Unfortunately, the clock is ticking, the hours are going by. The past increases, the future recedes. Possibilities decreasing, regrets mounting.
–Haruki Murakami
On an errand for her mum, Jemma was headed to the tea shop for the cakes her mum preferred for company. It was lovely to get out of the flat and just walk a bit, she decided, as she crossed the street at New Oxford near the British Museum. There had been quite a few visitors by since she’d been home. It had been literal years since she’d been for a stay and all her nearby family and friends had been popping by for tea.
It was lovely being back but for some reason everything was reminding her of Fitz. They’d taken so many holidays back home together, often taking a couple of days in London together before parting ways to go visit their respective families. Even here near the museum, she was reminded of a visit they’d gone on together, taking in the collections—Fitz looking for alien spacecraft in the Egyptian hieroglyphics, blushing at the Greek sculpture and attempting to explain the purpose of the various construction methods of medieval armor to her. She hadn’t had the heart to tell him that she already knew, so she’d let him be the engineer he was and attempted to appear interested.
Of course, that only made her miss him again, as she seemed to do off and on whether she liked it or not. At times, she didn’t even think of it any longer and others it seemed all she could think of. Perhaps it was the unresolved nature of their relationship that had her unable to finally put it all to rest.
After Jemma had finally returned from her undercover mission working at Hydra nearly a decade ago, she’d returned to S.H.I.E.L.D. to find that Fitz had gone. He left no way to get in contact with him and, though Jemma had called his mum, she’d said only that he checked in now and again and she’d mention to him that Jemma had called. But she never did hear from him—not from that day to this.
At first, she’d thought perhaps he’d been upset by her deception. She had only told him she was going to visit her parents when she’d actually gone to infiltrate the enemy. As time drew out, however, she wondered if it had been much more. A colossal misunderstanding that had left him hurt and unable to see her again. After he’d woken, so ill and unable to speak or function normally, it hadn’t seemed the time to address his feelings and as he worked to recover, her presence seeming so detrimental, she thought it better to save for a time when things were less fraught.
But then he’d gone and she’d never gotten a chance to explain herself or defend her actions in any way—much less tell him her response to his love confession. In the end, it seemed she’d lost her best friend for doing what she’d believed was the best thing for him. The worst bit was never knowing if she’d been right or wrong.
Entering the shop, Jemma quickly got in the queue, peering at the menu and trying to recall what it was her mum had wanted her to get. It soon appeared the line was moving rather slowly. Though there were a couple of people between her and the front, there was a little girl of about four attempting to choose a pasty and having a very difficult time of it, or so it seemed.
“Not that one, Daddy!” she cried, a bit over-loud in Jemma’s opinion. Though, even if she was a bit strident, she seemed cheerful enough as she swayed and smiled sweetly, clearly attempting to charm her daddy. Involuntarily, Jemma smirked a bit, internally cheering her on, having done the same herself at that age. “The chocolate cake! Please, Daddy?”
Jemma could see that her daddy was crouched down beside her pointing through the glass of the pastry case but she couldn’t really see more than his arm. Her view was blocked by the others in the queue but she could see the little girl—all foamy blond curls with ribbons in and a flounced dress of formidable pink, her nose was pleasantly upturned while her cheeks were rosy and vivacious. Jemma heard her daddy whisper something to the little girl and she began to bounce up and down, clapping her little hands with glee.
“YAY!” she called happily, wrapping her arms around her daddy’s neck. Jemma still couldn’t really see much but the back of his head as he stood with his daughter perched in the crook of his elbow, the girl’s tiny arms still wrapped around his neck.
Jemma was a bit touched, thoughts of a once-imagined future tugging unpleasantly at her heart. She tried to push those thoughts aside and focus on the task at hand—at this point, baked goods—that was, until the man and his daughter passed her by, giving Jemma a good look at the man’s face.
Believing she was only seeing wishful thoughts brought to life, she stared after him as he went to sit at a small table with his daughter, settling her into a seat with her treat before he pulled out his mobile and began to sip his tea.
Tears had glazed her eyes before she finally accepted that what she was seeing was real. Stepping out of the queue, she took the few steps to be close enough that he might hear her.
Clearing her throat delicately, she said, “Fitz?”
