye booked it to Grant's office, leaving Fitz to trail behind her, limping a bit as he called on her to slow down. She didn't. She ran all the way, forced herself past Kara and burst into the room, then stomped to Grant's desk and slapped him directly across his stupid face.
"I liked her, you dipshit!" She exclaimed, stamping her foot as she did.
Grant looked to the door to see his brother and stepmother, both drawn by the commotion, no doubt.
"Have you come to hit me, too?" he asked Melinda.
She smirked. "Much as I would like to, no." She motioned Kara inside and shut the door.
"Fitz…" Grant looked at his brother, his heart sinking. "You're still here. I told you to…" he trailed off, not certain how much Skye knew (enough to slap him, apparently, but he'd done quite a lot to earn that over the past few days).
"I know what you 'told me to', but I ignored you. It's a new day, Grant. You're not the boss of me." He was appropriately smug making this declaration.
"I was never the boss of you."
"No, but you were the boss of Highware. I say 'were', because here's the paperwork to transition your power to me." Kara handed him a stack of papers which he shoved Grant's way. Then, a second stack was handed to him directly. "And here's what you sign to complete the merger of Quake Tech with Highware. Oh, and," one single sheet of paper slid across his desk, "sign this. It's a little well-deserved raise for me, for assuming your position." He turned to Kara. "Is he packed?"
"Is who packed?" Grant asked.
"You are. Just one bag." Kara presented him with a small duffle.
"You went to my house?"
"I took her." Melinda defended.
"We were up to our elbows in your underwear drawer. It was like touching the shroud of Turin." At this comment, Skye guffawed, hiding the laugh behind her hand.
Grant glanced through the contracts, then at the duffle bag. "This is a mutiny!"
"Don't be silly. This is an intervention." Melinda said, and presented a plane ticket. "There's a car waiting for you downstairs, a helicopter on east 60th. The ticket has been changed to the Concorde. It leaves in exactly 39 minutes."
"If you go now, you just might beat her there." Fitz interjected.
When he made no move, Skye tried to yank him to his feet. "Go, Grant! Don't think. Just go!"
He hesitated. "She must hate me." he said.
"She'll get over it." Melinda said simply. "We all do."
Grant looked over at his stepmother, the one he usually could count on to be a voice of reason. "You expect me to just drop everything and waltz out of here?"
"Waltzing would be ineffective. We'd prefer if you ran." Fitz teased.
When he still made no move toward the door, Melinda spoke again. "Grant, I love you. No mother could be more proud, but I think it's time you left the nest."
He only considered his choices for another few seconds before grabbing a pen and signing the papers. As he walked toward the door, he spouted some final instructions for Fitz.
"The merger will accumulate a large debt burden. Look at restructuring. Review both companies last quarter performances." As he got to the door, Palamas was holding out his jacket for him. He took it from her and, stunning them both, gave her a hug. Then, turning to Fitz, he added, "And Kara is taking a vacation next month. She knows to bill me." He shrugged into his jacket, slung his duffle over his shoulder, and looked around the office one more time. The emotions he felt were without name, a combination of fear, grief, excitement, and awe that simmered inside him. "If you'll excuse me," he said to his family, "It appears I have a plane to catch."
ooooooooooooooooo
"There's a car waiting for you downstairs", Melinda had said. Yes, there was, but what she had neglected to mention was it was driven by Phil Coulson. Phil, who had every reason to hate Grant and other than his loyalty to Melinda, no reason to do more than the bare minimum to get him to the airport on time.
Phil managed to keep professional, but he did not greet Grant with the enthusiasm he had become accustomed to. He only acknowledged him coolly and held the door open for him. He left the screen down as he drove, and every once in a while, Grant caught his narrowed eyes glaring at him through the rearview mirror.
"Go ahead," Grant said when the tension got to be too much for him to take. "Say it."
Without further prompting, Phil said simply, "You don't deserve her."
Well. There it was. He couldn't be mad about it; he did tell him to say it. Besides, Phil hadn't said anything Grant didn't already know.
"I know." he answered. "But I need her. And I've never needed anything before."
Phil didn't answer. Some time passed, but the car barely moved. Traffic ahead of them was nearly at a standstill.
"You're going to have to run for it." Phil finally said and came around to open the door for him. He grabbed Grant firmly by his arm before the younger man could walk away. "I don't like what you did. I know why you did it, but you hurt my little girl. I may never forgive you."
"I don't blame you."
"But if you can make her happy, and she can forgive you and she wants you, I won't stand in the way." He handed him the duffle bag. "She's staying at L'Hotel. 13 Rue des Beaux Arts."
Phil withheld his blessing, but Grant wasn't expecting one. The fact that Phil hadn't hogtied him and stuffed him in the trunk was already better than Grant deserved from him.
He took off at a run towards 60th Street and arrived, out of breath and sweating, to find the helicopter ready for him. It was a short flight to the airport from there, where he again had to run through the terminal to make it to his gate just as they let out the final call for boarding.
"First time on the Concorde, Mr. Ward?" the desk clerk asked as she scanned his ticket.
"Yes."
"But surely not your first time in Paris."
"It's my first everything."
ooooooooooooooooo
It was the wee hours of the morning when Jemma's plane landed. She had not slept. She was hungry. She was hurting. All things the driver seemed to sense, judging by how often he checked on her in the rearview mirror. He offered to carry her bags into the lobby of L'hotel, but she declined, and pressed her fare and a large tip into his hand before waving him off. She looked up at the building, knowing she was tired and should rest, but reluctant to check-in, to walk into a quiet, unfamiliar room. To be truly alone.
As she hesitated, a man entered her field of vision. She didn't recognize him at first. The posture was all wrong, the face unshaven, the shirt unkempt. It took her a few seconds to recognize the man as Grant Ward, and her heart flipped inside her. What did he mean by coming here, she wondered. What could he possibly have left to say?
"You said that Paris is always a good idea." he began. "That I would've been happy here. You couldn't have meant without you."
Her grip around her suitcase tightened. Hearing her words on his lips made her feel… she didn't know what. It wasn't a pleasant feeling.
"How did you know where I'd be?" she asked.
"Your uncle told me. I don't think he's forgiven me."
"No, I imagine he hasn't."
"I told him I need you."
She blinked. A lump formed in her throat. "I thought that was all a lie."
Grant sighed. It was a sound filled with regret; with remorse. "It was a lie." He took another step forward, closing the gap between them even more. He was mindful not to get too close, she noticed. Most likely, he was afraid of spooking her. "It was a lie. And then it was a dream. And then it was real. Jemma. It was real."
She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe him so badly, but how could she when he'd only the day before so unceremoniously broken her heart? "How do I know you're not lying now?"
"Because I'm not. I promise you. I'll never lie to you again. My word is my bond. I know that doesn't mean much to you, or to matters of the heart… but in business-"
"- I swear to God, if you bring up business right now…" She didn't need to finish the threat.
Grant understood. "I came to you under false pretenses. I won't deny that. But I won't stand here and pretend that you haven't had an effect on me since the day you came back to the mansion. You've been a better influence on me as a person than I've had in years."
She snorted derisively. "I'm not going to be your savior, Grant."
"No. I don't want you to be. I don't want you to save me, Jemma. I want you to love me."
"And why would I do that?"
"Because I love you."
Even though she didn't trust him or his words, Jemma understood there was weight to them. Grant didn't seem the type to throw those words about glibly. She wondered if he'd said them to another woman ever before.
"I don't know if I believe you." she whispered.
"I know." He closed the small gap that remained between them. He was close enough to touch, and oh, she was so tempted to. One of her hands raised to smooth the collar of his untidy white shirt. "I'll spend the rest of my life getting you to believe me, if you'll let me."
Her hand stilled over his heart. "That almost sounded like-"
"It was. Or, it is. If you want it to be."
Tears sprang to her eyes. "Grant…"
"I've been following in footsteps all of my life, Jemma Coulson. I've never been impulsive. And just today, I've flown halfway across the world for you. To tell you I'm sorry. To beg your forgiveness. And to tell you I love you." He put his hand over hers. "I've said my piece. I won't force you to be mine, not if you don't want me, too."
"You are still a fool." she said, but there was no malice in her scolding.
"I'm afraid that's a fixed trait."
"If you'd only talked to me, you would've realized I felt the same way."
"We've already established that I'm a fool."
"Yes. You are." For the first time in their exchange, Jemma smiled. "You are a damn fool, impulsive… and I don't think I've ever loved anyone more than I love you."
She kissed him softly, her hand still over his heart, silently treasuring each beat of Grant's pulse beneath her palm. It was hardly a happy ending, and despite the Parisian background, far from perfect and picturesque. Life was not, nor would it ever be, a fairy tale. They were too complex, their history already too interwoven for it to be easy. Loving each other would be simple, but keeping each other would be the hardest work of their lives. She wouldn't have traded it for all the money in the world.
For all that this moment was not, there was one thing it was, and this outweighed all the others: it was the most beautiful beginning.
A/N: And just like that, it's over! I hope you all have enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. I appreciate every review/kudo/message/etc. I've received about this story. The feedback has been so wonderful. I'm so grateful to everyone who stuck it out and waited for this story to be finished. Special thanks to Daisy/stargazerdaisy who gave valuable input during the early stages of this fic and beta'd the first few chapters. You're an angel!
I hope this ending made you all happy! It was so fun to write. I'd love to hear what you think! If you want to come chat about this story or biospecialist or anything really, you can find me on tumblr: in-the-moving-castle dot tumblr dot com