Jemma grins into her cocktail as she stands by herself at a corner table, remembering the way Rory’s jaw had nearly dropped to the floor at the sight Maura. To be fair, her jaw had dropped too. The petite, dark haired and light eyed eyed woman had been completely breathtaking in her gown and while it wasn’t anything Jemma could ever see herself wearing, it was perfect for Maura. And for Rory, apparently, because he hadn’t been able to pick up his jaw until Maura was standing in front of him.
The ceremony had been lovely, even if she’d missed some of it just for her being so far away from the actual altar, but she could tell even from afar that the flowers, the candles, the music, even the church itself, hadn’t even mattered in the end. Rory and Maura could have gotten married in a shack in the woods with no electricity in the Scottish countryside and they’d both still have looked at each other the same way. It was wonderful to feel like she was watching the start of something grand and, as she sips her drink, she wonders if it will be the same for her and Fitz, if they’ll have the same look about them when the time comes to exchange their own vows. Tilting her head as she sets her drink down, she can’t help the soft smile the thought brings her to face, though just Fitz alone is enough to make her smile these days.
She misses him. She hasn’t had any time with him today and while that might be normal for most people, it wasn’t normal for them. Even back on the Bus their mornings started out with tea and breakfast together, then work in the lab, dinner (or what passed as dinner after a day spent in the lab), and - depending on how rough the day had been - usually one of them ended up in each other’s bunk, either falling asleep to something on the telly or reviewing paperwork. It was just how they were. Skye might make jokes about it, and maybe it’s a bit codependent, but it was how they were and she loves it, always has. So, a full day without Fitz around and being surrounded people she didn’t really know was a foreign experience for her. Not to mention that Jessica was likely “entertaining” Fitz, and would for the rest of the evening since wedding etiquette dictated so.
That thought makes her smile sink a little and she shifts on her feet, feeling a bit out of place suddenly. She consoles herself with the knowledge that when the wedding party and family arrives, she’ll have his cousins and family to talk to, maybe even have a dance or two with, even if she really only wants to talk and dance with Fitz.
Fitz manages to slip into the cocktail party without catching the attention of his mother or aunts, no mean feat. They’re on the prowl for anything out of place, and he knows that if they come across him when he’s away from the rest, they’ll have his head. That knowledge sends a bolt of adrenaline through him, almost making him feel as though he’s on a mission, and he makes a game of it, looking for Jemma while he dodges his older female relatives.
He had made one circuit of the room and is ready to quit, when something at the corner of his eye catches his attention. It’s a flash of grey satin, not unlike the material he had seen Jemma wearing before, and Fitz turns to face it, hoping to find her. Instead, he nearly introduces his jaw to the floor.
He’s found Jemma Simmons all right, he’d know the line of her shoulders anywhere, but he certainly hadn’t expected to see quite so much of her shoulders. Her dress from the front had appeared to be a modestly cut, yet flattering number with long sleeves and a hemline that hit just above the knee. But, from behind it was an entirely different story, and as he approached, Fitz wondered how, exactly, the material hadn’t slipped off her arms. It seemed to hover just at the curve of her shoulder, and he wanted nothing more than to set his lips there as he urged the sleeves down.
Part of him, the part that had trouble believing Jemma was actually interested in him, has trouble believing that she wore that dress out in public. Jemma had always had a rather solid fashion sense, but she had never exposed this much skin; at the moment, if he wanted, Fitz could run his hand from the nape of her neck to the beginning of the swell of her arse without encountering any kind of material. And, he realizes, so could anyone else.
That spurs him on, and he slips over to the bar to sidle up behind her, his arms casually wrapping around her waist. He lightly tugs her in to him, and resting his head on her shoulder, whispers, “Chris’, Jemma, warn a man before ye wear somethin’ like tha’ in public. I’d have brough’ one o’ th’ ICERs wit’ t’ keep these other blokes off o’ ye.”