Chapter Text
Jemma scowled, adjusting the neckline of her dress. The last thing she wanted to do that night was go to the opera. Add to that the waving and smiling and pretending to be one big happy family and she could scream. She was young! She wanted to really experience life – or at the very least, experience the new nightclub downtown.
With one more sigh, Jemma headed into her sitting room. Bobbi waited patiently with her wrap, and Jemma turned so she could drape it over her shoulders. She faced Bobbi again, holding one hand out inquisitively.
“Smashing. Your highness.”
The title was an almost-forgotten formality after so long as her official lady-in-waiting and unofficial body guard, and Jemma winked. Then she turned and started walking again. Bobbi darted forward to open the door to the suite.
“Are you looking forward to tonight’s performance, ma’am?”
“I’m on pins and needles, Bobbi,” Jemma replied, perhaps a little too deadpan as she led them out into the corridor.
“You and me, both,” Lance chimed in, equally insincere, as he fell into step beside them. “Hi Bobbi.”
Jemma rolled her eyes. While she could certainly understand the appeal of her Amazon-esque aide, she was still staff and her idiot brother knew better.
“Lancelot,” Jemma spoke up before Bobbi was forced to reply out of courtesy. “Please tell me you have a plan.”
He shot her a half-hearted glare at the use of his full name. By the time the spare spare heir had come along, her parents had gotten more than a bit whimsical with names. It was still nothing compared to her youngest sibling who formally went by her third middle name of Daisy and even worse insisted on being informally called Skye.
“I might have dropped a hint or two to Fitz.”
Jemma smiled, but didn’t examine the reaction too closely. At any rate, she knew if anyone could get her out of this social obligation, it would be her prickly but loyal personal secretary. She lost the smile quickly when she turned the corner.
“Mother,” she said, pausing to curtsy only somewhat obnoxiously before leaning forward to kiss her cheek. “Happy birthday.”
“Shall we, Mother? Now that Jemma’s finally here?”
Jemma tried not to roll her eyes again as Ward stepped forward and held his arm out for the Queen. He always was her pet, from the moment he was born, less than a year after Jemma herself. Jemma knew their mother secretly wished it had been the other way around, or at least that she hadn’t pushed so hard to change the laws about daughters inheriting before Jemma was born. Edward was much more of a natural in the role of future monarch than Jemma was.
She tried not to let it bother her as Ward and their mother walked past, and she pasted on a smile for her father and Skye. Turning around, she fell into step with the rest of her family and headed for the door.
Her smile turned into one of relief when they reached the front door and Fitz came running up at the same time as the car that would take them to the opera hall.
“Your highness,” he called out, before slowing to a stop and remembering protocol. Bowing slightly at Jemma’s mother, he greeted her more stiffly. “Excuse me, your majesty, but I’ve just received word about – ”
“The laboratory?” Lance asked eagerly.
Jemma nearly stepped on his foot in warning. Best not to give anything away by reacting too early.
“Ah…yes,” Fitz said, faltering only slightly. “The princess wanted to arrange a tour of the new public health lab, a private tour so as not to draw too much attention to herself and it seems now – ”
“On a Friday evening?” the Queen asked skeptically.
Jemma bit the inside of her cheek. She sensed the knowing glance of her father’s long-time aide, who stood only a few feet away. Jemma always had the sense that Melinda May was roughly 87% psychic.
“Terribly afraid so, ma’am,” Fitz replied, laying it on perhaps a bit thick. “It might be several months before another chance like this comes up.”
“No, of course,” Jemma’s mother agreed. “Jemma, you must honor your obligations.”
“And did they say whether I – ” Lance asked leadingly.
“Ah, yes. You’re welcome as well, your highness.”
“Excellent.”
The Queen looked rather surprised, and Jemma felt nervous. “Darling? Are you finally taking an interest?”
“It’s about time, wouldn’t you say?” Jemma’s father muttered.
But finally, after a few more gently ribbing comments at Lance’s expense, they were gone. Jemma sighed in relief, then turned to face Fitz.
“You’re getting better at lying.”
“Who’s lying?” Fitz asked, reaching out to open the door of the car that pulled up as soon as the limo carrying the rest of the family left. “You’ll be stopping by the public health lab first.”
Jemma had one foot in the car at that point and nearly fell as she turned to face Fitz. He caught her elbow, and Jemma chose to ignore the swooshing sensation that went through her stomach at the feel of his hand and the concerned look in his eye. Pushing down the inappropriate reaction, she focused on his words instead.
“Really?!”
“Really?” Lance echoed, his tone far more of a whine. “Do we have to?”
“You’re coming with then, I assume?” Jemma added.
Fitz shook his head.
“But – ”
“The drones, I know.”
“Nerds,” Lance muttered.
“Fitz, you must come.”
“I have another obligation, your highness.”
“Ooh, hot date?” Lance asked, waggling his eyebrows.
Jemma suddenly felt ill. She hoped there wasn’t something wrong with that evening’s dinner. She’d hate to become ill before she could enjoy the nightclub.
“No,” Fitz replied tersely, even as Jemma’s nausea passed. “Now you best be going.”
With that, he gently guided her into the car, keeping hold of her elbow while his other hand rested lightly on her waist. She glanced up at him, feeling discouraged that he wasn’t coming along – because of how excited he had been by the drones when he first told her about them, no other reason. And then she slid farther onto the seat, losing sight of him as Bobbi and then Lance climbed in next to her.
**
The moment Fitz saw Rosalind sitting at a corner table of the bar, he wanted to turn around and leave again before she spotted him. At the very least, he wanted to put on a disguise. As if anyone would recognize him or, if they did, care what a junior secretary from the royal staff was doing on his night off. Nonetheless, he was beginning to regret the whole thing. He didn’t know what he was thinking. Certainly the book deal was more than enough to pay off all his debts and then some. Of course that “and then some” was probably going to have to include supporting himself long enough for him to find a new job after he was unceremoniously fired from his current one. This wasn’t worth it, it really wasn’t. Je – Princess Jemma was not that bad, even if she had – Fitz steeled his resolve as he remembered the events of the night three months ago. The events that had been the last straw and made him reach for the business card that he had almost tossed back in her face when Rosalind had first approached him with it.
Fitz nodded once to himself before making his way quickly over to her.
“Ah, Mr. Fitz,” she greeted him, standing to kiss his cheek. “A drink?”
“No,” he replied immediately, before belatedly adding, “Thank you. Let’s just – ”
“Get started. I couldn’t agree more. I’ve read the proposal you sent, and I am delighted. So much more than I could have hoped. Did she really walk right into the pool?”
Fitz fought a smile at the memory. Her reaction had been unexpected. Both he and Bobbi had run towards the pool, preparing to jump in after her in case she needed help. But Je – Princess Jemma had just surfaced with a shriek of laughter and called out an invitation to everyone to join her. In the end, everyone but Fitz and Bobbi had gotten their evening wear soaked.
“Yes, a complete accident,” he finally remembered to respond. “She just turned around and started walking and – ”
“Oh, come, Fitz. Surely not a complete accident. No doubt there had been alcohol involved. Or something stronger…”
Fitz raised an eyebrow at the implication. “No. No, she – that is, her highness doesn’t do…things like that. I believe she had had one glass of champagne earlier with dinner, but – ”
“All right, Fitz. I believe you. For now. And like I said, truly a delightful story to begin the book with. However, our readers will be looking for something a bit more…risqué. A real look inside the life of a modern day royal. What about men?”
Fitz swallowed nervously. Je – Princess Jemma’s romantic relationships had never been something he was comfortable talking about, not in gossip sessions with other staff, not when called upon to make an official statement, and certainly not now. He just felt she deserved her privacy. So many things were demanded of her, and so many more would be, in the future. Surely she could choose who she wanted to rely on for support and comfort as a result. It didn’t seem fair that she’d be forced to marry someone quote-unquote appropriate when the time came. Of course, he didn’t particularly care for the inappropriate dalliances she had now, if he were being entirely honest. None of them were good enough for her. Not to mention, of course, it was one of them she had been with the night –
Anyway.
“She’s not seeing anyone right now.”
It wasn’t a lie, exactly. Officially, Je – Princess Jemma was single. Unofficially, Fitz wasn’t stupid, and he knew that there were no old school friends named Mack and Elena, so whenever they appeared on her daily schedule, Fitz knew better than to investigate further.
Rosalind leveled him with a knowing stare. “You aren’t getting cold feet, are you, Mr. Fitz?”
“No,” he nearly shouted, scared of the prospect of losing the much-needed publishing contract. “No. She’s just – not seeing anyone right now.”
**
Bobbi nodded dutifully as the princess yammered on, wishing Fitz had come along. She had, in fact, gone to school for Biology, but that was many years ago now. Fitz, frustrated scientist that he was, was the only one who would have had any hope of understanding the technology that had so excited Princess Jemma that she was still talking about it an hour later. She couldn’t help but smile at the completely confused, more than a little bored expressions on the faces of the people who had finagled their ways into the VIP section for a chance to sit next to real-life royalty and maybe end up on the front page of the society section.
Only Prince Lance was willing and able to (finally) interrupt Princess Jemma, and Bobbi could have kissed him when he interrupted and changed the topic of conversation.
Not that she’d ever kiss him, of course. And his being a prince was the least important reason.
Bobbi shook her head slightly, clearing it of those inappropriate thoughts. Just in time too, as Princess Jemma stood and tilted her head to indicate the bathroom. Bobbi nodded, standing to accompany her and check for safety risks only to have Jemma wave at her to stay. After a moment’s hesitation, Bobbi shrugged and sat back down.
It was mere moments, however, before Bobbi’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out, read the message three or four times before she started to understand it, and then bolted out of her seat towards the bathroom. She ignored Lance calling out after her. Her first priority needed to be getting to the pr – majesty. To Her Majesty.
The door to the bathroom slammed against the wall, Bobbi pushed it open so hard. A few women standing at the sinks jumped in surprise, but Bobbi didn’t even register them. Instead, she honed in on the woman staring at her, curious and confused, halfway into the stall.
“Ma’am, you need to come with me.”
“Can I use the loo first?” she responded with a slight laugh and an awkward gesture.
“Ah…I don’t think so. I’m afraid not.”
Her brow furrowed and she stepped closer, looking a bit ill. “Bobbi? What is it?”
Bobbi shook her head, grabbing onto her majesty’s arm and gently guiding her out of the room. She spoke urgently, under her breath but loud enough that she knew she could be heard. The slight stumble only confirmed that. Bobbi moved her arm, attempting to provide more support. She barely heard Lance catch up with them or the questions he peppered them with – questions Bobbi wouldn’t answer just then and the Queen, still speechless with shock, couldn’t.
**
Fitz stared at the blinking cursor on the blank page in front of him. It felt like the cursor was mocking him, to be honest. After his meeting with Rosalind, he knew he had to get back to work on the book, get something out juicy enough and quickly enough for her, to make sure he didn’t ruin this chance for himself. He searched his memory banks for a good story, finally settling on a time when Je – Princess Jemma had to meet and greet various dignitaries for a state dinner. She had forgotten one of their names and Fitz hadn’t been close enough to whisper reminders to her. Je – Princess Jemma had tried to cover by flirting with him and, well, she never had been a particularly good flirt. Despite her boyfriends – and perhaps they had just chosen to overlook it because she was beautiful and royalty – she had never apparently learned how to connect casually with someone. Fitz grinned to himself, taking a swig of his beer, as he remembered how Je – Princess Jemma had complimented the man’s bald head of all things.
Chuckling slightly, Fitz began to type, only to sigh in annoyance when his mobile rang. He glanced at it, prepared to ignore whoever it was – except it was May, and he couldn’t ignore his boss.
“Hello May,” he greeted as he answered the phone.
“Come in.”
“Now? What’s – ”
“The Queen has passed away. Come in.”
There was a click and Fitz realized – despite the strange buzzing in his head as he tried to process the news – that May must have hung up. After a long, strange moment of paralysis, Fitz finally found the ability to move and he bolted to his feet, nearly knocking everything on his desk over.
He hurried, forgetting to grab his coat and almost forgetting to lock his door. All that mattered was getting to Je – Pr – Queen Jemma.
Bloody hell. Queen.
**
Jemma was still in a daze, only still standing because of Bobbi’s solid support. But when they neared the door behind which Garrett was waiting, she stopped. Facing Bobbi, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, nodding. She opened her eyes, placed a grateful hand on Bobbi’s elbow, and walked on her own volition into the room.
Garrett turned to face her, already looking obsequious. Jemma couldn’t stand the Prime Minister on a good day; she didn’t know if she could bear to face him now.
“Your majesty, let me be the first to say – ”
“Let’s just get this over with,” Jemma interrupted. “There are too many things to do to waste time on small talk.”
Garrett’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. Under other circumstances, Jemma would have laughed. Instead she simply waited, staring straight ahead as Garrett finally recovered enough to bow in fealty.
**
She didn’t feel majestic. She certainly didn’t feel anointed, or chosen by God. She didn’t feel ready.
And when she entered the room containing the rest of her family, all of them in varying states of distress and sobriety, she didn’t feel any better. They stared at her for a long time, clearly as uncertain as she was. Finally, her father was the first to move, but in the worst possible way. He started to bow to her.
“No! No,” Jemma said urgently, rushing over to him and pressing one hand to his chest to make him stand straight again. “No, please. All of you.”
**
Fitz was ready to scream. He knew, honestly he knew, that he was the absolute last person that would get to see – the, the Queen that night. In fact, he’d probably rarely see her again. He wasn’t senior enough to remain personal secretary to her now. He also knew, really, that his job was to wrangle the phones and hold off the reporters who had started to sniff blood. He didn’t have the luxury to see her, or even just to wonder how she was doing, or offer his condolences or anything. But, God, he wanted to.
And so, as if she somehow took pity on him, which was impossible to believe, May sent Fitz with the press release for Je – Queen Jemma to approve. He practically slipped, skidding as he reached out for the wall to keep himself from falling, as he rushed to her private quarters.
The look of relief Bobbi shot him was disconcerting. He slowed to a stop.
“Good, it’s you. I wouldn’t have let anyone else in.”
Fitz tilted his head, trying not to read too much into that. If anyone in the world knew…the Queen…better than Fitz suspected he himself did, then it was Bobbi, and so he couldn’t help but wonder what made him special on a night like this.
“I – ” Fitz cleared his throat. “I have a press re – ”
“Yeah, whatever. Just, you know, give her whatever she needs.”
Fitz forced down the immediate and completely inappropriate mental image sparked by that phrase. Instead, he perfunctorily knocked on the door and let himself in. The door closed behind him, barely making a sound as it latched shut. Je – Queen Jemma didn’t even seem to have noticed. She was standing by the window, staring out into the dark night, one hand absent-mindedly playing with her necklace.
Fitz cleared his throat softly, awkwardly. After a long beat, during which he wondered if she had heard him and if he should try again, she turned to face him. They stared at each other, unmoving. Finally, Fitz forced his mouth open and lifted the piece of paper, trying to find the right words.
They didn’t come, and maybe that was a good thing, because just then, her face crumpled and she let out a sharp sob. One shaking hand came to her mouth, perhaps in a futile attempt to stop the wave of grief, and her other arm wrapped around her waist. Fitz didn’t even hesitate. If he had given it any thought at all, he would never have dreamed of doing what he did over the next few moments. But there was no time for thought, or at least any thought besides helping her, supporting her. The press release fluttered to the ground, dropped and forgotten, as Fitz rushed over to pull her into his arms.
Je – Queen Jemma melted into his embrace, clinging to him and burying her face in his neck. He held her close, one palm pressing into her lower back and the other moving in slow, smooth caresses between her shoulder blades. Strands of her hair tickled at his nose as he turned his face closer to her, lips brushing against her temple as he whispered nonsense he hoped was vaguely comforting.
After some time, she pulled away, seeming rather bashful. Her eyes darted up to make contact with his before dropping down. Her cheeks were splotchy, from crying and perhaps from embarrassment. Either way, she was awkward in a way that Fitz had never seen from her before. It made her seem young and human and not at all prepared for the lifelong challenges stretching out in front of her.
Fitz wished there was some way he could share that burden, something he could do so she wasn’t so alone. But what could he do? The only thing he could offer was his service and hope that was enough. It didn’t feel like nearly enough.
**
Ward practiced for quite some time the night before how to get the perfect smile – a mix between stoic grief, fond appreciation, and rakish charm. The well-wishers and mourners and unwashed masses that just wanted the chance to see and perhaps touch royalty were gobbling it up with spoon, shouting out his name as he worked his way down the line at the memorial service.
“You should be King!” someone shouted.
Ward forcefully suppressed a smirk. “Pardon?”
“You should be King!” they repeated, accompanied by cheers from several others, primarily young women.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he demurred.
The cheers grew louder, and Ward preened, only to have his mood crash down when he realized the screams were no longer directed at him.
“Ward,” Jemma greeted as she stepped up next to him, nodding and waving at the crowd. “You must be tired of this. You can go on into the chapel now.”
“Not at all,” Ward replied, trying not to grit his teeth. “I’m happy to – ”
“Oh, I know, and I thank you for it. But there’s no reason for us to both be here.”
Realizing it was pointless to argue, Ward sent one more quick wave to the crowd and turned away. The battle was lost, but not the war. Not if he had anything to say about it.
That crown would be his. He’d earned it. He deserved it.